Post by 𝗖𝗢𝗥𝗘𝗬 𝗕𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗞 on Oct 23, 2022 13:31:36 GMT -5
 DRIP.. DRIP.. DRIP.. A cold night begets a cold opening. The moon is bright outside a window, and yet here stands Corey Black looking forward, blood everywhere. Literally everywhere in this room. It's furnished, barely, with a small table and a folding chair, just doused in red sticky blood. Corey is covered, too, his hair matted, his beard a deep red, seemingly dripping from the ceiling. But the expression on Corey's face isn't that of horror, or anguish, or even pain. No, it's fuckin' delight. Ear to ear grin. "It's been so long, Action Wrestling," he begins. From behind his back comes his hand, revealing a large bladed knife. "Do you wonder where I have been? Where I have gone?" He kneels down and at his feet, a sack of skin. A body of some sort, it is mutilated beyond recognition. Corey roots around, sloshing the innards about and spilling more blood out before finding what he was seemingly searching for. An organ. He stands back up, looking dead eyed ahead, again grinning. "I've seen so many things. Wrestled so many people. Lived so many places," his grin fades to a snarl. "And every single one of them just held me back. When you look into my eyes do you fear what you see? Of course not, every contracted wrestler will find faults or exploits or just be that fuckin' idiotic to realize the kind of man I am. The kind of man I can be. I let a presence take over me just so I could do things and go places nobody thought possible. This isn't a retelling, this is a disclaimer. You thought you knew Corey Black before. You knew what I allowed you to know. The veil is off now, motherfuckers, Deathproof is my destruction arc. All in due time." He takes a few steps to the side, peering out the window at the moonlit street before him. "I'm going to say something right now, and I don't mean it to be offending of Jessie Lee, a promising upstart talent. Holden Ross can get fucked, however.. this bubble match is such horseshit. Yeah, I get it, I've been away for the better part of three months. The other seven I was around? Easily top tier in every facet of the industry. Even in what some could consider a slump of a year, my worth outweighs most of this roster tenfold. That isn't even me being a cocky prick; that's the cocky facts. So to be possibly denied entry to Turmoil, an event that very much should just be named the Corey Black Wrestler of the Year tournament, unless I have a good showing against Jessie Lee and Holden Ross? Are you fuckin' kidding me? I didn't come back to this place for that. I came back for Downfall, the Hardcore Title and to fight some of the best this world has ever seen. Instead it's a 'maybe not' match against the dumbest motherfucker and one of the new waves of hardcore. A tragedy, surely." The dirt road isn't traveled at all. The place he's in seems disheveled and grimy. A cheap lamp is the only light inside this room, and this room might be the entirety of where Corey is right now. He walks along the walls, running his finger through the blood, making a visible smear. "I don't know who the fuck you think you are, Holden, but your anti-establishment rhetoric is starting to really piss me off. I've seen a hundred like you come and go, I'm the only constant. Too goddamn stupid to open those red, glossy, drug induced eyes to see the shit I am capable of doing to the man that has driven my niece to lose her way. She was on the right path before she met you, a champion at eighteen years old, and now look at her. Determined to clear Teo Blaze from existence just because of a couple losses. Maybe you could have taught her how to cope with taking the L, since it's the best thing you do. You've got the woman's father putting her in time-out because you're such a dipshit, Holden, and I think it's fucking hilarious. I've been telling her for the better part of a year that you're a snake. For some reason she wouldn't listen to ol' Uncle Corey but when the Relentless one speaks, I implore you to listen, because he is invoking shit that you couldn't ever fuckin' dream of. Godly shit, above kings and man. He's asking me to bring the thunder and lightning down upon your pity soul and it'll be my absolute pleasure, bubble bullshit or not. You make claim after claim, saying you're the most violent individual walking. The Abomination, The Human Wrecking Ball, The Bastard.. the champion of the hardcore division in some fuckin' indy fed full of wrestlers that wouldn't even cut it in the 201 and Fun division, suddenly qualifying you for the shit you spew on the regular. Nah dude, you had your shot against me. Your one chance to do something with yourself ten months ago. I keep harkening back to it not because I'm dangling the fact that you couldn't beat me for the King of Violence moniker but because you're so fucking far beneath where I stand that your best chances of even getting into the ring with me is some ratings pop deathmatch or a coked up madman's vision for a tournament qualifier. That's not even the worst of it, you're out here championing the name of Chris Page - a man that quite literally talks down to this company every chance he gets. He's got his hand up your ass and flapping your gums like a fucking puppet, Holden. I'd expect better but whatever pays your bills, right, and your skyboxes and your trips and all your other shit, you sure your name wasn't Thomas Bates before you got tacky tattooed to oblivion? No, Holden, I'm going to do what I do best. Shove my elbow down the throat of a giant doofus that doesn't know when to close his mouth. It doesn't fuckin' matter why I was gone, it isn't your problem why I wrestle a few matches a year, I'll stomp the shit out of you and Gerard like you were made of tortilla chips, ya ain't even worth getting the guac for. I'm going to spill your blood across the arena and when you're choking on it, I hope you remember the transgressions against me. All running through your head, one after another, louder and louder. Holden Ross checks under his bed for the boogeyman. The boogeyman checks under his for Corey Black." He smiles again, a devilish haunting teeth bearing grin that comes from deep. But his demeanor changes. The grin fades, his shoulders come forward and his eyes become less intense. "What a time to be alive for young Jesse Lee. It's not every day someone goes from the Women's Championship to the Hardcore Title and the privilege of competing against me two weeks in a row. A sour afterthought considering I'm going to have to destroy her. Look kid, it isn't personal, it rarely is unless the other party makes it that way. As we stand, you're just in my way of Turmoil and another nearly year long championship reign. It sucks because I'm going to zap all the momentum you think you might have, possibly sending you in a death spiral of depression and bad thoughts. It isn't you, it's me. I wish I could offer some kind of solace but in this case, there truly isn't any. Your ride upward comes to a halt and crashes down when you step in the ring with me. Everyone's does. I'm not just singling you out. You're a refugee from the deserted lands of Rev1.. and you've done quite well for yourself all things considered. You're in a bubble match to possibly go on to Turmoil! You're in consideration for one of the top sixteen spots in all of Action Wrestling, that's a feat unto it self. When you're watching me run through this motherfucker, remember that. I like you more than Holden, at least." He wipes his eyebrow, taking some red with it and clearing his face up a bit. "After I crush your young soul at Clash, I want you to turn around and come back at me stronger than ever when we get back together on Halloween night in the Hardcore Games. The last thing I need is you moping around, down on yourself - wait until November 1st for that. I don't fight fuckin' charity cases. Think of it as another humbling experience. Everyone needs stopped in their tracks every once in a while and reminded that this sport isn't for the weak. You know that feeling all too well. Hopefully it won't be such a reoccurring nightmare." A tall, six foot in length mirror rests where Corey has been looking. His reflection is clean, the room spotless. His hand reaches out for it, he meets and goes through, stepping into the mirror and the clean room, becoming clean himself. Corey turns, looking back at the mirror where everything is damned in red. His reflection smiling at him, Corey shuffles to the door and turns the knob, throwing his shoulder into it to open it faster. He steps into the brisk night, his black muscle car not a few feet from the entrance. He breathes in deep, chest heaving. As he exhales, his breath turns to fog in the cold. Opening his car door, he slips in and before doing anything else he turns the rear view mirror to the right, not allowing his eyes to see it. He turns his car on and takes off toward a big city in the distance, lights twinkling like the stars in the sky. |
