The scene fades in to a deep, dark corridor. With a low, arched ceiling, and stone for every surface - wall, floor, and ceiling. Walking down this corridor is a man - impossible to tell who in the limited lighting - dressed in a formal suit, carrying a violently burning candle within a lantern in his left hand. As the candle holders on the side remain unlit, this yellow aura is the only form of any light.

We are at the foot of a changed land. A land molded by a man who uses a book based on a belief to shield himself from the world around him. Around the facts and truths that so many strive to achieve. And this world will even further continue to change.

The man smirks and watches his feet shuffle along the cobblestone ground, shhunt-ing slightly each time the tip of his loafers lift off of the ground.

The man who had transformed us has taken a self-imposed higher power with a self-defined purpose. And with this power, he has handed down gifts. Gifts to his followers. Two golden waistbands; pristine and so glamorous. People would crawl for miles on their hands and knees to even gain a glimpse at such beauty. To so much as breathe their salty breath on the flawless plating of these... unique trophies.

The man looks up at the camera with a quizzical look on his face, as if trying to pull together the pieces of a great puzzle.

The gifts bestowed were upon two others of great importance to the man. The first, whose name was Lazarus, received the band of which was not seen as incredibly important. It was not very special when compared to the other. But crave it; men did. The band became a symbol of strength and wisdom. Whoever could keep a hold of the band long enough would be seen as the strongest. The smartest. Better than all who could challenge them. The image of a hopeful beginner. Lazarus was the man's... champion.

But what's a champion without a contender? A young hopeful, who had wanted to make his name heard had chosen to partake in the task of gaining the band for himself.

The man raises the candle to his face. We can see now that it is The Linguist, who is smirking rather proudly. In his other hand is the Ark of the Covenant Championship, which he proceeds to drape over his shoulder.

The champion of the higher power fell, and is his wake stood another warrior. A new champion. But the man was not happy with this decision. He tried to gain the title back from the apt young man's grasp, but he failed in this meager attempt to reclaim what he had thought was his.

Now the second golden band is where it gets interesting. Now, it is known that this golden band is described as something even more prestigious as the last. Something that is more difficult to obtain. All that is known is that the band was given to one named Amos.

And that's where the story cuts off.

The Linguist stops mid-step. He slowly regains his posture, and takes out the candle from the lantern. He touches the flame of the candle with the wick of the wall torches, and all of them in the corridor come alight. The Linguist smiles at the camera and crosses his legs as he sits on the cold stone flooring.

That is... because this story is yet to actually finish unfolding. But if I had to guess, I think this new champion will go on to claim the second band for himself. Why do I think such a thing?

The Linguist takes off his belt and looks at it, shrugging.

A reasonable prediction. Come Tuesday, I will pick up the quill and continue writing the legend for myself, defining what will happen next in this game of fate. I will be the one to overcome the challenges ahead of me, like I have been doing all along. As always, it matters not who decides to stand in the way of my goals. Whether it be a half-minded redneck, an infinitely hypocritical confederacy goon, or the higher power and his gracious book.

I will not become the very best in this company. Because I already. Am. It.

Despite how ferocious his voice had become, he chuckles the unsettling atmosphere away, smiling at the camera... but still managing to somehow sound rather sinister.

The only book I need is a good old fashioned dictionary. It's not a shield. It's a weapon.

The only thing I need to do is climb that ladder and ascend past the title of champion. I will not go out of my way to attack you if I can help it. I will not just turn around at the prime opportunity simply to prove my superiority over you cretins because I do not have to. I see the task in doing so as a definition of redundancy.

The pair of you may have a vendetta for one another, but do try to keep your eyes on your biggest threat. It may just get boring, otherwise.

You talk about your books. You talk about your dictionaries and holy fairy tales. The only thing that will matter is that after that night, the record books will read that The Linguist beat Amos James Jr. and Wyatt Reynolds to become, for the first time in his career, the European Champion.

The Linguist stands and turns his back to the camera. He begins to walk away from the camera, but it still follows his back.

The higher power may create the world for himself. But Tuesday evening. Manchester, England. The world will begin evolve for The Linguist.

The Linguist stops himself. He peers over his shoulder at the camera and smirks. From there, he blows out the torch directly next to him.

The entire corridor blacks out. And all that's left is the echoes of the coming battle.