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X-treme Wrestling Federation » Warfare Boards » Warfare RP Board
Ares Rising - Part II: RP 2
Author Message
Thaddeus Duke Offline
Lionhearted
Management Lv. 2


WWW

XWF FanBase:
Some of everyone

(cheered; very rarely plays dirty but isn't lame either; many likable qualities)


#1
07-15-2021, 03:47 AM


Illuminatus Compound || Old Saybrook, Connecticut || 1:14 AM


...July 8 – After Warfare...


Since my return to the wrestling world over a year ago, I’ve maintained a rigorous schedule and not just in the wrestling business. I have a multifaceted lifestyle. I’m not just a professional wrestler in the XWF and OCW. I’m also a father of three, which is undoubtedly the biggest, most rewarding job I have. I lead a nation at war which is not at all rewarding and just mostly drives me nuts. I have several endorsement deals like Dr Pepper, YooHoo, PING, Audi, LG and a few others. A result of which sees me starring in commercials for their products as well as contractually obligated meet and greets in conjunction with the XWF and those particular brands for their investors. Add to everything else the photo shoots I do for GQ and Esquire that seems like Thaddeus Duke vanity on the surface, but the real reason is to grab more eyeballs and point them toward our product. Last but not least, I do quite a bit of acting in television shows and have recently signed two deals for future feature films.

Over time I’ve morphed from Thaddeus Duke, the son of an XWF legend into Thaddeus Duke, the brand- an icon and a legend in his own right.

I’m a very busy man and a result of all of that, despite my youth and despite my physical fitness which I maintain in top form, it all has a tendency to creep up behind me, bite me in the ass and exhaust me from time to time. Again, I’m not at all complaining. Aside from the nation leading thing, I’ve chosen every bit of my lifestyle and I’m not sure I’d change any of it. I enjoy staying busy. I enjoy doing the things I do despite my detractors and the things they think I should or shouldn’t be doing. They do things their way, I do mine.

Fresh off of Warfare in New York and yet another victory, I bring my Audi to a stop outside the front doors of the big house. Frankie and I exit the car and quietly head toward the house. Inside, Mufasa let’s out a yawn from his position in front of the door and gets excited to see his boy.

”C’mon Mufasa,” says the tired ten year old. ”Let’s go to bed.”

”Good night Frankie,” I say as he heads upstairs.

”Night Thad. Love you.”

”Love you too buddy,” I reply as I head toward the kitchen for a quick little night cap. After, I head upstairs myself for a little well-earned sleep. Up in my room, I draw the drapes closed for better darkness. The Compound is typically well lit from the outside and that lighting spills in whether I like it or not. Without even changing, I collapse face down on my bed and shut my eyes.

I’m not even sure if I had time to fall asleep before I hear Mufasa scratching at my door. He sniffs and snarls from the hallway.

”Go to bed with Frankie,” I tell him with my tired vocal cords. The lion doesn’t listen and continues his scratching at my bedroom door. ”Mufasa!” I shout angrily and he stops. ”Go to bed!”

From the hallway, the lion belts out a roar before throwing what I assume is his body against my door. He threw himself so hard one time, that I could hear the wooden door panels cracking. Not wanting to see the lion destroy my house, I finally relent and get out of bed. Opening the door, Mufasa paces quickly, nervously back and forth in the hall.

”What the hell is the matter with you!?” I ask of him and it’s not like I’m expecting the voice of James Earl Jones to come from his mouth and tell me what the fuck his problem is. In response though, Mufasa stands on his hind legs and put his front paws on my shoulders before belting out another roar.

