SOTF: The Immortal Game, and the Art of Sacrificing (Others)
Feb 28, 2020 20:09:58 GMT -5
Johnny Mason likes this
Post by destroyer. on Feb 28, 2020 20:09:58 GMT -5
An empty cage lies in the middle of a deserted arena, a foreboding structure of steel glistening in the spotlights which are being tested. A handful of WFWF officials do a final check of the setup and they leave along with the crew members. As the final man leaves, the lights in the arena go out, plunging the cavernous space into darkness, A few emergency lights remain on above the exits, allowing vague shapes to remain visible in the otherwise pitch black.
For a moment, a silhouette of a man stands in the cage, all alone.
The light flickers and the cage is momentarily swarmed by strange shapes, almost human but with a predatory, animalistic quality. They surround the man in the middle of the cage as the final emergency light shuts off.
Two yellow eyes pierce the dark, peering out through the bars of the cage.
Gradually the cage fills with more and more pairs of eyes, pacing and surveying the cage
A single howl tears through the silence, joined by more until the noise reaches a crescendo, then stops.
A single light hangs somewhere out of view above a field of black and white checks. The light reflects in the white squares, giving a disorientating glare. The board seems to go on forever, but only six chess pieces remain. The battleground’s edges are littered with the fallen.
Destroyer stands on the side of the board, set back from the other pieces.
His black suit camouflages him in the dark edges that the light is unable to reach. He steps on to the board and paces around the black square under his feet.
Confined to the square like a caged animal, he stalks the pieces from a distance, sizing them up, assessing and plotting.
He watches the game play out without getting involved.
Something triggers it – the old familiar flood of adrenaline – maybe a movement, a moment of weakness or hesitation. Pupils dilate. Nostrils flare. Blood vessels constrict.
Destroyer’s eyes burn a hole through a Pawn on the board.
He stalks towards it and readies himself to strike.
Survival of the Fittest.
Darwinism at its finest.
EN PRISE.
The lure of gold and glory hangs in the balance, there for the taking. Just reach out and grab it.
No.
Stupid.
Fools rush in. Too many variables and unknowns. Sit back, do what you do best.
Use them.
Use them up until there’s nothing left.
Then grind the husks into dust.
Destroyer’s feet stop at the very edge of his square. He stays confined, separate from the elaborate dance the pieces carry out around the board. He closes his eyes, lifts his head and takes a deep breath. Self restraint has always been one of his strengths. Cold detachment and careful planning, no mistakes.
Temptation comes before the fall.
It would be easy to underestimate the dangers that face me and focus only on the prize at stake, but that is not in my character. I’ve held that ultimate prize before, more than any other man. I know what is required to take it from others, and I know how to tempts others into falling short.
Cloud their judgement, raise the stakes and threaten what they hold dearest.
Defeat them before the match begins.
But this is a different challenge, there is no single opponent to grind down before the opening bell. The prize is there for the taking and there are five men who are willing to tear each other apart and go through me to have the chance at the highest honour the WFWF can offer. If I go about this the wrong way, they will tear me to shreds. I have to play the angles, antagonise and retreat. Make them hurt each other, then feed off the scraps. That’s how I put myself in the position to take the prize.
Destroyer crouches down and scans the pair of pawns, looking for weakness to exploit. His eyes search unseen spaces for every possibility.
I am at peace in war. I know the battlefield like the back of my hand and I know which rules of engagement can be bent, broken or bastardised. The war can be won before the first shot is fired if you know how.
All that’s needed is a little dose of poison, dropped into the well to weaken the enemy.
A PAWN’S PURPOSE.
Coming in to the cage, there are two unknown quantities. POISON Mondo and an unknown entrant. It would be easy to write them off as threats, but, played correctly, they can inflict some real damage. There is parity on the battlefield, given the right circumstances even a pawn can checkmate a king. In order to whittle down my enemies, I have to use Mondo’s inexperience to point and aim him at the other threats. Take it easy on him if we come into direct conflict, frustrate him, then push him into someone else’s path so that he can hurt them for me. I may not know much about him, but a “New Plague” is what I need to slow the other four men down.
