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  1. #1
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    Jimmy King's Avatar

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    Fight Night FIGHT NIGHT PROMO THREAD 05/15/2020

    Post promos for the 05/15/2020 Fight Night here. Promos are due Tuesday, May 19th at midnight Pacific time, which is Wednesday, May 20that 3 a.m. Eastern time and 8 a.m. British time.

    There will be no extensions.

    Rest in power, Flock U
    Rest in power, TCON

    Team Cyrus T is Best for Business

    Quote Originally Posted by Ed
    Stop the hating of the E-Feds. If you don't like something, that's fine, just ignore it and let the people who do enjoy what they're here on WC to do. Mocking them to make you feel less of a geek for being on a geek on a wrestling forum is lame. If you want to not read their posts, I can fix that for you.

  2. #2
    Intercontinental Champion
    SuperSaiyan's Avatar

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    Sep 2015
    Moscow, Russia.
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      Country                    Russian Federation






    The video starts with the generic rock music mix, accompanying the FWA’s digitalized logo. We’re taken inside the hotel where (
    almost) all the FWA talent are staying this weekend . But, of course, the focus of this video is Kevin Cromwell. The cameras fixate on room 258, the door swinging open as they focus on it. There, sitting on the edge of his bed, as if he has just woken up, is Kevin Cromwell. He is wearing nothing but a pair of white underwear. Due to the magic of video editing, we are back following a jump cut, and the wrestler is leaving his hotel room wearing a grey t-shirt and a pair of workout shorts. He is holding a duffel bag in his left hand and a clear shaker cup full of a brown liquid in his right. Chocolate protein shake, we can only assume. He takes a sip and forces it down.

    He starts walking down the hallway and makes his way to the elevator. He presses the [1] button and awaits the elevator to come up. He’s quiet, maintaining his focus on the elevator, taking another swig of his protein shake. He forces the chalk-flavoured chocolate down his throat. The elevator makes a "ding" noise as the doors open. The doors close behind Kevin and the cameramen. Inside, the wrestler looks down at his feet and clinches his duffel bag tight. When they reach the lobby, many people are walking through the doors to check in, but we immediately head to the right to read a sign that says "GYM | POOL | LEISURE". Kevin approaches a door and grabs his key and swipes it. We enter the hotel gym and, surprise surprise, there is no one there. He sets his duffel bag on the bench near the smith machine. He rolls his neck and reaches into his duffel bag, pulling out a pair of black lifting gloves as well as his wrist supports. Another day.




    Kevin stands up and walks towards the Smith machine. He puts four 45 pound plates on each side and proceeds to do some deep squats. His face is turning red, sweat pouring from his skin, each rep slower and deeper than the one that preceded it. A few jump cuts. Shoulder Press. Deadlifts. Calisthenics. Afterwards, we meet up with Cromwell again, his workout finally complete. The camera crew took Kevin's request and didn't show much of his workout, but it was a long one. He had started his deep squats around 6:40 in the morning and now? It was a little after 10:00. He is drinking from a bottle of water this time, not his protein shake. Kevin, with his hands on his hips, was visibly out of breath and tired. His morning workout was over three hours long, and it shows. His face is beet-red, he is out of breath, and the grey t-shirt that he was wearing has turned almost black with sweat. Kevin picks up his towel and wipes the sweat from his face.

    One workout down.


    She was awoken, as she frequently was, by the sun’s cruel rays. The time that she rose was dependent on the direction her window was facing. She opened her eyes one at a time, allowing each to independently acclimatise to the harsh reality of morning. Or at least what was morning to her. She yawned and stretched, and decided it was probably time that she inspected the second body in the bed. Pulling down the cover revealed a man of about forty with a highly unattractive puddle of drool beneath his half-open mouth. His chest was a mat of curling, greying hair. She felt sick just looking at him, let alone thinking about what course of events lead to him being here. She stepped off the bed and inadvertently onto a second unidentified body. This one was female, with short black hair, wrapped in what looked like one of the curtains and using a poorly rolled ball of clothing for a pillow. Abandoning the mystery permanently, she kicked the sleeper on the floor and threw a shoe at the one on the bed.

    "Out," she barked, pulling back the remaining curtain and allowing the rest of the sun's harsh light to find its way into the room. The point had been to rouse her comrades, but she had only succeeded in half-blinding herself. "Both of you. Whoever you are."

    She stumbled over a half-drunk bottle of Jameson’s and then bashed a knee off the side of the bed on her way to the bathroom. The shower was filled with mildew and somebody else's hair. Might as well jump in the fucking river, she thought, turning to the sink instead and slapping some cool water onto her face. As she did, she stared with curiosity at the reflection looking back at her in the mirror. It was her: that was beyond doubt. But the bags under her eyes were blacker and broader than usual. Her eyelids were heavy enough that she struggled to lift them fully. Her back was arched. Her hands were shaking. She was a mess. She turned away from herself in pity and disgust.

    Walking solemnly and tenderly back into the bedroom, she was pleased to find that her impromptu guests had removed themselves. Perhaps today was going to be a good day, after all. They had left the door wide open, and she soon lamented the force with which she slammed it. The unwholesome noise echoed around the room and around her head. It was only just afternoon, and she had almost two hours before she had to meet with management. Throwing herself back onto the bed, she allowed herself one more hour of sweet slumber before facing the reality of the day.


    Kevin is in his hotel room, eating a plate of cod, white rice, and asparagus. He’s shoveling it down. Not even tasting it, really. Then again, who would want to? When he is finished he puts the plate in the sink and sits down on his couch. He is still in his hotel room, and we can hear a television playing in the background. Kevin is leaning back on the sofa, relaxing for the first time today, it would seem. He is wearing a Manchester Utd jersey (Cristiano Ronaldo, Number Seven) and a pair of black shorts and white socks. He is in a relaxed position, his legs up on the couch with his arms draped over the back.

    As the camera pans around to behind his back, watching the television from over his shoulder, we see a familiar scene playing out on the screen. A tape of a Cyrus Truth match is playing. As Truth lifts up his opponent into an Argentinian rack, perhaps looking for his Exile’s Edge signature, Cromwell picks up a nearby pencil and scrawls a note into a pad on his lap.


    She pulled the straps of her rucksack and adjusted its weight, marching on around the south-west corner of the graveyard. The sun was smothering her. Her breathing was haggard, the gentle incline along the western edge of the cemetery too much for her in this compromised state. She pulled a crumpled box of cigarettes from her back pocket and, after tossing away two that were broken and inspecting a third, lit up and contemplated the scene.

    She was outside Maple Hill Cemetery, staring through the bars at dozens of white tombstones arranged in neat lines. Beyond them was a park, and Michelle imagined the stones multiplying in regimented fashion, spreading out over the green space until they dominated the horizon. It was only a matter of time. She inspected the nearest of them, and found a group inscribed with the same three words. The proclaimed the young man buried beneath to be a Confederate Soldier, and his name to be unknown. As her cigarette burned away, she contemplated the reality of that. Were they identified as Huntsville dead and shipped home for eternity? Or was this just the hill they died on? Somewhere, decades ago when these graves were still fresh, were there old women or young lovers who matched a memory to a tombstone? And now, with history looking back on them unkindly, would any of these Graybacks want their identity assigned to their corpse? These were pointless questions. What did it matter now anyway?

    She was on her way to meet with her least favourite subspecies of humanity: an executive. Once every so often, a middle-aged white man in a suit would sit her down and run through the latest list of opportunities that awaited her.

    “This is the idea,” a fat man with a red tie had started in her last such meeting. His face suggested he was excited about breaking the news to her. “An camera crew follows you around for twenty four hours, so we can get an insight into how an FWA wrestler, a champion no less, lives. What do you think?”

    Michelle blinked twice. Her dissatisfaction was plain.

    “Well, Michelle, I have to tell you: if you don’t do this, we’re going to offer it to Kevin Cromwell.”

    She had to stifle a giggle. She pictured this pioneering moment in documentary film history. Kevin Cromwell’s day-to-day routine. She imagined grainy hand-cam footage of him reacting to his 5am alarm call, eating a big bowl of muesli, and saying his prayers before bedtime.

    “Literally nobody in the world will watch that,” she had said. That was the end of her last meeting with management.


    Roundhouse, roundhouse, left, right, backhand, spin fist, jab, jab, big roundhouse.

    Kevin repeats the sequence over and over again again. A note on the bottom of the screen tells us that he’s at a gymnasium in the Von Braun Centre, working on a speed bag. It swings wildly and he steps aside, grabbing a towel and wiping his face. Been here a while now, working on the craft. He has a dull smile on his face when he thinks to himself: if you want to be the best in the world, you have to live the life and walk the walk. Any man who thinks they can sleep through life is not on that level. Not yet anyway. You can’t just do whatever you want, and call yourself the best. The life of a Professional Wrestler is a tough one to live, and only the strong survive.

    And sometimes that means fighting when you don’t particularly want to.


    God damn it.

    They had both been waiting for this day, and they both knew it was coming since Nova had first appeared at the Carnel Contendership. One day they’d stand across from each other in an FWA ring, and - just like every time they had stepped into any ring in the past - they’d do two things:

    1. Steal the show.

    2. Make sure no one remembers what the “main event” is. As far as the wrestling world was concerned? They’d make themselves the main event.

    There was no one in the world he’d rather wrestle the Nova Diamond. Win, lose, or draw. That shit was fun.

    … or it would be ....

    If it wasn’t for the two other pricks they had to worry about.

    MVH and Cyrus Truth.



    She watched on as the cameraman set up his tripod, patiently standing in a concourse somewhere in the Von Braun Arena. They were a few metres away from the office where she had just met with some pig in a grey suit. It had been the usual nonsense. It opened with a reprimand for poor punctuality, before quickly turning into a direct order: don’t take your FWA championship to that CWA event. She had offered a smile and a nod in response. A discussion of her upcoming match on Fight Night had followed. The pig had been apprehensive, fully aware of the woman’s opinion on tag team wrestling. When she had told him it was a great idea, and that she couldn't wait to have the honor of teaming with the renowned Kevin Cromwell, he almost fell backwards from his chair. Her acquiescence made him bolder. As a final gambit, he told her that it was the opinion of management that she needed to - as he artlessly put it - 'produce more content' for her adoring fans.

    "Whilst you are here," he had said, gathering up his papers as if he wanted to finish the meeting whilst he was ahead. "I have arranged for one of our cameramen, our very best, to come and film you saying a few words about your opponents. Or your partner. Anything, really. He's outside and ready when you are. Thank you for your time, Miss Von Horrowitz."

    And now here she was, watching the cameraman fiddle with his tripod. He looked vaguely ridiculous, playing with various screws, buttons, and levers, and trying to get the thing to stand upright. Each time he placed it on its three legs, they would involuntarily slide away from each other until it was about knee-height.

    "I think a screw is loose," he said nervously, before disappearing to find a replacement. As she awaited his return, she mused upon the man that she would share a corner with tomorrow night. Amadeus, they called him, no doubt in an attempt to suggest some form of artistry. She almost pitied the man, having for weeks watched him flapping about like some fish out of water. In the last two months, he had competed in a barbaric X rules six-way at Back in Business, a brutal Elimination Chamber match, and a doomed but spirited hardcore brawl for her championship. When she had interrupted his match with Jason Randall the week before, it had been in part a kindness to Cromwell. No amount of muesli could prepare Mr Wholesome for the ordeals that the Blackbird was putting him through. And yet, here he still was, fighting for his life each week, no matter how many steel chairs he’d had thrown in his face. It would almost be worthy of respect, if he just wasn’t so dull.

    “I found another,” the cameraman announced upon his return. Michelle nodded impatiently. He began to fiddle with the new tripod, erecting it at chest height and collecting his camera. As he played with its settings, Michelle saw the events of last week’s Fight Night in her mind. The outcome had been a rushed and ill-conceived judgment from the Blackbird: she was to defend her championship belt against both men at Payback. On the surface, the idea seemed an agreeable one. She had come to this company demanding competition. And here it was, in the form of two men that had stood where she now stood. One of them: a respected locker-room leader if by no virtue other than his longevity. The other: a technician renowned for his professionalism, his drive, and his love of the sport. But this wasn’t the same X Division that either of them had succeeded in before. And an uncomfortable fact remained: she had beaten both of them. That this was the best management could offer up was a pitiful comment on the state of the roster.

    The man in front of her was trying to attach his camera to the tripod, but was struggling to guide it onto the stand. First, the camera simply fell off, and he was lucky to clumsily catch it before it hit the ground. He smiled in relief, and again went back to fiddling with the set-up. When he finally had everything in the correct position, he took a step back and watched on as the entire thing - tripod, camera, and all - crashed down onto the concourse floor. Michelle turned away and shook her head, muttering about fucking amateurs as she looked for the exit.


    Kevin is his car, driving back to hotel from the arena. In a robotic, feminine voice, the GPS says aloud, "you are 6.8 kilometres from your destination." Kevin has his eyes focused on the road as the dying sun shines brightly. Once again, the time appears on-screen, telling the viewers what day it was and what time it is. It’s the night before Fight Night and, in a matter of twenty four hours, it will be time to put up or shut up. We drift in on some kind of phone conversation

    - Hands free! -

    Anthony Cromwell: “Cyrus Truth… He’s the one that thinks he’s a King?

    Kevin Cromwell: "No, he’s the bloke who talks like he’s in in Game of Thrones and poses for an invisible camera."

    Anthony Cromwell: "Oh right. Now I remember. The one that likes to break necks?"

    In his car, Kevin shifts the gear stick forwards, sliding into fifth and allowing his foot to creep closer to the ground. He glided across the highway as the moon began to peek above the horizon.

