U.S. Bank Stadium

Minneapolis, MN
March 23rd
Day 94 of Sean Parker’s reign as XWF Anarchy Champion


“This arena is incredible!”


I’m in awe as I walk down the ramp of an empty U.S. Bank Stadium, the only things I have for company are the empty seats that will be jam-packed in just 24 hours.


“You know, Cent, it really is fitting that we're going to give the XWF Universe a match for the ages in an arena like this. It’s not quite the Colosseum your namesake soldiers frequented once upon a time but few arenas are.”


As I reach the ringside area, I glance around. I can almost hear my entrance music blaring throughout this incredible amphitheater as I slide under the bottom rope and take everything in. Standing in the center of the ring is a large fifteen-feet-tall ladder, already propped up. I walk towards it and stare up ominously to the top.


“The ladder of success is a fickle structure. Very few get to experience the thrill of reaching the top, smashing the glass ceiling above it and relish in the success and glory you work towards for so many years.”


A feeling of excitement rushes over and I start to climb up.


“Everyone thinks the first step is the hardest. That moment when you decide to bet on yourself, daring to be better than who you were before. But as you continue to climb, the challenges just get harder and harder. The climb is arduous, it’s punishing, it’s unforgiving.”


I continue my ascent, one rung at a time, slow and steady. 


“And when you look up at who is already at the top of the ladder, that’s when you have a choice to make. Aspire to get to the top and take their place or accept your place in the hierarchy and climb back down.”


I’m almost at the top; the final rung within touching distance.


“Whilst I respect you, Centurion, there’s only room for one of us at the top of this ladder. It’s been years since you made the same arduous, punishing, unforgiving climb I’m now making myself. Three reigns as Anarchy Champion amongst a sea of achievements most pro wrestlers only dream of.”


Finally, I sit down atop the base of the ladder, again gazing around at the empty seats as if I’d just reached the summit of Olympus. 


“But something’s changed. The Centurions were once highly-respected officers of ancient Rome. They were responsible for leading soldiers into battle; they were the champions of discipline! Their orders were followed to the letter. Trusted soldiers and respected leaders; ever-reliable were to carry their sword and shield with aplomb. To lead by example.”

My hand drifts up to my face, thumb and forefinger positioned on either side of my chin thought-provokingly.

“And, up until now, that’s what you’ve epitomized, Cent. You’ve been that trusted soldier, that respected leader. You’ve carried that fateful, bloodstained gladius and battle-tested scutum without equal. At times, you’ve been a one-man army, carrying XWF, much like that shield, on your back, deflecting arrows and spears from haters, rivals, challengers and champions alike.”

I nod, an impressed expression of acknowledgement painted across my face. 

“But it's different now. You admitted it yourself…. This just doesn’t mean the same to you anymore, does it? You don’t want this match. You don’t care about another reign as Anarchy Champion because all you care about is Madison Dyson. That sneak attack back at Free For All and the denial of vengeance has consumed you.”

The expression changes to one of dismay. My brow furrows, emphasizing the change in my demeanor. 

“And whilst I understand it, I’m disappointed. I’m disappointed because I may be the Anarchy Champion, but I’m not at the top of the ladder yet. I’m still staring up at you, a few rungs shy. I’m so close, I can taste it. But the guy I’m staring up at in admiration, the guy I want to supplant doesn't care anymore. He’s not looking at me as a potential successor, ready to fight for his place because he’s too busy looking out to the horizon desperate for an itch he’s never going to scratch.

And that breaks my fucking heart, Cent, because I’ve worked too hard to get to this point! To be on the precipice of defending a championship against one of the greatest of all time! Only for that great man to be distracted by a hopeless infatuation!”

My head shakes disparagingly as I fold my arms across my chest.

“You’re not the Centurion I watched growing up… and now, you’re leaving me no choice. See, this match means too much to me and I refuse to turn up at March Madness overawed by the accomplishments of a man who should be fighting off my grip on the ladder instead of clinging to that top rung like a safety net.”

I lean forward, patting the ladder almost affectionately.

“One way or another, I’m going to climb this ladder rung by rung. I’ll take my championship and when I take my rightful place at the top, just like your attitude to this match, I won’t give you a second look!”

I can’t help but smile.

“From atop his ladder, where legends climb
Stands the Centurion, biding his time.
Yet what avails his armor’s gleam,
When the Assassin’s blade reigns supreme?”

I look up to see the Anarchy Championship dangling above. 

“The Centurion boasts of wisdom and might,
But from the skies unseen, swiftly fades his light
For experience wanes in the face of skill
And in the dance of death, the Assassin’s will.”

My hands reach up, unfastening it, pulling it free.

“From atop his ladder, the legend will fall,
A victorious cry, the Assassin’s call.
For what is a Centurion to this Assassin’s reign? 
Just a distant echo in the Champion’s domain.”

I place the belt across my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Cent, but it’s over. This is my spot now."