As for the mystery entrant into the match, whoever it is will put everyone on the back foot, myself included. There’s no way to prepare for an enemy without knowing who they are, but like the other Pawn in my game, I need to keep their focus on the others.
The others in the match will underestimate these two, but they will be hungry and eager to prove themselves. I just need to bait their hooks and put them down once they've served their purpose.
Knowing the value of the pieces on the board is everything, once you know that you can see it all play out in front of you. Everyone has their role to play, and in my game, a pawn’s only purpose is suicide.
Destroyer springs into action, leaping out of the confines of his square to shove a Pawn into the path of a Rook. He retreats back to safety and watches the ensuing battle.
ROCHIEREN.
With Mondo and our mysterious opponent tearing into two of my enemies, one man is left free to target me. But that isn’t how my plan unfolds. I’m playing the long game, and that calls for me to create some chaos. I need to protect myself in the early stages, and that requires some misdirection. That is where my Rook comes into play.
Johnny Mason.
Young, reckless and a star on the rise. He’s powerful, but all he can see are the straight lines at the moment. Throw a pawn into his path and he’ll charge forward. But he won’t see me moving in his slipstream, using him as a human shield to block off the spare man. Johnny is on a high after winning his last fight and he’s been handpicked by WFWF management to come into this match. A marketable commodity in human form. They see him as the foundation of something they can build around.
I see it too.
The foundation of my victory.
The young star who has a point to prove. Anyone who gets past Mondo will next have to get through Johnny Mason, and all I have to do is stay in his blind spot.
Let his hopes and dreams of being a “Future Hall of Famer” fuel him to crush the others, then – when the time is right – show him what it really takes to be a part of the pantheon of WFWF. Legends stand upon pillars built from pain, humiliation and shattered dreams, and Johnny will make a fine foundation.
Slipping into the space behind the Rook, Destroyer reassesses the board from his new position. He looks across to the other side and sees the other pawn being attacked by the bishop.
FIANCHETTO.
Powerful, esteemed, respected – revered even, with history behind him. The bishop can cut a swath across the board without warning, but that’s only half of the story.
Thunder. A legend in WFWF.
But – whisper it – does he still have it? His grand return was ruined by a young upstart in DevilKiller. Then his ridiculous stunt at Throwdown to buy himself a win…
Fou.
See the bishop hasn’t always had his mitre. In the past, according to some, it was a jester’s hat.
The fool. Deluded into thinking he belongs, unaware that we’re all laughing at him.
There are two “legends” in this match. Hall of Fame members who dragged this company up from the dirt, but that draws comparisons, and unfortunately, you don’t measure up. You’re past your best, buying wins and relevancy through easy wins and begging for a spot in this match. You may have been great at one time, but that’s gone now. Don’t get me wrong, I have a healthy respect for you and everything you’ve done here, but I laid the bricks for the Hall of Fame you brag about being a member of. What makes a legend? Winning titles? Seeing your name in lights? The adulation of fans? Being memorable?
No. I was forgotten by everyone here, regardless of how many titles I won or what I did in the past. I have no bitter feelings about disappearing into the shadows. But coming back and putting my foot on the jugular of the WFWF after nearly two decades away is what makes me a legend. That lingering threat, that at any time I could reach out from any dark corner, snatch you away and take everything you treasure from you.
And now, Thunder, I’ve come to take away exactly what matters to you; your relevancy.
The mitre will become a jester’s hat once I expose you to the world.
But a fool can still cut your throat in the blink of an eye if you aren’t careful.
Thunder has talked himself into the opening spot of the match, who knows if he can last the distance? I’ll make sure he’s occupied by my other pawn, but I’ll have one eye on him throughout. A fool can slip under the radar, and in the right circumstances they can be more dangerous than a trained killer.
At that moment, Destroyer’s calm façade slips for a moment as he sees the knight bearing down on him.
Check.
You left yourself exposed. Move back to safety.
You knew this was coming. Given what you did in the build up to Do or Die, you had to.
Relax. Breathe. Use this.
This is part of the plan.
Destroyer shifts away from the center of the board, he positions himself behind the other pieces as they attack each other.
