Post by Claire Hawkins on Mar 28, 2021 10:22:06 GMT -5
The camera fades in to reveal a somber feeling scene composed of only the monochromatic colors; devoid of natural colors and life. The scene was that of a still image from last week's edition of Monday Night Clash in which Action Wrestling's resident Witch battled the newly christened Gallows Walker of Frank Lowe's miscreant band aptly called The Hangmen. Although not entirely accurate, the two Action Wrestling Originals stood across from each other within the center of the ring; Corey Bull looking down with a maliciously vile smile while she defiantly glared upwards at him, a vicious snarl upon her face. Equal parts beautiful and terrifying, the image continued to linger for several moments before a white flash abruptly tore through the scene; phantom-like voices of Corey Bull and Loa ringing out as new images appeared.
FLASH
".....reaching for a ring far too high...."
With the top rope acting as a pivot point, Claire slams the soles of her boots into the unprotected torso of Corey Bull as he sits defenselessly within the corner; Metal Magika putting the Monster in its place!
".....reaching for a ring far too high...."
With the top rope acting as a pivot point, Claire slams the soles of her boots into the unprotected torso of Corey Bull as he sits defenselessly within the corner; Metal Magika putting the Monster in its place!
FLASH
"...a faded memory....."
Hunched over and pain written all over his freshly unmasked face, the side of Corey Bull's face takes a vicious kick as his nimble opponent continues to be a thorn in his side; a Touch of Evil tainting his naive dreams of victory!
"...a faded memory....."
Hunched over and pain written all over his freshly unmasked face, the side of Corey Bull's face takes a vicious kick as his nimble opponent continues to be a thorn in his side; a Touch of Evil tainting his naive dreams of victory!
FLASH
".....you are......"
With his massive hand around her throat, The Gallows Walker hoists the smaller frame of the Witch upwards only to be cut off with a coating of mist blacker than sin.
".....you are......"
With his massive hand around her throat, The Gallows Walker hoists the smaller frame of the Witch upwards only to be cut off with a coating of mist blacker than sin.
FLASH
"......a joke......."
With the leg hooked as tightly as physically possible, the proportionally disadvantaged wretch pins the titanically larger Monster; the bell echoing loudly.
"......a joke......."
With the leg hooked as tightly as physically possible, the proportionally disadvantaged wretch pins the titanically larger Monster; the bell echoing loudly.
Suddenly, before a fifth flash could introduce another accompanying image, the all too familiar shrill scream that Action Wrestling fandom had come to know as the Banshee's Wail pierced the audio with such an unrelenting loudness that the video cut to black. After several agonizingly long moments, the unmistakable voice of The Witch cuts through the silence; venomous vitriol dripping from unseen fangs.
"Who's the JOKE now?"
With the fifth flash of aggravatingly bright light burning away the darkness, the scene becomes that of Action Wrestling's Witch standing tall alone within an empty ring; the monochromatic coloring still very much present. With a profoundly vicious snarl upon her pale face, the raven-haired wretch kept her infuriated gazed fixated firmly upon the camera; firmly gripping the attention of those watching.
"Tell me GALLOWS WALKER; WHO is the one reaching for a ring far since removed from their reach?"
"WHO is the one that is nothing more than a faded fucking memory?"
"WHO'S THE FUCKING JOKE NOW!"
Rearing back, she let loose a surprisingly deep and guttural growl that it felt like it was the complete opposite of the normal scream that she had so often used before. This one was filled with more frustration and fury than that of the Wail. Even so, the growl was just as emotionally charged and part of her personality that there was no other choice but to endure as she verbalized pent-up emotions. After the last several weeks there wasn't a single fan, toxic or otherwise, that could fault her. To go from being talked down to by Downfall; a man that had twice failed to fulfill the contractual obligations of being Television Champion; to being eviscerated by Spencer Adams en route to their Hardcore Championship match, before finally being talked down to by an over-glorified hound that had long since given its leash to a scumsucking piece of shit that was Frank Lowe was all more than one person could rightfully endure.
Even so, endure she did.
After her growl had fallen silent, the Action Wrestling Original stood still until harsh laughter began to pour forth. Filled with bitter mirth, the former Guardian turned her attention back to the camera; back to the poor souls that continued to doubt her.
"I guess that would still be me, wouldn't it?"
"Who else in Action Wrestling must go from challenging one overly hyped, narcissistically self-indulgent, entitled edgelord piece of shit to the next? Who else must contend with the suffocating stench of subjective failure from such cuckolds so steeped within their desperate delusions of grandeur that it could make one physically ill should they dwell too long upon the thought of it?"
"Yeah. I guess it's just me."
"Fan-fucking-tastic."