    Kevin Cromwell: "Yup. That’s him."

    Anthony Cromwell: "Americans: all barking mad. Wasn’t like this back in my day. Everyone over there, all flash and no substance. It’s about who makes the more dramatic entrance, fannyin’ around, not about who hits hardest. Let me tell you; We’ll see how far that guy lasts calling himself a King down the back end of Manchester."

    Kevin Cromwell: "Not enough wrestlers here. Too many wannabe stars."

    Anthony Cromwell: "Had a feeling you’d say something like that. Let me guess, not feeling the pressure? At all? With that Michelle lass? Cyrus? Nova? And Randall waiting on the edges, of course."

    On the opposite side of the road, the occasional headlight passes him by, but nobody seems to be going in the same direction that he is.

    Kevin Cromwell: "What makes you say that?"

    Anthony Cromwell: "Because I’m your Dad, I know you better than anyone, and you got kind of an ego..."

    Kevin Cromwell: "Oi --"

    Anthony Cromwell: "Mate, you call yourself Amadeus and the best wrestler in the world. Don’t mess me around."

    Kevin Cromwell: "Well, why should I feel any pressure facing someone I KNOW I can tap out?”

    Anthony Cromwell: "Mate, I know you can. You can probably tap out the Ghost of George Best if you wanted, but…."

    Kevin Cromwell: "But what?"

    There's a pause. It's punctuated by the GPS telling him to "turn left in two kilometers".

    Anthony Cromwell: "Well. You know what..."

    Kevin Cromwell: "Are we seriously going to do this again?"

    Anthony Cromwell: "For God’s sake, Kev…."

    Kevin Cromwell: "Don’t you dare say it…"

    Anthony Cromwell: "It’s ok to lose from time to time."

    Kevin Cromwell: “Oh, not this again.”

    He shifts down a couple of gears, indicating left and moving off the highway. As he snakes round into Huntsville, his head hits his backrest, settling in for the oncoming deluge.

    Anthony Cromwell: "You put WAY too much pressure on yourself kid. You’re twenty-one years old! I don’t think you realise how amazing that is. You’ve done more than I’ve ever done. And so many wrestlers like me: and you’ve just started. Be proud. Take the time to enjoy that. You move on to the next match and put so much pressure on yourself to live up to your own expectations. You keep doing the same thing over and over again. Repetition leads to learning and knowledge. Knowledge and understanding lead to becoming skilled. Skill leads to perfection. And perfection leads to complacency. As does winning over and over again, despite success rate on previous attempts. And these tasks are incorrect based on how little effect they have and therefore, they're easily classifiable as failures. And failures are mistakes. And at this stage of your career, you’re going to make a few, and that’s ok. If you keep trying to be perfect, you’re going to burn yourself out by the time you are thirty."

    He doesn't answer straight away. Instead, he comes to a halt at a red light, weighing up his next move.

    Kevin Cromwell: "I will pay you a hundred dollars if we change the subject right now."

    Anthony Cromwell: "How much is that in pounds?"

    Kevin Cromwell: "I got a D in maths, remember? But probably a lot."

    Anthony Cromwell: "Well, you kept bunking off for those Judo tournaments. Fine. So, your buddy Nova... I mean, I thought the buzz around here was big when you got the call. But two local boys done good fighting each other? That’s big news."

    The lights turn green. Go.

    Kevin Cromwell: "Can I call you back dad? I have to vomit…"

    His father laughs, breaking the tension, as Kevin takes a left turn.

    Anthony Cromwell: "Alright, alright, I forgot you and your boyfriend had….that thing… Cyrus and Nova? l, well… that’s another match I have to keep your mother from watching. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a great wrestler, but he’s very... very…"

    He trails off. Kevin picks up the slack.

    Kevin Cromwell: "American?"

    Anthony Cromwell: "Exactly. All brutal attacks and more hardware than an Ikea sale."

    Kevin Cromwell: "Sounds about ripe for a good wrist lock if you ask me."

    Anthony Cromwell: "You think he doesn’t have counters for basic holds like that?"

    Kevin Cromwell: "Only one way to find out I guess. But… this is Cyrus Truth… if anyone is going to have some tricks up his sleeve, then it’s him."

    He comes to a stop at another red light. He seems to be hitting every one this evening. And this close to sleep, too. After another pause, as if considering the option, his father comes to a conclusion.

    Anthony Cromwell: "So… ol’ reliable then?"

    As he begins to move again, he notices a graveyard through his window. He reads the sign: Maple Hill Cemetery. The white tombstones peppered the foreground of the picture, and darkness loomed behind them. It was fortunate that he didn't believe in omens.

    Kevin Cromwell: "Keep him grounded, tire him out and when I see an opening, lock him up tight and don’t let go."

    Anthony Cromwell: "That’s my boy. And that also describes me and your mother wedding night."

    Kevin Cromwell: "Fuck's sake, Dad."

    His father laughed once again as Kevin took a right turn, the hotel coming into view at the top of the hill.

    Kevin Cromwell: "To be honest, Cyrus is the worst case match up for me this week."

    Anthony Cromwell: "How do you mean?"

    Kevin Cromwell: "As good as Cyrus is, he’s not on my to-do list, I’m totally focused on Nova and Michelle. That’s all I’m thinking about. If I want to beat MVH, I have to be at a hundred per cent. And Cyrus? He gets off on hurting people. He’s dangerous. He doesn’t want to win. He wants to maim people and prove that no one is more violent than him. And he might even be faster than me…. With the way things have been going for him… with all those losses… he’ll be desperate to prove it."

    Anthony Cromwell: "So, you’re worried?"

    He pauses to sigh. He drives into the parking lot of the hotel, guiding the rental into its reserved spot near the reception doors. He turns off the engine and removes his phone from the hands free, bringing it to his ear.

    Kevin Cromwell: "Of course not, because Cyrus has to make an effort to look dangerous. I actually am. I don’t have to attack people from behind or hit them with weapons; I am the weapon. I don’t need to hurt people to justify who I am, and if he tries to break me down like I’m just another of his toys, he’s going to be in for a surprise. Because I hit hard and I fight hard, and nothing will ever change that."

    Anthony Cromwell: “Hey, Kev?”

    Kevin Cromwell: "Yeah?"

    Anthony Cromwell: "Win, lose, or draw: I’m proud of you."

    Kevin Cromwell: "Thanks Dad. Give my love to mum."

    Anthony Cromwell: "Great talking to you son. I’ll be watching. Always."


    She sat on the bridge, her bare feet dangling over the edge, eyes roaming across the surface of the silent water ten or fifteen metres below. A cigarette was perched between her lips, her chest slowly rising and falling as she inhaled the tobacco. The smoke got in her eyes. She squinted hard at the moon. It seemed distant this evening. She collected the bottle from the floor, initially struggling to open its cap with her hands whilst balancing on the side of the bridge. She took a hearty swig, allowing the amber to roar down into her chest and sing its music. She held the bottle out behind her to see if her new companion wanted any, but he was now sat with his back against a wall, nodding off to sleep. She tried to recall his name. Charlie, she felt certain. Well, as certain as she was of anything.

    Nearby, a woman in her fourth floor apartment opened a window. She leant over it to take in a lungful of cool evening air. From her room, the sound of the Cardigans singing about a monster growing in our heads and a great divide between us now came rolling and rumbling into the night. Michelle closed her eyes, allowing the air, the music, and the litre of vodka sitting in her stomach to tussle it out for supremacy.

    Two men were on her mind, and neither of them were Charlie. The first was named Nova. She didn't want to fall into the old cliche of considering the career of a rival and seeing herself in his woes, but here it was unavoidable. He was still picking up wins since he had choked on the grandest stage, but they were meaningless. She knew this. She had known this. He had already lost the big one, and now he was sundered in purgatory. She almost felt sorry for him. Of course, he had nobody to blame for his current situation other than himself, just as she was responsible for her failure to otherthrow Snowmantashi four years ago. When she had walked out at Five Star Attraction to face the kaiju, she had agreed to fight the match on his terms, as if in tribute. In a strong-style, hard-hitting match, Snowmantashi had inevitably emerged the victor. Nova had made the same mistake. He fancied himself devious and calculating in his own manner, but Sullivan had proved himself a master of these arts. How else could the man she had seen four years ago, sniveling and luckless and pathetic, have climbed so high in such a short period of time? Whatever Nova had been trying to achieve with those handcuffs, all he accomplished was allowing Sullivan to out-maneuver him. This will to win on your opponent's terms was born out of arrogance, and she had since grown out of it.

    She had watched Nova’s three matches since Back in Business from her favoured spot in the rafters. Looking down upon the ring, she watched on with indifference as the Mancunian made light work of Donovan Moore. To be expected, really. The next week was more impressive, and we will get to that in time. But the week after, he competed in an ultimately doomed match against the FWA’s resident goddess. From high above, she saw Gabrielle nail the Caramel Coated DDT, and the fans eagerly count along with the three.

    One thing that stood out to Michelle in that scene, when Gabrielle stood on the second rope and held her briefcase in the air: the audience did not have a single thought for Nova. This was the man they once hoped would end the dark days of Sullivan’s reign. They were cheering and hollering for their new chosen one, as their old one was ushered away into the back. They didn’t seem to see the significance of the match: Gabrielle had cancelled out one of the last unblemished accolades that Nova claimed. And the fans ate it up, throwing their old hero - a hero of convenience and nothing else - to the wolves in favour of their new Goddess.

    As strange as it was that she would be teaming with Kevin Cromwell, a man she had gone to war with twice in the last two months, she could only imagine what Nova Diamond thought about his tag partner. She felt sure that many would call it an honour to tag with The Exile. Personally, she would call it an afterthought. What purpose could this pair possibly have together? What on earth do they have in common: a penchant for losing matches to Gabrielle? A lack of other plans for this particular card? As she stared out over the face of the water, watching as the current slowly moved eastwards, she found herself unable to comprehend what this team of Diamond and Truth represented.

    The solipsistic answer was that they represented opportunity. This interpretation only applied to Truth and Nova from her perspective, though. And perhaps from that of her partner. For all of his faults, it was undeniable that Cromwell was a serious man. When he thought about retirement, which the rag-sheets assured the public that he regularly now did, she had little doubt that he was sincere. The chance to compete against two of the company's chosen top stars this week, and then challenge for a championship the week after, would no doubt present itself as an opportunity to him. Perhaps his last. For her, it was the same and it was different: this was her first.

    She took another healthy pull from her amber bottle and then placed it between her thighs, spreading her hands either side of her to assure balance on the edge of the bridge. She checked her companion, who had now tipped over onto his side, happily sucking his thumb as the world went on without him. It was drawing close to midnight, and her cigarette had smoked down to the filter. She allowed it to drop from her lips, but the wind took it beneath the bridge, and she could not see the splash.

    Truth. He was a strange animal. Elusive, isolated, and revered. She was not delusional enough to draw parallels between his past and her own. Beyond the fact that they had both competed in CWA, having main event runs that did not overlap, there was very little to tie them together. She had not accomplished one tenth of what he had in his storied career, and it would be foolish to contest that fact. But another fact was unavoidable, and this one gave her more hope. Truth’s star was falling, whilst her’s was on the rise. His absence last week was notable, and felt like a taciturn admission that regrouping was needed. Compounding losses had left the former warrior a frail shell. He would deny it, no doubt. But only the beaten man flees the battlefield.

    She had been begging for the chance to share the ring with these two men. They represented the past and the future, both of which she intended to place under her dominion. No better had that been displayed than two weeks ago on Fight Night, when Nova had managed to earn back his win over The Exile. It was an uneasy and uncomfortable passing of the torch, and she had little doubt that Nova intended to use that torch to light Truth's funeral pure. And perhaps, just maybe, she would be there to see it…

    As she drained the last of the Jameson's from the green bottle and allowed it to fall onto the concrete, she turned so as to have her back to the water. At that time, an old man in a bathrobe and a swimming cap walked past. He gave her a polite nod, a smile on his face, and then proceeded to come to a halt a few meters away from her perch. He removed his robe to reveal a pair of swimming trunks, and then kicked off his sandals. With a grunt and what sounded like the cracking of old bones, he bent over and attempted to touch his toes. Coming short just below the knees, he gave up and instead stepped up to the edge of the bridge. After a deep breath, he climbed onto the side, and turned to Michelle.

    "It's later than you think," he said, and then he dove into the river.

  3. #3
    Chikara Trainee

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    Apr 2011
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    The home of Alyster Black - San Dimas, California - 3:09AM

    If anyone else had pinned Dave Sullivan to become the number one contender to the coveted FWA World Championship they’d be celebrating. They’d have a party thrown, invite a lot of people, have the drinks flowing. Some are so conceited that they’d have a lavish firework display.

    Alyster wasn’t celebrating. He was still drinking of course, but not with a chorus of ‘friends’, fans and gawkers to support him. He was doing it alone. Just the way he liked it. In his home, before bed, wearing a robe whilst staring out of a window plane at the night sky.

    A victory over Dave Sullivan would mean the world to a lot of people. It meant a lot to Alyster, yet he was still unhappy. It's not the victory itself that was the issue but the circumstances in which that victory was achieved. Cowardly was the only way Alyster could describe it. Undeserving, maybe? Three matches with three victories is hardly enough to warrant a number one contendership match, especially one involving the champion himself.

    But Alyster was given such an opportunity, and the chips had fallen just right for him to capitalise on it. Dave Sullivan has fought four other men, he was weakened, tired, just ripe for someone to come in an beat him. Just about anyone could have done it. If the entrant drawing for the gauntlet had gone differently this could very easily have been Gerald Grayson, Kayden Knox, or Eli Black’s story to tell. And all of those men would have been ecstatic, and frankly more deserving. All of them had been in the FWA longer, they’d paid their dues. Grayson would have had such a marvelous Cinderella story, gaining his first victory in FWA over The King himself. It was a pity that he didn’t get a chance to enter last.

