Post by Vladimir Strife on Feb 8, 2019 22:40:22 GMT -4
The camera comes into focus, a frantic and disheveled Crystov Razetti standing before it. Like the last time that we saw him, he is standing outside of the Jared Nathan Memorial Gymnasium, though it seems to have stood up to his last attack rather unscathed.
"Alright.. I see how all of this goes. I came here before and I chucked a molotov into this building and Vlad... you didn't even give a shit enough to show your face, to come out and say anything, NOTHING! I guess you're just too good for all of us that you left behind or.. maybe.. maybe you think that if you just ignore me, I'll go away. Well, Vladdy boy... I've got some news for you.."
The Reaper steps out of frame and bends over, slowly lifting up a large red container with a spigot on top and 'GASOLINE' printed across the side. A diabolical smile stretches across his face as he parades it before the camera.
"I'm not going ANYWHERE, Vlad... and I will do whatever it takes to drag you out of hiding even if I have to hunt you down myself. Maybe you got spoiled by the world outside of these hallowed grounds... used to not having to be on you guard, not having to prepare yourself for an attack at any moment, lazy and fat from trading in your training regiment for snacks and sweets.. it doesn't matter. All that matters.. is revenge. I'm going to have mine and I'm not going to stop at any cost until I take you down in front of the entire world."
The normally eloquent Razetti seems entirely out of sorts, his fanciful words cast aside in a rage as his eyes bulge like a madman, nostrils flared wide. He storms towards the building and jostles the can, a stream of gasoline hitting the just beside the front door with a splash, followed by several more as he repeats the action, taking a step back for momentum each time. He pauses and looks at it, seemingly fixated for a moment before snapping out of it and pouring more down the side of the building. He at last sets the can down and produces a silver Zippo from his pocket, holding it in front of him as he faces the camera.
"Nowhere to hide anymore, Vladimir... No more games.. so come out, come out, whereever you are.."
A loud creak behind the cruiserweight causes his furrowed brows to screw up in confusion. He turns slowly, lowering the lighter and begins taking a few steps towards the building he's just doused in accelerant. As the camera moves around him a little, we can see that the front door is now cracked open, a thin beam of light from within visible through the narrow opening. As he crosses pushes it open and crosses the threshhold, a large black smear across the floor marks the results of his last assault on the building. He cautiously cranes his neck around the door and hesitates before moving forward, allowing the camera to see what he has. It's a familiar scene - a single steel chair unfolded in the middle of the ring with the Czar of Scars seated upon it, a lit cigarette in his hand. He takes the last drag of it and twists the cherry into the sole of his boot, putting it out before tossing it aside where it lands near a pile of them.
"About time.."
Razetti stands in place as Vladimir rises from the chair, it looking as though he's uncertain if what he is seeing is real or not.
"Really? All that fucking yapping about like a coked up mutt and now you don't know what to say? See.. that's the problem with all of you. Everybody wants to be the valiant 'Strife Slayer' and make a name for themselves, so you poke the bear.. but when it turns around and looks you in the eyes, you don't have a fucking clue what to do.. pathetic."
Crystov's face burns red indignantly, but he finds himself still lost for words, not having expected to come face to face with Vladimir at this juncture.
"You wanted a fight, right? Come get it then.."
Just like that, the Reaper snaps to his senses and shakes his head.
"Nuh-uh, no. Not like this. I want the world to witness your downfall.."
A smirk comes to Vlad's face.
"Of course you do... They all do.. and at your core, Razetti, you're no different from most of the men who went before me. You're shallow, vapid, envious.. You don't want to beat me, you just want a taste of the legacy that I made for myself, a legacy that you could never carve out for yourself because you don't have the fortitude and the will and the drive to do so."
The GodKing steps through the top two ropes and plants a foot onto the apron, following with the other as he continues to stare down his old assistant.
"You blame me for your lack of success because of what I did to you, but tell me this - How long has it been since you recovered? How long have you had the ability and opportunity to step into the ring and show everyone what you're capable of?"
He drops down from the apron, the thick soles of his boots slapping down hard on concrete. He takes steps slowly towards the smaller man, who retreats a step before standing his ground.
"And what the fuck have you done with it?"
Strife stops a few feet from arms length from his adversary now, looking at him for an answer. Crystov doesn't seem to have even heard the question however, the defiant look on his face fierce as though he might lash out at any moment. The silence hangs between them for moments before Vladimir finally speaks up again.
"You want your shot? Go home and find your nerve... Pick your time, your place, HELL - you pick whatever kind of match you think gives you a shot in hell of standing toe to toe with me! Then you can go build up your nerves and make some big boisterous remark about how you're going to bring me down and all this and have yourself a little taste of that limelight you're starving for. Just do me ONE favor, Razetti.."
Still lost for words, the Reaper takes a moment to compose himself.
"...What?"
Vladimir leans in close to his face, all amusement gone from his countenance.
"Enjoy it... every little second of it.. because it comes with a hefty price and I'm going to make sure you pay every bit of it."
The Reaper, overcome at last with anger, takes a hard wide swing at the GodKing. Vladimir instinctively ducks under it and allows the blow to pass overhead harmlessly as he juts his knee up and into the stomach of Crystov. He takes the doubled over Japanese native by the arm and pulls hard, moving out of his way as he spins him around and sends him flying into the turnpost. Razetti's upper back slams into it at an angle as his lower body continues to move out from underneath him, seeing him collapse onto the concrete face down.
As the Reaper takes large gasps of air to try to replace the wind that has been knocked out of his lungs, Vlad strolls over to him slowly and presses his boot down onto the side of his face, Crystov's features twisting in agony under him.
"You came to me so fixated on the wounds that time couldn't heal.. and you never considered how many more it would bring you. Go lick those wounds, Reaper.."
