~So don't cry to me ohhh baby. Your future is in a Oblong Box!~
Prologue to The Inevitable...
I am indifferent. That's how I always am. The mood of the locker room of the Axis was a mix of celebration and one huge elephant of disappointment in the room. The loss of the World Title didn't bother us. No. Nothing like that would ever bother us. See. Almost as soon as he came back in. Things changed. We all looked at him. Waiting to hear what he was going to say. I looked down at the SFT “National Title”. This is going to make a good plunger for my toilet. He spoke no words. I felt like making a fart joke to break the tension, but I didn't get the chance. He pointed at me and said something I shall cherish for the rest of my life.
“Fuck him up.”
So. Let the destruction of Lionel Kingston begin.
I guess you were expecting something else? The style of slashing out one liners and bashing you with a verbal beat down that the would would swear that I raped you with my mouth. You think that you are better than everyone else. You are not. You think you are some kind of “god” among us puny mortals. That belt you have makes you feel like something special doesn't it? Well. I am here to tell you that it really doesn't. See. It's only a matter of time before someone takes it from you. You. “The Best”. Highly unlikely it could be someone like me right? I mean after all I just won this from a game of paper , rock, scissors. I bet that will be a topic of concern for you. I bet that will make you try to discredit me. Why bother? You're the world champion fair and square right? You didn't have someone ruin your chances. No. No dear boy. We all stayed away and let you beat the better man. That matters not to someone like you. The challenge before me is how to defeat you. The answer may be more shocking that you can take.
How do I defeat someone who lives in their own fantasy world? I could focus on you in-ring abilities. Which I will later this week and also change my workout to suit what I plan to do with you. See I got probably the best plan. See. You think that I can't get inside of your head due to all the fantastic cosmic shit happening right? Wrong. I can not go into your fantasy world Lionel. However. I can go into my own.
Have you ever heard of the “Oblong Candle”?
Other than it's particularly interesting color it's a very large candle filled with mild hallucinogens. When you breath the fumes you go on what's known as a spiritual walk. With the right external stimuli one can sort of direct the reality. Case in point. I am staying in a room full of my favorite books, posters of fantasy artwork, and the one thing I am directly staring at. It stands right behind the candle as a focal point. A current poster of the SFT roster. I'm looking right at you Lionel.
Unfortunately there is one down side to this particular path of “forced reality”. I can't have my “eyes” in like I normally do thanks to fumes. I even left the mask off. The candle will only keep me in this state for a few hours. It will seem like days. I've done this before you see. It's how I got the mask in the first place. That is for another day. The following account is one made through notes I will write, this tape recorder I will talk into, and of course my own remembrance. Once this is over it'll be out of my system in less than a day. That will give me plenty of time to deal with you in other ways. Enjoy. You might just learn something about me along the way.
I light the candle with the lighter and take in a breath. It smells of lilac and jasmine for a moment and then suddenly I feel like the world is blurry. I look around the room. Books of untold stories flutter though with my mind remembering things about them from the multitude of readings. I look at the posters. They start to come off of the wall forming a twisted world of colors around me. I focus on the poster. I see you Lionel Kingston, but can you see the truth.
The Truth of Insanity.
Last time on horrible ripoff cheese.
We saw Lionel Kingston defeat Nirvana. Something I was unable to do by interference. Congratulations. You got your title back. Now the question is...how long is the undefeated champion going to stay that way?
“I beat Nirvana and now I have...wait who is that guy?”
Allow me to introduce myself before you start making really bad jokes that relate to a wonderful Heath Ledger performance. I am Ataxia. “The Messiah Pariah”, “The Masked Menace of Madness and the Macabre”, and other such really horrid nicknames that are used by marketing to make me seem more threatening.
I don't need them though.
Oh sure you can argue my effectiveness. I mean after all Redd and Kyle Murphy are coming back this week. Yeah...yeah...This is going to be funny.
Hello boys! Enjoy you time off? I hope so. I hope you paid of your “Team Shadow” health insurance!
I'm not done with either of you yet.
I should stay focused because God knows your not going to L-King.
No. That name sounds stupid.
Perfect for the one who is to be called such.
So let's look up to the heaven and call you what you really are “god boy”. You want to make yourself so high up with these people. Truth is we all know where this is going. We all know what this is going to turn into. Rather or not I win or you do, this is only the first dance. Oh sure. Everyone wants to make a point that I am getting a world title shot against the “undisputed” champion. I dispute you.
Because you have never faced me.
Say all you want. The truth does suck doesn't it. See. I'm not going to take time and effort to rip you a new one because that's what you want. You want me to tear you apart because you've gotten some “ghost writer” to write your trash talk.
By the way. Has anyone else noticed that this man's “storyline” disappears whenever it isn't a big time match?
Anyone else note that he doesn't pull out his “Final Fantasy” except when things are on the line so people will actually pay attention to him?
So I'm waiting for it. I want to see it.
I want you to hit me with every cheap trick you have at getting attention. I want you to be that god.
I want you to be at your apex.
Because I am going to show you that Ragnarok does exist.
Your twilight of the gods is about to happen.
What do you have against me? Redd's lone victory? To a count out. Oh I am sure you could go for something like that against me. In fact. If I were you and I cared about it. I'd hit me with a barbwire bat or make me get counted out. Hell. No one would blame you. However, everyone would call you out on it. You care about being legitimate more than what is the smart move. You want to keep that title. You want to make people believe that you are this epic hero.
