Post by Dex on Mar 25, 2016 15:24:20 GMT -5
Ozymandias: a Dex Role-Play
Several months prior...
I've told myself, friends; induced in the presence of alcohol, that I wish I never made it to this point. I've finished bottles, simply to see my reflection at the end of them; remembering of who I had been, and who I became. I'd look at my whiskey induced gaze, simply to pursue the uncorking of another. Dex was nothing more than pain, remembrance of failure; false remembrance of change. I was Dexter Brett Kingsley, a name I'd never truly known. I fed myself with a clinical amount of failure, to reap success, only to be burdened by it. I had become consumed by my own inability to adapt to change and new circumstances.
"I'd take another right around now." Dex, said, gazed, as he tightly gripped his hand along the ledge of the ottoman.
"I wouldn't advise it, Sir. I've given you three in the past day or so. Remember what you said about the vineyard? About aging the bottles?" Dex's vision leapt from wall to wall, as his pupils themselves were continuously dilated. He could hear a voice, though was not sure as to who it was. It was a man in a tightly up kept suit; which could be anyone, given his tendency to replace. Dex suspected that it was Chauncey, but Chauncey had fled to Germany, or at least that is what he could remember.
"What did I say?" His worlds crawling out of his mouth, accompanied by a spit-ball, that stood atop the leather ottoman.
"Your father advised me to limit your consumption."
"Who pays you?"
"You, of course, Mr. Kingsley."
"You do what I tell you to."
"Very well, Sir."
"Chauncey! Where's Lindsay?"
"Sir, I am not aware of any Lindsay. Are you speaking of the girl who was here last night?"
"I can't remember who was here." Dex said, as he mustered enough strength to push his back against the ottoman, nudging forward a whiskey bottle with the edge of his foot.
"Kristina. The girl from Serbia. She visited all the way to Maryland, solely to accompany you, Sir."
"Not that one. Other one. Red hair."
"That is her."
"Red dress?"
"If you'd like Sir. I could allow her to take one of the ones we have in storage."
"Tomorrow."
"The bags under your eyes aren't alleviating with more alcohol and more stress. I'd advise you to get more rest."
Dex looked at him, with his head tipped downwards, his eyes rolled upwards towards Chauncey. His stare was unbreakable.
"I'll get in contact with her, for you." Chauncey quickly replied to intrude in the brief moment of silence.
"Chauncey, I'm not seeing tomorrow unless I get drained in liquor. I can see. See I can." Dex gripped the ottoman once more, his head shifting right, then left, loosing balance when speaking.
"So I assume the charity event is cancelled for tomorrow?"
"Charity for what?" His speech continued to slur, elongating his words.
"The homeless project, you and O'Malley were supposed to fund-raise and speak. I must get in contact with him, and tell him that you'll be in the company of Ms. Vukich."
"You're right Chauncey. When I wake up, keep the blinds cologned. Closed, yeah. Remember the deal."
"The deal? -Ah yes. Right pillow propped, silk embroidered sheets. Throw the others on the ground when you're done, I'll dispose of them."
"Roll another booze over."
"Very well Sir."
-
One year ago..
I couldn't remember the last time I'd met with any adversaries from the WFWF. I'd often thought about the reaction they'd give me. Whether they'd scream my name, or chant in pity; the fear of fear was ever-present. I'd been gravely injured by Phillip Schneider twice. The WFWF felt as if it was a distant dream that was becoming a looser image in my figment of imagination. I hadn't quite remembered the roar of the crowd, I hadn't quite remembered the matches, I had solely remembered the pain. I had known the presence of a steel chair. The presence of a fallen arm, as the one beside me was raised. I've known the calming crescendo of hospitalized screams, in the background. I've become accustomed to the plunging of IV's within my skin. Accustomed to the sound of a broken air-conditioner rattling behind my throbbing head.
"Can you let the window up?" Dex spoke, with whitened bandages covering the majority of his beaten face.
