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Blood curdling screams. A sound of scraping fingernails on a cement wall. Destroyed morals and convictions of a set of worldly beliefs from long before this predicament. The pungent aroma of flesh burning. Peeled back parts of what was skinned after disobedience. Hallucinations of words in the air telling you to go back. The last thing you remember is shoving the vomit back down your throat to save face for no one who can see you now anyway. An inner plea to just die. Each flickering flame a reminder of the cost. Ascension to the highest position. Then... leading a contingent of war eyed animals. Men who lost what they used to be long before. Kill or be killed. Restless tradesman of a bygone era. Men... who can't read or write, but know how to use a sword and shield. They know when it's time to be serious, because this could be their last wish. To die in the muck for a symbolic gesture more than themselves. It's all they have left of a legacy they could never live up to. A time filled with joy and... a promise. To one day become "The Kingslayer".
Wow.
Goosebumps.
It takes a hell of a lot to slay a King. Either way, it sells t-shirts, right? WAAAAIIITTTT! You don't actually believe you will "slay the King" on Savage, do you? Come on now, Steve, you've been gone a long time, your head is a little foggy on the old detailed memories. CTE? Take too many bumps before we had concussion protocols? Maybe? Get it checked, listen... it is understandable. I know a guy. Pills help. You can't win, Steve Davids. You can't even compete. The royal fist has come down to rule. Among it's forceful hand... a choice. One not to let you live in this sad state of who you used to be. One that says we don't want half of Steve Davids. Because that's all we can have now. A skeleton. Something in the basement that makes a noise, but eventually leads us right back to our comfortable arm chair. Unworried, safe, without a care in the world. Because you don't scare anyone. You don't make us shake in our shoes. We make you... shake in yours. ADMIT IT! When you found out about this match, you hid in a corner as tears welled up in the ducts of your eyes. You thought about how big of a mistake this all was to get into again. Of course you did. Who wouldn't having to face the ICONIC RADICAL. THE ERRATIC ENIGMA! The King of Kings. Your greatest foe. At your weakest moment. I will add you to KING RENO'S court of memories. With the great's... like Thomas Nixon, who also flamed out... or the biggest flamer of all... CHRIS CHAOS! It's okay, I'm not mad at you, Steve. You can have a place in my courtship of hands designed to keep me at my peak performance! We need a good towel guy?
Alright?
Now, Be a good boy and roll over.
No...
YOU WILL...
BOW TO ME.
WHEN I SAW TO BOW!
WELCOME BACK, BITCH.
TO THE BRAND NEW XWF.
MY SHOW.
BOW!
[[ You couldn't even beat Chris Chaos... oh, and if you hadn't heard there is a mandate around here. It says that if you aren't worthy of a King's presence, that you QUIT. SO RIP UP the contract for this OBSURD MATCH that you DID NOT EARN and do NOT DESERVE! The powers that be think pinning me against some retiree is good entertainment? I call it dangerous. Because I'm going to hurt you. I am going to tear that adorable "KINGSLAYER" emblem from your shirt, and use it to choke you. Things have changed old man. This isn't your game anymore. It's now a place ruled by decree's and laws that I have made to keep everyone on the level. You can't just roll up in here after however many years and expect to be treated like you never left. FUCK THAT. You can call it a comeback. You can tell your fat wife and three kids who disappoint you everyday that "Daddy did it". That's fucking dandy. Just don't make the mistake of convincing yourself to actually do it. If you come to Savage to fight the Universal Champion... you will be royally dismissed. I will make you the jester of the court. A distant flamed out funny memory. ]]
Oh, you already are?
Well... maybe you should learn how King's work.
