False Gods
May 31, 2020 22:59:48 GMT -5
via mobile
BonnieBlue, Steven Osbourne, and 1 more like this
Post by Jaice Wilds on May 31, 2020 22:59:48 GMT -5
Static fades into the image of a shadowed figure sitting in a clearing. The camera draws closer, a light peering into the sickening grin on the face of one Jaice Wilds. He chuckles, pushing the hair from his face.
Apparently, the contract I had set up didn't get filed correctly. S'pose it's my own fault for keeping management in the dark during the last few weeks; I've seen much worse happen to men here with far less respect to our management.
In any case, the end result is the same. Those who see themselves as above me will prod and mock, dismissing me for what they once believed me to be. And if I'm honest with myself, they have every right to be: they have not played a role in my evolutionary journey, so they cannot understand what it is they now face.
Wilds turns a bit, the camera light catching the reflective patterns woven into his suit. He brushes some stray dirt from his shoulder, leaning in a bit.
Corey, we've been through the ringer twice. The first time, you took the time and energy to goad me into a match in order to hook your proverbial wagon to my self-perpetuating star. We've been through this part of the story a dozen times over, so I'll spare the cut-and-paste bullshit save to say that I outwitted you long enough to make you stick around. Which leads to round two, where you got the better of a man who already lost the anger you put into him six months prior.
Interesting chain of events we've traveled. Years of competing in this business, and only in the last two or three have we managed to enter the same circle. And in that time, I managed to garner your ire. I caught your attention, Corey, and I managed to stay on your mind. So much so, you dragged my name through the mud for the better part of six months attempting to forget me. And when you can't get me out of your head, you spend the time to seek me out. I found a home at Alpha Pro, and you followed me here in some desperate need for closure. But I'll come back to that momentarily.
Wilds takes a moment to breathe, stroking his chin. He stands, taking a few steps towards the camera. He raises his hands, his fingertips meeting just below his nose. The Cheshire grin crosses his face as he chuckles a bit.
Frankie! Oh, Frankie!! How are you, bud? I don't know if you recall a tweet from a few months back. You came to Alpha Pro looking for a World Title to add to your collection. Figured you'd come to the "B Leagues" to get an easy win. I went on Twitter and mentioned your title match as a means to explain where it was I had gone. And you, for some inexplicable reason, took my mere mentioning of your name as some affront to your very existence. And yet, when I shot back at you with a challenge, you suddenly went radio silent.
Odd.
It seems that a challenger for not one, but two World Championships would be open to a battle. Now, one could simply deduce that my challenge was lost amid the various dozens of others, which makes sense of a man in your position. It would, anyhow, if you actually had either title at the time. But you went into that weekend without any titles… And still no answer. How did that go for you, by the way??
Beat the Naw-Father for that title. So congrats. Oh, but you failed to gain the second World Championship here in Alpha Pro. Well, that was certainly devastating. I mean, you win the top prize in the upper echelon, only to be embarrassed in the "minors".
Jaice shakes his head, a slight chuckle. He lowers his hands, sliding his left hand into his pants pocket while using the right to emphasize his words.
Easily explained, I'm sure. You obviously had to conserve your energy in the Alpha Pro Title match in order to topple the bigger baddie in Action.
Or.
And, go with me, here; this gets juicy.
The fabulous Franklin Patrick Venable bit off more than he could chew, and fucking choked. No? I mean, let's be honest here. You only defeated another washed-up WCF reactor at Rev III. And after that, you played the most ridiculous game of hot potato with the title, involving D-List jobber talent who aren't worthy of shining my fucking boots.
Wilds shrugs, placing his free hand in his empty pants pocket. He turns, walking through the clearing. The camera follows, Wilds taking a moment to ponder before he speaks further.
After the… let's call them "unfortunate series of events"... following Evolution 2, I looked for a new home. Somewhere that I could feel listened to, appreciated. Somewhere that my opposition wouldn't be using pre-existing relationships to gain an unfair advantage in battle. And I found it here, in Alpha Pro.
It was here that my name was known. My legacy, respected. But my position was earned. At no point did I ask for special treatment, and at no point was it offered. I put blood, sweat and tears into that ring; and for the first time in years, I truly felt home.
It is at this point that Wilds stops, slowly turning around. There is a certain intensity to his voice as he continues, focused.
A few months ago, my home was invaded. Two men, posing as deities, ran roughshod through the Tag Team Division and stole the highest prize. Two men, discontent with their accolades elsewhere, came to my house for more. And the division was ill-equipped to stop them.
But no longer.
Corey. FPV. The self-acclaimed Man Made Gods. You have made a habit of using your position and your fabled greatness to intimidate your foes into an uneasy battle. Your greatest wars thus far have been against people who actually believe your hype.
Naïve peons.