Running a hand through her free-flowing raven-colored locks, the volatile woman let out an exasperated sigh as the telltale visage of her Timebomb opponent slowly materialized next to her; similar to how he suddenly appeared on Monday Night Clash. With the light reflecting brightly off his painted and disgustingly smug face, the figure of her opponent faced the direction of the camera as she once again began to speak; the venom starting to return to her voice.
"Tristan Kancer, the self-professed Jesus Christ of Professional Wrestling, The Savior that we must all bow down to and accept. The supposed world traveler indiscriminately acts like cancer that is terminal to whoever is foolish enough to face him within the confines of a professional wrestling ring. The........"
"........."
".....outrageously delusional shill that wholeheartedly believes that he should be competing within the upper echelons of Action Wrestling despite being unable a fraction of the talent or in-ring skill that one needs just to be able to survive within those monster-infested wilds. Yes, he is the same cantankerous cur that asininely considers himself to be the grandest star that this company has ever signed despite the fact that he spent countless years competing against so-called superstars that he, in his own words, called shit tier and were not worth his time."
"......."
"How in the FUCK does that make any sense?"
"Listen, Kancer; if you're going to continue perpetuating this absurdity that you are EXACTLY what you say you are then you have to, at the very least, acknowledge the fact that either you're a lying sack of shit that never truly squared off with a decent opponent or that you're just the king of the shit tier wrestlers that nobody has any desire to see. Cause from what I have seen, from the four or so matches you had nearly a year ago, you are precisely the same as those foolish fucks that cannot wrestle worth a damn and instantly demand to sit atop the mountain that so many talented and hardworking individuals have built upon their backs."
"Ryan Lockhart."
"Spencer Adams."
"Wade Moor."
"Corey Black."
"Dandy Divito."
"Lissie Hope."
"Odin Balfore."
"Ash Blake."
"These are only a FRACTION of the people that have climbed to the peak of Action Wrestling and you think you're remotely comparable to them? Boy, that isn't confidence. It's sheer ignorance in its most desperate and purest form. Just because you managed to garner a few cheeky victories over a couple of fellow newcomers a year ago doesn't mean you're the main event quality man that you seem to think you are. In fact, that doesn't even qualify you to compete for the Pure or Television Championships. In fact, you're not even qualified to have the dubious honor of being labeled as a bootleg Jayson Price circa twenty twenty-one."
"Pretty fucking pathetic."
Ceasing her tirade about the basic inconsistencies that her opponent had a nasty habit of spouting, the raven-haired lass looked towards the nauseatingly smug face and simply shook her head. Despite his word and the demeanor which he took during his promotional videos, he really wasn't any different than the Chris Frenzys or the Jason Ryans of the world that thought they could get an opportunity at the Action Wrestling World Heavyweight Championship simply because they demanded one
"Although, as much as it pains me to say, it seems that you managed to set aside your sister complex long enough to realize that you need some sort of credible accomplishment here in Action Wrestling. You needed to actually face an opponent that has managed to accomplish something and, much to the disdain of every doubting fucker out there, has some shine to their name."
"You needed ME."
"Therefore, after an eleven-month absence, you rose from the deepest pits of utter irrelevancy and appeared before me after I put down Corey Bull for the second time in singles competition. You showed your ugly fuckin' face in hopes that I would be annoyed enough to accept this blatant challenge laden with disrespect; that I would recklessly charge headlong into this match with reckless abandon...."
"Congratu-fuckin'-lations. You got what you wanted."
"Now it's time for you to fucking suffer."
"I REALLY do not give a fuck if you're so fucking deluded that you consider yourself to be the professional wrestling equivalent of Jesus Christ. I do not care whether or not you consider yourself to be this unbeatable force that nobody in Action Wrestling can ever hope to defeat. To me, Tristan; you're nothing more than a foolish fuck that has long since succumbed to the poison that is believing your own self hype. You have been living under this false assumption that you are the equivalent of a living God for far too long; long enough for your competitive spirit to become weak and stagnant. So, when we step into that ring in Pheonix, I am going to leave you the same way I left the likes of Corey Bull and Carter Shaw; beaten. I am going to remind the entire world why I was the GREATEST Television Champion and why you were REPLACED by MARC MAYHEM at Evolution last year; why you FAILED to be that main event guy that you so desperately claim to be."
"I will be the one thing that even your special brand of terminal cancer bends the to..."
Falling silent for a moment, the porcelain pale woman looked towards the visage of Kancer that stood nearby; a particularly potent mixture of disdain and disgust upon her face.
"This Sunday Night; Tristan, I am going to be the personification of that which everyone must bend the knee to in the end; the thing immortals fear. I shall descend upon the rotting corpse that you have become and pick you apart like a murder of crows. I shall be the wretched whore that plays spoiler to Kancer's return tour."