    Being world champion didn’t appeal to Alyster Black, but he did like the idea of fighting Dave Sullivan again. A healthy Dave Sullivan, not weary from fighting four other men minutes before. A one-on-one battle fought between warriors. That was all that Mr. Black wanted. And it’s what he’ll receive. So long as he and The King could co-exist long enough to dispatch that giant monster Michael Garcia. How much Alyster was beginning to loath Lord Vincent Blackbird was ever growing. He was grateful for the opportunity to debut on the biggest stage in FWA, but every decision that the general manager had made involving Alyster since then did not sit well with the masked man. An unfair, lacking in honour gauntlet match, and now a handicap match that could ruin his date with Dave Sullivan.

    Alyster sighed, this all seemed like such a chore. Wrestling gauntlets and handicap matches weren’t on the agenda when he’d made his return. He imagined himself fighting for his life in the X division. Wielding all manner of weapon, throwing hands with the hardest and greatest fighters in the world. A place where he could have his career ended on his terms. In the midst of battle. Just ever so slightly out of the spotlight. He didn’t care for it, and now it was thrust upon him once more. The media trying to interview him, all asking the same question. “How does it feel to have defeated The King himself and become the number one contender?”

    It felt like shit. It sucked being swarmed post-match and the amount of phone calls and emails from FWA’s head office encouraging him to make the rounds with the press was becoming overwhelming. He just wanted to hide away from it all. Hang up his mask again and go silent for a while.

    No one would really care if he no-showed his match on Fight Night, would they? What’s the worst thing that would happen? Michael Garcia upsets Dave Sullivan and goes to Payback to fight for the world title? Is that the worst thing in the world? Of course, it is.

    “It’s mine…” Alyster closed his fist. Shaking as he looked out at the dark empty streets below. “The match is mine. Dave Sullivan is mine.”

    Alyster threw his drink back and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Piercing blue eyes stared back at him. A rough 5 o’clock shadow. Short dark wavy hair, neatly brushed back. Alyster’s visage was unfamiliar to him. Ever since he put the mask back on, this face staring back at him had become strange. But he could see something familiar there, in the eyes. A fire? Passion? It was small, easy to extinguish. It had gone out before and likely would again. But it was warm, he didn’t want it to leave him again. And the more he thought about facing Dave Sullivan at Payback, and defeating him for that FWA World Championship he coveted so much, the stronger the fire became. Until his blue eyes appeared red.

    His trance was broken by the sound of vibration. He turned to see his phone shaking on a coffee table close by. The screen read “Krash.” Alyster perked up for a moment and answered the call.

    “Jake, do you have any idea what time it is?”

    “Too late?”


    Alyster nodded his head, it was good to finally be talking to his long time partner and friend again after all these years.

    “Wonderful. I believe congratulations are in order. A win over Dave Sullivan. Do you know how big a deal that is?”

    “It’s been brought to my attention.”

    “You really have no idea though. You’re like one of two people to pin that bastard this year.”

    "I've heard."
    Alyster's tone was one of boredom. That was a stat that's been repeated to him too often over the last week. "It'd probably mean a lot more if it wasn't following King Dave verses the X division."

    "Even still its a big win. And you're number one contender because of it. Way I see it, you should be feeling pretty good about now bud."

    Krash's encouragement was met with a grunt.

    "Seriously, number one contender to the world championship. Pinning Dave Sullivan, after he ran the gauntlet granted but this is all still a really big deal Alyster. You should be proud of yourself. There aren't many people who can pull off what you have. Especially after a seven year absence."

    He was right of course, Alyster had no reason to feel down about this whole situation. He felt silly for it, but it didn't change his feelings.

    "It just feels hollow you know? I don't feel like I earned it. It was cheap and greasy and everyone out there knows it. I don't deserve this. If you put me in the ring with a fresh Dave Sullivan do you think the outcome would still be the same?"

    There was a long pause.

    "Well, you'd have a harder time putting him down that's for sure. But I still think you would have won. No, I know you have it in you to beat Dave Sullivan. You gave the world a taste of it on Fight Night, and you're going to prove it all to them that it wasn't a fluke at Payback. Do you know who you are? You're Alyster fucking Black. You can do this, you will do this. Do you understand?"

    He did, of course he did. No one knew Alyster better than Krash, and there was no one that Alyster trusted more than him. If he said it was true then it had to be.

    "I understand."

    "Good, that main event is all yours. Don't let Michael Garcia take your spotlight. This is your time to shine."

    Alyster didn't need to be convinced of that.

    "Of course."

    "Fabulous, I'll come by sometime this week so we can discuss a certain reunion show in great length. I cannot wait to hear what diabolical ideas that sick twisted mind of yours has come up with."

    A smile crept its was onto Alyster's face.

    "I may have a few. See you soon bud."


    Backstage Fight Night 15.05.20

    A masked Alyster Black had arrived at the arena early and was itching to make an appearance on camera to get some things off his chest. He found a nice quiet corner in the arena, away from all the preying vultures that wanted a piece of the number one contender. He sat down and put his phone out on a little stand, his face was on camera. That masked visage, it was everything he wanted the world to see. Cool, intimidating, and giving him a metaphorical barrier between his real self and the man who appeared on camera. He slumped down in his cozy spot and opened his mouth, a slow contemplative deep voice rang out.

    Alyster: You know it's not every day where you get to share a ring with both David and Goliath. I think its obvious who fits what role here. The monolithic Michael Garcia plays the role of Goliath. The aptly named King, David. But this isn't a David and Goliath story. There would be no surprise if David slew this giant. In fact the odds are more likely twisted this time around. Goliath is the underdog. Overlooked, passed upon, underestimated. Goliath is hungry, and Goliath wants to feed on the crown. However Michael, you're going to have to go hungry for a little while more. I don't want you butting in on my dance with The King. That world title match at Payback is mine, and I don't plan on sharing it with the likes of you.

    He waved his hand, shooing at the camera. Motioning that he wanted Garcia to leave. His tone had become more gruff. Anger at this man who wished to spoil his plans had taken over. Alyster would have to hit him with his words instead of his fists for the time being.

    Alyster: I refuse to be part of your redemption arc. All that failure, you'll have to bare it. I will not lay down for you. And if you think you have a chance in this match because you beat a bunch of mooks in handicap matches previously then think again. You're getting into the ring against the combined might of Black Jesus and the King. Do you really think you can beat us both? You couldn't do it one on one. I don't care how big, mean, and scary you are. I will chop you down and stamp you out like I would anyone else in this company.

    His fist had balled up as he spoke but he began to relax after making his promises. A soother and calming Mr. Black spoke.

    Alyster: As for you my liege. I look forward to teaming with you. Michael Garcia and Lord Blackbird are banking on the fact that you don't play well with others, they think this will get Michael Garcia in our match. But I know better. The only thing you'd hate more than working with me, is letting him get win over you, and challenge you for that world title. I'm putting all my faith into you Dave. I know you won't let me down. I know you want to show the world that I am trash, that I don't deserve to have a pinfall victory over the King himself. You want these people to watch you beat and humiliate me on pay-per-view. You want them to see you put me in my place and you want to send the world a message that the King is untouchable, unbeatable. That he lords over all and that his reign is never in jeopardy. After we dispatch Main Event Mike together you can do just that. You can beat me to a pulp, you can humble me.

    Alyster raises a knee up, leaning back, resting his elbow against it and his chin on his fist. Under the mask he couldn't help but to smile, not that anyone could see it. Only one other person in FWA had seen Alyster's smile. They would describe it as oddly chilling.

    Alyster: Of course I could do the same to you. Another upset victory. Solidifying my status as one of the very best. Its quite appealing to me. I didn't come here seeking the world championship, but the idea of taking it from you, as the underdog. Well that's just the sort of thing that leaves a man like me salivating. But we have to get rid of Goliath first. I do not want to share this with him. His redemption, his conquest, it ends here on Fight Night. But don't fret Michael, after I win on pay-per-view I'll throw you a bone. I'm more than happy to just hand you the world title. It's not something I want. Beating Dave Sullivan live on pay-per-view is enough of a prize for Mr. Black. Besides, you've been here so long, you deserve it.

    He gave a big thumbs up to the camera, then a subtle two finger salute as he signed off and the screen faded to black.
    Last edited by Rawr; 05-19-2020 at 08:54 AM.

  4. #4
    Cyrus Truth's Avatar

    Join Date
    Apr 2011
    Long and Winding Road
    Rep Power


    Exile Chronicles (Volume 3)
    Chapter 3: Principles

    In an empty auditorium, devoid of life and sound...we find our scene opens.

    The amphitheater has a certain old-world flair, retrofitted for some modern comfort while retaining a style from centuries past. The lights are dim, with just enough light to make out the empty seats as the stage itself stands out being much-more illuminated. It's quiet...eerily quiet.

    After a few seconds of sweeping pan shots, the lights in the auditorium cut out for one. A solitary spotlight shines down in the middle of the stage, right on top of a single figure. The figure is dressed simply in dark clothing, hair a tussled mess and resting his hands in front of him on a knotted, twisted wooden cane. And as the camera zooms in and the figure looks up, we see the piercing, tired eyes of Cyrus Truth.

    For what seems longer than the few seconds it actually is, Cyrus says nothing. The weary Exile just stares into the camera, eyes like thin blades cutting through the camera. Eventually, however, Cyrus sighs and finally speaks:

    " I am."

    Cyrus's voice echoes through the empty auditorium, even without the aid of a microphone. There's a bit of a warble to his voice, the sort of weary and irritated tone of a man who's fed up with the situation he finds himself in.

    And it's hard not to understand, at least partially, why. For the last few months, Cyrus has been on a downward spiral, with his most recent loss against Nova Diamond on a previous edition of Fight Night. Rumors, speculations, and questions abound, especially with Cyrus's lack of an appearance on the most recent Fight Night.

    Cyrus, for his part, definitely looks like he's weathering this storm of disappointment and speculation, albeit roughly. The look in his eyes, the bile in his tone...all of it is that of a man who has had enough.

    "For weeks, ever since I lost to Nova Diamond, I've had to listen to the FWA talking heads and the locker room chatter asking the same question: 'Where is Cyrus Truth? Where is Cyrus Truth?' That seems to be the only thing people seem to care about these days with regards to me. And I do get it...a little. I understand why they'd ask that. When you have a fall from grace like me, it's only natural that your peers and those that follow you want to hear from you, want you to talk about the things that have happened.

    "Except...what exactly do you want me to say? What precisely can I say about my most recent failings that will change anything?

    "I'm not the first wrestler to have risen fast and high and had the platform taken out from under me, left to fall and collapse. Others would take this opportunity to talk as much as they possibly could, to put themselves out there and provide some sort of explanation, deflect some blame, and so forth. My peers LOVE to talk, to ramble on and speak even when they say absolutely nothing.

    "So, where WAS I? Where I always am. Away, seeking the Truth. Besides, the question of 'Where is Cyrus Truth?' isn't really the interesting one. The question that needs to be asked is 'WHO is Cyrus Truth?' Because...honestly? I'm not so sure myself these days..."

    Cyrus exhales as he picks up the gnarled stick and holds it in his right hand at his side, no longer using it as a crutch. As Cyrus sighs, his tone loses a lot of its irritated, frustrated bite and is replaced by more of an exhausted one.

    "Ask me the same question a year ago, and I could've answered it could my peers. I was the Vagabond King, the Dragon that everyone in FWA sought to slay only to have their blades be broken against me. I was the four time FWA World Champion...not THREE, but FOUR as the talking heads and commentary seems to constantly forget."

    Cyrus holds up his left hand, raising fingers as he lists off names.

    "St. Clair, Rondo, Connelly, Kennedy. Four World Champions who had their titles taken from them by me."

    Cyrus lowers three fingers, holding up the index.

    "And while I'm SURE a handful of FWA's wrestlers will say that my first reign doesn't count because it only last one hour, I would be remiss if I didn't remind them that that one hour is still longer than most of the FWA's roster has been World Champion and still one reign more than my opponents and tag team partner this upcoming Fight Night has in FWA."

    Cyrus lowers the finger and arm to his side, continuing to speak.

    "I was untouchable. My slip-ups were few and far between, and in the end? The World Title was never far from my grasp. I was the one that EVERYONE in this company was measured against, the one they all wanted to prove themselves against. But, that has changed. Now? I have no idea what I am anymore, aside from what I was when I first came to FWA.

    "Despite what Dave Sullivan or Gabrielle Montgomery will spout off in-between their hate-fucking sessions on Twitter or what Nova will scream at the top of his lungs whenever I point out the undeniable fact that he choked at Back in Business far harder than I have, I own my losses. Yes, it was a Triple Threat match at Desert Storm, but I should've been more observant and picked my spots better. I should've fought harder at Trial by Fire and the Elimination Chamber. And I shouldn't have underestimated just how much Nova's hissy fit would've actually motivated the punk to actually put his best foot forward and beat me. I OWN those. I'm the one who failed. And I hope that keeps my name out of their mouths, because I'm not going to repeat it just to drill it through their thick skulls.

    "I've...never had a run of losses like this in my career. Never have I found myself so desperate to stave off loss. I don't know what I've become or what I'm destined to become on this path. I don't know why victory has become so difficult to attain when the opposition hasn't changed that much...or has it? Have I just been underestimating them all this time? Or have I just become weaker...more brittle? Everyone has been dying to hear from me, to offer some explanation for what's been going on...but I have none. I don't know the answer. And unlike every other wrestler on FWA's roster, I'm not one to waste my words when I have nothing to say."