Quickly, I’m reminded of the last time the lions were annoying pests at such a late hour. Simba is no longer with us, but Mufasa was always the more intuitive one as it is. A couple years ago I’d just come home from an event exhausted, just like tonight. The lions wouldn’t leave me alone and a few minutes later, the Ares Project attacked my house. Thinking of that time, causes the hair on my arms to stand up on end. For a moment, I stand in silence listening to the other silence shrouding me in the dead of night. Snapping out of it, I run to my walk in closet and pull down the lever attached to the back wall. It kills the power to the house while simultaneously sending out a silent red alert to Illuminatus forces and security details. After the first attack, we improved communication and precautions dramatically and one switch put the grounds in complete darkness while also providing key alerts to the right people. Before leaving the closet, I grab one of Frankie’s drones and head out of the room.

In the hallway, I run into Karen, the head of Frankie’s protection detail, as she rushes toward his room.

”What’s going on sir?” she asks.

”I don’t know yet, but Mufasa’s acting strange like he and his brother did the night the Ares Project hit the house,” I inform her. ”Take him and get Frankie the hell out of here.”

”This is serious,” she thinks aloud.

”This is what you trained for Karen,” I tell her as I start down the hallway and begin loading the drone app on my phone. ”You have one job right now and that’s getting my son the fuck out of here and to safety.”

Without another word, I head upstairs toward the roof. Upon the roof, its a warm, calm night and I step toward the edge of the roof where I set down the drone. Activating it, the drone soars into the air and I send it quickly over the wooded area separating the grounds from Long Island Sound. In about sixty seconds, the drone is out over the water and in the distance numerous lights are visible through the lens. Closing in quickly and despite the darkness, it appears as if there’s a dozen or more warships with their guns all pointed toward Connecticut.

For a moment, I wonder where the hell the U.S. Coast Guard or Navy is. The Ares Project is a known terrorist organization and you’d think breaching territorial waters would be an attack on the United States regardless of whether or not the official position from the government is one of neutrality. The Ares Project Navy sitting off their coast in their waters is an eminent threat to their own citizens. The moment of wonder passes quickly though as numerous streaks of light come from multiple ships.

”Fuck!” I yell out loud and no sooner do I do so, and multiple missiles impact the southern facade of the Compound. The percussion of the blasts below me sends the roof in an upward arch momentarily, sending me flying into the air and over the side of the building. Obviously my phone goes plummeting toward the ground below as I’m barely able to grab a hold of the wall, stopping myself from falling to the ground right along with it. In an effort to save my phone so that I can receive the signal later, I use my feet to ‘hackey sack’ it back to my free hand before putting it in my back pocket. More incoming rockets rock the building and shake it on its foundation nearly causing me to lose my perilously weak grip on the side of the building.

The recent blasts blow out a portion of the wall about a dozen feet below me as I hang here listening to the temporary silence. Being an airman myself, I’m positive I hear the buzzing and humming of incoming aircraft. Theirs? Mine? The American Air Force? It’s impossible to know for sure.

More rockets pound the building and take their toll on the ancient 250 year old fortress. Being unwilling to succumb to death by falling ninety feet to the ground, I begin to climb down the eastern facing wall toward the giant hole. As I reach the gaping hole, I hear a cracking sound coming from the wooded area. Swinging myself inside the hole and back into the building, I roll through the landing and right back up on my feet. Looking out my new window toward the tree line, I notice a few tanks rolling out onto the lawn, smashing everything in their path.

Those are my tanks.

But they’re not my friends.

One by one, the tanks empty their cannons into my house and it occurs to me that backup has yet to arrive and a result of that sees the Ares Project absolutely winning this battle. They can have the battle, but as long as I live, the war is not over. As rockets and large cannon shells continue to rock the building, I make my way back toward my room, careful not to fall into the numerous potholes in the flooring in the hallway. I’m not sure what kind of rockets and tank munitions they’re using but they’re having a surprisingly devastating effect on the Compound.

Back in my bedroom, I grab my rifle, my fully loaded Desert Eagle pistol and my dads old hidden blade gauntlet that I’m still certain he ‘borrowed’ from Assassin’s Creed. Hesitantly and cautiously, I start to head downstairs. In the spiral stairwell, blocks from the outer wall start to fall in as they continue to pound the building. Dust and ancient mortar rains down upon my head as I continue to tread carefully.

