Post by 𝗖𝗢𝗥𝗘𝗬 𝗕𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗞 on Jan 17, 2021 18:31:05 GMT -5
Snow gently falls on the coastal village in Norway, a somber mood immediately strikes into the heart. The sun has gone down, the village is quiet and calm. A lone figure is seen making their way through the mounting snow, holding a lantern. A second figure emerges, then a third. All three clad in hoods and the cover of night. They quickly scale the path that leads from the village up the cliffside and toward the castle that rests there. As they reach the gate, they look up and only a single light comes from the castle; a soft glow in the main chambers. Two guards stop the figures but nod, raising the gate and allowing access.
Inside, they shake snow from their clothes and stamp their boots on the floor, removing as much excess as they can. They swiftly navigate the stairs and head for the main chambers on the second floor, where the light is - inside the bedroom is empty. A book is pulled on the shelf, opening a hidden door to spiral stairs molded into the wall. They head down, one after another, and emerge in the bowels of the castle.
It is here, on the dirt floor, where a ring is set up, they find Corey Black doing drills. Lunge, roll, hits the ropes, rolls off, lunges, rolls and continues. The three figures head for the opposite wall and remove their cloaks, revealing Doom Squad masks underneath. Inside the ring, Corey stops his momentum and offers entrance for the men. One larger, another about Corey's size and the last somewhere in between. They line up side by side, arms tucked behind their backs. Corey kneels on the mat, resting his arms on his knee. Head down, hair covering his face.
"You weren't part of this?"
The men respond in unison, a resounding "no" echos throughout the dungeon.
"Philidor has me at every turn. Everything I do, there is an answer. They used me as their statement, their sacrifice. And now they are coming for the prize I won that night. Using their bank account and every last soul on their payroll. Ash Blake, Carter Shaw, HR Department, Noris Cranley ... Doom Squad ... to put the World Title on one of their own.
There's sanctity within these ropes, gentlemen. An unwritten code that was passed down to me from the man who taught me, and what I hopefully have instilled within you. Combat within settles everything. Outside of the rings of the bell, an eye for an eye. But once the bell rings, it is the purest form of competition. Purest.." Corey trails off, looking toward the wall and losing himself in thought.
The masked men standing in the ring don't move, Corey's mouth left agape. Suddenly he snaps back into his body, shaking his head wildly for a moment. He stands fully, facing the men.
"Being a champion is more than winning matches. It's how you present yourself and follow through with what you say. At the end of this all, I will be known as a man that held titles with honor and prestige. A man like Noris Cranley will be remembered not for his Pure Title, but for the stupid shit he did outside the ropes. Being Philidor's puppet, for instance. For all the skill and promise he showed, he threw it all away when he signed on the dotted line and accepted the sponsorship. Being a cog in that wheel alone is enough to torpedo any legacy he was going to leave - a spat with an analyst on Twitter and a revelation of his personal life sealed his envelope. The contents inside? A win loss record and a going away card.
The man hasn't been heard from for two months, only showing up when instructed to lay waste to any opposition of his cohorts. A literal puppy dog doing as ordered. Not much of an infuencer anymore, is he? Now he's the follower, the crowd looking up to those who sign the checks. Like when Jake Paul has to stop his video and thank NordVPN, Noris' tights will be plastered with Philidor regalia. But he's proud of it. He's happy to be putting up selfies on yachts and showing off his newest mansion, bought and paid for by actual blood money.
That's just the man of low moral fiber Noris is. He's in it for the gold, the green and the pink.
The titles, the money and whatever pussy comes around, his girlfriend or not.
All of these employees are in it for their own reasons, at least that's what they say. Career advancement, opportunity, blah blah blah - it's all bullshit. Every last one of them, and probably most of all Noris Cranley, are in it for the paycheck. Not a noble drop of blood in that man's body. He takes what we feel is near religious and wipes his feet on it for clicks.
If you get nothing from your time here other than this, you'll be miles ahead of almost everyone else in the business - wrestling is a lost form. The Gods that used to roam these lands beneath your feet would wrestle for glory, for entertainment, for their sanity. Being the best used to mean something. It still does to me, and it seems like more and more I am the only one. Cranley lost his title beloved and tucked his tail between his legs for two months.
I lost my beloved title and won two World Championships.