    Cyrus again sighs...a longer, more forlorn sigh as he stands there, a bit less tense in the middle of that spotlight.

    "So, there's your answer. Not terribly satisfying, is it? But Truth is Truth, even when it's not the most interesting. Now...what happens? Clearly something needs to happen, right? Like I've string of losses isn't exactly something that's never happened before to many of my peers. And I'm sure most are familiar with the reactions they take.

    "There's always the darker path..."

    Cyrus raises his cane to stage right, as another spotlight shines down on a hooded figure, face obscured...but speaking with Cyrus's voice.

    "All of you...the fans, the wrestlers, management...ALL OF YOU! You never appreciated what I did as the World Champion. You all LAUGHED at me when I held onto my principles in spite of everything. So fine! Fuck you, fuck this company, and fuck those principles. Let's see JUST how much you like it when I take those 'heroes' down at their own game...and watch you CHOKE on that bile."

    The hooded figure stops speaking, but still stands there in the spotlight. Cyrus, himself, walks up to the figure as his spotlight follows him. The Exile circles around it, looking him up and down.

    "Truth is Truth, after all. What was wasn't entirely bullshit, was it? It's been said before that FWA has never fully committed to me even when I was World Champion. And it's not as if my principles haven't been belittled time and again. I imagine there's quite a few people who'd love to see me cast them aside, become as wicked and vile. It'd be something different, right? Most certainly not boring..."

    Another spotlight shines stage left, with another hooded figure. As opposed to a black cloak, this one wears a white cloak. Once again, it speaks with Cyrus's voice, but a much less aggressive tone.

    "You know...something has happened, and I can't deal with it right now. I've lost my edge, my smile. I think...I think I need to step away. Reassess..."

    Cyrus rolls his eyes as he walks over to the figure in white, once again circling around it.

    "Of course, there's always the other way to abandon my principles, and that's just to walk away. Again, this isn't anything new, is it? Everybody's favorite Gabrielle did that herself once after losing the World Title. And where's Kennedy been since that Six-Man Tag that gave Sullivan the World Title match he wanted? Wrestlers love to walk away when things don't go their way, even when they'll claim weeks beforehand that they are so devoted, so passionate for their craft and the cheers of the fans, the glory of victory and gold..."

    The two hooded figures are shrouded in shadow as their spotlights cut out. Cyrus returns to center stage as he shoulders the cane he's been carrying.

    "Principles that one will cast aside when it's inconvenient for them...when the Road gets difficult aren't principles. They're a gimmick. Believe me when I tell you that it would be so easy to set those aside, to toss them away and do whatever it took to gain a victory. But that's the thing about the easy path...that's the thing about tossing aside your principles! Once you do it, even can't take them back. There's no recovering them once you throw them away. That's a lesson I've tried to teach, but no one will listen! I have suffered quite a bit these past few months. I don't know where the path to victory lies. But I will NOT allow myself to cast aside everything that I believe in just to halt the bleeding. I would rather suffer a thousand losses being true to who and what I am than earn one victory by betraying my principles.

    "Maybe that makes me a fool. Maybe I'm too stubborn to 'change' or 'evolve' or whatever bullshit people expect out of me. But I don't care. I am who and what I am, and despite my setbacks and misery...I will NOT let this break me. Nor will I walk away. Because...where else would I go? What else would I do? Wrestling...wrestling is all that I am. And in spite of everything else, I do love it. I love it more than I love anything else. I can't just walk away...not like this. Not with this weighing upon me. The path in front of me is clear, but the dangers and pitfalls are not. But the Road has brought me here. The Road has always provided for me so long as I have the courage to walk it. So I will walk it, until it destroys me or I overcome it. Because I may not be the Vagabond King or the Last Dragon or the invincible, all-conquering champion anymore...but I am still me. I am still Cyrus Goddamn Truth."

    Cyrus slams the tip of the cane into the floor of the stage as the sound reverberates throughout the amphitheater.

    "The path to redemption and salvation begins with the first step. On Fight Night, I find myself teaming with a man who thoroughly despises me against a sadistic champion and a wrestling savant. I don't know what happens afterwards, win or lose. I don't know if a victory here will lead to another, and another. I don't know if a loss here will result in a further spiral into darkness and despair. All I know is that victory is far sweeter than defeat, and I've had my fill of defeat.

    "I know of Michelle von Horrowitz. As I mentioned before, she ran in similar circles that I did, although our paths never did cross. The CWA that she ran rampant over was not the same that I left. I don't begrudge her that or belittle her because of it. But I do find myself looking at her, that glint in her eye when she arrived, when she emerged from the carnage with the X Division title in her grasp. There's unsettling hunger in that one. A darkness that defines her, drives her to be cruel. I don't know much more than that, but anyone who can laid claim to the X Division title in a pool of individuals half-mad and vicious is not to be taken lightly.

    "Cromwell, I have faced...if but for a moment. The Elimination Chamber gave me an opportunity to test his mettle...and I did eventually come out victorious against him, though I lost the match. Cromwell is slippery, but young and talented. I've no doubt that any issues he has with Horrowitz may well take a backseat when given a second chance to right what went wrong in the chamber. Or perhaps I'm overestimating him, since he may well see this as a chance to get an edge before he gets his title opportunity against Horrowitz.

    "I see the opposition across the ring, and I see that same hunger for recognition, for glory...perhaps, even for blood. Divided, they would still be dangerous opponents. United, even for a night? They may well be unbeatable. Especially considering that my only 'ally' in this match is..."

    Cyrus looks down at the cane he's been carrying...and with a scoff, tosses it into the seats. He stands with his arms crossed, face stern and eyes looking dead into the camera.

    "I know you're watching Nova. I know this because I know you saw my last little video, and after watching it? You likely threw out whatever little segment bullshit you were going to do and went on a whiny little rant about how I overlooked you, how I had no right or standing to question your loss at Back in Business. You bitched and moaned that I wasn't taking you seriously. Well, Nova? You did beat me. So now I have to take you seriously. You want my respect? Fine. I respect that you're a talented wrestler. I respect that you earned your spot at Back in Business. I respect the fact that you have carved yourself a spot at the top of the card, and I've no doubt that you'll eventually get another shot at the World Title.

    "Now...respect the fact that you fucking choked."

    As Cyrus says the word "choked," his voice echoes out, the word repeating for a second or two. Cyrus's face is fierce, a fire that hasn't been there in some time. Cyrus's gaze is burning a metaphorical hole in the camera as he is, quite obviously, speaking directly to Nova.

    "If that makes you angry to hear? It's because you know it's true. You had your boot on Sullivan's throat and you let him breathe just long enough to drive in the knife. Me saying it doesn't mean it didn't happen. You talk about my Back in Business losses, and again? I own those. But I never tried to toy with my opponent like you did with Sullivan. That's a fact. And the only way you'll ever be able to move past it is to see it for what it is. You are young...and you fight and act like a young man. You want it to be a spectacle, but spectacles don't make champions. The second you were able to focus? You were able to beat me. It took ME calling you out to get you to focus again. Unfortunately, I don't have that luxury on Fight Night.

    "Ultimately, whether we win or lose will depend on you. I will show up. I will face off against Horrowitz and Cromwell and do everything I can to win. Because I am tired of losing. I am tired of this despair. And I am not about to cast aside my principles to achieve victory. What are you going to do? You wouldn't be the first tag team partner that's tried to outshine me. You're also not the first to up and abandon me. It's no secret that I've not had the best track record when it comes to tag matches. But I NEED this win. I need to find a guiding light to show me what's next down the bend. And whether you want to admit it or need that as well.

    "I don't make promises, because I don't owe anybody anything. Everything I've ever achieve in this sport has been earned by me. But here and now? I make this promise. Until I find my way back...I will leave EVERYTHING in that ring. I will give it my all. I don't care if it's Horrowitz and Cromwell or Triple J Security. I don't care if it's a house show or the main event of Back in Business. Even if it breaks my body even more, I will FIGHT and FIGHT until I taste victory again. I am fully prepared to sacrifice my very being to find the path back to glory and Journey's End. The choice you have in front of you is what to do with that. You want to be a child? Then either petulantly try to win this match on your own or leave me to the wolves. But look at what being a child has done for you...look at what you were able to do when you were able to focus, to hone that anger and youthful energy. The choice is yours, Nova. I will pull my weight. I will do whatever I can to ensure we win.

    "Afterwards...let the Road take you and I where it will..."

    The spotlight cuts off, but the voice of Cyrus still echoes throughout the auditorium. A low, ominous chanting provides the backdrop as Cyrus speaks...a guttural rumble that shakes the soul.

    "Challenger and champion, Savant and Dreamer...FWA's present and its future. The ones who seek to pierce the glass ceiling and shatter it forever, the hungry wolves that see me as a hunk of meat that they'll try and devour before fighting over the spoils that one possesses and the other craves. I stand before you. Not as the Vagabond King. Not as the four-time FWA World Champion. But as a man who will not let the weight of despair and disappointment break him, rob him of who he is. I have not tasted victory for so long...but I've not forgotten how sweet it is. I have long been lacking glory, but I remember how it felt. And I know that you two will see this as an opportunity to advance your own agendas...but in the end, I will not let you have what you seek in this match. I am Cyrus Truth. Here I stand, until the last.

    "As for you, Nova...I've said my piece. You'll choose how you want to react to it. Know that I have no intention of fighting you on Fight Night. I don't hold any grudge for your victory against me. All I want is to win, and do so as per my principles. What will you do? Who is your true enemy here? And more importantly...will you be able to trust me enough to ensure that victory is attained...or will you be the child once again? Or will the man who would be a champion stand and fight like a storm?

    "And for any who have been asking, 'Where is Cyrus Truth?' The answer is simple...I'll be at Fight Night, in the middle of my ring, doing the only thing I know how to do. Fight like a devil. Win. Endure..."

    The lights cut on in the auditorium, but Cyrus and the hooded figures are nowhere to be seen. The only remaining evidence of Cyrus's presence is the gnarled wooden cane, middle of the stage.

    Cyrus has bared his soul to the world, has set aside petty things like anger and disdain...all for the sake of finding victory and upholding his principles. In spite of the hardships, in spite of the pain...Cyrus is pushing past that, not leaning on it or acknowledging it anymore. Cyrus Truth, The Exile...he walks to find that which is lost, even if it means working with others.

    All the cards are on the table. All that's left is to see what Nova Diamond does with it...

  5. #5
    Sully's Avatar

    Join Date
    Nov 2013
    Pittsburgh, PA
    Rep Power
      Country                    United States




    As of January 2019, the state of Alabama had an estimated 3,261 people without homes. Living on the street, begging for food and money. In fact last year, they were ranked as one of the top five states with the increase in homeless veterans. That is why volunteer organizations that run programs such as soup kitchens are so important today. They help men, women, and children and prevent them from starving. More important is the volunteers who help keep these organizations running, volunteers like King Sullivan.

    That's right, King Sullivan is here today with "Foodline", an organization in the center of Huntsville, Alabama.

    The King, dressed in a ratty t-shirt and jeans, is passing out food to all of those in need.

    He does so with a smile on his face.

    He does so with delight.

    With every bowl of soup he hands out, an autographed napkin goes with it. Despite how much it's worth, none of these folks beneath the poverty line would even dare sell such a prized item. No, an autograph from The King is something you cherish for a lifetime.

    Suddenly, a little boy blonde boy in raggedy clothes with a newsboy cap on his head approaches Sullivan with an empty bowl.

    Homeless Boy: May I have some more please?

    King Sullivan: Excuse me?

    The boy responds with a cliche cockney accent.

    Homeless Boy: Please sir. I want some more....

    The King looks at the boy with a frown...before turning it into a smile.

    King Sullivan: Of course you can have some more! There is plenty to go around.

    The boy grins with delight.

    Homeless Boy: Thank you so much your highness.

    King Sullivan: No, thank you.

    I love serving all of you people. It's really changed my perspective on how I view the world in general. You see young man, for a very long time I used to be against giving handouts to people like you. People at the lowest of the low. Down in the slums, at the bottom of the totem poll.

    Do you want to know why?

    Because I was where you were. I was at the bottom. For a very long time I was at the bottom. I was nothing, I had nothing. Nobody gave me free food, or free money. I had to work for everything I had. I had to fight on the streets. I lost those fights, many times. But it prepared me to become a fighter for real. A professional fighter. It got me into the business of professional wrestling, where again I was at the bottom. Scraping my way in the development brands like HWA, and going all the way up to the big leagues in FWA. Starting out on SMASH and working in the X Division...and then never getting the chance to leave.

    No, I never got to compete in some gauntlet match to get a chance to become number one contender for the World Championship. I never got to take shortcuts, and jump straight to the top like Cyrus Truth, Nova Diamond, and now...Alyster Black.

    Instead, I had to grind my way to my first X Division championship win. I held that as long as I could before I got screwed in a match and lost it to Jason Gryphon, a man who flopped out like so many others while I still stayed. Remaining in the X Division, where I had to again grind and grind. I had to compete in a tournament, where I won match after match to earn the right to compete for a title. A World Title? A shortcut to the top? No. The X Division championship again. And yet again I won it, off of Passion. Another person who flopped out long before me.

    And I held that before losing it to Thomas Jordan in a ladder match, only to beat Jordan in my rematch on the grandest stage of them all...and become a three time X Division champion. Humiliating Thomas Jordan, and causing him to be yet another person to flop out.

    And lastly, this one you may find easier to remember as it feels like it was yesterday...although it was almost two years now. My fourth and record breaking championship win, where I defeated Aaron Kendrick, Penny, and Kevin Cromwell. Flop, flop, and flop...with the last one returning for yet another inevitable FLOP.

