Post by Vladimir Strife on Mar 11, 2015 0:25:33 GMT -4
Following the incredible conclusion to the 50 Shades of Crimson match, the camera goes dark and begins to fade in on a much more sullen and tranquil environment. The rolling high-definition camera, afforded to the small company by its co-owner's ability to convince one of the rare female stars that she'd have to manage her own health care out of pocket, captures the scene vividly - but there's little to admire of it all. A thick blanket obscures the sky, a multitude of smokey hues swirling and cascading about one another. The churning clouds squeeze and wring out their moisture, heavy drops of it plodding across the already waterlogged emerald blades that have claimed the landscape. Thick haze hangs in the air, casting a dingy filter over all in sight. A thick expanse of forest separates the murky sky from the vibrant grass, the silhouettes of gnarled and barren boughs clawing at the heavens as they sway with the gusts of the overcast evening. An onyx boot comes into view from the right, trampling upon the lush lawn, the culmination of the foul weather swelling up over the thick sole with a hearty slosh. Rain beads along the leather footwear and the denim that sheathes the upper two-thirds of it before running down in streaks to join it's brethren. A thin and long duster over that whips and flows with the breeze, it's material identical to the pants save the shedding of the deeper hue - it's luster lost to time.
The legs carry forth the invader of the serene and gloomy scene, a rustling accompanying every step, it's source uncertain until distance reveals a plastic bag clutched tightly in his grasp. A few more steps and slick, dark hair comes into view, jet black under the conditions. Before the man, we see row after row of stone markers, rising up from the ground, carefully positioned in a uniform fashion. He makes his way past several, head never turning to acknowledge a one until he stops in front of a particular one, goes down to a knee and rolls over onto his bottom, paying no mind to as the water soaks through his clothing. He sets his bag between his lap and opens it, reaching inside and taking out a fried chicken leg. He begins to wolf it down, seeming starved as the camera comes round to reveal the scarred visage of EVPW's nigh-unconquerable originator. Once he has stripped all of the meat from the bone, meticulously gnawing at each scrap in sight, he tosses it back into the back and sets it aside, before reaching back in and pulling out a bottle. A golden wax seal covers it's top and droops down the sides, requiring him to peel it away before he can lift the cap to his teeth and use them to pry it off. He takes a moment to look over the drink, his last remaining bottle of the hard to obtain Dark Lord brew and cracks the slightest of smiles before taking a long, slow drink of it. Washing down the Colonel's famous recipe, he tucks the bottle between his thighs and stares out at the slate before him. A clenched fist raises to his mouth, holding as stiffly as his gaze before he at last breaks his silence.
"I thought I knew my place.. It all seemed so simple, so natural. I was the most dominant and devastating man to ever step place inside of the ring.. A man who knew no hesitation or limitations. No matter who I entered the ring with, it was simply a matter of who was better, who could go further, who could last longer.. And morality was little more than an exploitable weakness I found in others on rare occasion."
The figure takes another long swig of the black ambrosia and lets out a loud sigh before producing a pack of Winston Full Flavored 100's from his pocket. He fumbles with the lid a moment before slipping a cigarette from the pack and slips it between his lips. He produces a lighter and begins to strike at it's wheel, but nothing comes from it. He tries again several more times before giving up and tossing the vice aside before returning to his thoughts.
"And so I tossed the rules and ethics aside. There was no room for it. There was no room for anything but myself and the next obstacle. After all, it was effective. Then came GHW.. a bigger venue, more fuel for the monstrous ego that was beginning to develop. I began to get more violent, more sadistic. My tactics were no longer confined to the ring or aimed at my opponents. Every man and woman who walked the halls became a target. KingBear tried to warn my that it was getting out of control. That men were beginning to emulate those things in search of their own success. The blackness of my heart was spreading, plaguing everything that I touched. In time, it consumed even myself until I turned on my best friend and tried to destroy him."