Corey, you can deny all you want the idea that you have been riding my coattails. But you chose me for Evolution II. You chose to put me on the card for XIII. And when you needed somewhere to go to boost your ego, you came knocking at my door once again as I built a legacy in the name of Alpha Pro.
You're obsessed, Corey. You've become enthralled with the idea of intertwining our careers, and it's getting borderline creepy. But this time, you bring something of note to the table. This time, you involve a man who dared threaten me- and yet backed down when I wouldn't. A man who believes himself above me, and yet cannot comprehend how I still have the balls to call him out.
Wilds turns around, continuing to pace. He finds a line of trees, fallen fruits sitting about the ground. Jaice reaches up, grabbing an apple and taking a bite before leaning against one of the trees. He looks up, confident.
I was educated on various religions over the years. While I never adopted any particular divination of my own, I learned quite a bit. Mostly that gods, no matter what their origin, are all egotistical. They long for praise, for devotion. They crave unwavering attention.
Much like the two of you. Without XIII, Corey's name would fade into obscurity; doomed to forever be a name on a forgotten page of wrestling history. He couldn't have that; so he found the brightest star in the business and followed it. Tried to connect his name to this other man's legacy, as a means to continue to live on into his retirement. But he made things personal. He created a monster he could no longer control, and that man turned out to be far more competent than he'd prepared for. The self-perpetuating spotlight suddenly became scorned, and Corey had to face the facts. He would fade into irrelevancy just like everyone else he'd battled before. And the moment he was ready to admit defeat; the second he was prepared to accept his fate… that's when Franklin showed up. He realized that his friend was defeated, and gave Corey the means to re-cement himself.
Fools. Imbeciles.
Wilds pauses to take another bite of apple, shaking his head. As he swallows the fruit, he grins.
The problem, fellas, is that gods rely on the faith of their flock. Their very existence, and the extent thus of their power rests in whether the masses believe in them. But what happens, boys, when you take a man whose association with death is something of legend- and combine that with a literal monster??
I'll explain exactly what you get. The Faithless. God-killers in every right. Two men who know what they face is nothing more than mortal bodies, using pomp and circumstance to build a false legend of grandeur. Two beings who understand that the only roadblock between them and glory are two over-hyped egomaniacs living in a fantasy world they've created for themselves. And I knew what I needed to do. Who I needed to find.
I knew I needed a man without fear. A man without predication to blind faith. A man who has seen what you truly are, and knows what it will take to destroy you. And I found that man in IT.
Wilds tosses the rest of the apple, stepping forward into the camera. He grins.
At Kingdom Come, the Tag Team Championships will come home where they belong. Oblivion and I will bury your legacy. Because victory, like myself, is simply…
Inevitable
Apparently, the contract I had set up didn't get filed correctly. S'pose it's my own fault for keeping management in the dark during the last few weeks; I've seen much worse happen to men here with far less respect to our management.
In any case, the end result is the same. Those who see themselves as above me will prod and mock, dismissing me for what they once believed me to be. And if I'm honest with myself, they have every right to be: they have not played a role in my evolutionary journey, so they cannot understand what it is they now face.
Wilds turns a bit, the camera light catching the reflective patterns woven into his suit. He brushes some stray dirt from his shoulder, leaning in a bit.
Corey, we've been through the ringer twice. The first time, you took the time and energy to goad me into a match in order to hook your proverbial wagon to my self-perpetuating star. We've been through this part of the story a dozen times over, so I'll spare the cut-and-paste bullshit save to say that I outwitted you long enough to make you stick around. Which leads to round two, where you got the better of a man who already lost the anger you put into him six months prior.
Interesting chain of events we've traveled. Years of competing in this business, and only in the last two or three have we managed to enter the same circle. And in that time, I managed to garner your ire. I caught your attention, Corey, and I managed to stay on your mind. So much so, you dragged my name through the mud for the better part of six months attempting to forget me. And when you can't get me out of your head, you spend the time to seek me out. I found a home at Alpha Pro, and you followed me here in some desperate need for closure. But I'll come back to that momentarily.
Wilds takes a moment to breathe, stroking his chin. He stands, taking a few steps towards the camera. He raises his hands, his fingertips meeting just below his nose. The Cheshire grin crosses his face as he chuckles a bit.
Frankie! Oh, Frankie!! How are you, bud? I don't know if you recall a tweet from a few months back. You came to Alpha Pro looking for a World Title to add to your collection. Figured you'd come to the "B Leagues" to get an easy win. I went on Twitter and mentioned your title match as a means to explain where it was I had gone. And you, for some inexplicable reason, took my mere mentioning of your name as some affront to your very existence. And yet, when I shot back at you with a challenge, you suddenly went radio silent.
Odd.
It seems that a challenger for not one, but two World Championships would be open to a battle. Now, one could simply deduce that my challenge was lost amid the various dozens of others, which makes sense of a man in your position. It would, anyhow, if you actually had either title at the time. But you went into that weekend without any titles… And still no answer. How did that go for you, by the way??
