If You Only Knew the Truth About It
Dec 3, 2021 22:41:06 GMT -5
CJ Phoenix, Lissie Hope, and 2 more like this
Post by 𝗖𝗢𝗥𝗘𝗬 𝗕𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗞 on Dec 3, 2021 22:41:06 GMT -5
He wants everyone to be saved. He wants them to come to know the truth. 1 Timothy 2:4 Bells toll loudly throughout the small town. Ringing from a tall bell tower attached to a cathedral. Old and but sturdy, the wood looks like could use a little work but nevertheless, it's a beaming gift to those who come worship within. The rest of the town's buildings seem just as old but bright and well put together, cobblestone roads lead through. Rolling green hills in the distance, a nice clear river runs through, not many cars or street lights in sight. Dogs roam free, children are playing in empty grass lots. And all the adults are walking toward the church where the bells once again sound loudly. Everyone is dressed nicely, the sun beaming down upon them. Most carry bibles in their hands, held to their chest. Soon the townsfolk begin arriving at the church and filing into the beautiful setting, stained glass windows and exposed beams throughout, clean as can be, almost glimmering white and gold. As the last few in the congregation sit in the stained wood pews, the pastor steps from the right. He's a clean shaven, well groomed man with a masculine jaw and a voice that booms. "Forgiveness. Forgiveness is God's promise not to hold our sins against us. Should we confess the sins we have committed, he will cleanse us of our unrighteousness. Should you forgive those that have wronged you, God will also forgive you. God has promised to forgive us if we forgive those who sinned against us," he begins, people in the congregation closing their eyes and swaying slightly. "Find it within your hearts to show compassion to those who do wrong against you. God will smile upon you that much brighter, hold that hope.. hold that truth.." ..and as he says the last word it's as if the sun has run out of battery. Darkness befalls the church, in the blink of an eye everyone sitting in the pews have turned to corpses. Rotting, falling apart husks of human anatomy. The white and gold church has transformed into a dull green and dusty affair, windows long destroyed. Standing at the lectern is Corey Black wearing an all black suit. He looks around the setting, snarling at the religious connotations. "Truth can mean many different things to many different people. My truth? What I see. What I know. Nobody is ever going to take my truth away from me. I am the soul, the battle hardened beating heart of this company. I have my trials and my tribulations but at the end of the day, I don't have time for anything but truth. People walk around Action Wrestling and almost fight one another about how worse off it's been for them. Like it's a competition to see who can withstand the most trauma. Who can continually create scenarios where the end goal is heartbreak. Time after time, year after year, the only source of redemption is another slippery slope to tragedy. Putting people at their side that are only there to further their own purpose. Getting help - if it means signing your soul away. Baffling choice after baffling choice. None more guilty than Lissie Hope. In her mind, this is all a story where she's the lead actor and we're all just background shadowed faces supporting her leading role. She'll say or do whatever she needs to in the moment to garner the biggest reaction. Spouting off about forgiving the Bastard and finally facing the things she's done, attempting to right them." Corey stops, breathes in deep with closed eyes. He exhales and centers himself. "Your motivation for this conquest is some prophetic awakening, an attempt to absolve the sins from your past and atone from your mistakes. I'm not the 'forgiveness' type. I'm not the 'forgetting' type either. So save the batting eyes and the endless stream of calamities you've endured. ...you'll earn no forgiveness from me, Lissie. You can repent until you're blue in the face, you can justify your actions and try to steer the narrative to your own will but in the end, I won't be giving you the satisfaction. Nine months ago you decided that your last recourse, your final option in life was to sign yourself away to Philidor Holdings. You signed a lot more than a contract that day. You wrote your name in blood upon my wall. Maybe that makes Corey Bull a better man than me, as unbelievable as it sounds, perhaps his soul isn't as tarnished as we thought. Or maybe you were the one that had to forgive him for his mistakes. It's easy to tell someone that you've changed and feign forgiveness. Or, at least, speak it out the side of your mouth, because the other side had a whole lot to say otherwise. I'm not going to mince words when I step into the ring with him, I'm not going to pretend like everything is all hunky dory for my own sanctimonious ego. Just as I won't pretend like you're actually a changed woman." A sly smile forms, Corey's teeth are unveiled from his lips. "You can't change. Your truth is anguish. The setting and friends list may change but deep down, Lissie, you're a pathetic child. A scared little girl. Cherry picking points of contention to build yourself