Post by Corey Black on Jun 28, 2020 16:15:21 GMT -5
The Burning Hammer Dojo, nestled in the skyscrapers of Minneapolis, Minnesota. It has avoided any damage by being a landmark in the city where people from all walks of life can come, work out, possibly interact with the King of All Wrestlers. Inside the place is state of the art, television screens galore, a bunch of rings, workout equipment and walls lined with posters and memorabilia. Inside one of the rings is Corey Black, he's lacing up his boots. Full gear. His phone sits next to him, as he finishes putting his gear on he grabs his cell and makes a call.
"Hello," from the other end, it's FPV.
"You know what we have to do, don't you?"
"Annihilate the Faithless. Make them pay for their hubris."
"Good man. Get some rest, I'll be training with Baker, I'll see you soon."
"Same to you."
Corey moves his phone from his ear and ends the call, placing it under a turnbuckle. Graham Baker, fellow Man Made God stablemate, appears from the dressing room and enters the ring. Corey and Graham begin doing drills, hitting the ropes, doing rolls. Casually, Graham looks back toward Corey.
"Tokyo, eh? Kind of your jam it seems."
"It is, it is. I'll make my way over there soon."
Corey and Graham return to their practice.
Soon comes fast in the world of video editing, as Corey Black is now seen walking among the nature of Kitanomaru Park just in eye's distance of Nippon Budokan, the fabled Hall. Nestled deep within the Chiyoda City district of Tokyo, on seemingly it's own island with museums, statues and other cultural landmarks. The lush greenery lines this path Corey is walking on, it's near dusk and there's nobody out. Corey is calm, serene. This path leads to the parking lot of the Budokan, there the sun is now fully set and darkness has overtaken Japan. Street lights and other forms of illumination make it easy to see, however, as Corey props his phone up on a sign pointing toward the Hall. He turns to look at the building behind him, there's a piece of cloth in the back pocket of the camo cargo pants he is wearing. His black t-shirt covers most of it but he turns back toward the camera.
"The Faithless."
Corey stops, looks down and to the right, smirking. His eyes come back toward the camera.
"I get it, boys, your entire existence is to destroy those which you cannot touch. Those which are so far above your skill level, your intellect level, hell even your pay level that you have to call yourself faithless in a sorry attempt to disrupt the Gods' work. As you're owed something but those around you for being the ones to step up to your own perceived tyranny.
We aren't tyrannical Gods, Faithless - we're fair and just. We deliver those who oppose us to the gates of hell. No matter the creed, denomination nor beliefs.
But to suggest we're here because of you, Jaice - I am just - fuck. We didn't form a tag team for the sole purpose of beating you, did we? No, already established, that was you. After I embarrassed you and made the world know exactly how much of a child you are, you were cast aside, came to APW and continued to run MY name through the mud. As I ran yours, deserved albeit frequent. The difference being you were watching me do it, I heard about you from someone else - because you weren't on my radar anymore. I steamrolled your ass a year ago and you BROKE. You couldn't handle some guy showing up and beating you on the biggest show of the year. Even if that 'some guy' was the best wrestler this planet has ever seen. You, Jaice, are the butt of the joke you tried to write. It was your intention to remove me from professional wrestling as a whole because I finally gave you a clear view on what your miserable career actually looks like, now I rule a division you pined for in your name. So much for the notion that we can't get it done elsewhere. Frank is sitting on two World Title reigns, I am on a path to an entire year as Hardcore Champion and you ... you're forming an alliance with a serial killing split personality psychopath in an attempt to get over.
Ya should have gone with someone we haven't figured out yet.
That's your entire life though, you have this grand master plan and it's just a bunch of nonsense you toss at a wall hoping it sticks. You're gonna need more fiber in your diet, all you produce is diarrhea. The utmost drizzling shits.
You do this thing, I don't know how, but you build yourself up so much in your own head that you think you truly deserve this rematch because you 'didn't lose' the last time we battled. Again, the Burning Hammer spelled your doom, Jaice, as it will until I decide it is time to hang up the boots. There were no stunt doubles. Just you laying there, looking up at the lights after having a HEADSHOT driven through your skull and the remnants dropped down with the most feared move in any wrestler's arsenal. How you came out of that 'not losing' is still a mystery to me. You didn't show us anything we haven't seen before. You didn't win over anyone with your faithless plight. You simply stood up and got knocked down, as everyone else in APW has."