That's the influencer way, the Philidor way, isn't it? One downturn in the trajectory and it's time to eject. That picture didn't get ten thousand likes, better delete Instagram and pout. Go jump in the Hummer, you know this dude has the biggest, gaudiest Hummer on the road, and head down to the closest gourmet ice cream shop to drown your sorrows. One loss. One and he's a mere footnote in Philidor's expense report.
This is the same man who once called himself Unstoppable, before opening his eyes to his own insecurities. When he was stopped, to his credit, the moniker was shelved. I've been the King of All Wrestlers for years, never once have I questioned the title. I live and breathe professional wrestling, probably to a fault. It's a miracle I have a woman upstairs who believes in what I do and supports me as much as she does. Because this business will take everything from you if you don't have the heart and mind for it.
Unfortunately, Noris Cranley doesn't have either. His green heart is pumping full of Philidor's laundered money, the only reason he is in this match is because the gauntlet is being put in front of me. He is a pawn in a game of kings and queens.
The pawn cannot kill the king without coming from a blindside.
But the king... the king goes full force straight ahead and will make the pawn wish he was playing fucking Checkers."
Corey leans against the ropes, looking over at the three men standing before him. They haven't moved at all.
"He came in here, a white meat little bitch thanking the company for giving him an opportunity. Months later, greed has clouded his vision. But to Noris, it isn't greed, it's just another chance. A reset button. A golden goose.
That goose was culled the second Philidor decided I was the lamb to sacrifice.
Every fight, every tussle - they have the numbers and they are overwhelming. Even when I think I have them, the Doom Squad is folded into their little LLC. But every time they think they have me down, believe me when I say - when the bell rings, their head will fucking roll. At XIII I teamed up with a man that I said should be euthanized.. because he was just as pissed off about their charades as I was. And we, along with Frank and Graham, put the boots to their cronies. Carter Shaw drew me round one of the Wrestler of the Year tournament and his fate was sealed. That All-In briefcase was nullified the second the match was over. Derrick Vayden saw the path to success runs through me and he hit the bricks. Noris Cranley, same thing, except now his name has been drawn. The unlucky lemming who is sent to be launched off a cliff, oblivious to the nature of his employment. But like a good little solider, his phone rang and he picked up.
He's been called upon and he's going to have all the confidence in the world. He's a fresh man, he's been off for two months doing whatever influencers do nowadays, his wounds are no longer wounds. I'll open his chest and rip his still beating green heart out before driving my elbow through his skull and putting his heart in the hole I make. This is beyond competition, this is all out war. This.."
Corey pauses.
"This, my friends, is personal. The kind of shit that makes you clench your teeth and just hope you don't lose control again. Teo, that was business. The circumstances were dear to me but the man has no consequence. Noris Cranley has scorned me over and over and over, to the point where it's getting harder and harder to adhere to the confines of the ropes and bells.
I watched helplessly as two of the things I built in Action Wrestling crumbled through my fingers in one night. I thought I was alone in this battle. Hell, I probably still am, how long is 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' really going to last when it's Kemp, Dandy and whatever state Wesley is in?
A one man show against the ever growing fleet of Philidor Holdings, LLC.
Anybody else would be looking around holding for a sword and a shield, a surprise comeback or a miracle.
I'm Corey fucking Black."
He turns back toward the men in his ring and smiles a toothy grin.
"I'm all I have ever needed.
Noris Cranley is a dead man, Ash Blake better have her clipboard out taking notes. I'm not looking beyond Noris, but I am fixated on what he is and who he wrestles for. I've gone one hundred and thirty five minutes in Havoc, I've bested the Hardcore Games at Evolution and I beat the unbeatable monster twice in a row.
Noris Cranley lost his title to a dork who gets his own three match segment on TV.
That's it. That's the statement. That's all Cranley will ever be."
Corey goes to walk away, but stops halfway through exiting the ropes. He comes back to the middle of the ring, standing before the masked men yet again.
"That, a pile of broken bones, and a distant memory of his OnlyFans subscribers."
Just then, the door of the dungeon opens up, in walks Taylor. She has someone behind her.
"So, you didn't tell me you'd have company."
The masked men in the ring all turn, looking toward her and the man behind her. Corey is puzzled himself, as a small Italian man comes into the dungeon. He stands in the ring next to everyone else.
"Corso, can I help you?"
Nothing. No response. Not even a blink, just staring forward.
"How did you find us?"
Still nothing. He stands in line with the rest of the men, hands behind his back. Corey nods, his lips curl in an accepting way. Taylor retrieves a mask from the other side wall, handing it up to Corey inside the ring.