"Yes, after I set this down." The woman said, as she placed the lunch tray atop the bedside desk. She sat beside the bed that Dex had been stationed in.
"Ms. Allison, we've met, sometime before haven't we?"
"You've been a frequent visitor to this hospital ever since you started wrestling. Baltimore is a much smaller world than where you usually tend to be stationed at."
"It certainly is. As a kid, I couldn't imagine anyone saying that this place is small."
"It's gotten bigger in the past few years. We've got the Ravens, Johns Hopkins, and a world wrestling champ."
"Not many would admit the merit of that champ part."
"Over here you're quite the star."
"What do you think?" Dex reiterated, after a silence struck the nursing hall.
"Of what, Mr. Kingsley?"
"You and the city of Baltimore have had your eyes on me since the day I stepped in the ring, tell me what you think."
"About?"
"Anything that comes to mind."
"I'm not in the position to judge any of my clients." She jokingly muttered.
"I'll pay you in six figures."
"I'm not very good at detecting sarcasm."
"I'll give you my personal token of appreciation."
"Well."
"I like honesty more than anything."
"You can certainly take a beating. I don't know how many times your prettied face has been met with one of those fold-able chairs. I'll just safely assume less than ten, hopefully. You're still young, you've got many years to go."
"Usually those in the medical profession wouldn't advise anyone to go into my field."
"I only have one suggestion."
"What is it?"
"Choose wiser friends."
"What do you mean by that?" Dex stated, as he sipped the glass of orange juice that stood along the bedside cabinet.
"You see how all of these guys go out there and play politics. Wrestling is the same. Guys cut deals and back-stab to get to the top. Its a cycle, you go to being a bottom-feeder, to lynching the wave of a top-dog; and you get carried hard enough until you can finally take him out. To beat the man you need to be dirtier, grittier than that man."
"Just because that may be the status-quo now, does not mean that it is right in anyway."
"I never said it was right. I said it was easy."
"All throughout my life I've done just that. I cheated to get around anywhere I could. I thought that because of my parents wealth I could do anything, buy anything, be anyone. Ever since I came here, I abandoned those ideals and started to work to be a better person. I knew that I would have the opportunity for a fresh start, once I took off the mask."
"In all my years of stitching guys up, morals are as useless as polite words in wrestling."
"I shouldn't have done it."
"Done what?"
"I steeped to Trace Demon's level. I thought I could wrestle with the pig; you can never crawl as low as it, the pig happens to like it more than anything. The straw man builds a house of straw and calls it a mansion."
"You lost the WFWF Championship because you were too young, too inexperienced. Guys like him have been making a killing on young bloods for what seems like decades now."
"I forgot who I was, forgot what I stood for. You cannot simply dance with the devil and expect your step to be as quick witted."
"So how will you dance with the devil?"
"You best the devil by playing angel himself."
-
A few months later...
"The regular?" He had wiped his sweat induced face with his white apron, that hung along his neck.
"Give me something stronger. Something with a little more kick." Dex said, as he tipped his hat downwards; his hat covering the majority of his face as he sat in the brightened tavern. His back curved forwards towards the bar, his feet loosely planted atop the wooden ends of the stool.
The bartender slid the drink along the top of the bar, passing it towards Dex.
"You heard the news?"
"Of course I did."
"Must not be the funeral type, eh?"
"I've been to too many over the years."
"Figured there's no greater way to connect with him through the bottom of a bottle." Dex continued to speak, after he paused for a brief moment, taking a large sip of the drink.
"Happens to the best of us. I still remember when my dad died. Closed this place down for a week."
"I've had a few friends die. Shawn was like the father I really never choose to have. I rejected my father for the better part of my life, I never appreciated anything he did for me."
"You'll get through it. You know, there are rumors going around town. When people found out that you've been hanging around here, they've been crawling at the door when we open and when we close, hoping you work here or something. I've been telling them that I don't know you, and don't even know what the hell happened to you. You're a ghost around here. You need to give me something to work with to get these people off my back."