    Everyone who's even tried to stand next to me has flopped out. Eight years with this company, and I'm one of the few left standing.

    And Vincent Blackbird, the director of flops, makes a gauntlet match for these X Division nobodies and gives them an opportunity for a shortcut I NEVER GOT.

    And why? So we can have more flops? I will bet my next paycheck that one year from now...none of those six losers I faced last week on Fight Night will still be working with the FWA. Alyster Black included.

    In fact, Alyster Black most especially.

    You see, Alyster's win means nothing. It gives him and everyone else who roots for the underdog false hope. So he scored a pin on me in a gauntlet match...after I had five matches before him. It means absolutely nothing. And he knows it.What is the point of enjoying a win when you know the playing field was not fair? I might as well have had my hand tied behind my back.

    So you scored a victory. You get to feel good about yourself, and you get to have five minutes of fame in the main event of the next Pay Per View. It's like a Make a Wish kid's wet dream. But Alyster let me tell you, when we face again there will be no uneven playing field. And if things go my way, it will just be me and you.

    But to make matters worse, Vincent Shitbird now books us in a handicap match together. So I not only had to endure a ridiculous gimmick that was set up to see me lose, but now I have to play babysitter tonight. And Alyster doesn't even get to take off his pullups. This is two weeks in a row now Mr. Black where you are scheduled in a gimmick match to give you a huge advantage over your opponent. Last week you draw the last spot in the gauntlet match. This week you get to fight a man two on one.

    Is this how the FWA is grooming it's new stars? By babying them? Giving them easy matches with handicap stipulations in an attempt to boost their self esteem? There is a slippery slope. But like I said, my perspective has changed.

    Clearly, this is the way of the FWA now. We are giving away handouts to the impoverished.

    Alyster Black isn't the only one.

    Michael Garcia...the FWA's resident homeless man. When he's not losing matches in the FWA, he's sleeping under the Roberto Clemente bridge with a shopping cart and a cardboard sign. But low and behold, the genius Vincent Blackbird has a soft spot for this one. Opportunity after opportunity after opportunity. He's been booked in easy handicap matches that meant absolutely nothing. Jobbers. Nobodies.

    But now, he's going to have to face a real opponent. It's two on one...and when I say two on one, I count as two. Alyster is along for some quality job shadowing, where he gets to see a real competitor in the ring.

    I don't know how Michael you're getting these chances at a number one contender spot. I don't know if you're paying someone off, or doing dirty sex things behind the scenes. But it's low, even for you. You have NOT earned a title shot. And even if you score a pin over little Alyster in our match, you still will not have earned it. Nor will you have earned my respect. You are a choke artist my friend.

    Suddenly, in anger, King Sullivan knocks a pot of soup onto the floor.

    A homeless man steps back in shock, as the King stands up onto one of the folding tables that was set up for the program.

    Look at me.

    I am here giving free food to those in need.

    While Vincent Blackbird is out there giving free undeserving shots at my title.

    Under current management, the FWA has become the soup kitchen of professional sports, and it is absolutely disgusting. When will it stop? I am not blindly arrogant. I won't deny respect to someone who has earned to step in the ring and compete for my championship.

    Devin Golden has earned it. Gabrielle, although she is a choke artist, I can't deny she has earned another opportunity. Even Cyrus Truth, despite his many losses, deserves a rematch for the title. When I inevitably lose this title, probably due to Blackbird booking me in another gauntlet match with the belt on the line, I would expect a rematch clause to be enacted. And we all know I would cause a riot in the streets if it wasn't. The fact that he hasn't gotten a rematch is disgusting, and yet another example of Vincent Blackbird's misplaced priorities.

    There is no more structure in the FWA.

    X Division stars are getting to fight in number one contender matches, while people who have been working harder than anyone have not.

    Garcia and I once fought side by side to combat injustice in the FWA. When Cyrus Truth was handing out free title opportunities, we teamed together and we STOPPED it.

    But now?

    Michael Garcia has proven that he only cares about injustice when it doesn't benefit him. When he's getting chance after chance to compete in a number one contender match, or X Division nobodies are fighting against me in a gauntlet, there is no outrage.

    You tell me Garcia how Vincent Blackbird has made the FWA any better than it was when CWA was trying to take over. We beat them together, and now look at what Blackbird has done...he's turned us against each other. He's made me lose respect in you.

    By all means, Mike. I want you to get that respect back. But it won't be at this Fight Night. You need to prove you can win when it counts. To not choke when the pressure is all on you. You haven't won anything recently but a couple of jobber showdowns. What you need to do, is get your mojo back. Take down Gabby, or Cyrus, or Nova Diamond...even Parr or Krash. Win the North American championship, run with it for awhile. Show your dominance. THEN....then earn your way to me.

    What happened to linear progression? I won the X Division title, then won the North American title, then won the world title. In that order...that is how it should be. Not this free for all shit show that Blackbird has turned it into.

    Prove you can do that Garcia, and then you earn my respect.

    But this Fight Night, I won't let you prove anything but what we already know. That you are a choke artist. When you're not even able to defeat Alyster, then you'll know. My goal is to knock you down all the way to the bottom of the ladder...and force you to earn yourself back up to the top.

    Then hey, maybe we'll take on Blackbird together?

    Sullivan hops off the table, and grabs a piece of bread out of a man's hands. He takes a huge bite out of it with a smile before walking out of the center. Happy with the volunteering he's done for the community in Huntsville.

    “Sometimes one pays most for the things one gets for nothing.”
    ― Albert Einstein

  6. #6
    creatively drained artist
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    Nova Diamond proudly presents:

    Nova Diamond always imagined a path where he would never had to look back again. That’s ironically what he is doing again as he leaves Gabrielle Montgomery who managed to beat him and even their score in the ring, not being a sore loser and letting her celebrate her victory. He walks back to the ramp, not looking back, silently mourning in a sad contrast to the loud reaction the fans giving are giving to her, showering her with love and attention which Nova felt the glimpse of it during his rivalry with Sullivan. Nova is mourning another loss which should not have happened at all in his not-so-humble opinion. With that, he walks past the curtains and then some more, heading to his private locker room to take a shower, maybe wash his shame away that he secretly knows that won’t be cleaned any time soon before getting dressed and heading back home to mallow in his misery some more. But of course, like what happened in the ring, his plans are interrupted by the resident interview girl, Katie Lynn Goldsmith who probably smelled his misery and frustration to get some words out of him, which he did not blame her for just doing her job. So he stopped, waiting for her to ask her questions with a very serious expression on his face.

    “Nova Diamond, first of all, it was a great match with one of the best FWA has to offer, which you ended up in the losing side of it. Can we get your thoughts on that?”

    A loud breath escaped his lips onto the microphone Katie was holding, then he started to speak.

    “Am I not one of the best FWA has to offer anymore, Katie? I don’t get it. Ever since Back In Business, people are looking at me like I was just another brick in the wall, a schmuck who should be happy for being in the ring with great wrestlers, an afterthought. But I’m not, Katie. I’m Nova Diamond. I’m still one of the top guys around here and I’m tired of being disrespected, being talked down to. But can I blame you at all? If I wanted that respect from everyone, I should’ve just gone and beaten Gabrielle, right?”

    Nova figures out how loud he is getting during one of his trademark rants and lets himself be silent for a few seconds, letting himself calm down while he holds up one finger to Katie, telling the woman who seemed ready to ask another question to wait until he finishes.

    “I did that before. I beat her, fair and square as much as she did beat me fair and square today. And even if I lost this time, this little thing between me and her will not end any time soon. Gabrielle can be a lot of things, you can call her manipulative, shallow, megalomaniac and much more names and adjectives. But she is not a coward. She is not the type to let the loose ends remain loose. It's one victory for me and one victory for her. I know I will face her in the ring again. I just don’t know when and on what conditions.”

    Katie waits a few seconds before getting confirmation that Nova is ready for the next question.

    “Okay, Nova. You may have also noticed it, but it seemed that during Fight Night, Gabrielle was kind of branded as ‘New’ Gabrielle. As someone who had faced both ‘Old’ Gabrielle and ‘New’ Gabrielle, can you provide some insight to us about that? Is there really a ‘New’ Gabrielle?”

    Nova just gives her a smile that does not seem very genuine, shaking his head to give a clear ‘no’ to the question.

    “Look, this ‘Old’ Gabrielle was someone who took offense at things that did not seem to concern her at all. And the ‘New’ Gabrielle…she’s also someone who takes offense at things that does not concern her at all. She was offended by Cyrus giving Krash a title shot before, and now she also is offended at me losing to Dave after beating her. She was an egomaniac, and she still is. Gabrielle did not change at all. Oh, I remember this ‘I’m still a girl chasing my dreams’ charade of hers after losing a few matches. She did the same thing Cyrus Truth did. They tried to make themselves look pitiful so they could relieve the pressure their losses brought upon themselves. But I do not buy these cheap little tricks in the slightest. Gabrielle still thinks the world revolves around her. So basically, no, there is no ‘New’ Gabrielle at all.”

    After answering that question, letting the spite drip from his tongue, Nova tries to turn back and leave but the voice of Katie Lynn interrupts him once more.

    “Oh, one last question?”

    Nova sighed, looking not too happy by this but still turning his back again to once again face Katie.

    “Sure. Shoot.”

    Katie nods, getting the microphone once again close to her lips.

    “Well, you just mentioned Cyrus Truth, who did not appear today at all. And earlier today, I asked Vincent Blackbird about a possible rematch between you and Cyrus. What do you think about the possibility of facing Cyrus once again?”

    Nova may have smiled at the previous question but it was nothing that could be comparable to the laugh he let out this time before finally calming down enough to answer that question.

    “Are you kidding me? Me and Cyrus again? First they put Gabrielle in front of me for no reason, and now there is a possibility of it happening again with Cyrus? Sure. Why the fuck not? Bring him back from his grave and I’ll do what I once did again. The guy is a fucking corpse. The name which used to bring fear to the hearts of other FWA wrestlers now means nothing anymore. He’s a void, a huge emptiness. And Vincent Blackbird knows that too, that’s why everyone on the show today busted their asses while he was permitted to sit at home. Why? So he could ‘get his mind right?’. I came here and wrestled Donovan Moore just after making a damn fool out of myself during the most important match of my damn life. I did not take any breaks, did not ‘get my mind right’. Hell, someone like Dave Sullivan does not have his mind right for 2 fucking years and nobody sends him home. No, this is not about the mental health of Cyrus Truth. Cyrus Truth was not here today because he is finished. There’s no Cyrus Truth anymore. And I suggest you get accustomed to it as much as I did because you will get severely disappointed if you believe this rematch nonsense will ever happen between me and him.”

    Nova laughs once again after his last sentence, gesturing to wipe a tear out of his eye before setting himself straight once again.

    “And let’s say it happened and I beat him again. What’s next? We’re going to do the Carnal Contendership again? Will Donovan Moore come out of his own grave to face me again? Will they get the whole nGw roster for rematches? Skye fucking Healy? Don’t try to make me laugh, Katie, because if I laugh, know that it is out of anger, not out of a sense of good humour. And the last thing people would want nowadays is to make me angry. I want everyone to understand that.”

    This time, Nova turned back again and once again, he did not look back, facing no other question or an objection from Katie Lynn as he completes the walk to his locker room without any interruptions this time. He opens the door, not even caring about the smell of mint this time before instantly heading off to his private shower and allows the water pour down on him, though not washing his frustrations away as he feared that would be the case. At least his sweat was all cleaned up, that was something. Nova got out of the shower with a clean body but not clean thoughts. After getting dressed, he packed his stuff, heading for his car, silently praying that he doesn’t have to deal with any people until he got home. Luckily his prayers are answered and he sighs in relief as soon as he closes the car door. Everything is ready and there is no reason for Nova to not leave The United Center at this point, which he does and drives off into the night, trying to take comfort in the very dark blue sky and the shining stars…which also fail to cheer him up. The car stops in a red light, which gives Nova enough time to check his phone and see that he had 2 new messages. One coming from his lovely girlfriend Min-Su, who had written that her last internet shopping orders have been delivered but it was very heavy and she could not lift the box, asking for him to do it like the strong man he was, the ‘strong man’ part actually being a success in getting his spirits up a little, but only a little because it is the second message that somehow draws his attention more than the one Min-Su had sent. Because it is from none other than Vincent Blackbird.

    'Hello Diamond. For the next week, I’ll be putting you and Cyrus together against MVH and Cromwell. Good luck.'

    That motherfucker. Not only having to tag with the empty shell that was Cyrus Truth, but doing it against people like Michelle von Horrowitz, who had less defeats in her entire career than a hand had fingers, and people like Kevin Cromwell who knew Nova the most amongst all the other FWA roster.

    That motherfucker.

    That fucking clown.

    The red gives its way to green and as the car takes off again, the drivers following the same path with it can hear a very annoyed laugh coming from it.

    “Oh, fuck off.”

    The road continues, long but not so winding, with its continuation, Nova remembers. He remembers tag team competition. He remembers how the difference between the outputs from people who are in the same team could be. Most importantly and most annoyingly to Nova, he remembers the days of the past.

    Nova remembers that it was another event that a local federation called Manchester’s Elite Wrestling was holding, the promotion that once had a very talented roster with wrestlers such as Kevin Cromwell…but a man called Andrew Saturday was not one of those fine talents that MEW could boast about. Sure, Andrew was one half of the tag team champions at that time as a part of the team ‘Ruby Street 172’ which was named after the street and the house number he shared with his tag partner, Andrew’s sister Eleanor Saturday.