"This is what champions do. We rebuild. And then we return to the battlefield to continue to conquer."
Corey puts the mask on Corso de Classe, stepping back and dismissing the now four men inside his ring. They all file out, heading up the spiral stairs and out of the dungeon. Taylor walks over to Corey as he rolls out of the ring, placing her arms around him.
"You're the fuckin' king."
Inside, they shake snow from their clothes and stamp their boots on the floor, removing as much excess as they can. They swiftly navigate the stairs and head for the main chambers on the second floor, where the light is - inside the bedroom is empty. A book is pulled on the shelf, opening a hidden door to spiral stairs molded into the wall. They head down, one after another, and emerge in the bowels of the castle.
It is here, on the dirt floor, where a ring is set up, they find Corey Black doing drills. Lunge, roll, hits the ropes, rolls off, lunges, rolls and continues. The three figures head for the opposite wall and remove their cloaks, revealing Doom Squad masks underneath. Inside the ring, Corey stops his momentum and offers entrance for the men. One larger, another about Corey's size and the last somewhere in between. They line up side by side, arms tucked behind their backs. Corey kneels on the mat, resting his arms on his knee. Head down, hair covering his face.
"You weren't part of this?"
The men respond in unison, a resounding "no" echos throughout the dungeon.
"Philidor has me at every turn. Everything I do, there is an answer. They used me as their statement, their sacrifice. And now they are coming for the prize I won that night. Using their bank account and every last soul on their payroll. Ash Blake, Carter Shaw, HR Department, Noris Cranley ... Doom Squad ... to put the World Title on one of their own.
There's sanctity within these ropes, gentlemen. An unwritten code that was passed down to me from the man who taught me, and what I hopefully have instilled within you. Combat within settles everything. Outside of the rings of the bell, an eye for an eye. But once the bell rings, it is the purest form of competition. Purest.." Corey trails off, looking toward the wall and losing himself in thought.
The masked men standing in the ring don't move, Corey's mouth left agape. Suddenly he snaps back into his body, shaking his head wildly for a moment. He stands fully, facing the men.
"Being a champion is more than winning matches. It's how you present yourself and follow through with what you say. At the end of this all, I will be known as a man that held titles with honor and prestige. A man like Noris Cranley will be remembered not for his Pure Title, but for the stupid shit he did outside the ropes. Being Philidor's puppet, for instance. For all the skill and promise he showed, he threw it all away when he signed on the dotted line and accepted the sponsorship. Being a cog in that wheel alone is enough to torpedo any legacy he was going to leave - a spat with an analyst on Twitter and a revelation of his personal life sealed his envelope. The contents inside? A win loss record and a going away card.
The man hasn't been heard from for two months, only showing up when instructed to lay waste to any opposition of his cohorts. A literal puppy dog doing as ordered. Not much of an infuencer anymore, is he? Now he's the follower, the crowd looking up to those who sign the checks. Like when Jake Paul has to stop his video and thank NordVPN, Noris' tights will be plastered with Philidor regalia. But he's proud of it. He's happy to be putting up selfies on yachts and showing off his newest mansion, bought and paid for by actual blood money.
That's just the man of low moral fiber Noris is. He's in it for the gold, the green and the pink.
The titles, the money and whatever pussy comes around, his girlfriend or not.
All of these employees are in it for their own reasons, at least that's what they say. Career advancement, opportunity, blah blah blah - it's all bullshit. Every last one of them, and probably most of all Noris Cranley, are in it for the paycheck. Not a noble drop of blood in that man's body. He takes what we feel is near religious and wipes his feet on it for clicks.
If you get nothing from your time here other than this, you'll be miles ahead of almost everyone else in the business - wrestling is a lost form. The Gods that used to roam these lands beneath your feet would wrestle for glory, for entertainment, for their sanity. Being the best used to mean something. It still does to me, and it seems like more and more I am the only one. Cranley lost his title beloved and tucked his tail between his legs for two months.
I lost my beloved title and won two World Championships.
That's the influencer way, the Philidor way, isn't it? One downturn in the trajectory and it's time to eject. That picture didn't get ten thousand likes, better delete Instagram and pout. Go jump in the Hummer, you know this dude has the biggest, gaudiest Hummer on the road, and head down to the closest gourmet ice cream shop to drown your sorrows. One loss. One and he's a mere footnote in Philidor's expense report.