"At Ragnarok, as I squared up against my mentor, it all culminated within me. I went into that match with no intent of winning. I didn't need to win. I had already beaten KingBear and proven to myself that I could at Abaddon's Pit. I needed to destroy him. He represented everything that held me back - the final obstacle. His morality, his 'honor', his stake in the company... Once he was gone, I could become absolutely unhinged with nothing to stop me. I thought we were headed toward mutual destruction; that KingBear was out to the same ends and destroy the monster he had created. He knew better though. KingBear knew he couldn't do that.. His days were already numbered, his glory long since relegated to legend. He needed to win. Not for himself or for pride or even to teach me a lesson.. KingBear needed to win because he needed to prove to all of those men and women in the lockerroom that it was possible. It was the only way that he could save EVPW and he sacrificed himself to do so. He was left so broken from the Asylum that he never competed again."
The Barbarian Lord takes another long drink of his beer and shakes his head.
"It took me so long to see it.. To understand what he had done and why. The world began to fall apart around me in that contest. Reality dissolved into fantasy. My brain shut down. KingBear could have legally dropped me right onto my head - killed me, paralyzed me, broken my neck... He could have ensured that I never stepped foot in that ring again. But he would have had to sacrificed what he believed in to do so and he refused to do so. I lost because I fought for pride and destruction, but KingBear fought for this company that we fought and strove and clawed to create."
"And I came back, among the cries that I wasn't the same man anymore.. that I'd lost my ways.. that the end of the streak signaled the end of my career. I continued to win and to fight, but it was always there in the back of my mind. I had lost my focus and allowed myself to lose. And it happened again... Desperado. A man I'd beaten time and again.. I took it for granted that I would do it once more with the same ease I always had, but Desperado had been constantly improving, he'd schooled himself on my every weakness, he was more prepared than he'd ever been. It ate away at me.. the streak was my identity. Without it... especially with a second loss under my belt.. I didn't know who I was anymore. Not until I met you.."
His face is stoic as he stares at the marker, the thousand mile gaze usually only held by soldiers that have been hardened by war.
"You.. a young man who was changing the scene. But it wasn't your style or your technique that I noticed. It was a glint in your eyes, the heart with which you fought. You knew full and well who I was when you called me out. You'd watched me since you weren't even old enough to drink and you didn't simply enjoy my craft, you looked up to me. You idolized me. Not the man who so callously bashed KingBear's skull in with a club or the one who threw Lizzie Morna through a glass window or who tried to hang Metal Dragon or even the one who paralyzed Draigon from the neck down.. you saw a man who gave every bit of himself every time he stepped into the ring. You saw a man who took every opponent he faced to their absolute limit and beyond and you put his poster on your wall. You saw a man who bucked convention and carved out his own place in this business and in that ring and you aspired to do the same. You saw everything in me that I had lost sight of.."
"I looked around at the scene and I realized the cesspool of evil that things had become. I knew it was too late for me. Nothing I could do would ever, could ever, be seen as genuine. People would always see it as some sort of ploy to get one over on everyone. So I began to train the next generation... Erik Ornstein, Bruce Adrian, Kade Samuels, Maxwell Silverhammer. I called it Project Brimir.. from the Norse tales of the giant Brimir, from whose corpse Odin created the Earth. I needed someone with experience to lead them though... KingBear and others helped me train the men, but they needed a leader that could stand beside them. And so I came to you. You would lead them into battle against the evils and the terrors that had overrun EVPW. I could go into my final battle with Hayden and rest assured that the future of this company and this business would have a brighter and better future under your lead than it ever did under mine.. "
"I went against him and I came out victorious in a battle for the ages. I left everything in the ring and put on what was easily one of - if not the - greatest contest of my career. Then it all came crashing down.. It was only the second night I'd spent in my own bed instead of a gurney since that brutal match. It was the middle of the night and I was almost asleep at last when I heard my phone go off. I reached over the side of the bed, wondering who could possibly be messaging me. I read those words and my heart plummeted into my gut.. bile rushing up. I wanted to come out at the next show, to say something... but nothing I could possibly conceive could put what I was feeling into a proper perspective. There still isn't."