Just as I reach the bottom of the stairs, the front doors burst open and a pair of enemy soldier enter my house. The house is pitch black so the chances of them seeing me are very slim. Allowing them to pass into the main hallway for now, I continue to quietly make my way through the house. Above my head, I listen as a loud creaking sound echos through the house before what I can only assume was a large portion of the wall crumbling inside and hitting the floor above.

Ducking my head out the front doors at the firefight going on out there, I notice its a massacre. The Ares Project is soundly in control of this fight as the bullet sprays get lighter and lighter while the seconds tick by. Returning inside the house as the two enemies gun down a couple of my men. With haste I rush up the hallway, taking care to remain as quiet as possible. The two enemy soldiers look down at their handy work, something I’ll mourn for later, as they congratulate each other on their kills.

”Hey,” I blurt out and startle them both. I’m prepared though and as they turn around to face me, one takes a hidden dagger to the throat, and the other takes a bullet at point blank range in the forehead. They drop dead and dying beside my people as I start to make my way toward the cellar. As I near the cellar door, I can hear voices coming from the area of the Throne Room.

Quiet as a mouse and as quickly as I can, I make my way toward the Throne Room corridor. The door was left ajar but I hadn’t seen anyone. My thoughts then assume some of my people used the room as an escape route. To stage right of the throne is a short hallway that leads outside. With the door slightly open, I squeeze through and into the Throne Room. From what little I can see, it looks to be four enemy soldiers sitting on the steps leading to the throne. They laugh and joke about the men and women they’ve killed, celebrating as if the war ends tonight.

Not if I can help it.

One of them sits a step higher than the other three and wears my crown upon his head. Staying quiet still, I keep myself close to the wall and make my way toward the stage right side of the room where I’ll eventually run right into the hallway leading outside. As I reach the hallway opening, one of them makes a funny little comment about groping one of the women he killed.

One of my soldiers.

Instead of going outside, which is the far smarter decision, I sneak upon the altar and casually sit my throne behind the group of men and they’re entirely clueless that they’re being stalked like prey. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I lay it on the seat between my legs, waiting for the signal and quietly pull back the hammer on my pistol.

SOLDIER 1: “Haha! Yeah, she wanted it.”

CROWNED SOLDIER: “I should’ve given it to her. Her last night on Earth and all.”

SOLDIER 2: “You guys surprised at all by the lack of fight?”

SOLDIER 1: “This isn’t anything like the last time.”



My phone vibrates three times.

Frankie is safe.

Unbeknownst to these asshats, there’s a switch on my throne that controls the gaslight torches attached to the walls. Hitting the switch, I watch as the enemies standing just a dozen or so feet from me, jump to their feet in shock as one by one, the torches ignite and dimly light up the Throne Room. Left side, then right, then back and forth they go from the doorway toward the chair I sit in.

CROWNED SOLDIER: “What the fuck!?” he calls out as they look around at the burning torches.

SOLDIER 4: “These people are fucking weird.”

Oh they have no idea just how weird we are. Another thing they’re not aware of is the giant torch that’s attached to the wall above and behind me. I’m not sure why the delay between the wall torches and this one lighting, but it serves its purpose as the enemies let their guard down and lay down their weapons before the man wearing my crown takes a pack of smokes from his pocket and starts passing around cigarettes.

As they light them, the large torch behind me flares up, illuminating me. It’s hard not to notice it, so they turn instantly and I pop off three shots. I have a very deadly and precise shot so the three of them drop to their deaths in the throne room, leaving just the stunned crown-wearing soldier standing.

He eyeballs his rifle sitting a couple feet away and goes to reach for it.

”Leave it there,” I tell him as I point my own rifle at him. ”You touch it I shoot and that ends our conversation.”