Turning to the camera once more, the strikingly brilliant crimson eyes burning through the monochromatic coloring that had dominated the video since the moment it had begun. Yet, it was the sheer determination upon her face and the delightfully venomous candor that screamed more loudly than she ever could. It was not overconfidence stemming from her victory over Corey Bull that drove her, but the unshakable conviction of proving to the entirety of the Action Wrestling fandom that she damn well deserved to be in Action Wrestling; that she was, in fact, a wrestler that nobody should dismiss nor overlook!
"This Sunday Night, Kancer, I am your DEATH."
Like a flashbulb breaking, the predominantly monochromatic scene burst into a blinding bright flash before ultimately fading to black as the video came to an end. Yet, unbeknownst to anyone else, the raven-haired woman continued to stand in place long after the camera had ceased filming. With a weak and surprisingly uncertain smile replacing the stubborn mask of determination that she had worn during the video, she turned towards the lingering visage of Kancer that continued to linger.
"This Sunday I prove that I'm not some joke, right?".
Unable to answer her question, the frightfully accurate image continued to smile smugly. Uncertainty gave way to a flood of anger, the consecutively belittled woman lashed out at the image that served as a haunting reminder; causing it to evaporate the moment her pale fist would have made contact. Yet, that did not stem the hot tears of frustration that welled within those crimson eyes.
"Who's the JOKE now?"
With the fifth flash of aggravatingly bright light burning away the darkness, the scene becomes that of Action Wrestling's Witch standing tall alone within an empty ring; the monochromatic coloring still very much present. With a profoundly vicious snarl upon her pale face, the raven-haired wretch kept her infuriated gazed fixated firmly upon the camera; firmly gripping the attention of those watching.
"Tell me GALLOWS WALKER; WHO is the one reaching for a ring far since removed from their reach?"
"WHO is the one that is nothing more than a faded fucking memory?"
"WHO'S THE FUCKING JOKE NOW!"
Rearing back, she let loose a surprisingly deep and guttural growl that it felt like it was the complete opposite of the normal scream that she had so often used before. This one was filled with more frustration and fury than that of the Wail. Even so, the growl was just as emotionally charged and part of her personality that there was no other choice but to endure as she verbalized pent-up emotions. After the last several weeks there wasn't a single fan, toxic or otherwise, that could fault her. To go from being talked down to by Downfall; a man that had twice failed to fulfill the contractual obligations of being Television Champion; to being eviscerated by Spencer Adams en route to their Hardcore Championship match, before finally being talked down to by an over-glorified hound that had long since given its leash to a scumsucking piece of shit that was Frank Lowe was all more than one person could rightfully endure.
Even so, endure she did.
After her growl had fallen silent, the Action Wrestling Original stood still until harsh laughter began to pour forth. Filled with bitter mirth, the former Guardian turned her attention back to the camera; back to the poor souls that continued to doubt her.
"I guess that would still be me, wouldn't it?"
"Who else in Action Wrestling must go from challenging one overly hyped, narcissistically self-indulgent, entitled edgelord piece of shit to the next? Who else must contend with the suffocating stench of subjective failure from such cuckolds so steeped within their desperate delusions of grandeur that it could make one physically ill should they dwell too long upon the thought of it?"
"Yeah. I guess it's just me."
"Fan-fucking-tastic."
Running a hand through her free-flowing raven-colored locks, the volatile woman let out an exasperated sigh as the telltale visage of her Timebomb opponent slowly materialized next to her; similar to how he suddenly appeared on Monday Night Clash. With the light reflecting brightly off his painted and disgustingly smug face, the figure of her opponent faced the direction of the camera as she once again began to speak; the venom starting to return to her voice.
"Tristan Kancer, the self-professed Jesus Christ of Professional Wrestling, The Savior that we must all bow down to and accept. The supposed world traveler indiscriminately acts like cancer that is terminal to whoever is foolish enough to face him within the confines of a professional wrestling ring. The........"
"........."
".....outrageously delusional shill that wholeheartedly believes that he should be competing within the upper echelons of Action Wrestling despite being unable a fraction of the talent or in-ring skill that one needs just to be able to survive within those monster-infested wilds. Yes, he is the same cantankerous cur that asininely considers himself to be the grandest star that this company has ever signed despite the fact that he spent countless years competing against so-called superstars that he, in his own words, called shit tier and were not worth his time."
"......."
"How in the FUCK does that make any sense?"
"Listen, Kancer; if you're going to continue perpetuating this absurdity that you are EXACTLY what you say you are then you have to, at the very least, acknowledge the fact that either you're a lying sack of shit that never truly squared off with a decent opponent or that you're just the king of the shit tier wrestlers that nobody has any desire to see. Cause from what I have seen, from the four or so matches you had nearly a year ago, you are precisely the same as those foolish fucks that cannot wrestle worth a damn and instantly demand to sit atop the mountain that so many talented and hardworking individuals have built upon their backs."
