Knife in The Back Part IV
Aug 18, 2022 15:05:30 GMT -5
Downfall, Gerard Angelo, and 1 more like this
Post by Odin Balfore on Aug 18, 2022 15:05:30 GMT -5
Knife in The Back Part IV
In the barn on Odin's property, we see a brand new wrestling ring and inside, Odin running drill after drill. Ropes, rolls, back bumps. Anything and everything he can do to get himself back into the shape he needs to be to reclaim what was and rightfully is: HIS
The Championships. The Company. Valhalla. The Respect.
Ragnarok.
We can gear it running through his head.
The Championships. The Company. Valhalla. The Respect.
We fade on Odin, continuing his training as he knows the real work has yet to begin.
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The All-Father sits outside on the porch of his new, albeit, ‘rustic’ home. Sweaty wife beater on, gym shorts and bare feet. Blunt in an ash tray off to his left. A bottle of Steel Reserve in his right hand. He looks out in the distance, shaking his head and sighs; as if there is more work to be done.
“Ashton Thomas, you poor fucking miscreant. First match in Action Wrestling and you find yourself trying to go toe to toe with God. Not in name only, no but in every sense of the word and in every inch of that squared circle. I get it. You’re young and you want to slam your fists together and make that impact. You wanna stir up trouble and be the asshole: as if ‘Villain of the Story wasn’t a nickname of mine for the past decade.’ However, I’m not gonna bury you in factual history considering the fact, you can’t be bothered to look at my AW bio – let alone my Rough Kut wiki. I hope you have a name, somewhere else in the world beyond the Clash setting because stepping in the ring with me – you at this point in your career – me at this point in my life – it’s suicide for you. Crawl back to your early retirement breakfasts and your ‘expensive whisky’”
Odin scoffs at the thought of what some dreg considers ‘expensive’ as he takes a sit of his malt liquor.
“Maybe that’s your thing. You spend a cuppa coffee in the big time, get out because you’re no longer ‘stimulated’ then you realize that those were the best years of your life. I have no clue what you did before this but I can tell you that since they weren’t haunted by the Shadow of The Maverick Elite, torn asunder by my Will or broken down by the Nordic Tank, I’d say those were some, weak, ineffectual and rather unimpressive years. Any fuckin’ asshole now can sit here and say they’ve been ‘in the business’ and still not know a gawd damned thing about it. And if you want to sit here and tell me to my God Damned face that you don’t know my name, then – “
Odin takes a hit off his blunt.
“Then that’s all I need to know about career that you never really had against guys that never meant shit and never drew a dime. Wrestlers don’t retire rich and famous. We don’t retire at all. That’s the difference. You left a life that you barely scratched the surface on and where did it bring you, but back to me. This industry is filled with Tik Tok stars and Youtube dropouts that can’t hardly believe that my real name is Odin Balfore or that I am entirely unimpressed by the Ashton Thomas-sai’s of the world: for which there are too many and all without substance.
This is your shot at the big time, cuz it don’t get no bigger than me. Literally, figuratively and metaphorically. When you signed that contract, you stepped into the second biggest mistake of your life- the first was the three thousand dollar deposit you put down so some other dude, even less impressive than you are now, can teach you the worst version of a collar and elbow tie up.”
Odin scoffs again.
“My G’ don’t even know what foot to step off with but you think you gonna come for my neck. Fuck you. You couldn’t get a hold over on me, even if I gave you power of attorney. But I know guys like you. You see some shit shack I bought for your entire net worth and think that that this is failure. You haven’t seen me in my fancy clothes, in my private jet, on my island nation, with my own private army. You only see what you want to see, like what you want to like and that’ll be your Downfall.
Ashton, I have belts to get back. Tag Belts, World titles, CBS Championships, Cursed Idols. Mine is a legacy forged in blood. My heaven has swords, and battle and glory. My Hell has Wisdom and Vengeance. You brought that middling edge lord comical non-ironic irony to the man who sharpens iron with iron. A honed edge of wrestling knowledge, grit and determination that you clearly lack - or else you wouldn't be back, because you wouldn't have gotten out.
Yet I know. You got out because you feared being exposed a fraud. To perpetuate a perpetrator. Ashton Thomas, a clown among men. In the shadow of a God on a quest of rebuking vengeance. Ashton Thomas, a static symposium of noise that I will shut down forever. After this week, when I slump your punk ass, you can go back to your boys with a goofy made up story about how you tried or you were screwed, I don’t care which - but deep down you’ll know the truth.
You were exposed.
You’re not an asshole. You’re just Ashton Fuckin’ Thomas.
A fate worse than death. A great suffering than I will bestow upon you.
with these violent hands.
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