CROWNED SOLDIER: “I don’t have any interest in talking to you.”

”What’s your name, soldier?” I ask of him and stands defiantly for a moment, not answering. ”Your name… soldier?”

”John Miller,” he answers as he takes a puff of his cigarette.

”Rank?” He doesn’t answer. ”You have something that belongs to me, John,” I tell him and he hesitantly reaches up and pulls the crown from his head. In the distance, glass shatters and more wall crumbles into the house. John flinches.

”You needn’t worry,” I tell him. ”The throne room is only attached to the house with a hallway. The house can fall and still leave where you’re standing entirely untouched.

No sooner do I tell him that and a tank shell comes bursting through the throne room wall about mid way between me and the doors. He takes my momentary lapse in attention and goes for his rifle. It was a bad move on his part though as I fire my pistol, sending a bullet into his forearm causing him to drop the gun and “mother fuck” me in pain.

”I’ll have that crown John,” I say to him stoically. Say want you want about the torches, but they create an eerie aesthetic that causes trepidation and that’s likely by design.

Clutching his bleeding arm with my crown still in his fingers, he looks up at me. I’m not sure what the look is that he’s giving. It’s not fear necessarily and I’m not trying to scare him so much as let him know that despite the missiles and shells rocking the Compound, I still rule here.

”Bring it to me,” I instruct him and he hesitates.

”I’m bleeding out here man,” he protests.

”I don’t care if you bleed out,” I tell him honestly. ”Since you clearly do, be a good lad and bring it here.”

Hesitantly he starts to climb the steps and drops his bleeding arm to his side. That’s when I notice his combat knife attached to his outer thigh just above his knee. Stepping up to the altar where I sit my throne he pauses.

”John if I wanted you dead, you’d have joined your mates as soon as you turned around,” I tell him, trying to ease his apprehension a bit. He takes another step forward and pauses again.

”You’re letting me live?” he questions.

”I think that’s up to you at this point,” I answer back truthfully. Even without removing my eyes from his face, I can still spy his weakened right hand thumbing the handle of his knife. This isn’t my first rodeo.

John steps to the foot of the throne and I lean my head forward.

”Go on,” I tell him and he lifts his left hand to place my crown upon my head. Just as he sets it down, he unsnaps his sheath and draws his blade. Acting quickly, I grab his right arm and with little resistance thanks to his injury, I slam it against the mahogany arms of the throne. Dropping his combat knife to the floor, he yelps out in pain instantly as I forcefully drive my hidden blade against his groin. The tip pierces his fatigues and pins things against other things without really piercing his skin. It’s enough though, for him to regret making a move. The threat of becoming a eunuch is enough for most men to stop in their tracks.

”John that wasn’t something a man does when they’re interested in living,” I tell him as he stands leaning to his right with his arm still trapped and his jewels still in grave danger. ”Answer my next question John. Your response determines whether or not you live to see tomorrow.”

”You don’t even know if you’ll live to see tomorrow,” he says defiantly.

”I can get out of here any time I want and your guys… they’ll never see me do it,” I reply to him before asking my question. ”What is your rank, John Miller?”

”First Lieutenant,” he finally replies.

”Take a step backward,” I instruct him and he follows my orders. The planes from earlier are overhead now and they’re dropping bombs. They’re crashing through the roof to the second floor and bursting, causing chunks of the upper floor to collapse to the ground floor.

”Another step backward John, then turn around with your arms out.” Again he does as ordered and without deviation. ”On your knees with your hands behind your head.”

”Why? So you can come up behind me and slit my throat?”

”I already told you John,” I tell him as I stand from the throne and remove some ziptie cuffs from my back pocket. ”If I wanted you dead, you would be already. I’m not a butcher.”

”Tell that to my brothers in Berlin that you slaughtered like cattle,” he says as he places his hands behind his head. If I’m being honest, a rather large part of me would like to blow his brains all over my floor right now. Instead, I take a moment to clutch Harold Jenkins’ dog tags as a reminder.

