Post by Sicko on Apr 28, 2024 12:26:56 GMT -5
When you set out to invent your entire identity whole cloth, you begin ironing out who you are, what you truly stand for.
It's not, solely, enough for me to mindlessly destroy.
I've been in the back of Ephrain's head since childhood, watching him quietly acquiesce to other patriarch's wishes, never allowing to advocate for himself.
This may seem an odd digression, but it's very pertinent as I come around to the question of what, Green Knight, you truly desire.
Your rise mirrors mine, however standing in the clear light of growing self-awareness... Looking at your presentation I see only papier-mache, with the most demonstrably-false motivations on the entire roster.
If taken at your word, Green Knight, you're meant to be; a paragon of virtue, handpicked by the providence of Divine Right.
Unlike, say, Jody Madrox, who only dallied with the Omega Championship because he wanted the pay and affluence of being a champion, you, supposedly standing on your moralistic high, will provide a way clear into the future.
According to you, you're an immortal, a creature beyond humanity, whereas I'm just flesh'n'bone.
Mortal and immortal.
Man, myth.
An assertion so asinine that I actually can't believe it slipped through your mustachioed, very flesh-colored lips... but let me hit you with a rebuttal every bit as banal as commenting on the color of the sky;
All monsters are, intrinsically, human.
If this were years ago, when I was convinced that I was the earthbound avatar for an Elder God, Green, then yes, we'd have a theological debate on this score.
No faith in a higher power fuels my fortitude, stokes the will to continue to battle on within my breast.
No faith in gods or kings, only faith in monsters.
Being human reconciles with the fact that your beloved king Arthur, far from mythical and idyllic Cameliard, was little more than a Dark Age Celtic warlord with no medieval trappings, no Round Table of knights in plate armor.
The feudal hierarchy you snitch your entire aesthetic from comes from historically-inaccurate movies with no basis in the realities of the time.The king you claim to've served was just a rich landowner oppressing lowly peasants.
Everything magical about the world you claim to have stepped out of came out of a Victorian pipe-dream.
But... you're inhuman, correct, so what would you know about the politics of the realm you claim to hew from?
You wouldn't know about socio-economic oppression of the serfs, the fact that your king was little more than a burgomeister in the historical annals...
You emerged fully-formed covered in moss, grimly challenging fools to combat, vowing to return ONCE YEAR HENCE, impervious to pain or ravages of time.
Problem with that... is that it's mystical bullshit that doesn't hold an ounce of water.
I manifested the limitations of your plainly-mortal form when I slammed you off the stage at Clash, put you through several tables, taking you out of the action until it was time for you to take your bows.
I've unleashed my wrath on every single insignificant worm that's stepped up to me and not yet been pinned, and I was the sole person who's knocked The Green completely off his feet.
The announcers can gawk, gasp, all they like, about how you still struggled to stand, but I remain unconvinced.
For every instance of you portraying yourself as this implacable, unforestallable nightmare that cannot be stopped by the wicked or the slothful in this company, there's even more mounting evidence that you've done nothing that inspires anyone forward.
That you rest on your laurels more than not.
It showed when I pulled back my face and showed who I was, I'm not shying away from the fact that I am a man, but more than that, I'm my own monster.
What this means to you is that I'm not shying away from the fact that I'm mortal, Green.
I can bleed, I'm willing to.
I can feel pain, but the more control that I take every time I swim to the front of this consciousness, the more I'm able to block out, and push through.
The absolute most, you'll stoically claim, is that you don't fear me.
You don't need to fear me, Green.
You're a knight errant who's resolved to enter the lair of a blackened, befouling dragon who's turned the countryside into fields of flame, and just as he raises his sword to strike a killing blow he finds himself burned down to the last cinder.
Charge me with all of your might and enter to become gristle into the grinder.
Because I'm approaching this, both as a man, and as something much more.
This isn't going to be a continuation of your crusade (which rings so false that it doesn't even seem you believe in it as soon as the words worm free from your dour jowls)
This is the tilting of one very minuscule little gnat against a serpent whose scales scrape the sun.
If one such as you can even look inward enough to ask the harder, existential questions that you've avoided up to now...
To test yourself in combat, to finally feel something against an opponent that CAN make you bleed?
What I want's much simpler.
I don't exist to serve the capricious whims of something pulling my strings or cede authority to anyone.
I have the strength, the conviction, to optimize this body into the best version of Sicko there's ever been.
To take anything I want; When confronted by some insipid weakling, such as yourself, I want, will have, license to feel their jawbones cave in as my fists rain down on them.
I'm sending you back out on your shield, Sir Knight.
We won't see you again until you've recovered from the mangling, hamstringing of your decrepit body.
One year hence.
Take solace in the fact that you'll get one last chance to watch me holding court.