A KNIGHT ON THE RIM IS GRIM.
Billy Broom. The Janitor. Father. Underdog. Criminal. Soldier.
Killer.
Johnny Mason and Thunder could be distracted, but Billy was always coming into this match to hunt you down as soon as possible. But that tunnel vision means he has to take his eyes off the prize.
A broken man, looking for a quick fix.
Do you really believe that winning that big gold belt will make up for it all, Billy?
Will it give your daughter back the time she missed because her Father couldn’t crawl out of the bottom of a bottle?
Will the champagne wash the blood off your hands of those you’ve killed in the name of service? The blood of kids who chose to drink in the wrong bar?
In fact, best to steer clear of the champagne altogether, eh Billy?
This is the aim of the game, frustrate him into making a mistake. Wait until his blood boils and turn the pressure up until he pops.
I wonder, do you still have those flashbacks? Night terrors? The cold sweats and the surge of anxiety? Instead of death and destruction, do you see me now when you close your eyes? Because I showed you real terror. True horror. I hit you where it really hurts. You see, a grunt like you can detach himself from the bloodshed, you live vicariously through your daughter, wanting her to live the life you never could. And when you go to war, she’s safe at home, out of harm’s way.
But I wanted you to know that destruction can follow you home, Billy.
It can come to where you feel safe. It can take those you love from you.
Do you think Jenny wakes up screaming in the night now, just like you used to?
Does she remember how - for all his talk of loving her and promising to keep her safe - her Father was powerless as I snatched her away from him?
Will fame and glory make all that go away?
Will it keep you sober? Or does that glint of gold make you think of a glass of whiskey?
Do you think they’ll let you wear your shiny championship belt in prison?
Because you know that even if you somehow get lucky with this court case, you can’t keep that beast caged for long and it’s just a matter of time until the killer in you comes out again.
And then, Billy, Jenny really will go away for good.
The lowly janitor, fighting righteously against all the odds, but that isn’t the real picture. You’re down in the gutter, hurting everyone who gets close to you, with a bottle on one hand and the other pressed on the self destruct button.
And my job is to force your hand down even harder.
This is where the plan comes to fruition. The chaos of the other pieces creates a wall between Destroyer and the Knight.
And suddenly, the Knight is vulnerable to attack from the others.
Rage. Revenge. Resentment. They provide fuel, and the Knight burns through his enemies, but even soldiers tire. And when there is nobody left on the battlefield, the Destroyer strikes.
Only the King remains.
CROWNING GLORY.
Heavy is the head, but still everyone wants to wear the crown.
I can still feel that weight to this day. It has sat upon my head more times than any other man.
This goes beyond want or need. I don’t aspire to be the champion any more, I’ve evolved beyond that. The WFWF Championship is part of the bigger picture, just one more piece on the board of the game I’m playing. And just like at Survival of the Fittest, I’ll make my move for the title when I decide. You see, the secret to winning is simple.
A gloved hand reaches down out of the darkness and plucks Destroyer off the board.
Just rig the game.
Destroyer stands in the middle of the cage, holding a chess piece in his gloved hand. He opens his palm to reveal a King, painted in gold. He places it at his feet and crouches down to admire it.
Drakz. The best there is in the WFWF. Maybe the best there’s ever been.
Heavy is the head.
A true champion for the ages, a living legend who rightly resides in the Hall of Fame.
But how much fight is left in him? He’s perpetually one bad day away from retirement.
He’s spent who knows how long with a target on his back and every idiot who thinks they can throw a punch demanding a shot at him, and he’s put them all in their place.
A true champion.
Who is also living out of his car. A degenerate. A man who crosses whatever lines he needs to, then goes further just for the hell of it.
And the latest challenger is Frank Lynn, a warrior and family man with everything to lose.
One man is so weary his entire life is a mess, the other has hurt feelings over a car.
This is going to be fun to watch.
Whoever wears the crown after Survival of the Fittest will feel that weight dragging them down.
Whether it’s at the next PPV or further down the line, they’ll feel me breathing down their neck, and that weight will make them that much easier to catch them and tear them apart.