”That’s a fair criticism,” I reply back to him. ”I was wrong for doing what I did to your people and no amount of apologies or meeting the parents of my victims will ever wash away that stain.”

At the mention of meeting victims parents, he cranes his neck slightly to look at me. ”You met their families?”

”Eyes front,” I reply to him as I put Jenkins’ tags away and cuff John Miller. ”Just Jenkins,” I answer him.

”How do you plan to get out of here?”

Ignoring his question, I pose one of my own. ”Something I’ve been thinking about this whole time since the moment I snuck right passed you and your dead friends John is why does a first lieutenant take a break inside an enemy building while the battle is still raging?”

”To be fair sir, it’s not much of a battle,” he answers as I pull him to his feet. ”Your throne room was never a target.”

”McGovern no doubt wants the post battle photo ops,” I reply before cutting the long sleeve from his shirt.

”What the hell are you doing!?” he asks as I slice it down the length and start tying around his bleeding forearm.

”You wanted to live so I’m helping you,” I answer him. ”If you thought I was gonna cut up my Dean Rose t-shirt to save your sorry ass you got another thing comin’.”

”Who the hell is Dean Rose?” he asks as I start ushering him down the steps and up the aisle.

”Some dumb cunt that flamed out quickly. Not important.”

Bombs, missiles and tank cannon fire are still whittling away at the natural defenses of the centuries old fortress. In the main hallway, a section of the upper floor gives way and in an effort to save John’s life, I shove him into the wall and down to the floor, covering him with my own body. In all honesty it was just instinct because if something crushed me, it was gonna crush him too.

Helping him back to his feet after getting to my own, a man comes running out of the darkened hallway that leads to the cellar door. Pulling my gun quickly, I fire at the figure but at the last moment, I flick my wrist, diverting the shot away from that figure.

”Christ mate!” Jim shouts out. ”You nearly shot me!”

”Fucking hell Jim! What the fuck possessed you to run out of a dark hallway!?”

”Lookin’ for you mate!”

”He’s British?”

”Who the fuck is this wankah?”

”Ares Project First Lieutenant John Miller,” I answer him.

Hearing the gunshot, two men charge in from the outside and start firing into the darkness. Taking a moment to shove Jim up the darkened hall back toward the cellar door, I spin John around using him as a human shield. One man steps under the hole in the ceiling and the moonlight lights him up… and so do I. One shot is all it takes and quickly, John and I move along the wall as incoming gunfire hits where he and I just stood. The glowing red rifle barrel is enough to give me that soldiers approximate location and grabbing my rifle strapped over my back, I unload a volley of shots in his direction. A few grunts later, his gun drops to the floor and with a thud, so does he.

”Right mate, it’s time to go,” Jim says from the dark corridor.

”I can hold them off,” I say quickly as I exchange magazines in both my pistol and my rifle. ”I just need to do it long enough for backup to arrive...”

”Thad… mate… they hit the airfield first,” he informs me. ”There’s no one coming. The Compound is lost.”

”Is that true?” I ask in John’s direction. He nods quickly. ”Any of my people survive?”

”I don’t know,” he answers. ”I wouldn’t count on it.”

”It’s time to go Thad,” Jim repeats himself. ”We’ll regroup and we’ll hit them back.”

Contemplating for the moment whether or not I really want to let the Compound fall. Considering my non-existent options, I nod in reluctant agreement before following Jim and escorting John Miller into the cellar.




Awwww that’s cute. Robert Main took a page out of Chris Chaos’s playbook and repeatedly says, in different ways, that Thaddeus Duke is boring. That might hurt if one- I gave a damn what Robert Main thought. If two- Robert Main conjecture had any merit at all. I’m a lot of things… boring isn’t one of them.