Corey turns and looks toward Budokan ... and beyond. He turns back to the camera, a more solemn tone.
"I can't figure out why Oblivion trusts Jaice Wilds. The connection between them is more fleeting than their chances in this match. What could Jaice possibly have over a man that could rip him in half for the fun of it? Surely Oblivion doesn't believe Jaice's lies. He can't fathom Jaice being the one to help IT overcome two of the best to ever lace the boots. No, Obi isn't that stupid. I mean he's dumb, but not stupid.
Maybe that bite of poodle head, which is felony animal abuse, on film, and nobody did anything about it, mind you - was the metaphor I am looking for. Jaice leads the dog to slaughter, ha I did it again. That's all this is, Oblivion. You know damn well how brutal I can get. You have seen it time and time again, your blood spilled on the mat by my blade. You watched as I terrorized Jaice for months on end and drove him near your own levels of insanity, imagining clones and lawsuits and some level of success.
You're his poodle, Obi, you just won't fucking admit it. You think he views you as an equal but he doesn't, he thinks everyone is below him. EVERYONE, Oblivion. Especially a beast like you. A feral, unrelenting hound of hades that will go where Jaice Wilds points not out of choice, but out of necessity. You may not view it as a 'yes sir' kind of relationship but without Wilds, what is Oblivion doing with his life? Sitting in a basement eating pets? Without Oblivion, what is Jaice doing? Getting into Twitter fights with the worst World Champion I have seen in twenty years?
You two need each other to be not only relevant, but to be whole. There's missing parts of both of you that the other fills. Jaice lacks a sense of reality, Oblivion lacks focus. Together you are like a third as good as I am. There's still most of me and all of Frank you have to make up for. Somewhere in your mind's eye, whichever mind is in control at the moment, you have to search for the tablets that are inscribed with the key to defeating the Man Made Gods. When you see them, I want you to walk up to them with your pen and paper and take notes down.
Because those tablets are fucking blank.
You can't win.
We have the answer to beating you two, though. In a world where Gods reign supreme over the faithless again, you take a step back and realize that maybe, just maybe.. all along.. we were the ones that deserved the ire. Maybe we are the executioners that are fed wrestler after wrestler until this place is purged of it's scum. Jaice Wilds, Oblivion... we aren't afraid of you.
WE HAVE BECOME THE MONSTERS.
I possess so much knowledge about professional wrestling I may as well have three fucking heads, boys. Sprout wings and fly myself to the top of the ladder. Unleash golden lightning from my mouth because all I do is win it. Slap a belt on either side head and leave the last to denounce your very existence. You didn't 'earn' shit, you're being fed to the real monsters in hopes you never come back, so we never have to sit through another Jaice Wilds speech about how he is the forgotten one, a main event player with delusions of grandeur so vast even I can't keep up with his tonal shifts with my massive fucking wings.
Every single word you have ever spoke about me has been either a lie or your own fabrication, Jaice. Every. Single. One. I'm here, the real MONSTER, to tell you how it is.
I am better than you. You are a piece of actual garbage floating in a parking lot outside the arenas I main event and sell out. I haunted you for six months not because you're worthy, but because you THINK you are and thus, you had to be destroyed. At XIII last year, I put you in the first match on the card against me - a show I also main evented - because I knew you weren't a fucking challenge. It was a way for me to show you that you are and forever will be nothing, yet in your mind it was some master plan and you're so smart for goading me into a match on my own show.
Think about this, Jaice.
XIII was designed to humiliate you. But you.. you don't understand that. You can't get past your own ego to see that I have played you from day one and you're still singing my tune. Now you've dragged Oblivion into the song with you thinking he's playing your notes, he's in the back singing backup at the top of his lungs, wondering which audience member he's going to being back to his place and maim. He's just singing the same song you are.
The one I am orchestrating.
You can't be the puppet master when you're made of felt, Wilds."