Out of the shadows skulk the Anointed, they surround Destroyer and the King piece until both are barely visible.
The arena lights shut off, and a ring of yellow eyes fill the cage. They close in on the King until it is swallowed up into the darkness.
Checkmate.
For a moment, a silhouette of a man stands in the cage, all alone.
The light flickers and the cage is momentarily swarmed by strange shapes, almost human but with a predatory, animalistic quality. They surround the man in the middle of the cage as the final emergency light shuts off.
Two yellow eyes pierce the dark, peering out through the bars of the cage.
Gradually the cage fills with more and more pairs of eyes, pacing and surveying the cage
A single howl tears through the silence, joined by more until the noise reaches a crescendo, then stops.
A single light hangs somewhere out of view above a field of black and white checks. The light reflects in the white squares, giving a disorientating glare. The board seems to go on forever, but only six chess pieces remain. The battleground’s edges are littered with the fallen.
Destroyer stands on the side of the board, set back from the other pieces.
His black suit camouflages him in the dark edges that the light is unable to reach. He steps on to the board and paces around the black square under his feet.
Confined to the square like a caged animal, he stalks the pieces from a distance, sizing them up, assessing and plotting.
He watches the game play out without getting involved.
Something triggers it – the old familiar flood of adrenaline – maybe a movement, a moment of weakness or hesitation. Pupils dilate. Nostrils flare. Blood vessels constrict.
Destroyer’s eyes burn a hole through a Pawn on the board.
He stalks towards it and readies himself to strike.
Survival of the Fittest.
Darwinism at its finest.
EN PRISE.
The lure of gold and glory hangs in the balance, there for the taking. Just reach out and grab it.
No.
Stupid.
Fools rush in. Too many variables and unknowns. Sit back, do what you do best.
Use them.
Use them up until there’s nothing left.
Then grind the husks into dust.
Destroyer’s feet stop at the very edge of his square. He stays confined, separate from the elaborate dance the pieces carry out around the board. He closes his eyes, lifts his head and takes a deep breath. Self restraint has always been one of his strengths. Cold detachment and careful planning, no mistakes.
Temptation comes before the fall.
It would be easy to underestimate the dangers that face me and focus only on the prize at stake, but that is not in my character. I’ve held that ultimate prize before, more than any other man. I know what is required to take it from others, and I know how to tempts others into falling short.
Cloud their judgement, raise the stakes and threaten what they hold dearest.
Defeat them before the match begins.
But this is a different challenge, there is no single opponent to grind down before the opening bell. The prize is there for the taking and there are five men who are willing to tear each other apart and go through me to have the chance at the highest honour the WFWF can offer. If I go about this the wrong way, they will tear me to shreds. I have to play the angles, antagonise and retreat. Make them hurt each other, then feed off the scraps. That’s how I put myself in the position to take the prize.
Destroyer crouches down and scans the pair of pawns, looking for weakness to exploit. His eyes search unseen spaces for every possibility.
I am at peace in war. I know the battlefield like the back of my hand and I know which rules of engagement can be bent, broken or bastardised. The war can be won before the first shot is fired if you know how.
All that’s needed is a little dose of poison, dropped into the well to weaken the enemy.
A PAWN’S PURPOSE.
Coming in to the cage, there are two unknown quantities. POISON Mondo and an unknown entrant. It would be easy to write them off as threats, but, played correctly, they can inflict some real damage. There is parity on the battlefield, given the right circumstances even a pawn can checkmate a king. In order to whittle down my enemies, I have to use Mondo’s inexperience to point and aim him at the other threats. Take it easy on him if we come into direct conflict, frustrate him, then push him into someone else’s path so that he can hurt them for me. I may not know much about him, but a “New Plague” is what I need to slow the other four men down.
As for the mystery entrant into the match, whoever it is will put everyone on the back foot, myself included. There’s no way to prepare for an enemy without knowing who they are, but like the other Pawn in my game, I need to keep their focus on the others.
The others in the match will underestimate these two, but they will be hungry and eager to prove themselves. I just need to bait their hooks and put them down once they've served their purpose.