In comparing these first two promos, its readily apparent we’re watching charisma and drywall. There’s nothing wrong with being drywall. It’s important. It’s sturdy, if not a little fragile. It does the job. But at the end of the day when the drywall is up and its painted a lovely shade of orange, no one even remembers its there.

Me clearly being the charismatic one in these proceedings, I’m sure the drywall didn’t receive a text from one of his fiercest competitors with these three simple letter: W.O.W.

I did.

It’s been very clear to me for a very long time that Robert Main does not respect me. He doesn’t respect anything about me in front of or behind the curtain and that’s one of the biggest reasons that I’ve wanted this match for as long as I have. It’s not the fact that he doesn’t respect me, I couldn’t care less if he does or he doesn’t. What he thinks he knows about me pales in comparison to what he actually knows and that’s plainly evident in his first promo. He made it clear from the very first time we stepped into the ring together that he doesn’t. In order for me to give a shit about his respect for me, I’d first have to give a shit about his opinion… and I just don’t.

It’s not his respect I’m after.

Only his pride.

Let’s start, shall we?

Robert Main begins this drywall painted orange promo of his by saying this could’ve been avoided if I wasn’t a keyboard warrior. First of all, I’m a warrior in many places, not just a keyboard. The ring, the battlefield, the skies, on the stick. All over the place, really.

Why would I want to avoid it?

I’ve gone on record recently and in the past saying I wanted this, so again I ask… why would I want to avoid any of this? Why would I, a man that is not, have not, and has never been afraid or intimidated by Robert Main, his titles and accomplishments, or his fragile little baby ego, avoid facing Robert Main? More over why would a guy so plainly call me a keyboard Twitter warrior or whatever he said while simultaneously… challenging me through Twitter?

Things cut both ways, Robert.

Robert Main’s lack of respect for me and his fragile ego were the keys to getting this match. Believe that, because we wouldn’t even be having this discussion if Robert Main had respect for me and thought of me as some kind of threat to him. Those aren’t the matches he wants.

I’ll take a step forward here and throw the suggestion out there that… hell, it’s not a suggestion… it’s exactly what happened. Fact is, Robert Main is easy to trigger. He talks all tough, and he is a tough guy, but at the same time, his fragile little ego bruises real fuckin easy and it’s really fuckin’ simple to trigger him and get him wanting a match with you… take notes, Thunder Knuckles... I planned to do it this way a real long time but in my earliest desires to do it this way, Robert Main would have walked out of his match with Chris with the Universal title and we’d be having ourselves a title versus title match.

Nothing would’ve been sweeter than short circuiting his Universal reign… believe that.

Speaking of clickbait Robert… I baited, you clicked. You think I don’t know what I’m doin’? Trust that I know exactly what I’m doing, every time.

“In the ring, I’m one brittle bitch…” evidenced by what Robert? The fact that I’ve had about as many matches in July as you’ve had all year? Or the fact that no matter who the opponent is I almost always seem to win? Or evidenced by the fact that even if I should happen to come out on the short end of the stick in a match I don’t slink away and hide for six months so I can pretend I died and make this great comeback… that no one but me cared about?

“Heroes… Blowing up factions… pure asshole…” I am an asshole. 100%. I have never denied it and I’ve never claimed I was a hero. The fact that the fans go absolutely nuts for me probably has something to do with me putting my body on the line for them night in and night out, but a hero? Never once claimed to be a hero. Who’s to say a month from now those same fans don’t just get tired of me doing whatever the fuck I want whenever the fuck I want and stop cheering?

I didn’t blow up a faction. I beat a man for a title I needed to complete the collection. He could’ve risen to the challenge and put forth his best effort to beat me, but he didn’t. That’s on Ned Kaye, not Thaddeus Duke. He knew the risks he was taking by agreeing to face me and that’s one thing that sets him apart from you. He knew the risks while you clearly don’t.