    Nova remembers that Andrew and Eleanor was to defend their tag team titles against the pair of Jeffrey Matthews and Dan Buckingham, a very generic indy tag team with a very generic tag name like ‘The Gentlemen’ or at least it was some very generic variation of that.

    Nova remembers Andrew being in the ring with Matthews. Succumbing to his elbow strikes before the tag being made to Buckingham, which did the same with his knee strikes. Andrew was battered, Andrew was bruised, Andrew was beaten. If it were any other tag team, anyone would be forgiven for thinking that The Gentlemen was going to win the match very easily after putting Andrew in the state he was in. But it was Ruby Street 172 and everyone that followed them knew that it was far from over because Eleanor was yet to be tagged in. Which she eventually was after Andrew managed to set himself free for a few seconds, gaining a very generous window to crawl to his corner and make the tag.

    Eleanor came in, like a storm, like a hurricane and what she did to Buckingham indeed looked like that he was hit by a real hurricane. The same happened against Matthews. Eleanor had saved the day once again before giving the tag back to Andrew and finishing the whole thing with their tag finishers.

    In the end, Ruby Street 172 had gained yet another victory. Eleanor was beaming with joy, so appeared Andrew but only Nova knew the despair he was feeling during back then, being shamelessly carried like that, getting his glory solely thanks to the efforts of his own sister.

    Nova felt as disgusted as he was feeling back then at remembering that. That disgust would soon turn into despair. Despair would turn into depression. Depression would cause Eleanor to force him into the therapy sessions, where he had met Min-Su who helped him turn his entire life around. Just like how the whole situation about being carried got turned upside down and evolved into Nova now being forced to carry Cyrus Truth’s corpse in a tag team match. Would Cyrus feel the same disgust Nova once felt upon being carried like that? Nova did not think so. His opinion about Cyrus had drastically gone down since Nova’s arrival to FWA roster, and he knew Cyrus needed that damn victory that much, even more than Nova himself needed it.

    But what Nova needed the most right now was to arrive at his home and thankfully, he just did that. After parking the car inside the garage, he walked to the front door where he saw the large box Min-Su had mentioned in her text message. He opened the door and then proceed to lift the box and take it inside. But then, he felt a weird sensation on his shoulder.


    Followed by a loud sound of agony coming from his lips.

    Followed by Nova hearing the ‘thud’ sound after he felt his back connect with the floor.

    Followed by another crack.

    Followed by the sound of footsteps rushing to his aid.

    Followed by the sounds of an ambulance siren.

    Followed by Nova realizing he was once again in a damn hospital.

    Damn hospitals. Damn them, damn their smell, damn their food, damn the cold, damn them all. Nova really really hated how many trips to hospitals he had to make lately whether because of an injury or a crisis or visiting a relative or anything else that would require him to visit one. He was put in one after Sullivan attacked him. He visited one after his father had a heart attack. He was put in one after blacking out during a rant at Atticus. And yet, here he was again, inside one again, begrudgingly staring at the white walls until some doctors approached him with some papers in their hands while he held his own shoulder who still ached.

    “Mr. Saturday, we have good news. Your shoulder injury does not seem to be very serious we thought it was at first.”

    One of them told Nova, a bald and aging one who had a smile on his face.

    “We contacted some medical personnel at your workplace, Fantasy Wrestling Alliance and we have come to the conclusion that during your last match, during that last move you have taken before losing, you have landed on your shoulder in a very ugly manner.”

    Of course. Why wouldn’t he land on his shoulder in a very ugly manner while still losing to Gabrielle in a manner that’s also very ugly. At least to him, losing in any shape of form is never pretty anyway. Why would anything go right at all? The prospects of losing and getting injured did not seem strangers to him lately. Knowing that, Nova still had to know how bad it was, especially how much time he could miss because of that injury. The doctor said it did not look that serious, would that mean he would able to compete in the next Fight Night, wrestling against Michelle von Horrowitz and Kevin Cromwell? So, he impatiently asked.

    “So, how long I will be on the shelf?”

    Facing with the question, the head doctor once again replied while the others looked at their sheets.

    “Well, the lady that helped you get here provided us a schedule of the company you work for. You seem to have a wrestling match on 15th of May, which theoretically you can compete in.”

    Nova seemed surprise at this, he was expecting that massive pain he felt while trying to lift the box to at least put him out for quite some time even if it wasn’t that serious. Still, the usage of the world ‘theoretically’ indicated that it wasn’t as bright as it looked like.

    “But it comes with its risks, of course. Yes, you can compete, but you would be putting that shoulder on a very serious risk if you choose to do that. You can make it even worse and turn it into a much more serious problem in the future.”

    Nova figured as much, but still he just sat and listened; he had enough decency to respect doctors even if he did not like hospitals at all.

    “If you choose to not compete on 15th, you will be completely safe for the next date, which is I’m guessing ‘Payback PPV’ since it reads like that on the schedule.”

    Nova was at least glad to hear that it would completely heal if he just decides to take one week off, just like how his future tag partner Cyrus did the show before. But he really had serious doubts a sadistic fuck like Vincent Blackbird would approve of that until the next words to come to out of the doctor’s mouth would surprise him.

    “By the way, a guy named Vincent Blackbird also contacted us. I’m supposing he is your boss, given how he wanted us to tell you that it is completely up to you if you want to compete or not and he would not hold anything against you if you wanted to withdraw from the match.”

    Nova remained in silence for a few seconds after hearing that. One positive development coming from where Nova did not expect it to come from at all.

    “Thanks doctor, I’ll think about it.”

    The doctors soon leave, and much later, Nova also leaves the hospital and goes back home, where he speaks to Min-Su about this issue, which basically tells him that it would be better if he stayed home and cared about his health first instead of going to the ring and risking things. Pretty much nothing that Nova already was not thinking of. She had also said some nasty things about Michelle von Horrowitz and advised him not to get too friendly with Kevin again before letting the day continue as it is and going to sleep, which left Nova downstairs entirely to himself, sitting in front of his computer while sipping on his hot coffee, browsing a blog that might look very familiar to those who are familiar with Nova’s nGw run. Nova feels the weird and warm feeling of nostalgia inside him as he looks at the title of the blog, written in his trademark purple and with a fancy font.

    -the personal blog of wrestling star nova diamond-’

    He skims over some of his old posts he had made during his nGw run before opening another screen which gives him a new page to write a new blog post. The first thing he types is the title, not a fancy one, not one with a joke or something that references the nicknames of his opponents. No, Nova types just plain and simple:

    ‘A Status Update’

    Nova decides to take another sip of his coffee before starting to rub his forehead to work out how to write a start. Finally, he starts to type once again.

    ‘Salutations, Fantasy Wrestling Alliance.

    I see that it had been too long since I updated this blog of mine that I used to address you faithful back in my nGw days. My last post is too old that it has shots taken at people like Devin Golden, Dinorah Redgrave, Stefan and PARADOX. You guess how old it is.’

    He chuckles to himself after writing that part. nGw days really seemed like too long ago to the last ever nGw Champion. But before he gets lost in the nostalgia, his fingers find the keyboard once again and continues to type.


    As you all may know -it must’ve been spread very quickly in this age of information, I presume-, I have experienced some problems with my shoulder after taking that Top Rope Caramel Coated DDT from Gabrielle…’

    The next part is especially hard to type, but Nova eventually does it, knowing there is no need to meddle around.

    ‘…who beat me.

    But dear fans of Fantasy Wrestling Alliance, fret not! Diamonds are unbreakable. Those problems are not very serious. In fact, I’ve been told that I can compete in the match where I will tag with Cyrus Truth against the team of Michelle von Horrowitz, who does not seem to drop my name out of her mouth lately, and Kevin Cromwell, a very old friend of mine.

    But it obviously comes with it risks. I’ve been also told that if I choose to complete, I may make my shoulder issues much more serious than it is. And that little weakness of mine...I can’t say that it does not scare me when my opponents will be a man like Kevin Cromwell, who smells weaknesses like a shark smelling blood, and a troll like MVH, who will exploit that weakness not because she wants to win the match but because she wants to specifically hurt me and people in general.

    In addition to that, I think even you FWA faithful can see that this particular match has no meaning as much as I can see that. Neither Cyrus and me nor MVH and Kevin are known to be very compatible people let alone tag team partners. And after this match is all said and done, everybody will go on their way. This match basically has no effect on X-Division, no effect on World Championship scene and no effect on the tag division either. (Especially when we are in times where our distinguished tag champions are unable to beat two individual stars who hate each other’s guts. Yes, I’m taking unneeded shots at The Elite. But you see, it is not quite as unnecessary as you might believe. I don’t know if it was Trevor or Noah, nor do I care, that told in their Back In Business predictions that my match against Sullivan would be the weakest main event in the event’s history while they flourished on the weakest tag division in the company’s history. Ironic, isn’t it?)’

    Nova does not hide his smirk at all, he wanted to respond to that ‘weakest main event’ nonsense for a long time, that was his first opportunity to do so, and he did not miss at all.

    ‘Well, thanks to Sullivan and Gabrielle…incidents, I do not maintain an undefeated streak anymore, neither a very good momentum no matter how the commentators might suggest at the Fight Night shows. So, will a victory gained at this match help me that much despite being a random tag team match? I leave that answer to my distinguished readers, but if you would ask me, I would gladly tell you that the answer in my head is a very clear ‘no’. Especially when I would very much prefer taking MVH or Kevin on one-on-one, mano-a-mano, mano-a-tulipo, whatever you may call it.

    Michelle von Horrowitz, a woman whose career prospects are kind of similar to my very own. A confident start which was crowned by a very early big battle royal victories that lead us to the main events of the biggest shows in our respective companies, which we both came up short. I think even that detail should be enough for the FWA management to put me and her together in the same ring without any other people. Even she wants that particular match if you actually pay attention to her ramblings about tulips, which always mentions me at least once, wanting my attention.

    Or take Kevin Cromwell for example, there is no man in FWA that I know more than him and vice versa. We share a past together, a rivalry together, even a strange friendship that leads us to turn our backs on each other quite often. (though it is mostly me who does that, not going to lie) Still, my rivalry with Kevin at least deserves a proper one-on-one match at the huge stage of Fantasy Wrestling Alliance without any people also thrown into it.

    Still, the one person who could be chaotic enough to arrange a match this random, our venerable and august General Manager, Vincent Blackbird of Blackbird Clan, decided he might as make some good decisions like a broken clock striking twice a day, decided that after snubbing me out of the Elimination Chamber, putting the prospect of random people getting their rematches against me on the table and putting me in this meaningless match, decided that he might as well give me a choice to not compete if I did not want to risk my shoulder.

    And the question on the table, the question I specifically made this entire post to answer is crystal clear.

    Will Nova Diamond decide against doing the right thing for himself and his career by rejecting to wrestle in that match full of nonsense?

    Will Nova Diamond drag Cyrus Truth’s corpse around which had been cosseted and coddled by Vincent Blackbird himself lately? Will Nova Diamond try everything to give his already dead career one last victory?

    Will Nova Diamond, despite having no need to do so, answer Michelle von Horrowitz’s shrieking calls of his name and come down to the ring and finally bless her with his presence while knowing she will do anything to put his shoulder out of action for good during that match?

    Will Nova Diamond once again remind Kevin Cromwell that how good Kevin might be, he might never be the Nova Diamond despite already doing so a lot of times before in the past and knowing he will find his shoulder in a submission move after another submission move?

    Will Nova Diamond compete in Fight Night?’

    After typing the last question, Nova stops typing. He just sits in front of the blog page, staring at the question like he would stare at an opponent. He then gets up from his seat, drinks a glass of cold water. He wanders around the house, stares at his library for no reason, goes upstairs and kisses his sleeping girlfriend on the cheek, goes to the balcony and just stares at the sky before coming back down and sitting on the chair again, finishing his coffee before he places his fingers once again on the keyboard.

    ‘And the answer is yes.

    Because unlike the Nova Diamond that had written the previous entries of this blog, Nova Diamond of now is not a man that chooses the easy path.

    Believe me, there’s still a part of me that wants to just stay home. A part that does not want to give Michelle the attention she desperately craves. A part that does not want to give Kevin Cromwell the same lesson he had done a dozen times before.

    A part that does not want to risk his health because Blackbird wanted to get Cyrus’ spirits up and trusted me enough to be paired with him so I could carry Cyrus Truth’s dead weight.

    But that part is also the part that sat at home for 2 shows after Sullivan attacked him and made him unable to compete for North American title.

    The part that could not search for his justice.

    The part that’s…quite fond of handcuffs.

    The part that’s weak.

    The part that does not define me anymore.

    Buy your tickets, prepare your fan signs, be at Huntsville, Alabama on fifteenth of May because Nova Diamond will also be there, and he will once again remind himself just exactly who he is.’

    Nova puts a huge smirk on his face before continuing, the feeling of nostalgia coming back for another few seconds due to how he missed doing this.

    ‘The man of miracles.

    Future FWA World Champion.

    Greatest of all generations.

    Nova Diamond.’

    Du bindest einen Blumenkranz...
    ...wieso siehst du so traurig aus?

  7. #7
    WC Hall Of Famer

    Jimmy King's Avatar

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    The scene begins, well actually not really a scene I guess, a call? This Zoom meeting begins with Jackson Fenix by himself as he prepares for his interview with Rod Sterling. A call comes through and soon enough Jackson is joined by his friend and tag team partner, Nate Savage.

    “You got everything set up and ready for this interview?” Nate asks Jackson.

    “Hello to you too, and yes I do have everything set up for your information” Jackson arrogantly answers, Nate just shakes his head.