"I'm done."
"Done with what?"
"The WFWF. Wrestling."
"Why the hell do you say that?"
"No one in that hellhole gives a damn about me. That place is Drakz incorporated. He's gotten, what, four hundred days on that damn title? There's more of a chance of hell freezing over than him losing that belt." Dex spoke, as he took another large sip of the drink, he proceeded to cough, as the scorch of the scotch rattled his vocal chords.
"Can't argue you on that one."
He could feel her stare grow intensely from the other end of the bar. Her green eyes penetrated every aspect of his loosened soul. She marveled at the right side of his face, before fixating on his left hand, that he had used to plunge more alcohol into his system. The ring-less finger was a call to move closer. She walked, not with her feet, but with her hips that moved in every direction, before seating beside Dex. Her dress was a tightened green that hung along her waistline. He hair was of a bleached blonde.
"Who are you?" She spoke, seductively, adding a tight whisper along every word, as she gripped the right arm of Dex.
"Who do you think I am?"
"You sit at the edge of the bar, under a flickering light; you demand to be noticed."
"I'm un-employed. I drink for a living."
"That isn't true." She said, as she began to stroke the bottom of Dex's chin, sliding her fingers along the ridges of his unkempt facial hair.
"I'll let you decide what is and what isn't true."
"You are all I want."
"I haven't finished my drink yet."
"Take it, with you."
-
It had been several hours since he had met her. He hadn't remembered where he had been, or what had happened. He remembered seeing her unclothed, and pacing his fingers along her soft skin. He remembered tasting the bitter scorch of alcohol along his throat. He had remembered rapidly putting on his torn jeans before she awoke; loosely tightening his belt, and covering her head with the depth of the sheets. He had remembered the odd stares that he had received once he had checked out of the hotel room, advising the maids to be weary upon arrival.
"Where am I?" He said, as he held his head tightly, his back strapped along the leather seat.
"In the back of your Aston."
"Chauncey? The hell happened?"
"Would you like me to be blunt and truthful, or nice and deceitful?"
"You know the answer."
"Very well."
"Spit it out."
"You f*cked a prostitute, and decided to wander around, drunk on the streets."
"I checked out and everything, I wasn't drunk." Dex ravaged his hands through his pant pockets, he could still feel the card-key firm within his pocket.
"You don't remember because your hands were half-way down your pants, and you couldn't feel your face anymore after the buzzing of your habit, and the camera flashes."
"They saw?"
"They did."
"I don't give a f*ck if they saw."
"Your career certainly does. Your father does. I care, Mr. Kingsley."
"What career? I'm rich. I don't have to get my ass beaten to earn a check. I'll earn more with interest in the bank over getting my ass slammed over a chair. I'll have less health-care expenses, I'll be happy for once."
"Should I tell you something, Mr. Kingsley?"
"If it is important."
"I spoke with a certain individual over the phone."
"Who?"
"Mr. Demon."
"About?"
"Believe it or not, as the owner of a company, he's just as concerned as adding an extra zero to his name, as he is fighting in the ring."
"He would like to have you back."
"I said I was done. A millionaire trying to be a billionaire is nothing that I am willing to support."
"They're having an event for Mr. Malakai, they would like you to be there; to give off a word or two, maybe even a match."
"If I wanted to, I would. Who the hell would he book me against, himself? Just so he can f*ck me for good one last time?"
"Perhaps. It would be wise to consider it."
"You know my answer."
"That is?"
"No."
"Of course Sir. I wish that you simply consider it. Mr. Demon spoke very kindly to me. He would be willing to offer you a managerial role, if that is what you so seek."
"I will never work under his will, you know that."
"Right, I am merely a messenger of the words of others."
"If I ever go back, I want it on my terms."
"That is?"