Well I hope you are ready for your next labor Hercules.
Because I am not going to walk up that ramp like some defeated giant.
If you think this is over if that bell rings and you are declared winner. You are a dumb son of a bitch. I am not going to go back and lick my wounds like Nirvana did. I will be laughing in your face even if you break my fucking jaw you pathetic pile of trash. I told you all this once and I will reiterate it again.
Even when I lose...I still win.
Think about that in your little strategy Lion.
Now...clean that belt. I don't want your filth on my matching set.
Oh...and no worries. I won't sell it to RWF...they can't afford me. Neither can this indy fed.
This glorified backyard wrestling ring.
Enjoy being the king of the shitpile.
Smile Bitch! The end is near.
The Swords of The Champions.
Chapter 1: The heroic scar.
I awaken. I had forgotten how fast that damn thing works. I look at my surroundings. It's a calm spring day about noon. I feel as if I am lying on grass. It's hay. I'm in a barn. Not a modern one at all. I guess the stimuli worked. Ow! The side of my face hurts around my left eye. I try to move but my legs are like they are on a boat. I move slowly. It's hard to breathe. I walk out of the barn into the sunlight. It's like a hangover from hell. A cool breeze blows through the air and it feels so good. I hear a noise. Metal on metal. Oh my head hates it.
I walk into the forge area and I see a man banging on an anvil. He looks to be reforging a sword. I stumble in and get his attention.
“You really should rest Kayl'yn.” He sputters in a gruff voice that seems familiar. I shake my head. Who is he talking about. I grab my face and rub it. It's not my face. Not my real face. This stuff is working way to well. He helps me sit down on a bench. I look up at him.
“Aye, my lord, I am Trenton of Steel. The greatest smith in the land.” He looked like the Trent Steel from my world. Save for the fact that he didn't have his shades. Instead his eyes were red and polished just like the shades were. It gave him an almost humanizing quality. That scared me the most.
“Okay...Where am I?”
“You're in the land of Mir, my lord. You companions brought you here after your great battle.” I was in a battle? Heh. This shit is strong aint it. “It has been a few days since you were awake. Your friends brought me on their way to get the last champion. Your sword needed reforging.”
“The Sword of Nations.” He says laughing. “You must have gotten pretty beat up by the former wielder. Apparently you caught the attention of Roman, god of fey...”
He rambled on about some sort of fight I was in. Apparently I got cut pretty bad by the sword which was now mine and that was why my head hurt so bad. All right. No more week old pizza before I do drugs.
“You seem to not believe me? Perhaps this will make you understand.” He holds up a mirror. Yeah. This really aint me. Short auburn hair. Part of it looked burnt off. I have ice blue eyes...well one...a huge scar was over my left eye and it was yellow in the iris. I was more built than I was in real life and a lot more buff. I guess I was medieval beefcake. I just had on a pair of black leather pants and matching boots. There were markings all over my body in a bright blue tattoo ink. I touched one of them.
“What...I don't remember anything at all.” He laughed. That sick sadistic Trent Steel laugh that haunted my days of training came back into my mind. He walked back to the forge and started pounding back on the metal.
“Of course not. You were completely drained of your magik.”
“Magik. Those markings on you. You have the ability to cast spells my dear young sir.”
“Like a wizard or something?”
“No. Not exactly. The tattoos are made of cold iron ink, they counter most spells done by Fey. By focusing your own magik energy you can activate certain abilities for combat...” He spouted this off like the beginning of a damn video game. I really didn't want to go through all of this. He kept pounding telling me all about his old exploits and what this sword could do in the right hands, but it is different for each champion who claims it.
He finally finished the sword and he handed it to me.
It felt light in my hand. It felt like it belonged. Almost as an extension of myself. It felt right. Like this was something that I was destined to have.
“So where are my companions?”
“They will be here in a few days.” Trenton said pulling a sword off the wall. “Until then...You are mine to retrain. We got to get your power level back up.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“By living...” I should have not been surprised as I heard the metal swing in the air. He let me hear it. He didn't want to kill me. He wanted to get me moving. I turned and blocked with the sword. It gleamed silver for a moment as the blade caught the other sword. It felt awkward for a moment but then it started to flow instead of steel like mercury. The master of the forge was one of pure power in his attacks. He was strong, tactical, and fast as hell. I was winded in less than ten minutes. I fell to the dirt.
“You are holding your own better that I thought, Kayl'yn.” He helped me up. “Let us rest at the house. You need to regain your strength.”
Rest sounded good. I looked into a barrel of water and saw my face. In the back of me I thought I saw a red eyed shadow. It felt like fear. I don't feel fear. The blade seemed to want to fight more.
“One more round...I am a champion. I should fight like one.”
“All right.” He tripped me sending me into the dirt. He swung his blade and I threw dust up into his eyes. He laughed. “Boy. My eyes are immune to dirt. Good tactic though. Come on!”
I get up and come eye to eye with a hallucination of my mentor. The man who wore the mask of Ataxia before me. This was just a “dream”, but I was going to enjoy breaking his face. I can see why Lionel wants to keep doing this. It's better than real life. Real power. Real warrior pride. This is going to be fun for a while. Let's see if I earn this heroic scar.