From his back pocket Corey pulls a muppet that has similar features as Jaice Wilds. He puts the creature on his hand and moves the mouth a little bit in a mocking way. With a grimace Corey takes the puppet off his hand and places it on the ground, pouring a liquid from his pocket onto it and lighting it ablaze. With the burning approximation behind him, Corey walks up to the camera and fills the shot with his sneering face.
"May your soul perish quickly by the hand of the Man Made Gods turned Gods Made Monsters."
"Hello," from the other end, it's FPV.
"You know what we have to do, don't you?"
"Annihilate the Faithless. Make them pay for their hubris."
"Good man. Get some rest, I'll be training with Baker, I'll see you soon."
"Same to you."
Corey moves his phone from his ear and ends the call, placing it under a turnbuckle. Graham Baker, fellow Man Made God stablemate, appears from the dressing room and enters the ring. Corey and Graham begin doing drills, hitting the ropes, doing rolls. Casually, Graham looks back toward Corey.
"Tokyo, eh? Kind of your jam it seems."
"It is, it is. I'll make my way over there soon."
Corey and Graham return to their practice.
Soon comes fast in the world of video editing, as Corey Black is now seen walking among the nature of Kitanomaru Park just in eye's distance of Nippon Budokan, the fabled Hall. Nestled deep within the Chiyoda City district of Tokyo, on seemingly it's own island with museums, statues and other cultural landmarks. The lush greenery lines this path Corey is walking on, it's near dusk and there's nobody out. Corey is calm, serene. This path leads to the parking lot of the Budokan, there the sun is now fully set and darkness has overtaken Japan. Street lights and other forms of illumination make it easy to see, however, as Corey props his phone up on a sign pointing toward the Hall. He turns to look at the building behind him, there's a piece of cloth in the back pocket of the camo cargo pants he is wearing. His black t-shirt covers most of it but he turns back toward the camera.
"The Faithless."
Corey stops, looks down and to the right, smirking. His eyes come back toward the camera.
"I get it, boys, your entire existence is to destroy those which you cannot touch. Those which are so far above your skill level, your intellect level, hell even your pay level that you have to call yourself faithless in a sorry attempt to disrupt the Gods' work. As you're owed something but those around you for being the ones to step up to your own perceived tyranny.
We aren't tyrannical Gods, Faithless - we're fair and just. We deliver those who oppose us to the gates of hell. No matter the creed, denomination nor beliefs.
But to suggest we're here because of you, Jaice - I am just - fuck. We didn't form a tag team for the sole purpose of beating you, did we? No, already established, that was you. After I embarrassed you and made the world know exactly how much of a child you are, you were cast aside, came to APW and continued to run MY name through the mud. As I ran yours, deserved albeit frequent. The difference being you were watching me do it, I heard about you from someone else - because you weren't on my radar anymore. I steamrolled your ass a year ago and you BROKE. You couldn't handle some guy showing up and beating you on the biggest show of the year. Even if that 'some guy' was the best wrestler this planet has ever seen. You, Jaice, are the butt of the joke you tried to write. It was your intention to remove me from professional wrestling as a whole because I finally gave you a clear view on what your miserable career actually looks like, now I rule a division you pined for in your name. So much for the notion that we can't get it done elsewhere. Frank is sitting on two World Title reigns, I am on a path to an entire year as Hardcore Champion and you ... you're forming an alliance with a serial killing split personality psychopath in an attempt to get over.
Ya should have gone with someone we haven't figured out yet.
That's your entire life though, you have this grand master plan and it's just a bunch of nonsense you toss at a wall hoping it sticks. You're gonna need more fiber in your diet, all you produce is diarrhea. The utmost drizzling shits.
You do this thing, I don't know how, but you build yourself up so much in your own head that you think you truly deserve this rematch because you 'didn't lose' the last time we battled. Again, the Burning Hammer spelled your doom, Jaice, as it will until I decide it is time to hang up the boots. There were no stunt doubles. Just you laying there, looking up at the lights after having a HEADSHOT driven through your skull and the remnants dropped down with the most feared move in any wrestler's arsenal. How you came out of that 'not losing' is still a mystery to me. You didn't show us anything we haven't seen before. You didn't win over anyone with your faithless plight. You simply stood up and got knocked down, as everyone else in APW has."
Corey turns and looks toward Budokan ... and beyond. He turns back to the camera, a more solemn tone.