The Behemoth takes another gulp of the viscous liquid and tucks the bottle back between his legs.
"And so I find myself here again.. with men like Skull running around looking to get one over on people. With monsters like Cronus and Mouth Man terrorizing everyone. And Wolverina. She isn't particularly threatening or imposing.. but it's Wolverina.. Come on. And so few people willing or able to stop them... And then, today, I find the biggest snake in the grass of them all.. Devin Bozz."
He shakes his head in disgust, trying to find his words among all the emotions he's feeling.
"I find out that he's taken my plan.. for the Purity championship, meant to celebrate those technically sound and proficient in the ring.. and seeks to apply it to all of EVPW. That the man I trusted to run Genesis seeks to turn EVPW into everything we despised about GHW.. some family friendly cookie cutter prime time television program.. something disgusting and a dime a dozen.. And there's not a thing I can do about it.. If I fire him, it creates a breach of contract and I'd lose so much money that I'd be forced to surrender the company to him anyhow.. I'm going to find some way to stop him though. He doesn't believe I have it in me... he's not the only one.."
"All of the naysayers are right though.. I'm not the man I once was. I'm slower every day... it takes me longer to rise with every time I fall.. I will never again be the Undefeated Behemoth. My days are numbered and my time... my era.. is coming to a close. But until that time... I'm going to fight. I will sacrifice everything I have left if need be in order to save EVPW. I will step into that ring and give everything I have every single time. It doesn't matter who stands at the other side of it... no matter where they align. I will fight with every ounce of heart and every fiber of my being so long as I'm able. It doesn't matter than I'm not undefeated or that I have four losses to my name.. Because I'm still the man who has beaten everyone before him. Time may have taken it's toll on me but until the day it puts me in this Earth as well, I will drive every man in this business put before me to their breaking point. I don't have those 100+ matches in me, big man, but I damn sure have another dozen or so.."
"The Behemoth is back.. and anyone in my way will soon know that."
Vladimir Strife stands up from the soggy sod and places the bucket of chicken before the grave. He nestles the half bottle of the black brew beside it and nods his head, standing there before it. After a moment, he reaches back over his shoulders, unhooking a latch. He holds it out before him, the dazzling miniature silver Sword or Mars in it's center. He slips the hook back through the eye and shuts it before draping it over the top of the slate marker. Droplets pound against his cheeks and roll down his face, worming down through the burly growth across his chin. He gives a reassuring tap to the tombstone, then slips his hands into his pockets and begins to walk away, the view fading to black as he does.
The legs carry forth the invader of the serene and gloomy scene, a rustling accompanying every step, it's source uncertain until distance reveals a plastic bag clutched tightly in his grasp. A few more steps and slick, dark hair comes into view, jet black under the conditions. Before the man, we see row after row of stone markers, rising up from the ground, carefully positioned in a uniform fashion. He makes his way past several, head never turning to acknowledge a one until he stops in front of a particular one, goes down to a knee and rolls over onto his bottom, paying no mind to as the water soaks through his clothing. He sets his bag between his lap and opens it, reaching inside and taking out a fried chicken leg. He begins to wolf it down, seeming starved as the camera comes round to reveal the scarred visage of EVPW's nigh-unconquerable originator. Once he has stripped all of the meat from the bone, meticulously gnawing at each scrap in sight, he tosses it back into the back and sets it aside, before reaching back in and pulling out a bottle. A golden wax seal covers it's top and droops down the sides, requiring him to peel it away before he can lift the cap to his teeth and use them to pry it off. He takes a moment to look over the drink, his last remaining bottle of the hard to obtain Dark Lord brew and cracks the slightest of smiles before taking a long, slow drink of it. Washing down the Colonel's famous recipe, he tucks the bottle between his thighs and stares out at the slate before him. A clenched fist raises to his mouth, holding as stiffly as his gaze before he at last breaks his silence.