"Main-event, world championship on the line, Drakz with one arm tied behind his back. Free pin, in a god damn cell so Trace couldn't run in. I don't want anything else. I want what I have now. I never want to lose what I have got now."
"This isn't you Dexter."
"This is the me I've always been, the me I never had time to be."
"I know that you're upset over the passing of Mr. Malakai."
"I'm more than upset. I spent my past months in a hospital bed just as he did."
"You are free to grief, Mr. Kingsley, no one is telling you not to. But think before you act."
"I'm no different. There's just no filter anymore. I just say do whatever I want, because I can now. I couldn't before. I can now. That's the only difference."
"The Dexter Kingsley I knew was a Catholic boy who fought for the pure passion of it."
"I haven't gone to mass since I was 15."
"Your mother?"
"Yes."
"I understand, Mr. Kingsley. Simply consider his offer. You may not enjoy it, but a few matches will only elevate your brand, it's more money for all of us. Remember that you are business before man. You have to kneel before the devil before you are able to play your own hand."
"Right. Thank you Chauncey. I will consider it. Tell him that I heard his offer."
"Very well."
-
I remember when I was a little boy. When I lived a carefree life, and lived in a day to day manner. The next month, the next year, the next bill; none of it mattered. I was in the presence of my own ecstasy, with toys, and games I'd formulate within my head. Some times I would wrestle the couch pillows, biting the loose strings and tackling them down to the ground. I remembered that it hadn't hurt the pillow much, but rather left my stomach deflated. I remember when my parents would scream at me once they heard the loud 'thunk' from the upstairs bedroom. With the way they acted, they thought I killed a man.
When you're a child, you forget about everything. You are left in a serene state of mind, that you wish to attain later in life, simply to live another minute in the past. The past was a distant memory for me, it was held tightly, cherished within my imagination just as my childhood had.
I stood at his grave, feeling the breeze cut against my face. I felt numb, I wasn't induced in the presence of alcohol, or women. I would move my arm upwards to feel nothing. I would touch my face to try and feel the sense of feeling, but I would feel skin. I wouldn't feel a pulsating beat, I wouldn't feel the warmness of faith. It was a roughened, bruised skin, a skin which my hands would run through, feeling each and every indentation as if I had never known it.
"Shawn Malakai." He spoke, reading the name again, this time silently in his head. He could hear the reverberation of sound string within his head, over and over, he would hear the unpleasant sounds of metallic screeching. He had looked around. To the right of him he saw the passage of grass continue onward, the amount of tombstones followed, all with different inscriptions, different bearings before them, though it remained in the same coloration, of the same stone; the bodies held in the same place.
The screeching became displaced by the sound of his own beating heart. He turned his head, cautiously to the left; he could feel its presence, yet, nothing. Dex looked down, rummaging both of his hands through his pockets, to find nothing.
"It isn't there." An elderly man spoke from behind Dex.
Dex quickly turned around, towards the man. The man had long white hair, accompanied with a long white beard that hung far beneath his neck.
"Shawn?" Dex questioned, as he rubbed his fingers against the bottom of his eyes.
"My name is Richard." He moved closer to Dex.
"You remind me of someone."
"That often happens in times of great grief. I haven't seen you here before."
"I'm not from the area, I came to visit Mr. Malakai's grave."
"Digging through your pockets, huh. Looking for a smoke?" The man pulled out a cigarette cartridge from within his pocket, holding it outwards towards Dex.
"I need a little something."
"You don't actually smoke. They forced you to go down here."
"Nobody forced me to do anything. Hand me a smoke."
"I can see it in your eyes, first time?"
"Second. I came down here to pay my own respects."
"You've tried it all. I've been the care-taker of this cemetery since '91. I've seen many come along like you."
"Who am I?"
"You're the guy who hides from what he is afraid of."
Silence strung the cemetery.
"You should be glad that those pockets are empty." Richard, the care-taker, continued.
"Can I be honest with you?" Dex pulled from his inner jacket pocket, a red rosary, placing it atop the tombstone.