    “Save some of that for the interview”

    “Oh believe me my friend, I’m more than ready for this you have no idea. Where is Sterling? I don’t have all day, honestly”

    “You think you’re busy, try having kids”

    “No thanks, I think I’ll take a rain check on that one”

    “Britney doesn’t want kids?”

    Jackson blatantly ignores Nate.

    “Seriously, where is he?”

    Just then they are joined by Rod Sterling from his home.

    “It’s about time Rod!”

    “My apologies Mr. Fenix and Mr. Savage, it won’t happen again. Thank you for taking the time out of your day for this interview”

    “You’re damn right it won’t happen again, but honestly what the hell else am I supposed to do anyway with damn near every place in town is closed”

    “Well then, let’s get right to it then. Coming up at Payback, you two have a rematch against The Elite, but you’ll be joined by The Valanders and The Wave, but coming up at the next Fight Night it'll be you Mr. Fenix taking on Noah Stocke and Mike Valander in a triple threat match…”

    “Hold on right there Rod, let me fix that for you. At Payback we’re not in a rematch, because a rematch would classify as just us vs The Elite, in a traditional tag team match. Instead, Blackbird thinks it’s a good idea to throw in The Valanders and The Wave, despite them not doing much of anything to even earn this match.”

    Rod is about to speak up but he’s cut off now.

    “Another thing, why weren’t we even in a match last week, huh? One of the Valanders had a match against one of The Wave, and The Elite had a match, but where were we? Where was our match? Just because we’re not the champions anymore we’re just seen as an afterthought now? Is that it? Is that how Blackbird sees us? It’s absolutely ludicrous that we were left off the show”

    Rod tries to speak again but he’s cut off by Nate this time.

    “You know, as much as I do enjoy being home with my family, I also enjoy beating the hell out of someone, especially when I’m getting paid to do so. Not being on the show meant no pay, meant no food on my children’s plates, is that the kind of man Vincent Blackbird is? Taking food off the plates of children”

    “You know the worst thing about it?”

    “What’s that Jackson?”

    “Thank you for answering me Nate, maybe you should take Rod’s job since he can’t even do that right”

    Rod is flabbergasted at this point and tries to answer but gets cut off again.

    “Anyways, the worst thing about it is that The Elite couldn’t even get the job done. They were put in a high profile match against Krash and Mike Parr, and they dropped the ball. Those are the tag team champions, those are the representatives of this tag team division and they couldn’t even win one match when they were given the spotlight”

    “I know a team that would have won, The Undisputed Alliance”

    “You’re damn right Nate, we would have wiped the floor with both Parr and Krash with ease and we would have made the tag team division proud. Instead, they were let down. You see, this is why The Elite just can’t hack it as tag team champions. This is why their win over was nothing more than a fluke. There’s nothing elite about The Elite, they’re all talk but when it comes down to it, when the chips are down and pressure is on them...they crumble”

    There’s silence for a moment as Rod just sits there until he realizes that he can finally speak.

    “Well then, you really had a lot to get off your chests there. Ahem, now as I had mentioned earlier, Jackson this week you’re facing Mike Valander and Noah Stocke in a triple threat match. This will be your first time going it alone without Nate in your corner…”

    Fenix throws up a hand, stopping Rod in his tracks.

    “That’s where you’re wrong Rodney. You see, Nate will be in my corner. He won’t be in the match, yes, but he has my back. Yes, this is my first non tag team match, you’re correct about that”

    “Well, what are your thoughts on Mike Valander and Noah Stocke?”

    Fenix shakes his head with an annoyed look.

    “Have you not been listening to a thing that’s been said, Rod? If you had been you would have heard my thoughts on one Noah Stock. I think he and his partner Trevor Ocean are not the right representatives of this division. They aren’t fit to carry the gold and that’s why at Payback, we will right the wrong and take back OUR tag team championships!”

    “What about The Valanders and The Wave?”

    “What about them Rod? Louis Valander is too enamored over Gabrielle Montgomery and Mike Valander is about as bland as they come”

    “And The Wave?”

    “Hardly a blip on our radar. You see Rod, this Fight Night is just a preview of what is to come at Payback. As we’ve stated already, it’s been proven that The Elite are not worthy to be on top of this division, and The Valanders don’t even belong in this company. If you ask me, The Valanders belong in a circus because they are nothing more than two clowns masquerading as wrestlers. While Nate and myself, we’re the real deal, we’re the standard bearers of this division. This tag team division must be saved and we are the only team that is capable of saving it…”

    “Come Fight Night, Mike Valander and Noah Stocke will know what is coming to them at Payback when I beat them with. I will show Blackbird how much of a mistake it was to leave us off the show last week when I humiliate those two. undisputed and this over”

    With that both Jackson and Nate are gone leaving Rod, who looks defeated and just sighs.

    “Well, that uh, went just as I expected it to”

    He ends the meeting and the screen goes black, ending the scene.

    Rest in power, Flock U
    Rest in power, TCON

    Team Cyrus T is Best for Business

    Quote Originally Posted by Ed
    Stop the hating of the E-Feds. If you don't like something, that's fine, just ignore it and let the people who do enjoy what they're here on WC to do. Mocking them to make you feel less of a geek for being on a geek on a wrestling forum is lame. If you want to not read their posts, I can fix that for you.

  8. #8
    Hail To The King
    OMB's Avatar

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    "Picture worth a 1000 Words"

    "Deep inside your head you will realize that I am always going to haunt you."

    The voice comes from one Kayden Knox as he stares at a painting of a King in battle down to one knee. Kayden is inside a art gallery staring at the painting. He seems to be talking to himself as the many people around the gallery look among the other pieces. Kayden Knox approaches one of the men that run the gallery.

    Kayden Knox: I will take it.

    They grab the painting and begin to take it off the wall and we then see Knox begin to walk around the gallery coming across many other paintings. The next painting shows a man inside a hole and a ladder just inches away from his grasp as a crowd stares down laughing.

    Kayden Knox: You see even in defeat I am the victor.

    I suppose everyone thinks that I should come out here doing the same thing I always do have my head down low as the self pity starts to sink in. That I once again failed to capture my chance my shot at the FWA Championship. The thing is I don't feel that way.

    You see I told you that Dave Sullivan was not a king that he was a man just like everyone else unbeatable no, he is beatable he is mortal and I proved it while Alyster Black reaps the rewards of my doing. He will not be the victor. Garcia may think he can slither and strike like a snake in the grass but, he will lose as well.

    However this is all a story for a different place and a different time.

    Dave Sullivan make no mistake about it you and I are far from over but, I will be back and next time my hand will be held high and you will fall once again except this time you will not get back up.

    Kayden Knox walks to the next painting where we see is that of Eli Black. Eli is standing tall with a smog look on his face the painting is in black and white and the caption says "Future King Of FWA" in the hands of Eli Black holds the championship and he himself looks very regal.

    Kayden Knox: Eli Black... I got to say I am disappointed though looking back at it should I really be surprised?

    You who held so much promise to break the mold to be different to stand out.

    Well it seems you are just another boy who thinks he is entitled to something.

    You are no different then anyone else just another brick in the wall.

    I saw promise in you when you debut but, you showed your true colors when you just fell into the same pattern and did the very things I saw wrong with FWA. You see I found this out and I didn't even have to see it face to face. No I heard it in the things you didn't say. You see you gave praise to guys like Black, Grayson, hell even Garcia but, you just over look me you brushed me off like everyone else.

    You see without saying a damn word you made it personal.

    Knox points at the painting his voice louder then his original tone as few from the crowd look over at Knox.

    Kayden Knox: You see this new Kayden Knox will no longer play the victim as guys like you and Dave Sullivan play the predators in the night stalking your prey.


    I now will do the hunting and I will do the stalking.

    You were defeated in the middle of this ring last week must sting right?

    I on the other hand did not lose I was the one who was left standing while two men fell under my feet.

    Dave Sullivan is wounded and the blood trail will lead me back to him but, you on the other hand you need to be made an example of you need to be the one who is made the victim and the reason the laughter and pity that comes my way turns into fear and respect.

    No one here has given me that and its about damn time they do.

    I am no longer afflicted by open wounds from my past!

    Knox begins to shout at the painting as if he was talking to Eli Black and every other person who has ever spoken ill will about him.

    Kayden Knox: No longer will I allow myself to be scarred by the things that are said and nor am I responsible for the bodies I leave in my wake. Grayson was just the first of many but, Eli what I do to you in that ring will send a message to everyone in FWA that I am not a joke. That I am not a wounded animal that I will no longer be cast aside for people like Alyster Black, Eli Black, Gabi, or Nova Diamonds of this world.

    You see people like Grayson & Black are just sheep and I am the rabid hungry wolf that was locked inside a cage that broke loose and sees the herd for what they are weak prey.

    Kayden turns and tells them he will buy that one as the go to give it to him. Knox pulls out a cig he then takes his cig after a few puffs and sets Black painting on fire the flame goes high as it reflects off the eyes of Knox who has a coy smile on his face. He tosses the painting into another as the gallery starts to erupt in flames the crowd try to run off but, the flames overtake everything and we see Kayden just stand there looking at the painting on the ground as flames overtake him as well and he is laughing. We hear a voice then saying Sir are you alright?

    Kayden snaps back into reality as he is standing back in the gallery everything fine and looking up at the two three paintings of Black, The King, and the man. He just turns his back walking away as we fade to black with him walking out.


    CWA World Heavyweight Champion
    ​Brayden Bridges

  9. #9
    The Mayor of Slamtown
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    Aug 2014
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    Perceptions vs Reality

    Imagine an entire world populated by fantasy, one where the constraints of reality are non-existent and we paint a picture of whom we'd truly wish to be. We become caricatures of ourselves, adding so many layers of "skin" to this fabricated entity we command, we eventually believe that these fantastical masks we wear are our very own faces. In this world, one loses sight of whom he really is and what he is truly capable of, and it may either work for or against the man behind the fantasy. Our fabricated identities either motivating us beyond our means, giving us a false sense of confidence and bravado, or in another turn these identities hold us back, stifling our true potential. This world is all too real and at the same time so removed from this cruel reality that it exists only in the astral plane, the space between dreams and consciousness. This world exists in the very back of every human beings head, but it's the only world occupied by those who are too afraid to step outside of it. This is the world in which “The King” lives in. Alyster Black, too. Fantasy. Make believe.

    "The worst part of the drugs aren't even the hallucinations, man. Because those aren't brought on by the drugs at all. They are brought on by the constant dehydration, and that's the worst part. A undying thirst that you can never quite quench." Michael Garcia says as he drags a long handled sledgehammer across the gravel path. Garcia follows the trail, his hand gripping the wooden handle. The grating sound of the hammer dragging across the path ceases when Garcia rests the sledgehammer over his shoulder.

    The scene finds us in Brixton, a suburb South of London in the borough of Lambeth. It's 3 days before Fight Night, and “The Carnegie Carnivore” Michael Garcia can be seen strolling through the suburb, in a long abandoned nature park that's been lost in time, forgotten by everyone except the age old statues that still occupy the property, most of which have been overtaken by aggressive vegetation.

    But that's just the thing. It's funny how the things in life that make you feel so alive are often times the very same things that make you feel dead inside. I was young and foolish, and yes, for a brief time in my life, I experimented with the very thing I fought so hard to keep my brother away from. Dave Sullivan knows what I’m talking about. He’s been there before. In far worse situations than I ever was. He knows what it’s like. This sort of life that we live ain’t easy and many times one is likely to give in to temptation. It’s not something I’m proud of and not something that I ever want to revert to. The hallucinations felt all too real, as I sat in my recliner every night, zoned out on Molly. The room would go black and I'd see visions, colorful visions, as if I had found myself in one of Ryan Rondo’s fever dreams, and I was along for the ride. What exactly did I see? I saw a world on fire, I saw rainbows melting and falling from the sky like multicolored rain, I saw the face of my father, prick that he is, and I felt the warm touch of my mothers hand on my shoulder. She told me she was proud, you know. My heart fluttered for the first time in years as my mother told me she loved me. The thing about this surreal paradise, this magical place I'd find myself in, driven there by the narcotics, was that this world was NOT REAL. There in the dark with my eyes closed, this land of make believe I often found myself lost in was nothing more than a picture I painted for myself and plastered over the inner door of my own coffin, so that I'd find serenity en though my soul was absolutely dead inside. So one day, I stood up. I turned the light on and the colorful visions, the familiar voices, all of it faded away as I stood across my bedroom mirror and laid eyes on the miserable sack of self deprivation shit I'd become. My subconscious had been trying to tell me to give up the ghost. Fortunately for me, and everyone around me, my heart is stronger than both my mind and my body, and it's my heart that I've always followed. Dave Sullivan can't say the same. Neither can you, Alyster.

    The camera zooms out of Garcia and we get a better view of where he REALLY is. He isn't in London at all, he is in California, in the Universal Studios back lot. We believed we were in Brixton, because Mike made us believe it. Reality may be but a mere constraint but it's perception that is Main Event Mike’s greatest weapon. The back lot is all decked out, as Oliver Stone is directing an epic film abou tBritish history. Garcia, ever so cunning, knew this was the ideal place to dress a man who considered himself "The King”, but first he wanted to address the one called “Black Jesus”.

