Post by Corey Black on Aug 30, 2020 13:23:56 GMT -5
A cool breeze blows by a small town in a picturesque location. We're deep in a valley with cliffs on either side, in the background all the way to the horizon is a source of water. A bunch of people have gathered among the small, similar looking buildings in what appears to be a town center. Trees and grass inhabit this block and on this day - a gallows. The rope hangs from a cross beam over a wooden floor that clearly is a trap door.
The folks here are dressed in typical northern European garb, long flowing dresses and solid color shirt and pants, some fisherman hats but this seems to be a village in Scandinavia. Two men appear from one of the buildings, both wearing hoods. One man leading the other toward the gallows, the head down and body language appearing to be that of shame. They make their way up the structure and the executioner places the rope around the neck of the accused. Some people look on dutifully, others shield their eyes from the grim fate. Still, the executioner steps forward and addresses the amassing crowd.
"This man is accused. The accusations levied are vast, including but not limited to falsifying identity, disrespecting authority and theft.
The accused is on record claiming to be the best in the world at what he does. The premier athlete in his sport, the one above all. Professional royalty, he claims. None better, none can prove their worth against him because he is untouchable. The accused has had a long standing career full of accomplishments beyond anyone's wildest dreams, but to claim to be a God is against the views and laws of this land. Here, we praise those who give. Freya, Tyr, Thor, Baldr, Frigg and Odin himself. A man does not stand with these Gods."
The crowd nods in agreement, putting their palms to the sky and shaking their hands back and forth as if to honor those among the clouds. The executioner takes a step to the other side of the accused, a castle on a cliff side now visible in the background.
"This man is accused of disrespecting authority, claiming to be above his duties because those around him aren't worthy of being inside the same combat ring as he. He used leverage of power to demand a higher position, while speaking out the side of his mouth and using his forked tongue to run down the name of his employer. He performed all duties asked of him but did so in a manor which cause grief and struck down giants for his own amusement. This man does not belong in the echelon he so demands from his employer."
Everyone in the crowd once again places their hands up and shakes them, this time humming a quick tune in unison. The executioner once again steps to the other side of the man he has tied up around his neck, tugging on the rope and causing the man to shiver.
"This accused is a thief. He stole from everyone he came across, he stole their time, their effort and their sanity. He drove people mad through his slithery words of hate and disgust. He coveted a belt of gold he did not deserve, holding it over the most worthy and using the stolen valor to elevate his own ego. This golden belt, one he earned early on in his stay within his combat employment, and one he has not given fair chance to. Under Tyr's Word, this is punishable by death."
The crowd once again places their palms up and gives a shake, humming the tune and ending by dropping to the ground on all fours facing the same direction, toward the water beyond the gallows. They all begin chanting a name. TYR. TYR. TYR. The executioner places his hand upon the lever of the trap door.
"Accused, in Tyr's name, the greatest warrior, God of War himself, your transgressions among the squared circle have led you astray, and for that - you must die."
The lever is pulled and the man drops a few feet, the rope around his neck pulling tight and his body going limp almost within half a second, the head angling to the side in a sick way. Some of the crowd that had their eyes shielded before now look on in enlightened delight. The executioner slowly reaches up and removes the hood of the accused - it's Corey Black.
"Here, the one who claims to be above all. Who took a golden championship idol for his own and held it hostage, and who lost his way as a wrestler when he joined a place that he once believed was below him. He went there simply to wrestle with a man who was quickly becoming his best friend in the business. A tournament ensued, these Men winning their first taste of championship gold together. Since then, a whirlwind of challengers came from all walks of life. Their past, their present and possibly their future all fell in their attempts of taking down the Man Made Gods. Before his sentence, he was headed for a main event contest for the top prize.
But only if he and his partner could conquer the unknown.
Men that are nothing more than bruisers, giants of folklore that have one mission and one mission alone. Protect he who pays them, he who gives them their livelihood. Their singular God, a man with blood on his hands. He took what he believed to be right and did the unthinkable. Yet these behemoths stand behind - and sometimes in front - of their deity in protection and duty.