upon. Overcoming so much damage but causing more and more. And when you finally realized you've alienated the fakest of friends, your world crumbled in on itself and you turned to the one thing you know will invoke the most sympathy. A holy crusade of forgiving. Trying to start over again in the face of turmoil. Hero imposter, villain denier. You're a menace to yourself and you wouldn't have it any other way. You need to be broken. You need to be punished. That is what I can grant you. Punishment. I can lead you to the cross you so want to bear and drive the nails through your flesh. But I will not allow you escape from it. You won't be made divine in your suffering. You won't have closure in release. No, this burden is yours to shoulder for the rest of your days. I am the symbol of Philidor Holdings' iron fist. I am the one that was made to endure the most agony from them. I enlisted the devil himself to rid them from this plane. I was beaten, I was discouraged, I was emasculated. You were a part of that, Lissie, you willingly followed the path to where you are now and I offer you nothing but apathy. What I do to you will be earned tenfold. This has been destined to happen for years, Lissie, we both know it. Before interjecting yourself when you don't belong, again. Our little Man Made Gods and The Swallowing situation in October of last year would have never satiated the appetite between us. Havoc wasn't going to be enough until this year when I am destined to win it. Hellimnination wasn't enough. You've tried to bait me on Twitter and in your promos but when you showed up at Battlefield, ensuring I wouldn't get the resolution I so dearly required - that's when you went from annoying little bug to a hunt I couldn't deny. That's my greatest asset. Patience. I could have dropped you on your head in every single match you've had since March. I could have choked you lifeless in the back, I could have hit you with a car on the street, hell I could have drowned you in the ocean if you were invited to the cruise but that wouldn't be damnation. You'd fucking love being killed off by an incensed sovereign like me. It would feed right into your twisted narrative. No matter the method, in your final moments you'd find bliss knowing that your life would finally be the story you so desperately want it to be. A tragedy that you couldn't overcome. All your self-sabotaging, woe is me crap is cemented as the last breath escapes your body. No, Lissie, I'm going to get you where it hurts you the most. Where you can't make peace with it whether you're grated it or not. Inside the ring. You know as well as I do that the combat within the ropes is the be all - end all. We do it for our own reasons but we do it all the same. What you can't reconcile is having your spotlight dimmed even the slightest. We are here because it was destined. It was written in the stars, just not for Turmoil. Not for this day. The fates decided pump the brakes and send Regan Voorhess at us. By all accounts we should have done this two weeks ago. I applaud the bitch. You probably demand satisfaction from suffering your second defeat by her hand. I was beat in the ring and I can accept it. I acknowledge it. You? Ignore, let it fester until you can't not acknowledge the elephant. Post another selfie. Go hang out at the Velvet Rabbit. You know what I did after I got beat, Lissie? I went into the Dojo and worked to make sure that didn't happen again. Whatever I am dealing with in my life, which is none of you or anyone else's business, is secondary to competing. Wrestling, in your eyes, is a means to get more eyes upon you. More wins, more money, more opportunities. Bigger and better parties, higher profile acquaintances. Better ways to tank your self-esteem and give yourself the underdog push. Fighting me, you're always the fucking underdog. Dune drained Spencer Adams of his life force twice. Removed a key piece to the Turmoil puzzle not to get into the tournament, but to be a dick. Dune was punished by being placed in the tournament. Against me. The one who comes for reparation. The gilded reaper. Some of the biggest names in our sport have been enlightened this year, Lissie. James Raven, Dickie Watson, Atara Themis - they fucked around and they found out. I fought the World, I've won and I will continue to fight it. As much as that eats you inside, your main character syndrome wouldn't allow you to come to terms with the fact that you got left out in favor of a crusty old wannabe king like me. A dictator, you've said, because I live in a castle on a hill and I help the village that accepted me as their own. You don't know what it's like to be needed because YOU JUST NEED. You NEED to be the center of attention, you NEED to be talked about, you NEED the validation of the world as a whole coming to like every half-assed mirror selfie you post. You need to believe you're the best because if you don't, you have nothing to satiate that thirst. So I gave you Betsy Granger. Think of that match as a surrogate beatdown all you want, I had the chance to give you something you yearned for and you couldn't live up to it. It wasn't some hit job, it was a wake up call you desperately needed but blew off. Betsy told you what your truth was and you