"Of course you can." The two walked across the cemetery, as the brisk breeze continued to cut the cloth of their loosely fitted clothing.
"I don't know."
"What don't you know?" The two arrived on a bench just along the entrance of the cemetery.
"About anything. About who I am. About what I want. About what I want to be." Dex said, clasping his hands together with his face.
"We all tell ourselves that from time to time."
"I need the council of someone who has been this Earth for far longer than I have."
"Well, I think you do. The rosary, you're a man of faith, aren't you?"
"I'm no longer affiliated with the church."
"Do you pray?"
"I do not."
"That doesn't define you in anyway. You define yourself."
"With me, I feel like there is simply no definition."
"No one is a blank slate. We all have desires, wants, needs, whether good or bad, it drives us forward as people. What did you want before?"
"I wanted something that I realized I can never have."
"What was it?"
"I wanted to help change the world. I wanted to do what I loved, and be the leader, the role model I never had."
"You've answered your own question."
"How?"
"That is what you must do."
"But I can't."
"Why not?"
"It isn't feasible."
"Nothing in this world is created by people who are stricken in reality."
"There are several people who would do anything in their power to prevent me from getting to where I want to go. It's happened before, and it will happen again. I'm not allowed to succeed."
"I'm originally from Israel. My father's business was attacked one night. We lost all that we had. We fled to the United States, illegally. My father opened his business, a restaurant, less than fifteen miles from here. We weren't welcome at the time."
"What are you trying to say?"
"There is opposition in everything. Without opposition there is no life."
"It shouldn't be this hard. I've had to deal with more than anyone else."
"Life is a struggle."
"I've lost, regained, and lost my dreams more times than anyone you will ever know. I've known more pain, more opposition, than any person should ever have to deal with."
"Let your faith, your purpose compel you."
"At night, when I hold my back, slowly asphyxiating, day by day, I know that what I do will kill me one day. I know that one day I'll wake, and I won't be able to feel the bottom half of my body. I know of that struggle, I know of no greater struggle than health."
"Mr. Malakai was quite popular here. I never knew him personally. But I knew of his struggle."
"What about it?"
"Mr. Malakai battled with cancer, and still continued to do what he loved; even though he knew his days were numbered."
"I know that."
"You seem to be forgetting the greatest lesson he taught you."
"What is it? How to win?"
"No. Mr. Malakai most of all, taught you of humility, of inner strength, and the belief in ones self."
"I know that."
"It seems as if you've forgotten. Drugs, alcohol, none of it will soothe your soul like doing what you know you must."
"So I should."
"Should what?"
"I should take on his offer."
"Only if that offer will take you one place closer to where you want to be."
"It will."
"I suggest you take the offer. Mr. Malakai would be proud hearing you come back, to doing what you love."
"I took his name, and beat it in vain. I'm a joke to them. He's a joke to them because of me."
"Focus on one day at a time. They will change as you do. Money doesn't compel you. You, your faith does. I can see it in your conviction."
"I want to fight. I'm not sure how they'll think of me."
"Character and reputation are like a tree and a shadow. A tree is who you are, your character, the shadow that trails behind is your reputation, and how others see you. Fortify the tree, and the shadow will follow."
"I will return, I will do what I have to do."
-
A few days ago..
Dex was walking along the street, having exited his blue convertible that he had parked, illegally, along the building. He removed his sunglasses, and tightly placed them in the front pocket of his black blazer. He could hear the smack of his brown oxfords hit the ground, with every step. He pulled open the glass door.
"Welcome to the WFWF building, may I be of assistance?" The woman at the front desk spoke, as her eyes fixated on Dex.
"I have a meeting with Mr. Demon."
"May I ask for a name?"
"Dexter Brett Kingsley."
She began typing, moving her eyes to the computer screen.
"I do not see a Dexter Brett Kingsley on Mr. Demon's agenda. Do you go by an alternate name?"