If he wasn't hung by his neck, it would have been Corey Black's pleasure to once again prove he was a slayer of beasts. Men twice the size of The Hangmen have fallen to he who was once King of All Wrestlers. For less than what was presented, sometimes just because he wasn't happy with what they spewed from their mouths. Shooter and Noose, enhanced by substance, faced their first true contest. It would have been a bloodbath, a clinic in destruction, if not for the transgressions."
The executioner steps forward, a captivated crowd of townsfolk hanging on his every word. He removes his mask, revealing ... Corey Black. The crowd gasps, he takes his battle axe and lops the head off the synthetic body of his own image dangling from the rope. The plastic, lifeless imagery collapses to the dirt. Townsfolk look among one another confused, but Corey continues.
"I know who I am and I know the feeling among the roster of Alpha Pro. They see me as just another man coming in to take what is theirs, and they're right. Only I am the only one that can back my words up. I'm the ONLY one that can stand on this stage, or in front of the world on pay per view, and say that I am the KING OF ALL WRESTLERS. There is NOBODY better than I am, as proven when I took this little bitch of a World Champion to the fucking woodshed and he claimed it was some conspiracy. The referee saw Zaigon Carter's life escaping his body as I drove my elbows through his head. There was no plan, I give zero fucks about authority. I am here to fight, not play games.
I do my job and I do it well, just like when Frank and I take Frank Lowe's goons and break their bones and spirit. Believe me, we aren't intimidated by two guys with a room temperature IQ between them. Waltz into a company and use ... hell I don't even know what, I don't know how The Hangmen ended up in this match other than to be canon fodder for Frank and I. We had to defend against someone and nobody currently contracted in APW can stand with the GODS.
So we go out and acquire Frank Lowe's muscle for what, one match? These guys are gonna be blown up before the bell even rings with all the mental gymnastics they're going to put themselves through to even comprehend how to battle us. All they know is protein, weights, banned substances and Lowe's word.
They're fuckin' doomed.
One and done, see ya in the next company that'll give you the world just because the champions they have are so goddamn dominant they have to give the World Champion a chance at winning. That's all this is, right? Frank and I are shoe-ins for "most likely to be World Champ after Showdown" so we're given "insurmountable odds." I know who we are. I know who I say I am and sooner or later the wrestling world will bend that knee. With men like Frank Lowe and The Hangmen, that time can't come any faster. Downright spitting on legacies for ... for what? What is there to gain in causing such grief?
An ass whipping from the Man Made Gods, it seems. Your prize for being despicable is a lesson in humility from two of the best to ever do it.
You are in Alpha Pro now. The Hangmen will have nothing but dust and blood. Zaigon Carter should be weak in the knees knowing his devastator is coming for his head once again. What happens now determines what happens to the rest of the pro wrestling world. The world is changing. Soon there will only be the conquered and the conquerors. I'd rather be the former.
Every breath you take is mercy from me. Every inhale after Showdown should be revered as something of a gift. Hangmen, Carter ... with everything on the line, your King has come to collect. Defending that which Frank and I worked for hard for, giving back to a place that needed it the most - to continuing on and fulfilling our rightful place at the top of the card. Frank's second chance, but my first. My first in many years. I don't fight for World Titles often, despite what I claim to be. Maybe that's why I deserved to be here, a rope around my neck. How can a man claim all of this without even challenging for the World Championship?
Because it's as good as mine. I've spent the last year making a niche belt something more than a gold belt. Something more than a hot potato dance. Here in Alpha Pro I have shown tag team domination, and I have snuffed the flame of our current false champion.
I will not falter. As Tyr did, I will slay the frost giants and I will destroy the field of combatants to rise to the throne that already belongs to me. Even if it means taking my fellow God down, this is nothing more than opportunity for the both of us. I am fully aware I may have to strike Frank down and I am prepared to do just that. Tyr did not hesitate when his brother Bragi challenged his acumen in battle. They fought and at the end they returned to their home together as brothers. As it once was, it shall be again among Man Made Gods."
Corey steps forward, the crowd points their palms at him and begin shaking their hands to and fro. They hum a different tune all at once, then drop to all fours pointed at Corey.
"I will not fail. For me, for my transgressions and statements. For the disrespecting of authority, the theft and the claims of a higher status.
I am Corey fucking Black.
The King of All Wrestlers.
I am THE Man Made God."