He gambled on himself like a real man always does… and he lost. No backroom deals needed, no politicking needed. He accepted. He fought. He lost. Again, that’s not on me.

It’s not like one of my people were suffering a four on one assault and I failed to intervene… nah that’s your department isn’t it? Nothing like destroying the credibility of your own faction by just you being yourself.

“Titles as Validation…” The more reigns one has means you are losing… That’s a fair point but then you need to remember you have to win them first, amirite? See he goes on at length about my precious title reigns and how the length of those reigns is underwhelming…

So?

What’s that have to do with this match?

Fucking nothing.

The guy suggests I need titles for validation… I don’t need validation. My validation has been earned with victory after victory after victory. The same guy that claims he doesn’t need titles for validation, doesn’t want titles at all, but goes on to validate himself by talking about his… checks notes… Universal title reign from… checks imaginary watch… from two years ago… and just came out of a pay per view main event getting shellacked by Chris Page for the title he now claims he was never after.

We know that’s bullshit.

He had his hearts desire set on the Universal title since at least November. Y’all can look back in the archives. I’ll provide a clip it in my next promo if I need to. And it even hearkens back to a point I made in my last one. He was hoping I’d come out of High Stakes with the big gold because he was “comin’ for me.”

I did take home the big one.

He was comin’ for me on Warfare.

Until someone busted his skull.

It’s not about titles to Robert Main though. Evidenced by the fact that his first match back was a battle royal to determine a contender to Page’s title. He’ll claim and has claimed it was his only way of getting to Chris Page and not about the Universal title specifically. It’s not, until it is, but then it isn’t again when he fails to capture it. I don’t care that the numbers were stacked against him. The fact is, he blew it and he knows it. And he can thank me now that he doesn’t have the Universal title that he did want but didn’t want because all of his past victories over Page became null and void once Page started his shit with me and I made him a better him.

Relax XWF. Robert Main has had his eureka moment and knows the answers to Thaddeus Duke. Smart Robert. All you’ve done to this point is just prove how fucking stupid you are and prove that there’s a reason BOB calling you Walnut Brain all this time is a thing. You don’t have the answers to beating me, because you don’t even know the questions.

There is no proverbial blueprint because if there is one, someone way smarter than you would have already figured it out. He figured it out so much that he didn’t win the last time we were in the ring together.

I’ll give Robert credit on his intelligence in one area though… Barely more than one match per month on average is not a juggernaut but a carefully orchestrated and choreographed protection scheme. Designed and carried out with the intent that Robert Main doesn’t exert himself. That Robert Main is always fresh after his month long layoffs to make minced meat out of such highly regarded top tier competitors like Tommy Wish and John Black.

We are not the same. From the Rel Dixon’s to the Barney Green’s to the Demos’s to the Robert Main’s and Chris Page’s… I’ll take on anyone at anytime. I don’t have such a fragile ego to protect. I don’t have a fragile image to maintain. My confidence in myself never waivers and you can go on doing exactly what I said you’d do and tell everyone I was backpedaling, you can tell them what you’re gonna do to my body, and throw out your empty “mess with the bull” tough guy cliches…

At Warfare, none of it matters and you still won’t have a title. I’ve been primed and ready for this since November while you’re doing a real piss poor job of playing catch up. All of your empty conjecture and hyperbole doesn’t matter because it all leads to same thing: Victory for the Lionheart.




[Image: yIk6jXf.png]

[Image: wgqr9W2.png]
74-31-1
Semi-Retired


1x  XWF Universal Champion || 3x  XWF Xtreme Champion || 1x  XWF Supercontinental Champion (First)
1x  XWF Hart Champion (Last) || 2x  XWF Television Champion || 1x  XWF Tag Team Champion
1x  OCW Savage Champion || 1x IIW Tag Team Champion  || 2x  SOTM (9/20, 7/21)
2021 Male Wrestler of the Year (shared w/ Alias) || XWF Hall of Legends
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