"Dex."
She typed again.
"Ah, yes. Your meeting with Mr. Demon has been redirected to a meeting with the Head Booking operative, Ms. Sleater."
"Is there any reason?"
"It is not within my power to question."
"Very well. Tell Demon that I came to visit him."
"I will, the next time I see him."
Dex followed suited men that assisted him in moving to Sleater's office. The walls were of a porcelain white, the floors were glistening, as if they had never been touched. The building had been identical to how he had remembered. After hearing the continuous beats of the elevator progressing, the men finally arrived at Lila Sleater's office. Lila Sleater was seen with her narrow back to Dex, her body wedged against the window, looking out at the skyline that sat just behind her.
"Lila."
She heard his deep voice, and was unaware of who it had been. She turned with a precaution, slowly snapping her neck at Dex. Her eyes grew increasingly large once she had seen him.
"Dexter. How have you been?"
"I've been here and there."
"I can tell."
The two sat at the cluttered desk.
"Coffee?"
"No, I haven't been in the mood for coffee in quite some time."
"Shawn. I understand."
"Right."
"I know that's been quite difficult for you, I'd just like to thank you for coming here."
"I've never forgotten about this place."
"I'm a woman of business, as I know you are a man of it."
"It's about the call from this office, asking about the job."
"What have you come for? Is it the contract?"
"It's the contract. I want to compete at the next event." Dex spoke, as she knelt beneath her desk, pulling out the brown folder that contained all of the contents of his contract.
"The next event is Dark Matter, in Montreal. You shouldn't have come to me without any advisory. We could have gotten this deal done weeks ago, we could've advertised more heavily for your return." She said, as she began to open the folder contents, and spread them out at the desk.
"I was still debating whether or not I would be in the ring ever again."
"You've been a hermit for quite some time now."
"I didn't know that this is what I wanted to do again. Clinics, cemeteries, pubs, women. I'm no hermit."
"Maybe not a Buddhist one."
"Maybe."
"Why haven't you kept us in contact Dexter? You have my phone number, you knew that all you had to do was call."
"If I had called, would you have answered?"
"I would have."
"I should have called."
"I've heard some things about you Dexter, I'd like to know that you're okay. I'd like an assurance that you're going to be here for quite some time."
"I promise."
There remained a brief silence that penetrated all corners of the room. She edged the contract forward, placing a pen beside it.
"How much?" Said Lila.
"Lila, you know what I'll say."
"I should have prefaced that with, 'how little.'"
"I'll take whatever you think I'm worth."
"That isn't how negotiation works. That's against a law, somewhere."
"Just pretend I gave my consent."
"Fine." She scribbled in an arbitrary number at the bottom of the contract. It was too insignificant for Dex to look at.
"This is where you sign." She continued, handing the pen to Dex. He signed the contract, placing the pen back down at the center of the table.
"It's been a while since I've signed one of these."
"I was more afraid that you have signed one of these with someone else, during your time away."
"If I'm ever in the ring, it'll be in the WFWF."
"Your match. Do you have an opponent in mind?"
"I've thought about it."
"Your debut might have to wait until the event after this, due to scheduling conflicts."
"I know who I want."
"Who?"
"You know who."
"Don't make me guess."
"I want to face Trace Demon."
"I was half-expecting you to say Phillip Schneider, half-expecting you to say Trace Demon."
"Will it happen?"
"It will. I can give you an easier match, something to ease you back into it, if you'd like. There are several new faces that would love to face against a former champion. They might even tug on that aching back of yours."
"I need to prove myself. It isn't about wins or losses, it isn't about those who have gold and those who had gold; it's out of respect. I want to defeat Trace Demon, I want to fight in Shawn's name, I want to prove myself to the doubters who still don't believe in me. That's what I will do. That's what I want you to help me with."
"I promise, I will make it happen. At least in respect for you and Shawn."
"Good."