You know how Kings become Kings, Steve? BY SLAYING UNDESERVING ASSHOLES LIKE YOU. Everyone wants to be on top, but no one wants to pay the dues. Kings become Kings by doing it ALL. By slipping every backhanded attempt to overthrow them... by being SMARTER. BY running their royal nails down the face of any would-be challenger until it bleeds. BY leaving track marks not only to commemorate a defeat on your behalf, but so that everyone who see's you will ask how it happened, so that the word is OUT AND STRONG that you do not cross the KING. You may think you have a strategy... they all do at first... until I rip it a part piece by piece. Until I reveal how much less of a man you are. How desperate and filthy your intentions have to be to emerge from a graveyard to come at me like you are somehow worthy because you held a belt once. NOT HAPPENING. I pay attention to everything. That's what makes me THE KING OF XWF! I don't let scumbags from any time period walk up in my house and tell me how shit will play out. OH NONONO! I WILL TELL YOU! NANCY! You think you can get into my ring, in my arena, and beat me? I will throw shit at you that no only have you never seen before, but shit you didn't even know was possible. GRANDPA, ARE YOU LISTENING? TURN UP YOUR HEARIND AID! I study my opponents. How people move, what diction they use, what fatal flaws exist deep under the skin. YOU have been a very interesting case... because all I see of you is what you USED TO BE ABLE to do. Through my studies, you know what baffles me about you? You're a passive bitch. That's right, a middling Nancyboy! YOU DON'T HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO HOLD UP MY BALLS! Not that I would bestow upon you such an honor to begin with. These balls were made for talkin', then backing it up. The era you came from was all about "attitude". Well, we've gone further. The envelope was filled and ripped apart by guys like me. ATTITUDE isn't enough anymore. YOU NEED ACTUAL SKILL.
WHAT is this, 1979?!
[[ Let's let any Legend with A PULSE MEEANNDDEERR through the dressing room and relive their glory days. FUCCKK! Well, might as well make the best of it, Davids. Tear the house down. Really take it to me. Because when the bell rings at the end of the match, and I victoriously smile for photos with the Universal Championship safely away from pudgy fan fingers... you will know, that the chances of you winning this match were always zero, just like your tired outfit, hair, and gimmick were a decade ago. Your hope of a revival will die in that ring. The headlines will not be kind to a crusty shell of a man who came back to RUIN HIS OWN legacy. KILL his own chance to begot history with more than an erasable marker. "KINGSLAYER SLAIN by THE KING!" It will take everything you have to endure the criticism and questions of "why did you do it?" Questions you will be asking yourself until the day you die. My exhaustion will also end there, from hearing the sweet sound of your voice... admitting that you don't have enough left in the tank. Because you don't. It makes my eyelids heavy. More so than a handful of Soma's with booze. I feel like each time I see you I just get sleepier. The contagious delirium of a man who isn't half the man he once was. Sorry, did you have something to say? ]]
JUST KIDDING!
I want to yawn just thinking about it!
Oh, where are my manners?
I'm sure it was good, whatever nonsensical hocus pocus it was.
What the hell XWF? I win the belt and I, suddenly, have to face guys no one has seen and were long since thought to be lost in the Bermuda Triangle. Are you even Steve Davids? Because from what I hear, the guy who lost to Chris Chaos, MY FORMER FRIEND... looks NOTHING like the DAVIDS of OLD! SO who the hell are you? An imposter? OR IS IT that you are him, and are really just THAT AWFUL now? A pathetic shadow, hoping that if you find just the right spot in the ring, that history can repeat itself? Don't hold your breath. Do you stay up at night thinking about how EVEN A LOSS will help you get higher in the ranks? DO you even realize that XWF has handed you a golden ticket to the top by even having you in this match? With Me? The Icon? This was never meant for you to win. It was meant for you to get back into the fold. But... they made a mistake. Thinking "well this guy held the title once, I am sure he can hang with the likes of Chaos or Reno..." That mistake will hit no one harder, than you, Steve Davids. They forgot that I do not FUCK AROUND! You thought Chaos was a fun trip down memory lane? WAIT TIL YOU GET A LOAD OF ME. I go for the THROAT! SO while everyone was hoping to sing a rousing rendition of Kumbaya after this match as a pat on your returning back... 'THE RADICAL' will be singing "fuck nah." You're not that guy anymore. DO YOU HEAR ME, NANCY!? You know it, they don't... yet. Until once again PAPA RENO has to come correct the flaws laid upon us by the powers that be. OH, WHAT? You keep imagining the image of a sword impaling the current King? Right!? Do you even know where to find that guy!?
I do, in XWF home VHS tapes.
The ones no one watches.
On an outdated machine that barely works anymore.
Just like you.
The throw-in to the one match you actually wanted the video to see.
The match we fast-forwarded by.
Like your career it flashes before our eyes until we get to the good shit.
How does it feel to be left behind?
To slay only what you've spent years building by coming back now?
Your own career?
...
It's okay, you don't have to answer.
We know.
BOW
☆
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