Beat the Naw-Father for that title. So congrats. Oh, but you failed to gain the second World Championship here in Alpha Pro. Well, that was certainly devastating. I mean, you win the top prize in the upper echelon, only to be embarrassed in the "minors".
Jaice shakes his head, a slight chuckle. He lowers his hands, sliding his left hand into his pants pocket while using the right to emphasize his words.
Easily explained, I'm sure. You obviously had to conserve your energy in the Alpha Pro Title match in order to topple the bigger baddie in Action.
Or.
And, go with me, here; this gets juicy.
The fabulous Franklin Patrick Venable bit off more than he could chew, and fucking choked. No? I mean, let's be honest here. You only defeated another washed-up WCF reactor at Rev III. And after that, you played the most ridiculous game of hot potato with the title, involving D-List jobber talent who aren't worthy of shining my fucking boots.
Wilds shrugs, placing his free hand in his empty pants pocket. He turns, walking through the clearing. The camera follows, Wilds taking a moment to ponder before he speaks further.
After the… let's call them "unfortunate series of events"... following Evolution 2, I looked for a new home. Somewhere that I could feel listened to, appreciated. Somewhere that my opposition wouldn't be using pre-existing relationships to gain an unfair advantage in battle. And I found it here, in Alpha Pro.
It was here that my name was known. My legacy, respected. But my position was earned. At no point did I ask for special treatment, and at no point was it offered. I put blood, sweat and tears into that ring; and for the first time in years, I truly felt home.
It is at this point that Wilds stops, slowly turning around. There is a certain intensity to his voice as he continues, focused.
A few months ago, my home was invaded. Two men, posing as deities, ran roughshod through the Tag Team Division and stole the highest prize. Two men, discontent with their accolades elsewhere, came to my house for more. And the division was ill-equipped to stop them.
But no longer.
Corey. FPV. The self-acclaimed Man Made Gods. You have made a habit of using your position and your fabled greatness to intimidate your foes into an uneasy battle. Your greatest wars thus far have been against people who actually believe your hype.
Naïve peons.
Corey, you can deny all you want the idea that you have been riding my coattails. But you chose me for Evolution II. You chose to put me on the card for XIII. And when you needed somewhere to go to boost your ego, you came knocking at my door once again as I built a legacy in the name of Alpha Pro.
You're obsessed, Corey. You've become enthralled with the idea of intertwining our careers, and it's getting borderline creepy. But this time, you bring something of note to the table. This time, you involve a man who dared threaten me- and yet backed down when I wouldn't. A man who believes himself above me, and yet cannot comprehend how I still have the balls to call him out.
Wilds turns around, continuing to pace. He finds a line of trees, fallen fruits sitting about the ground. Jaice reaches up, grabbing an apple and taking a bite before leaning against one of the trees. He looks up, confident.
I was educated on various religions over the years. While I never adopted any particular divination of my own, I learned quite a bit. Mostly that gods, no matter what their origin, are all egotistical. They long for praise, for devotion. They crave unwavering attention.
Much like the two of you. Without XIII, Corey's name would fade into obscurity; doomed to forever be a name on a forgotten page of wrestling history. He couldn't have that; so he found the brightest star in the business and followed it. Tried to connect his name to this other man's legacy, as a means to continue to live on into his retirement. But he made things personal. He created a monster he could no longer control, and that man turned out to be far more competent than he'd prepared for. The self-perpetuating spotlight suddenly became scorned, and Corey had to face the facts. He would fade into irrelevancy just like everyone else he'd battled before. And the moment he was ready to admit defeat; the second he was prepared to accept his fate… that's when Franklin showed up. He realized that his friend was defeated, and gave Corey the means to re-cement himself.
Fools. Imbeciles.
Wilds pauses to take another bite of apple, shaking his head. As he swallows the fruit, he grins.
The problem, fellas, is that gods rely on the faith of their flock. Their very existence, and the extent thus of their power rests in whether the masses believe in them. But what happens, boys, when you take a man whose association with death is something of legend- and combine that with a literal monster??
I'll explain exactly what you get. The Faithless. God-killers in every right. Two men who know what they face is nothing more than mortal bodies, using pomp and circumstance to build a false legend of grandeur. Two beings who understand that the only roadblock between them and glory are two over-hyped egomaniacs living in a fantasy world they've created for themselves. And I knew what I needed to do. Who I needed to find.
I knew I needed a man without fear. A man without predication to blind faith. A man who has seen what you truly are, and knows what it will take to destroy you. And I found that man in IT.
Wilds tosses the rest of the apple, stepping forward into the camera. He grins.
At Kingdom Come, the Tag Team Championships will come home where they belong. Oblivion and I will bury your legacy. Because victory, like myself, is simply…
Inevitable