    Alyster Black, the FWA’s answer to, well, to prime CWA Krash. Cocky smile, overinflated self-worth, obnoxious suck up and an overhanging cloud of mystery around him.. And like that man, you are all style and no substance. You see, Alyster, you always come out here, cut your oh-so-tedious promos where you fancy yourself "Black Jesus". This is the where it all goes back to "reality" and "fantasy". You always paint a picture of a man who is respected by all the fans, the one that they all paid to see. Well, you certainly can’t hear it in their voices. You don't see YOUR name on the signs in the crowd, and when I find myself bored on the FWA message boards, I never, EVER, see the people say "That was a great Alyster Black match" or "That was an amazing Alyster Black promo" and it's NOT because you are terrible, Alyster, it’sbecause you haven't found yourself. It's because you are too afraid to step outside of that fantasy world you continue to live in where you are content with convincing yourself that they want to see you. They don't. You've had one lucky win in your entire career and you are riding high off of it. You came here after a very lackluster career in the CWA, where you did, quite honestly, fuck all and now you, much like your brother Krash, have come here to the FWA and jumped your place in line. Now, I could go into how you’re taking food off my table and climbing a mountain that you have no business being on but honestly, you aren’t even at the point where I feel that I need to take you seriously enough to complain about that! You got where you are because Lord Vincent has a raging boner for the X Division and living vicariously through it’s current landscape. It took SIX of you to beat Dave Sullivan last week. SIX. Be proud of that. I beat six men by myself in the past two weeks! You’re the same mundane, mediocre never-was that piggybacked off Krash in the CWA.You haven't developed at all Krash, you have built the foundation to a nice house, off of Krash, and you still haven't put up the walls, you just invite everyone into this empty, incomplete structure and you declare "This is the greatest house you've ever been in." You don't ask them this, you tell them this, and you believe it. They don't, but you do, because you don't understand that the only way to make a fantasy into a reality is by changing THEIR perception, not yours. You don't understand this, and you probably never will. Reality, and the ability to mold it, is lost on you.

    Michael Garcia keeps strait down the stone path, coming across several fake statues. He grips the sledgehammer tighter, and grins devilishly as he sees what he is looking for in the distance. He walks steadily toward his destination.

    You know, Sullivan, when this weeks Fight Night card was announced, I legitimately thought you and I had never faced each other, that is, until my brother, Malik reminded me that not only HAVE I faced you, but this is where it all began. Now that's either a mark against my long term memory, or it's a mark against YOU as a performer, back in the day. Well, I remember the way New York smells in the winter, the way Seattle tastes when it rains, I remember the names and faces of every woman I've ever “had relations” with and I remember every detail of every dream I've had over the past few years, which is impressive enough, to say the least. Still, I didn’t remember competing against you. But yes, we competed in a Triple Threat match for the X Division Championship. Michael Garcia vs Dave Sullivan vs Jason Gryphon. I turned out a top notch performance, enough to squash you and Jason where you stood, and I couldn't remember it for the life of me. Now, that could easily be because you and Jason, weren’t memorable, and you didn't leave an everlasting impression on these fans and you certainly didn't leave one with me. I think this has more to do with the fact that you werestill discovering the competitor you truly are. But honestly, David, the real reason I didn’t remember that night was because it’s the night where it all started. I believe that I’ve literally blocked it out of my mind. I dominated both of you fools. I had laid you out on the ground floor of the arena and taken you out of the match. Jason and I fought all the way up escalators and onto an overlooking balcony, and do you know what I did, David? DO you remember? Of course, you don’t. You were concussed that night if I remember correctly. I powerbombed Jason Gryphon off the balcony, through a table below, and while I climbed down to go for the pin, you managed to crawl back into sight, and pin Jason. That was the first time….the first time in what has been a seven year career of Michael Garcia coming up just that short. It’s become sort of a running joke around here. Everytime people look at me, and see that I’m in a championship match, they see me as a choke artist. Friend, you won't discover that man when you face me on Fight Night. I will destroy you, and I will make sure that you walk into Payback knowing that YOU’RE FWA Championship reign will be coming to an abrupt end at my hands.

    Kennedy arrives at the end of the lot, where there is large statue erected. Morpheus, the Greek god of illusions and dreams. The son of Hypnos, brother of Phobeter, Morpheus was the master of weaving fantasy, fantasy that never once went beyond the realm of dreams and make believe. He ruled over his worlds, not just as a King, but as a God.

    It is somewhat amazing, Dave, how you believe the facade you've built. It's also your biggest handicap, it's what keeps you locked inside your mental cell.Dave Sullivan, you aren't fooling anyone, no, quite the contrary, you're only fooling yourself when you come out and talk and talk and talk, saying the same things over and over again but differently each time to make it seem as if you've got a lot to say. The "Old" me would have laughed and commented on how pathetic you are. That's not me anymore.This isn’t about talking or throwing shade. David, I need you to know that I am laser focused. I’ve got one goal and one goal alone. I am going to defeat you, I might even break you so badly that their is nothing left for Alyster and I at Payback, but when it's all over, you will see what I've been saying all along. You will thank me for administering the drug you so desperately needed and you will thank me for pulling you off of it right as you were becoming dependent on it. I will fix you, I willsave you from your delusional egotistical self. I will deliver a Penduluum so powerful that whatever God you worship will take cover while the man who supposedly personifies royalty in the flesh drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes. When it's all over, David, you will appreciate me for sending you off into the night with a clearer perspective. On paper, you losing before Payback might help you, it might show you just how lethal I can be and just exactly what lengths you’ll have to go to to prevent me from taking what is so long overdue to me. However, In REALITY, you losing to Mike Garcia will clear your head, give you a refreshed perspective that you so desperately need because you already think you are going to defeat us both. You think you've already won a match that hasn't happened yet, just as I'm sure Alyster Black does as well as he hide away from the spotlight in his darkened cave of FANTASY. You and Alyster have that much in common, Sullivan, in that you both put too much value into your own stock. While he is several years removed from his prime, you are hours away from being removed from yours. You need to be reminded of your place here your majesty, you need to remember where you stand on the food chain. The reality? The reality is that your pillar of falsified greatness is about to come crashing down, crumbling to pieces. A shattered palace. A broken throne

    With one strong swing, Mike Garcia levels the status of Morpheus. Not content with a few broken stones, Garcia keeps hacking away, eratically grinding the statue to dust before looking back at us with an intimidating grin, his teeth gritting together. He takes his hand and combs it through his hair, regaining composure. He catches his breath and we can see a fire burning in his eyes, one that won't be extinguished so easily.

    7 years, Dave. Seven fucking years. Seven years of hearing that I’m a choke artist. Seven years of hearing about how I may be the greatest superstar to never win a singles championship. Seven years of missed opportunity. Seven years of having to come out here for years and sell everyone on the fact that I am the most feared man in the damn company and not having the hardware to prove it! SEVEN FUCKING YEARS! God damn it, Dave, look at me! Don’t you get it? Don’t you fucking get it? These statues. This perception! This reality that I keep referring to? I get all of this because I’m living it! I’ve lived in that fake world for the past 7 years and I am so, so incredibly tired of residing in it! I’m breaking free, David. I’m breaking free of this world, this prison, that I has shackled me! The fake world that I’ve created for myself is about to become my reality, David, and you have just a few days left to come to terms with that. The reality is, that you WON'T. Because in your head, you are the greatest there ever was. Satisfaction is the enemy of progress. On Fight Night, I'm going to use you as an example, I'm going to send a message to you and Alyster, and that message? Mike Garcia can't be defeated, not when I'm back in true form. Mike Garcia is no longer afraid of the shackles of perception. The only thing I fear, is myself. I fear what I might do to my opponents going forward but that's because I fear what I myself could become, WEAK, frail, a shell of my true self, like I was last year. I don't know if you've been paying attention the past couple weeks, but it's pretty evident, and I PROMISE, that will never happen again.

    Seven years, David. And you, YOU re going to be the one to set me free. THAT is reality.

    Mike Garcia drops the sledgehammer, resulting in a resounding thud as it hits the ground. He walks off into the sunset with all the confidence of a man who is truly living proof. Living proof that dreamers will only ever have their dreams, while the doers have all the opportunity in the world. He’s on a journey to tell a story that a mans legacy doesn't become mythology by merely stating that it will be, but rather, by making history and creating the stories that we tell our grandchildren, who in turn tell their grandchildren, for centuries on.

  10. #10
    The Artist of Chaos
    Mr. Franchise's Avatar

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    Dr.Jones: Don't beat yourself up so much. Failure is apart of everyone's journey.

    Black: Seems to be apart of my journey a lot lately.....

    Dr.Jones: And that is okay. Speak to me about how you feel about failure.

    Black: Eli and failure have a complicated history with each other. Eli seems to meet with failure at the most critical times of Eli's life. Whether it has been opening an art gallery and it not meeting regulations, recording beautiful music just for the sample to not clear or failing to take advantage of the biggest wrestling opportunity Eli Black has ever had.

    A loud horn rings outside the Uber that Eli and Laurie are in. Black is dressed down with a purple tank top, jeans and his signature shades while Laurie has a dress shirt and skirt. He has a computer on his lap that he is using to zoom call his Therapist Shaniqua Jones while they are on their way to the arena for Fight Night. They seems to be stuck in traffic and a bunch of horns are going off even though it does not seem to help the cars to move faster.

    Dr.Jones: You told me you would not be traveling during our sessions. You know its extremely important for you to focus on the work and you can easily distracted.

    Black: Eli knows, Eli knows. Dr.Jones but Eli must of overbook myself. Eli has to be at the arena to have a interview before my match tonight. Eli figured with this traffic we would have plenty of time to talk but Eli see this traffic noise is not the best environment for Therapy. Can we reschedule? Maybe do two sessions in one day or add an extra day in a week?

    Dr.Jones: Yea i will be sure that you make this up. Hey Laurie please keep him out of trouble will ya?

    Laurie: That's my job!

    Dr.Jones says her final good byes as Eli logs off and puts away his laptop. They both sit in silence for a while until....
    : Soooo how are your sessions with Dr.Jones going?

    Black: They are going well. She is a lot more friendly and understanding then other Therapist Eli has had when Eli was younger. They use to push and push and push for information until Eli just had to quit the Therapy. Shaniqua actually listens to what Eli has to say. Its refreshing honestly.

    Laurie: That is great to hear. I knew it would be the best decision to pair you guys together. I just wanted to bring up how well you did in your gauntlet match last Fight Night. A lot of people were talking about the effort you put forth and the fact that Sullivan had to take a count out victory. You really are starting to get the attention of not just the other performers but the fans that sit in attendance and watch at home. I know you feel a bit down about not winning but its an opportunity i am sure you will be primed to get again.

    Black: Eli hears you but what Eli is very surprise to hear is that not only do you know the name of a wrestler but also the match type we were in. Somebody becoming a wrestling fan?

    Laurie:I wouldn't say all that but if i want to market you and get the Artist of Chaos brand out there i have to know what i'm talking about don't ya think?

    Before Eli could even answer the Uber drivers GPS loudly pronounces WE HAVE ARRIVED AT YOUR DESTINATION. On the left of them is the Braun Center the home of the next Fight Night. Eli grabs all the bags and heads into the arena with Laurie right behind him. Before they could get too far FWA interviewer Todd Salum meets up with them ready to start the interview. They seem like they are going to walk and talk instead of doing the traditional closed room interview.

    Salum: This FWA interviewer Todd Salum and i am here with the man known as the Artist of Chaos Eli Black and his manager Laurie Stoudemire. How are you guys doing today?

    Black: We are just fine just anxious to get this night going. How are you Todd.

    Salum: Doing very well thanks for asking. So Eli everyone is buzzing about the Gauntlet match at the Last Fight Night. Orion showing his potential dominance, Gerald Grayson's valiant effort after starting with a handicap and Alyster Black's eventual win. They also talking about the effort you put in as the number two entrant in the match. Many people had you as one of the favorites and it seems Dave Sullivan took note of that and took a shortcut to defeat you. How do you feel about your performance?

    Black: Disappointed. That is the best way to describe the feeling that loomed around the Arteest of FWA. Eli went to the back with his head down low but was quickly brought back up when the guys and gals in the back greeted Eli with a lot of positivity. Three words with Ps that Eli kept hearing when he went to the back. Patience, Potential and Positivity. That is all the Artist has been thinking about ever since.

    Salum: That is a great way to look at it. I do see the fans believing in your potential. Its exciting but another man that was talked about in that gauntlet match is your opponent tonight Kayden Knox. He seemed poised to defeat The King of FWA Dave Sullivan but seem to lose control and get disqualified. Then after that he attacked the next entrant and basically cost him a chance to take Sulliva out. What do you think of his actions?

    Black:Its a double sided coin for me. Eli understands his hunger, his aggressiveness, his wanting to seen. However the other side of that is the fact that he is what he says he is. A loose cannon. A loose cannon who will at any notice forget his surroundings and feed into his simplest emotions. See the nicked name The Artist of Chaos was not given to me for no reason. Eli swims in the deep ends of emotion everyday but unlike Mr.Knox here Eli Black knows when to leave that ocean alone. Mr.Knox changed from the joke he once was and is now trying to embarrass everyone around him. Make Sullivan look weak, hurt Grayson chances at winning the Gauntlet. These are the actions of a man that cannot handle simple urges.

    Salum: Does that worry you at all that Knox is such a Loose Cannon? That he could hurt you in the middle of that ring and maybe cost you future potential opportunities or maybe even end your career?

    Black: Eli is apart of the X division. That has the potential to happen against any opponent that i face. Iv'e been in the ring face to face with Kayden before it did not go well last time for either of us because there was a third party involved but now we face each other one on one. Eli keep a close eye on all competitors in the FWA so if Eli ever have to face anyone i can take advantage of any known weakness. Knox weakness is loud and clear in all his matches. He wants to be seen so bad but cannot handle his emotions. Biting on every immature thought. So The Artist will survive his wild attacks in the ring and wait for an opening to strike. Knox is another wall Eli Black needs to hop or run through to get my next opportunity. Eli will be damned if i continue to let that slip away. Excuse we are going to get ready for my match.

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