"Ryan Lockhart."
"Spencer Adams."
"Wade Moor."
"Corey Black."
"Dandy Divito."
"Lissie Hope."
"Odin Balfore."
"Ash Blake."
"These are only a FRACTION of the people that have climbed to the peak of Action Wrestling and you think you're remotely comparable to them? Boy, that isn't confidence. It's sheer ignorance in its most desperate and purest form. Just because you managed to garner a few cheeky victories over a couple of fellow newcomers a year ago doesn't mean you're the main event quality man that you seem to think you are. In fact, that doesn't even qualify you to compete for the Pure or Television Championships. In fact, you're not even qualified to have the dubious honor of being labeled as a bootleg Jayson Price circa twenty twenty-one."
"Pretty fucking pathetic."
Ceasing her tirade about the basic inconsistencies that her opponent had a nasty habit of spouting, the raven-haired lass looked towards the nauseatingly smug face and simply shook her head. Despite his word and the demeanor which he took during his promotional videos, he really wasn't any different than the Chris Frenzys or the Jason Ryans of the world that thought they could get an opportunity at the Action Wrestling World Heavyweight Championship simply because they demanded one
"Although, as much as it pains me to say, it seems that you managed to set aside your sister complex long enough to realize that you need some sort of credible accomplishment here in Action Wrestling. You needed to actually face an opponent that has managed to accomplish something and, much to the disdain of every doubting fucker out there, has some shine to their name."
"You needed ME."
"Therefore, after an eleven-month absence, you rose from the deepest pits of utter irrelevancy and appeared before me after I put down Corey Bull for the second time in singles competition. You showed your ugly fuckin' face in hopes that I would be annoyed enough to accept this blatant challenge laden with disrespect; that I would recklessly charge headlong into this match with reckless abandon...."
"Congratu-fuckin'-lations. You got what you wanted."
"Now it's time for you to fucking suffer."
"I REALLY do not give a fuck if you're so fucking deluded that you consider yourself to be the professional wrestling equivalent of Jesus Christ. I do not care whether or not you consider yourself to be this unbeatable force that nobody in Action Wrestling can ever hope to defeat. To me, Tristan; you're nothing more than a foolish fuck that has long since succumbed to the poison that is believing your own self hype. You have been living under this false assumption that you are the equivalent of a living God for far too long; long enough for your competitive spirit to become weak and stagnant. So, when we step into that ring in Pheonix, I am going to leave you the same way I left the likes of Corey Bull and Carter Shaw; beaten. I am going to remind the entire world why I was the GREATEST Television Champion and why you were REPLACED by MARC MAYHEM at Evolution last year; why you FAILED to be that main event guy that you so desperately claim to be."
"I will be the one thing that even your special brand of terminal cancer bends the to..."
Falling silent for a moment, the porcelain pale woman looked towards the visage of Kancer that stood nearby; a particularly potent mixture of disdain and disgust upon her face.
"This Sunday Night; Tristan, I am going to be the personification of that which everyone must bend the knee to in the end; the thing immortals fear. I shall descend upon the rotting corpse that you have become and pick you apart like a murder of crows. I shall be the wretched whore that plays spoiler to Kancer's return tour."
Turning to the camera once more, the strikingly brilliant crimson eyes burning through the monochromatic coloring that had dominated the video since the moment it had begun. Yet, it was the sheer determination upon her face and the delightfully venomous candor that screamed more loudly than she ever could. It was not overconfidence stemming from her victory over Corey Bull that drove her, but the unshakable conviction of proving to the entirety of the Action Wrestling fandom that she damn well deserved to be in Action Wrestling; that she was, in fact, a wrestler that nobody should dismiss nor overlook!
"This Sunday Night, Kancer, I am your DEATH."
Like a flashbulb breaking, the predominantly monochromatic scene burst into a blinding bright flash before ultimately fading to black as the video came to an end. Yet, unbeknownst to anyone else, the raven-haired woman continued to stand in place long after the camera had ceased filming. With a weak and surprisingly uncertain smile replacing the stubborn mask of determination that she had worn during the video, she turned towards the lingering visage of Kancer that continued to linger.
"This Sunday I prove that I'm not some joke, right?".
Unable to answer her question, the frightfully accurate image continued to smile smugly. Uncertainty gave way to a flood of anger, the consecutively belittled woman lashed out at the image that served as a haunting reminder; causing it to evaporate the moment her pale fist would have made contact. Yet, that did not stem the hot tears of frustration that welled within those crimson eyes.