"I thought I knew my place.. It all seemed so simple, so natural. I was the most dominant and devastating man to ever step place inside of the ring.. A man who knew no hesitation or limitations. No matter who I entered the ring with, it was simply a matter of who was better, who could go further, who could last longer.. And morality was little more than an exploitable weakness I found in others on rare occasion."
The figure takes another long swig of the black ambrosia and lets out a loud sigh before producing a pack of Winston Full Flavored 100's from his pocket. He fumbles with the lid a moment before slipping a cigarette from the pack and slips it between his lips. He produces a lighter and begins to strike at it's wheel, but nothing comes from it. He tries again several more times before giving up and tossing the vice aside before returning to his thoughts.
"And so I tossed the rules and ethics aside. There was no room for it. There was no room for anything but myself and the next obstacle. After all, it was effective. Then came GHW.. a bigger venue, more fuel for the monstrous ego that was beginning to develop. I began to get more violent, more sadistic. My tactics were no longer confined to the ring or aimed at my opponents. Every man and woman who walked the halls became a target. KingBear tried to warn my that it was getting out of control. That men were beginning to emulate those things in search of their own success. The blackness of my heart was spreading, plaguing everything that I touched. In time, it consumed even myself until I turned on my best friend and tried to destroy him."
"At Ragnarok, as I squared up against my mentor, it all culminated within me. I went into that match with no intent of winning. I didn't need to win. I had already beaten KingBear and proven to myself that I could at Abaddon's Pit. I needed to destroy him. He represented everything that held me back - the final obstacle. His morality, his 'honor', his stake in the company... Once he was gone, I could become absolutely unhinged with nothing to stop me. I thought we were headed toward mutual destruction; that KingBear was out to the same ends and destroy the monster he had created. He knew better though. KingBear knew he couldn't do that.. His days were already numbered, his glory long since relegated to legend. He needed to win. Not for himself or for pride or even to teach me a lesson.. KingBear needed to win because he needed to prove to all of those men and women in the lockerroom that it was possible. It was the only way that he could save EVPW and he sacrificed himself to do so. He was left so broken from the Asylum that he never competed again."
The Barbarian Lord takes another long drink of his beer and shakes his head.
"It took me so long to see it.. To understand what he had done and why. The world began to fall apart around me in that contest. Reality dissolved into fantasy. My brain shut down. KingBear could have legally dropped me right onto my head - killed me, paralyzed me, broken my neck... He could have ensured that I never stepped foot in that ring again. But he would have had to sacrificed what he believed in to do so and he refused to do so. I lost because I fought for pride and destruction, but KingBear fought for this company that we fought and strove and clawed to create."
"And I came back, among the cries that I wasn't the same man anymore.. that I'd lost my ways.. that the end of the streak signaled the end of my career. I continued to win and to fight, but it was always there in the back of my mind. I had lost my focus and allowed myself to lose. And it happened again... Desperado. A man I'd beaten time and again.. I took it for granted that I would do it once more with the same ease I always had, but Desperado had been constantly improving, he'd schooled himself on my every weakness, he was more prepared than he'd ever been. It ate away at me.. the streak was my identity. Without it... especially with a second loss under my belt.. I didn't know who I was anymore. Not until I met you.."
His face is stoic as he stares at the marker, the thousand mile gaze usually only held by soldiers that have been hardened by war.
"You.. a young man who was changing the scene. But it wasn't your style or your technique that I noticed. It was a glint in your eyes, the heart with which you fought. You knew full and well who I was when you called me out. You'd watched me since you weren't even old enough to drink and you didn't simply enjoy my craft, you looked up to me. You idolized me. Not the man who so callously bashed KingBear's skull in with a club or the one who threw Lizzie Morna through a glass window or who tried to hang Metal Dragon or even the one who paralyzed Draigon from the neck down.. you saw a man who gave every bit of himself every time he stepped into the ring. You saw a man who took every opponent he faced to their absolute limit and beyond and you put his poster on your wall. You saw a man who bucked convention and carved out his own place in this business and in that ring and you aspired to do the same. You saw everything in me that I had lost sight of.."