"They want a reason. Besides what we all know to be true; here at the office we've all heard of your escapades to Caribbean islands, with girls boarded on yachts."
"It was injury. It was doubt. It was Shawn."
"We'll have someone write up a quick statement to be posted on the website, just so your new millionaire habitats don't leave Baltimore."
"Even those are fading."
"I've never made as much money as you, so I assume it is not in position to critique."
"You're right."
"You still hold the grudge against Demon?"
"I do not hold any grudge against anyone, I want to do what is right."
"You're a good man when you aren't drunk as a dog."
"What if I am drunk?"
"I probably wouldn't be able to tell."
"Trace Demon. The WFWF. It feels foreign to me."
"Feeling a little star-stuck?"
"No. I just never expected to be here ever again. I thought after what happened at the hands of Schneider, I would never find the courage in me to come back."
"I never once doubted your passion."
"It's been a good talk. It's been too long since we've seen each other."
"It has Mr. Kingsley."
"Thank you Lila." The two rose from their respective leather seats, and shook hands.
"Can I bet on you to win?"
"You can."
-
I never expected find myself in the same place in which I began. After several months to a year, of absence, I had forgotten who I was. What I stood for, and what I had been. These things were just as alien, as what I would soon be in the future. I was afraid of the things that plagued me in the past, that I was ignorant to the fact, that the future is to the initiator, to the risk taker, to the man who holds no bearing of past. I hadn't forgotten the past. But I had alleviated its suffering, I had strengthened the belief in myself, and what made me.
The passing of Shawn Malakai was detrimental to me. I knew that it was coming. I was fearful of it. I didn't know how I would react, until I did. Until I turned to alcohol, women, and pressured myself in sin. I wanted to forget that it had never happened, but it was something that could not simply be ignored. Shawn Malakai was an icon, a friend, a personal innovator who defined who Dexter Brett Kingsley truly is. Before him, I had lost my sense of self, I was someone who hid behind the world with a jaded mask and a falsified personality. Shawn Malakai taught me a sense of morality, and truth. He taught me to face the issues at hand, to deal with opposition with equaled strength, rather than hide behind the inevitable. Shawn Malakai entrusted me with his future, with his legacy; how he will be perceived in generations will be dependent on my ability to preserve his nature, and will.
Trace Demon and I have had an unparalleled rivalry. At the last WFWF SuperBrawl, he couldn't believe that he had fallen, and lost his chance at the WFWF championship at the hands of a cancerous man, a man whose days were knowingly numbered. Demon simply could not realize truth. The truth that his ego triumphs over his talent, the truth that he is unable to do anything besides hold the company down, ridden with corruption. After Shawn Malakai willingly granted the WFWF championship to me, Demon was willing to do anything to bring me down, just as he was. At my first WFWF championship defense, I was mere moments from winning the bout. Trace Demon, rather than allowing me to win the match, sacrificed himself and granted the title to Drakz. He destroyed himself to prevent him from losing a bout that had seemed inevitable. Since then, Demon has been just as I had been. While I was away, in a sense, Trace Demon was away. His unwillingness to accept change, led to his dethroning, it led to his removal of stardom, and the institution of Drakz as the poster-boy.
Demon is unwilling to accept what everyone already has. Trace Demon is a fallen remnant of an era that has been forgotten. His money, influence, and corruption, are the only things that propel him forward. If not for the smoke-filled, back-room deals, it is unlikely that Demon would even have his name mentioned in the main event scene. I do not wish to destroy Trace Demon, I only hope to bring him closer to truth.
The history of this business has been plagued, and has been dirtied for quite some time. I wish to avenge Shawn Malakai and give him the respect that I was unable to, in my last WFWF run. I will fight a bout with Trace Demon that has been brewing since the last SuperBrawl, only this time, the result will be different. It will be clean bout, and the man with the greatest vision of future, will win. I will bring this institution into good, rather than let it fall into an axis of evil.