Corey opens his arms wide and looks up toward the sky, the crowd humming away and bowing toward him. Far in the background on the horizon a storm seems to be approaching, flashing white light and thunder rolling in the distance. It is fast moving, the townsfolk flee but Corey Black remains. Standing on the gallows with the heavens opening up.
The folks here are dressed in typical northern European garb, long flowing dresses and solid color shirt and pants, some fisherman hats but this seems to be a village in Scandinavia. Two men appear from one of the buildings, both wearing hoods. One man leading the other toward the gallows, the head down and body language appearing to be that of shame. They make their way up the structure and the executioner places the rope around the neck of the accused. Some people look on dutifully, others shield their eyes from the grim fate. Still, the executioner steps forward and addresses the amassing crowd.
"This man is accused. The accusations levied are vast, including but not limited to falsifying identity, disrespecting authority and theft.
The accused is on record claiming to be the best in the world at what he does. The premier athlete in his sport, the one above all. Professional royalty, he claims. None better, none can prove their worth against him because he is untouchable. The accused has had a long standing career full of accomplishments beyond anyone's wildest dreams, but to claim to be a God is against the views and laws of this land. Here, we praise those who give. Freya, Tyr, Thor, Baldr, Frigg and Odin himself. A man does not stand with these Gods."
The crowd nods in agreement, putting their palms to the sky and shaking their hands back and forth as if to honor those among the clouds. The executioner takes a step to the other side of the accused, a castle on a cliff side now visible in the background.
"This man is accused of disrespecting authority, claiming to be above his duties because those around him aren't worthy of being inside the same combat ring as he. He used leverage of power to demand a higher position, while speaking out the side of his mouth and using his forked tongue to run down the name of his employer. He performed all duties asked of him but did so in a manor which cause grief and struck down giants for his own amusement. This man does not belong in the echelon he so demands from his employer."
Everyone in the crowd once again places their hands up and shakes them, this time humming a quick tune in unison. The executioner once again steps to the other side of the man he has tied up around his neck, tugging on the rope and causing the man to shiver.
"This accused is a thief. He stole from everyone he came across, he stole their time, their effort and their sanity. He drove people mad through his slithery words of hate and disgust. He coveted a belt of gold he did not deserve, holding it over the most worthy and using the stolen valor to elevate his own ego. This golden belt, one he earned early on in his stay within his combat employment, and one he has not given fair chance to. Under Tyr's Word, this is punishable by death."
The crowd once again places their palms up and gives a shake, humming the tune and ending by dropping to the ground on all fours facing the same direction, toward the water beyond the gallows. They all begin chanting a name. TYR. TYR. TYR. The executioner places his hand upon the lever of the trap door.
"Accused, in Tyr's name, the greatest warrior, God of War himself, your transgressions among the squared circle have led you astray, and for that - you must die."
The lever is pulled and the man drops a few feet, the rope around his neck pulling tight and his body going limp almost within half a second, the head angling to the side in a sick way. Some of the crowd that had their eyes shielded before now look on in enlightened delight. The executioner slowly reaches up and removes the hood of the accused - it's Corey Black.
"Here, the one who claims to be above all. Who took a golden championship idol for his own and held it hostage, and who lost his way as a wrestler when he joined a place that he once believed was below him. He went there simply to wrestle with a man who was quickly becoming his best friend in the business. A tournament ensued, these Men winning their first taste of championship gold together. Since then, a whirlwind of challengers came from all walks of life. Their past, their present and possibly their future all fell in their attempts of taking down the Man Made Gods. Before his sentence, he was headed for a main event contest for the top prize.
But only if he and his partner could conquer the unknown.
Men that are nothing more than bruisers, giants of folklore that have one mission and one mission alone. Protect he who pays them, he who gives them their livelihood. Their singular God, a man with blood on his hands. He took what he believed to be right and did the unthinkable. Yet these behemoths stand behind - and sometimes in front - of their deity in protection and duty.
If he wasn't hung by his neck, it would have been Corey Black's pleasure to once again prove he was a slayer of beasts. Men twice the size of The Hangmen have fallen to he who was once King of All Wrestlers. For less than what was presented, sometimes just because he wasn't happy with what they spewed from their mouths. Shooter and Noose, enhanced by substance, faced their first true contest. It would have been a bloodbath, a clinic in destruction, if not for the transgressions."