Knowing the value of the pieces on the board is everything, once you know that you can see it all play out in front of you. Everyone has their role to play, and in my game, a pawn’s only purpose is suicide.
Destroyer springs into action, leaping out of the confines of his square to shove a Pawn into the path of a Rook. He retreats back to safety and watches the ensuing battle.
ROCHIEREN.
With Mondo and our mysterious opponent tearing into two of my enemies, one man is left free to target me. But that isn’t how my plan unfolds. I’m playing the long game, and that calls for me to create some chaos. I need to protect myself in the early stages, and that requires some misdirection. That is where my Rook comes into play.
Johnny Mason.
Young, reckless and a star on the rise. He’s powerful, but all he can see are the straight lines at the moment. Throw a pawn into his path and he’ll charge forward. But he won’t see me moving in his slipstream, using him as a human shield to block off the spare man. Johnny is on a high after winning his last fight and he’s been handpicked by WFWF management to come into this match. A marketable commodity in human form. They see him as the foundation of something they can build around.
I see it too.
The foundation of my victory.
The young star who has a point to prove. Anyone who gets past Mondo will next have to get through Johnny Mason, and all I have to do is stay in his blind spot.
Let his hopes and dreams of being a “Future Hall of Famer” fuel him to crush the others, then – when the time is right – show him what it really takes to be a part of the pantheon of WFWF. Legends stand upon pillars built from pain, humiliation and shattered dreams, and Johnny will make a fine foundation.
Slipping into the space behind the Rook, Destroyer reassesses the board from his new position. He looks across to the other side and sees the other pawn being attacked by the bishop.
FIANCHETTO.
Powerful, esteemed, respected – revered even, with history behind him. The bishop can cut a swath across the board without warning, but that’s only half of the story.
Thunder. A legend in WFWF.
But – whisper it – does he still have it? His grand return was ruined by a young upstart in DevilKiller. Then his ridiculous stunt at Throwdown to buy himself a win…
Fou.
See the bishop hasn’t always had his mitre. In the past, according to some, it was a jester’s hat.
The fool. Deluded into thinking he belongs, unaware that we’re all laughing at him.
There are two “legends” in this match. Hall of Fame members who dragged this company up from the dirt, but that draws comparisons, and unfortunately, you don’t measure up. You’re past your best, buying wins and relevancy through easy wins and begging for a spot in this match. You may have been great at one time, but that’s gone now. Don’t get me wrong, I have a healthy respect for you and everything you’ve done here, but I laid the bricks for the Hall of Fame you brag about being a member of. What makes a legend? Winning titles? Seeing your name in lights? The adulation of fans? Being memorable?
No. I was forgotten by everyone here, regardless of how many titles I won or what I did in the past. I have no bitter feelings about disappearing into the shadows. But coming back and putting my foot on the jugular of the WFWF after nearly two decades away is what makes me a legend. That lingering threat, that at any time I could reach out from any dark corner, snatch you away and take everything you treasure from you.
And now, Thunder, I’ve come to take away exactly what matters to you; your relevancy.
The mitre will become a jester’s hat once I expose you to the world.
But a fool can still cut your throat in the blink of an eye if you aren’t careful.
Thunder has talked himself into the opening spot of the match, who knows if he can last the distance? I’ll make sure he’s occupied by my other pawn, but I’ll have one eye on him throughout. A fool can slip under the radar, and in the right circumstances they can be more dangerous than a trained killer.
At that moment, Destroyer’s calm façade slips for a moment as he sees the knight bearing down on him.
Check.
You left yourself exposed. Move back to safety.
You knew this was coming. Given what you did in the build up to Do or Die, you had to.
Relax. Breathe. Use this.
This is part of the plan.
Destroyer shifts away from the center of the board, he positions himself behind the other pieces as they attack each other.
A KNIGHT ON THE RIM IS GRIM.
Billy Broom. The Janitor. Father. Underdog. Criminal. Soldier.
Killer.
Johnny Mason and Thunder could be distracted, but Billy was always coming into this match to hunt you down as soon as possible. But that tunnel vision means he has to take his eyes off the prize.