"I looked around at the scene and I realized the cesspool of evil that things had become. I knew it was too late for me. Nothing I could do would ever, could ever, be seen as genuine. People would always see it as some sort of ploy to get one over on everyone. So I began to train the next generation... Erik Ornstein, Bruce Adrian, Kade Samuels, Maxwell Silverhammer. I called it Project Brimir.. from the Norse tales of the giant Brimir, from whose corpse Odin created the Earth. I needed someone with experience to lead them though... KingBear and others helped me train the men, but they needed a leader that could stand beside them. And so I came to you. You would lead them into battle against the evils and the terrors that had overrun EVPW. I could go into my final battle with Hayden and rest assured that the future of this company and this business would have a brighter and better future under your lead than it ever did under mine.. "
"I went against him and I came out victorious in a battle for the ages. I left everything in the ring and put on what was easily one of - if not the - greatest contest of my career. Then it all came crashing down.. It was only the second night I'd spent in my own bed instead of a gurney since that brutal match. It was the middle of the night and I was almost asleep at last when I heard my phone go off. I reached over the side of the bed, wondering who could possibly be messaging me. I read those words and my heart plummeted into my gut.. bile rushing up. I wanted to come out at the next show, to say something... but nothing I could possibly conceive could put what I was feeling into a proper perspective. There still isn't."
The Behemoth takes another gulp of the viscous liquid and tucks the bottle back between his legs.
"And so I find myself here again.. with men like Skull running around looking to get one over on people. With monsters like Cronus and Mouth Man terrorizing everyone. And Wolverina. She isn't particularly threatening or imposing.. but it's Wolverina.. Come on. And so few people willing or able to stop them... And then, today, I find the biggest snake in the grass of them all.. Devin Bozz."
He shakes his head in disgust, trying to find his words among all the emotions he's feeling.
"I find out that he's taken my plan.. for the Purity championship, meant to celebrate those technically sound and proficient in the ring.. and seeks to apply it to all of EVPW. That the man I trusted to run Genesis seeks to turn EVPW into everything we despised about GHW.. some family friendly cookie cutter prime time television program.. something disgusting and a dime a dozen.. And there's not a thing I can do about it.. If I fire him, it creates a breach of contract and I'd lose so much money that I'd be forced to surrender the company to him anyhow.. I'm going to find some way to stop him though. He doesn't believe I have it in me... he's not the only one.."
"All of the naysayers are right though.. I'm not the man I once was. I'm slower every day... it takes me longer to rise with every time I fall.. I will never again be the Undefeated Behemoth. My days are numbered and my time... my era.. is coming to a close. But until that time... I'm going to fight. I will sacrifice everything I have left if need be in order to save EVPW. I will step into that ring and give everything I have every single time. It doesn't matter who stands at the other side of it... no matter where they align. I will fight with every ounce of heart and every fiber of my being so long as I'm able. It doesn't matter than I'm not undefeated or that I have four losses to my name.. Because I'm still the man who has beaten everyone before him. Time may have taken it's toll on me but until the day it puts me in this Earth as well, I will drive every man in this business put before me to their breaking point. I don't have those 100+ matches in me, big man, but I damn sure have another dozen or so.."
"The Behemoth is back.. and anyone in my way will soon know that."
Vladimir Strife stands up from the soggy sod and places the bucket of chicken before the grave. He nestles the half bottle of the black brew beside it and nods his head, standing there before it. After a moment, he reaches back over his shoulders, unhooking a latch. He holds it out before him, the dazzling miniature silver Sword or Mars in it's center. He slips the hook back through the eye and shuts it before draping it over the top of the slate marker. Droplets pound against his cheeks and roll down his face, worming down through the burly growth across his chin. He gives a reassuring tap to the tombstone, then slips his hands into his pockets and begins to walk away, the view fading to black as he does.
