Post by Odin Balfore on Aug 24, 2022 22:51:33 GMT -5
CLASH 8/22 POST CBS CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH
Chris Avery: MY god, what the hell was Odin thinking? Cashe is his tag team partner!
Billy: Here comes the EMTs to attend to Cashe.
Odin walks out of the ring and heads back up the ramp. Jade Riley is right there to meet with Odin as he comes back through the curtain.
“Odin,” She asks, holding the mic to up him. “What did we just see out there; why did you attack Jason Cashe and cost him his CBS Championship?”
Odin looks down at her, running his fingers through his hair and then resting them on his hips. “It’s OG shit, Jade; you wouldn't understand. Which way did that Rat Kano run off too, I’m sure you saw him.”
Jade shrugs. “I’m not sure which way he went.”
“No matter, I’ll catch up with him soon enough. I still have some unfinished business to attend to.”
Jason Cashe comes through the curtain on a stretcher, flanked by EMTs, and unaware of Odin who pounces on him again with clubbing blows.
“What the matter, Cashe?”
WHAM!
“You aint about that life, no more?”
WHAM!
“Where’s that OG shit now, fam?”
WHAM!
“You knew this shit was coming for you. You knew I was comin’ for you. For that Belt. It’s about Respect,Cashe, and you didn't pay up so now you get what you fuckin’ deserve!”
With that, Odin picks up the stretcher over his head with Cashe on it and slams it on the ground.
Chris Avery: My God, Odin is out of Control!
Security comes to peel Odin away from Cashe.
Billy: Here comes Security but it’s a little too late.
Chris Avery: Odin is out of his damn mind!
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"Kano, I hope you're sopping up that hoodrat shit like biscuits and gravy. Lickin your fingers and getting every last drop because that shit doesn't work on this O.G. You ran your mouth about the aggravated assault but you're a self-inflicted victim.
You'll be the first one to pop off about some ruthless aggression none sense- the kind of guy who's 'red-pilling' himself into a coma just so you can look yourself in the mirror and convince yourself that you're a real man.
It's some bush league 4D chess If you thinkin that bragging about a 'crime' at sixteen makes you hard - or better yet - a fucking man.
A man would realize that: 'wow, I used to be dumb at sixteen'
My G, all guys are but your smooth brain went down the Andrew Tate rabbit hole and got caught up. You realize that you were harder then than you are now. It fucking kills you inside to know, so you balled up your little fists, you flew to Japan so you can beat up on more grown men with the average height and weight of an American sixteen-year-old.
It's sad and it's pathetic that your only personality trait is a misdemeanor and not even a fuckin good one. Who gets locked up for aggravated assault; they would just release you to your folks and you coulda played Fortnite..
Instead, though, you riding that assault charge like a shoe sales with four touchdowns in his senior year of playing quarterback.
Me, on the other hand, G. I don't fucking believe you. I mean, I believe you pushed a kid off the jungle gym but I don't believe you're this fucking dumb to ride it out into your adult years and worse still a sport where you get beat up. I fuckin dare you to go to UFC and tell Dana the bulk of your experience came from one fight. You wouldn't you’d get clowned on. Just like I’m doing right now and you got no choice but to sit there and fucking take it.
Calm down, Fresh Prince. I don't need you running off to Bel-Air on me - not just yet. You're still here in Action Wrestling with something I want and no fucking way to get out of it.
I get it, though. You on that gang shit. I could respect it if you really understood what that meant. I mean, Roman Gunn is about GOD MODE. At least he's dyslexic. After this week we'll see what your excuse is. I suggest you stay fucking aggravated, leave the assault to me, and die fucking mad about it because now, just like in your life, your best years are behind you. You're getting buried this week boy and you don't even know it yet. You want an Uprising but I'm over here putting out a pussy ass Guerrilla rebellion before it even starts."
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Queens Hospital. NY
We walk behind Odin as he enters Cashes' room, only a few hours after the attack as he's being observed overnight due to the injuries sustained by the All-Father. Odin sits down next to Cashes bed and puts a cheesy 'get well soon’ bear on the nightstand between them.
"Hey, bud. How ya feeling. Don't pretend that you can't hear me now, I know how coma's work. That was like, Jay Prices' best gimmick.
Ya know, when you showed up- it was great. It was magic. I was happy- honestly happy to see you again. We've Been homeboys since nearly the beginning. Then you won the CBS Championship.
I was happy for you.