A broken man, looking for a quick fix.
Do you really believe that winning that big gold belt will make up for it all, Billy?
Will it give your daughter back the time she missed because her Father couldn’t crawl out of the bottom of a bottle?
Will the champagne wash the blood off your hands of those you’ve killed in the name of service? The blood of kids who chose to drink in the wrong bar?
In fact, best to steer clear of the champagne altogether, eh Billy?
This is the aim of the game, frustrate him into making a mistake. Wait until his blood boils and turn the pressure up until he pops.
I wonder, do you still have those flashbacks? Night terrors? The cold sweats and the surge of anxiety? Instead of death and destruction, do you see me now when you close your eyes? Because I showed you real terror. True horror. I hit you where it really hurts. You see, a grunt like you can detach himself from the bloodshed, you live vicariously through your daughter, wanting her to live the life you never could. And when you go to war, she’s safe at home, out of harm’s way.
But I wanted you to know that destruction can follow you home, Billy.
It can come to where you feel safe. It can take those you love from you.
Do you think Jenny wakes up screaming in the night now, just like you used to?
Does she remember how - for all his talk of loving her and promising to keep her safe - her Father was powerless as I snatched her away from him?
Will fame and glory make all that go away?
Will it keep you sober? Or does that glint of gold make you think of a glass of whiskey?
Do you think they’ll let you wear your shiny championship belt in prison?
Because you know that even if you somehow get lucky with this court case, you can’t keep that beast caged for long and it’s just a matter of time until the killer in you comes out again.
And then, Billy, Jenny really will go away for good.
The lowly janitor, fighting righteously against all the odds, but that isn’t the real picture. You’re down in the gutter, hurting everyone who gets close to you, with a bottle on one hand and the other pressed on the self destruct button.
And my job is to force your hand down even harder.
This is where the plan comes to fruition. The chaos of the other pieces creates a wall between Destroyer and the Knight.
And suddenly, the Knight is vulnerable to attack from the others.
Rage. Revenge. Resentment. They provide fuel, and the Knight burns through his enemies, but even soldiers tire. And when there is nobody left on the battlefield, the Destroyer strikes.
Only the King remains.
CROWNING GLORY.
Heavy is the head, but still everyone wants to wear the crown.
I can still feel that weight to this day. It has sat upon my head more times than any other man.
This goes beyond want or need. I don’t aspire to be the champion any more, I’ve evolved beyond that. The WFWF Championship is part of the bigger picture, just one more piece on the board of the game I’m playing. And just like at Survival of the Fittest, I’ll make my move for the title when I decide. You see, the secret to winning is simple.
A gloved hand reaches down out of the darkness and plucks Destroyer off the board.
Just rig the game.
Destroyer stands in the middle of the cage, holding a chess piece in his gloved hand. He opens his palm to reveal a King, painted in gold. He places it at his feet and crouches down to admire it.
Drakz. The best there is in the WFWF. Maybe the best there’s ever been.
Heavy is the head.
A true champion for the ages, a living legend who rightly resides in the Hall of Fame.
But how much fight is left in him? He’s perpetually one bad day away from retirement.
He’s spent who knows how long with a target on his back and every idiot who thinks they can throw a punch demanding a shot at him, and he’s put them all in their place.
A true champion.
Who is also living out of his car. A degenerate. A man who crosses whatever lines he needs to, then goes further just for the hell of it.
And the latest challenger is Frank Lynn, a warrior and family man with everything to lose.
One man is so weary his entire life is a mess, the other has hurt feelings over a car.
This is going to be fun to watch.
Whoever wears the crown after Survival of the Fittest will feel that weight dragging them down.
Whether it’s at the next PPV or further down the line, they’ll feel me breathing down their neck, and that weight will make them that much easier to catch them and tear them apart.
Out of the shadows skulk the Anointed, they surround Destroyer and the King piece until both are barely visible.
The arena lights shut off, and a ring of yellow eyes fill the cage. They close in on the King until it is swallowed up into the darkness.
Checkmate.
Hell, I once abandoned my writing duties when I hit a creative brick wall, leaving 