cracked, even for a moment. You found out, Lissie. There's order to this and you have always fallen far below where you believe you should be. You can't contend with Kings, GOATs and Travelers when you only wear a jester's hat." Becoming more enraged, Corey grasps the lectern with both hands and heaves it across the stage into a door. Both wooden structures turn to splinter as Corey puts one cut up on an old plant pot that has long lost its shine. "It took us this long to go one on one because I'm Corey fucking Black and you're losing the US Title to my lackey. You're left behind by the very same group that wouldn't care if I did choke the life out of you. You're a so tragic it circles back around and becomes a goddamn comedy. You were asked to repent on Clash for yourself. You need this. You need to get the monkey off your back of what you did to me at Battlefield. And I'm not going to give it to you. I'm going to spike you on the top of your head, pin your shoulders to the mat and go about by day knowing that I did what I said I was going to do. I can cross YOU off my list. I can get the monkey with YOUR FACE off MY BACK. And I won't budge. I won't offer you a handshake, a hug, even a slight glance. Once this match is over and you are left wondering what city you're in, I carry on to the next fight. Whether it be one that's been months in the making or someone trying to make their name, I'm going to be ready for it. You'll continue your self-felating redemption, figuring out some way to throw a spike strip in front of your own speeding car. A perpetual motion that you cannot just break by asking whatever God you quote to forgive thy sins. I'm the only one that can absolve you of what you have done to me, the pound of flesh I take from you at Turmoil will not suffice. Win, lose or draw, Lissie - you will not be exonerated. Your ambition, your craving, it's all for naught. You will still seek penance for that which you have done. And whatever meek rebuttal you have will fall upon deaf ears. For you fail to accept the truth. You fail to come to grip with what you are and what you seek. The truth? Hope is the most beautiful lie." Corey steps off the stage and enters the decaying congregation. With a determined stride he walks to the door and waltzes right through the opening. The town at large is long gone, only rubble remains. A stone archway or two but not a glimmer of life in this place. Pulling back, Corey looks toward the cathedral as the sun comes back to life, rejuvenating the countryside and this close knit community. The church is back to one piece and the congregation are full of life once again, exiting the church. They all spread throughout town, we scan over the rolling hills, and across a large body of water. |
Thunder rumbles in the distance as the ever flowing pitter patter of raindrops splash down upon the floor to ceiling windows of Corey Black's apartment in Minneapolis. He sits on the couch, eyes fixated outward over the landscape of the city. A bottle of water in his right hand, he brings to his mouth and takes a long drink. He exhales slowly after finishing, nose twitching slightly as he does so. A soft buzz fills the near silence, an intercom coming to life.
"Mr. Black, you have a visitor. Shall I send them up?" the voice of the tower's bellhop asks.
"Sure," Corey responds, placing the water bottle on the floor and standing up. He walks over to the large door to the elevator shaft in his apartment and waits. Floor by floor, the light over the door changes numbers until it reaches Corey's floor. The elevator is loud, unmistakable. The folding door opens and clickity clack of heeled shoes echoes behind the door Corey stands in front of. It opens. Light fills the apartment, she walks through.
"Been a while," Taylor says, placing her purse on Corey's couch. "If I didn't know any better I'd think you've been avoiding me."
"That is certainly not the truth," Corey responds, closing his door.
She snaps around, looking him in the eye, "so what is?"
He hesitates. Usually unwavering, he seems unsettled.
"You know I have the internet, right?" she asks, walking over to him. "And I have watched every single show. I know what you did - and I understand why you did it."
"It's not like that.." Corey says, she places her finger to his lips.
"You listen to me and you listen good," she basically puts her foot down, "you haven't been the same since October of last year. Fourteen months of this. Between the title and Philidor Holdings, between the stress of fighting people that aren't even in your company, to the clowns incident and now letting yourself be consumed by the one thing that's been holding you back since you were a kid. I don't even know who you are anymore. Do you?"
"I -" she stops him.
"That was fucking rhetorical," she says nearly biting his head off.
"I know my truth. With or without, I'm the King of All Wrestlers. I am the greatest to ever lace them up and I'm going to cave in Lissie Hope's fucking skull. Then I'm going to leave her to wallow in her own piss and tears, come back here and show you who I am," Corey nearly screams, stepping forward and causing her to back down slightly.
"You've always been a man of your word, no matter how long it takes you," she says with a smile.