Vladimir lets off and heads back towards the lockerrooms, while Crystov scrambles to his feet and heads for the door, having gotten much more than he'd bargained for for the time being.
"Alright.. I see how all of this goes. I came here before and I chucked a molotov into this building and Vlad... you didn't even give a shit enough to show your face, to come out and say anything, NOTHING! I guess you're just too good for all of us that you left behind or.. maybe.. maybe you think that if you just ignore me, I'll go away. Well, Vladdy boy... I've got some news for you.."
The Reaper steps out of frame and bends over, slowly lifting up a large red container with a spigot on top and 'GASOLINE' printed across the side. A diabolical smile stretches across his face as he parades it before the camera.
"I'm not going ANYWHERE, Vlad... and I will do whatever it takes to drag you out of hiding even if I have to hunt you down myself. Maybe you got spoiled by the world outside of these hallowed grounds... used to not having to be on you guard, not having to prepare yourself for an attack at any moment, lazy and fat from trading in your training regiment for snacks and sweets.. it doesn't matter. All that matters.. is revenge. I'm going to have mine and I'm not going to stop at any cost until I take you down in front of the entire world."
The normally eloquent Razetti seems entirely out of sorts, his fanciful words cast aside in a rage as his eyes bulge like a madman, nostrils flared wide. He storms towards the building and jostles the can, a stream of gasoline hitting the just beside the front door with a splash, followed by several more as he repeats the action, taking a step back for momentum each time. He pauses and looks at it, seemingly fixated for a moment before snapping out of it and pouring more down the side of the building. He at last sets the can down and produces a silver Zippo from his pocket, holding it in front of him as he faces the camera.
"Nowhere to hide anymore, Vladimir... No more games.. so come out, come out, whereever you are.."
A loud creak behind the cruiserweight causes his furrowed brows to screw up in confusion. He turns slowly, lowering the lighter and begins taking a few steps towards the building he's just doused in accelerant. As the camera moves around him a little, we can see that the front door is now cracked open, a thin beam of light from within visible through the narrow opening. As he crosses pushes it open and crosses the threshhold, a large black smear across the floor marks the results of his last assault on the building. He cautiously cranes his neck around the door and hesitates before moving forward, allowing the camera to see what he has. It's a familiar scene - a single steel chair unfolded in the middle of the ring with the Czar of Scars seated upon it, a lit cigarette in his hand. He takes the last drag of it and twists the cherry into the sole of his boot, putting it out before tossing it aside where it lands near a pile of them.
"About time.."
Razetti stands in place as Vladimir rises from the chair, it looking as though he's uncertain if what he is seeing is real or not.
"Really? All that fucking yapping about like a coked up mutt and now you don't know what to say? See.. that's the problem with all of you. Everybody wants to be the valiant 'Strife Slayer' and make a name for themselves, so you poke the bear.. but when it turns around and looks you in the eyes, you don't have a fucking clue what to do.. pathetic."
Crystov's face burns red indignantly, but he finds himself still lost for words, not having expected to come face to face with Vladimir at this juncture.
"You wanted a fight, right? Come get it then.."
Just like that, the Reaper snaps to his senses and shakes his head.
"Nuh-uh, no. Not like this. I want the world to witness your downfall.."
A smirk comes to Vlad's face.
"Of course you do... They all do.. and at your core, Razetti, you're no different from most of the men who went before me. You're shallow, vapid, envious.. You don't want to beat me, you just want a taste of the legacy that I made for myself, a legacy that you could never carve out for yourself because you don't have the fortitude and the will and the drive to do so."
The GodKing steps through the top two ropes and plants a foot onto the apron, following with the other as he continues to stare down his old assistant.
"You blame me for your lack of success because of what I did to you, but tell me this - How long has it been since you recovered? How long have you had the ability and opportunity to step into the ring and show everyone what you're capable of?"
He drops down from the apron, the thick soles of his boots slapping down hard on concrete. He takes steps slowly towards the smaller man, who retreats a step before standing his ground.
"And what the fuck have you done with it?"
Strife stops a few feet from arms length from his adversary now, looking at him for an answer. Crystov doesn't seem to have even heard the question however, the defiant look on his face fierce as though he might lash out at any moment. The silence hangs between them for moments before Vladimir finally speaks up again.
"You want your shot? Go home and find your nerve... Pick your time, your place, HELL - you pick whatever kind of match you think gives you a shot in hell of standing toe to toe with me! Then you can go build up your nerves and make some big boisterous remark about how you're going to bring me down and all this and have yourself a little taste of that limelight you're starving for. Just do me ONE favor, Razetti.."
Still lost for words, the Reaper takes a moment to compose himself.
"...What?"
Vladimir leans in close to his face, all amusement gone from his countenance.
"Enjoy it... every little second of it.. because it comes with a hefty price and I'm going to make sure you pay every bit of it."
The Reaper, overcome at last with anger, takes a hard wide swing at the GodKing. Vladimir instinctively ducks under it and allows the blow to pass overhead harmlessly as he juts his knee up and into the stomach of Crystov. He takes the doubled over Japanese native by the arm and pulls hard, moving out of his way as he spins him around and sends him flying into the turnpost. Razetti's upper back slams into it at an angle as his lower body continues to move out from underneath him, seeing him collapse onto the concrete face down.
As the Reaper takes large gasps of air to try to replace the wind that has been knocked out of his lungs, Vlad strolls over to him slowly and presses his boot down onto the side of his face, Crystov's features twisting in agony under him.
"You came to me so fixated on the wounds that time couldn't heal.. and you never considered how many more it would bring you. Go lick those wounds, Reaper.."
Vladimir lets off and heads back towards the lockerrooms, while Crystov scrambles to his feet and heads for the door, having gotten much more than he'd bargained for for the time being.