If you had one guy to have your back in the locker room, it was me.
Then we tagged. We tagged and it was different. Something was off. You weren't the OG I thought you were. I'm not sure if you changed or what but hey, OxC, back together.
Then the disrespect happened. I realized that you didn't change. It's that you never was. I just can't abide by that.
I was here to have your back. You didn't want to be here to have mine. You put a knife in my back that I didn't see coming.
Don't cry because it's over. Cry because Ragnarok came for you. Cashe, you forgot: I don't leave survivors. However, I'm not gonna kill you. Not yet. When you heal up and you remember who the fuck you really are - I'll be here waiting with that CBS title in hand. When you do, we can settle the fact that you had an unfortunate lapse in judgment. It didn't have to end this way but they always make the same mistake. They all think that they can cross me and get away with it.
I’ll see you when you decide to crawl your ass back to AW. See you around, CHAMP.
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“ Kano, tell me all about how you went to juvi at sixteen for ‘aggravated assault’ and I'll tell you how I was up at the twenty-story penthouse killing a man with piano wire.
One of us got a quarter mill.
The other was taking back shots in a 6 by 6.
Remember that we are not the same.
Or about the time you were mopping floors in a Japanese sweat box. Being the champion killer or whatever the lame fuck you call it.
Come, King Killer, regale us in your tales in the fine art of Japanese-style wrestling. We're all interested in your stories of the time you beat a blow-up doll of Korean pop star, Jung Kook, for the All-gaijin world cup.
Or that time you wrestled an eight-year school girl to a sixty-minute draw in an exploding barware match. Yet I'm sure it was all smooth like 'Butter;' am I right?
Tell me how you learned Japanese to honor those fans yet you dare to come here and disrespect me.
Go ahead, tell the world all those matches were better than any of the work I've put out when I was headlining the Dome in WCF. Or in UWA, APW, GCW - take your God damned pick, Mop Boy; cuz I'll have you scribbling on a plane ticket like:
'Dear Japan, I wrote you, but you still aint callin'.'
See, Gaijin like you learn ‘strong style’ because you can't be strong- by any stretch of the word. No selling chops in a 16 by 16 doesn't make you strong - it just tells me you lack forethought.
You wanna be the urban guerrilla, you better bless up to Hamrambe.
Bah! You couldn't hold Harambes jock, let alone, mine. All this talk you did to Ronin, talkin bout guerrilla warfare in these streets. I dunno, fam, when I was out there last week wreckin shop, you peacin outta there real fast. you're giving off some real unemployment vibes. I got that Black air force energy - you can’t even wear your daddys workboots.
Again, we are not the same.
Yet now, because of that real shit, I did last week, you hold a championship that is mine.
A destiny I was to fulfill with Cashe. A destiny for which you are a feeble and ill-suited replacement. Alas, I cannot always choose who is before me.
You did though. You chose to come to Action Wrestling. Your pride brought you to me and that very pride will bring you to my feet.
The Championships. The company. Valhalla. Respect.
King Killer. You, like cashe, had a good run in action wrestling before you ran foul of the All-father. You sit there all smug with the CBS championship that I gifted to you. Now, I fucking dare you to stand up and tell me that you're on my God damn level - do it and show the entire fucking world that you take size 18 clown shoes. Or better yet, come at me with that condescending, smarmy mark shit that you're: 'better than Odin Balfore.' Fuckin christ my G', inject ya goofy nonsense into my veins because you actually, one hundred percent believe that shit. You, just like everyone else in this company believe that shit.
That CBS championship doesn't make you special. It makes you next. You watched me take my friend of the last twenty fuckin' years - and I decimated him. I put him through tables. I choked him out. I Ragnaroked him. All for lesser crimes than what you'll spew from your dick holster this week.
In your mind, you might think that it's worth it, that you can 'handle the O.G.' ain't no sweat, you're the king killer. You tell yourself that's what you wanted. To fight the best. To beat the best. The only difference is, mop boy, that this is reality. In reality, I'm a real killer.
While you come for a crown you cannot carry. For a God, you cannot comprehend. For glory, you cannot fathom. For a throne, you cannot find. There is a genuine sword of Damocles over your head- That Ragnarok hits harder than you can ever imagine. I’m going to leave you just like I left Cashe, so I hope you had a good look at him.
You know, it’s funny. You spent your whole life convincing yourself that you’re the King Killer
but in reality..
but in reality..
you're just Heir for a Day."
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