This is the same man who once called himself Unstoppable, before opening his eyes to his own insecurities. When he was stopped, to his credit, the moniker was shelved. I've been the King of All Wrestlers for years, never once have I questioned the title. I live and breathe professional wrestling, probably to a fault. It's a miracle I have a woman upstairs who believes in what I do and supports me as much as she does. Because this business will take everything from you if you don't have the heart and mind for it.
Unfortunately, Noris Cranley doesn't have either. His green heart is pumping full of Philidor's laundered money, the only reason he is in this match is because the gauntlet is being put in front of me. He is a pawn in a game of kings and queens.
The pawn cannot kill the king without coming from a blindside.
But the king... the king goes full force straight ahead and will make the pawn wish he was playing fucking Checkers."
Corey leans against the ropes, looking over at the three men standing before him. They haven't moved at all.
"He came in here, a white meat little bitch thanking the company for giving him an opportunity. Months later, greed has clouded his vision. But to Noris, it isn't greed, it's just another chance. A reset button. A golden goose.
That goose was culled the second Philidor decided I was the lamb to sacrifice.
Every fight, every tussle - they have the numbers and they are overwhelming. Even when I think I have them, the Doom Squad is folded into their little LLC. But every time they think they have me down, believe me when I say - when the bell rings, their head will fucking roll. At XIII I teamed up with a man that I said should be euthanized.. because he was just as pissed off about their charades as I was. And we, along with Frank and Graham, put the boots to their cronies. Carter Shaw drew me round one of the Wrestler of the Year tournament and his fate was sealed. That All-In briefcase was nullified the second the match was over. Derrick Vayden saw the path to success runs through me and he hit the bricks. Noris Cranley, same thing, except now his name has been drawn. The unlucky lemming who is sent to be launched off a cliff, oblivious to the nature of his employment. But like a good little solider, his phone rang and he picked up.
He's been called upon and he's going to have all the confidence in the world. He's a fresh man, he's been off for two months doing whatever influencers do nowadays, his wounds are no longer wounds. I'll open his chest and rip his still beating green heart out before driving my elbow through his skull and putting his heart in the hole I make. This is beyond competition, this is all out war. This.."
Corey pauses.
"This, my friends, is personal. The kind of shit that makes you clench your teeth and just hope you don't lose control again. Teo, that was business. The circumstances were dear to me but the man has no consequence. Noris Cranley has scorned me over and over and over, to the point where it's getting harder and harder to adhere to the confines of the ropes and bells.
I watched helplessly as two of the things I built in Action Wrestling crumbled through my fingers in one night. I thought I was alone in this battle. Hell, I probably still am, how long is 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' really going to last when it's Kemp, Dandy and whatever state Wesley is in?
A one man show against the ever growing fleet of Philidor Holdings, LLC.
Anybody else would be looking around holding for a sword and a shield, a surprise comeback or a miracle.
I'm Corey fucking Black."
He turns back toward the men in his ring and smiles a toothy grin.
"I'm all I have ever needed.
Noris Cranley is a dead man, Ash Blake better have her clipboard out taking notes. I'm not looking beyond Noris, but I am fixated on what he is and who he wrestles for. I've gone one hundred and thirty five minutes in Havoc, I've bested the Hardcore Games at Evolution and I beat the unbeatable monster twice in a row.
Noris Cranley lost his title to a dork who gets his own three match segment on TV.
That's it. That's the statement. That's all Cranley will ever be."
Corey goes to walk away, but stops halfway through exiting the ropes. He comes back to the middle of the ring, standing before the masked men yet again.
"That, a pile of broken bones, and a distant memory of his OnlyFans subscribers."
Just then, the door of the dungeon opens up, in walks Taylor. She has someone behind her.
"So, you didn't tell me you'd have company."
The masked men in the ring all turn, looking toward her and the man behind her. Corey is puzzled himself, as a small Italian man comes into the dungeon. He stands in the ring next to everyone else.
"Corso, can I help you?"
Nothing. No response. Not even a blink, just staring forward.
"How did you find us?"
Still nothing. He stands in line with the rest of the men, hands behind his back. Corey nods, his lips curl in an accepting way. Taylor retrieves a mask from the other side wall, handing it up to Corey inside the ring.
"This is what champions do. We rebuild. And then we return to the battlefield to continue to conquer."
Corey puts the mask on Corso de Classe, stepping back and dismissing the now four men inside his ring. They all file out, heading up the spiral stairs and out of the dungeon. Taylor walks over to Corey as he rolls out of the ring, placing her arms around him.
"You're the fuckin' king."