"I can't figure out why Oblivion trusts Jaice Wilds. The connection between them is more fleeting than their chances in this match. What could Jaice possibly have over a man that could rip him in half for the fun of it? Surely Oblivion doesn't believe Jaice's lies. He can't fathom Jaice being the one to help IT overcome two of the best to ever lace the boots. No, Obi isn't that stupid. I mean he's dumb, but not stupid.
Maybe that bite of poodle head, which is felony animal abuse, on film, and nobody did anything about it, mind you - was the metaphor I am looking for. Jaice leads the dog to slaughter, ha I did it again. That's all this is, Oblivion. You know damn well how brutal I can get. You have seen it time and time again, your blood spilled on the mat by my blade. You watched as I terrorized Jaice for months on end and drove him near your own levels of insanity, imagining clones and lawsuits and some level of success.
You're his poodle, Obi, you just won't fucking admit it. You think he views you as an equal but he doesn't, he thinks everyone is below him. EVERYONE, Oblivion. Especially a beast like you. A feral, unrelenting hound of hades that will go where Jaice Wilds points not out of choice, but out of necessity. You may not view it as a 'yes sir' kind of relationship but without Wilds, what is Oblivion doing with his life? Sitting in a basement eating pets? Without Oblivion, what is Jaice doing? Getting into Twitter fights with the worst World Champion I have seen in twenty years?
You two need each other to be not only relevant, but to be whole. There's missing parts of both of you that the other fills. Jaice lacks a sense of reality, Oblivion lacks focus. Together you are like a third as good as I am. There's still most of me and all of Frank you have to make up for. Somewhere in your mind's eye, whichever mind is in control at the moment, you have to search for the tablets that are inscribed with the key to defeating the Man Made Gods. When you see them, I want you to walk up to them with your pen and paper and take notes down.
Because those tablets are fucking blank.
You can't win.
We have the answer to beating you two, though. In a world where Gods reign supreme over the faithless again, you take a step back and realize that maybe, just maybe.. all along.. we were the ones that deserved the ire. Maybe we are the executioners that are fed wrestler after wrestler until this place is purged of it's scum. Jaice Wilds, Oblivion... we aren't afraid of you.
WE HAVE BECOME THE MONSTERS.
I possess so much knowledge about professional wrestling I may as well have three fucking heads, boys. Sprout wings and fly myself to the top of the ladder. Unleash golden lightning from my mouth because all I do is win it. Slap a belt on either side head and leave the last to denounce your very existence. You didn't 'earn' shit, you're being fed to the real monsters in hopes you never come back, so we never have to sit through another Jaice Wilds speech about how he is the forgotten one, a main event player with delusions of grandeur so vast even I can't keep up with his tonal shifts with my massive fucking wings.
Every single word you have ever spoke about me has been either a lie or your own fabrication, Jaice. Every. Single. One. I'm here, the real MONSTER, to tell you how it is.
I am better than you. You are a piece of actual garbage floating in a parking lot outside the arenas I main event and sell out. I haunted you for six months not because you're worthy, but because you THINK you are and thus, you had to be destroyed. At XIII last year, I put you in the first match on the card against me - a show I also main evented - because I knew you weren't a fucking challenge. It was a way for me to show you that you are and forever will be nothing, yet in your mind it was some master plan and you're so smart for goading me into a match on my own show.
Think about this, Jaice.
XIII was designed to humiliate you. But you.. you don't understand that. You can't get past your own ego to see that I have played you from day one and you're still singing my tune. Now you've dragged Oblivion into the song with you thinking he's playing your notes, he's in the back singing backup at the top of his lungs, wondering which audience member he's going to being back to his place and maim. He's just singing the same song you are.
The one I am orchestrating.
You can't be the puppet master when you're made of felt, Wilds."
From his back pocket Corey pulls a muppet that has similar features as Jaice Wilds. He puts the creature on his hand and moves the mouth a little bit in a mocking way. With a grimace Corey takes the puppet off his hand and places it on the ground, pouring a liquid from his pocket onto it and lighting it ablaze. With the burning approximation behind him, Corey walks up to the camera and fills the shot with his sneering face.
"May your soul perish quickly by the hand of the Man Made Gods turned Gods Made Monsters."