The executioner steps forward, a captivated crowd of townsfolk hanging on his every word. He removes his mask, revealing ... Corey Black. The crowd gasps, he takes his battle axe and lops the head off the synthetic body of his own image dangling from the rope. The plastic, lifeless imagery collapses to the dirt. Townsfolk look among one another confused, but Corey continues.
"I know who I am and I know the feeling among the roster of Alpha Pro. They see me as just another man coming in to take what is theirs, and they're right. Only I am the only one that can back my words up. I'm the ONLY one that can stand on this stage, or in front of the world on pay per view, and say that I am the KING OF ALL WRESTLERS. There is NOBODY better than I am, as proven when I took this little bitch of a World Champion to the fucking woodshed and he claimed it was some conspiracy. The referee saw Zaigon Carter's life escaping his body as I drove my elbows through his head. There was no plan, I give zero fucks about authority. I am here to fight, not play games.
I do my job and I do it well, just like when Frank and I take Frank Lowe's goons and break their bones and spirit. Believe me, we aren't intimidated by two guys with a room temperature IQ between them. Waltz into a company and use ... hell I don't even know what, I don't know how The Hangmen ended up in this match other than to be canon fodder for Frank and I. We had to defend against someone and nobody currently contracted in APW can stand with the GODS.
So we go out and acquire Frank Lowe's muscle for what, one match? These guys are gonna be blown up before the bell even rings with all the mental gymnastics they're going to put themselves through to even comprehend how to battle us. All they know is protein, weights, banned substances and Lowe's word.
They're fuckin' doomed.
One and done, see ya in the next company that'll give you the world just because the champions they have are so goddamn dominant they have to give the World Champion a chance at winning. That's all this is, right? Frank and I are shoe-ins for "most likely to be World Champ after Showdown" so we're given "insurmountable odds." I know who we are. I know who I say I am and sooner or later the wrestling world will bend that knee. With men like Frank Lowe and The Hangmen, that time can't come any faster. Downright spitting on legacies for ... for what? What is there to gain in causing such grief?
An ass whipping from the Man Made Gods, it seems. Your prize for being despicable is a lesson in humility from two of the best to ever do it.
You are in Alpha Pro now. The Hangmen will have nothing but dust and blood. Zaigon Carter should be weak in the knees knowing his devastator is coming for his head once again. What happens now determines what happens to the rest of the pro wrestling world. The world is changing. Soon there will only be the conquered and the conquerors. I'd rather be the former.
Every breath you take is mercy from me. Every inhale after Showdown should be revered as something of a gift. Hangmen, Carter ... with everything on the line, your King has come to collect. Defending that which Frank and I worked for hard for, giving back to a place that needed it the most - to continuing on and fulfilling our rightful place at the top of the card. Frank's second chance, but my first. My first in many years. I don't fight for World Titles often, despite what I claim to be. Maybe that's why I deserved to be here, a rope around my neck. How can a man claim all of this without even challenging for the World Championship?
Because it's as good as mine. I've spent the last year making a niche belt something more than a gold belt. Something more than a hot potato dance. Here in Alpha Pro I have shown tag team domination, and I have snuffed the flame of our current false champion.
I will not falter. As Tyr did, I will slay the frost giants and I will destroy the field of combatants to rise to the throne that already belongs to me. Even if it means taking my fellow God down, this is nothing more than opportunity for the both of us. I am fully aware I may have to strike Frank down and I am prepared to do just that. Tyr did not hesitate when his brother Bragi challenged his acumen in battle. They fought and at the end they returned to their home together as brothers. As it once was, it shall be again among Man Made Gods."
Corey steps forward, the crowd points their palms at him and begin shaking their hands to and fro. They hum a different tune all at once, then drop to all fours pointed at Corey.
"I will not fail. For me, for my transgressions and statements. For the disrespecting of authority, the theft and the claims of a higher status.
I am Corey fucking Black.
The King of All Wrestlers.
I am THE Man Made God."
Corey opens his arms wide and looks up toward the sky, the crowd humming away and bowing toward him. Far in the background on the horizon a storm seems to be approaching, flashing white light and thunder rolling in the distance. It is fast moving, the townsfolk flee but Corey Black remains. Standing on the gallows with the heavens opening up.
