The voices of solace welcome your respect, foes. Woes and warriors; a path that knows no aversion toward ascension as the plummeting trails of shadow guide your lives to a true meaning. To understand that you've already been laid down upon the stone slabs that support my temporary body's footing is to understand there is but no point in even speaking a word—intelligible or not.


It is with great dignity and pride that I reflect upon the comments my adversaries this week have bestowed upon me…

Woe Said: 
 
 

To which, the more silver-tongued of my antagonists followed up with…

Manu Said: 
 
 

But since he often speaks in a tongue not understood by the majority of dwellers here, the preceding comments were translated to modern day English, stating…

Manu Said: 
 
 

Now friends, wanderers, visionaries; I ask of you to join me in welcoming the message of my foes. I understand there are children among us—ahem, Mastermind, the master of clay—so allow me to attempt a simplification of my message today.


The cold, unforgiving absence of any showing by my opponents this weak, yes as in physically weak, tells me one thing.


They wish me to believe them invisible; nonexistent to be more precise… but why?




But what deeper meaning does the word respect have? Some would argue that respect is merely a definition; the very definition at the core of the word you all know and overuse called fear. In order for my otherwise outspoken opponents this week to remain as silent as they both have when it comes to addressing me, it tells me they have accepted their fears, and without respect for me, they could not possess this fear.


But why respect a mortal form wearing a mask equipped with a large olfactory organ? I feel a play on words regarding my smelling of their fear would be appropriate here, but I'd rather dig deeper than that. I want to know what truly allows them to back away in fright at the mere sight of something people would open their doors to and offer candy at the end of October. Why fear the very notion of addressing me with harmless words? Have they been wittiness to the horrendous acts I've been a part of when I decided to take away a piece of Loverboy Lane's gold and treated him like a marionette in the process? Do they suspect that if they had crossed paths with Lane—a man with a moderately impressive record in this X-treme Wrestling Federation—they would have been broken to pieces and made fools of in their attempts? Is their fear of me by way of fear for another who I so easily manipulated and owned in every sense of the word?


But what about the current X-treme Champion, Mastermind? Have Woe and Manu been paying attention, watching me force Mastermind into such an insurmountable state of affairs just over twenty-four hours ago that he was left with no choice but to resort to bribery? $7,507 was delivered into an account my humanized form owns in exchange for me allowing him to retain his precious championship.


On August 25th, the world saw the improbable take place as Mastermind was able to successfully pin the Elder God, Mystica, for the X-treme Championship. Not only that, but Mastermind has since gone on to fend off…



Soak in those names; some of them are of the most respected in the entire XWF while others are some of the most devious and deceptive. Not a single one of them has been able to put Mastermind into any type of challenging situation over his championship; he has easily kicked out and subdued them, only to walk away and defend his championship with pride again as another attacker would close in on him.


And then came The Crimson Face.


The force stronger than any God, elder or not.


The transcendent anomaly with a monopoly over all that has been coded into this plane of physical resistance and decor.


No kick out. No fighting back. Not even a feeble attempt to do so. I transmitted a message deep into his brain without so much as uttering a word aloud and he rescinded his right to even attempt any physical comeback; he paid me in cash to allow him a continued championship reign, and I gladly did just that—not because I needed the money. I do not have respect for the systems this world has in place to undervalue one man in exchange for elevating another man to a level he may not even be deserving of. I simply accepted the funds for the same reason I accepted Vinnie Lane's championship the day I returned to this place.


The message it sends.


And that message is clear: I own. You mortals would describe it as seeing something I want and taking it, but to me, that process is flawed. I already possess the rights to this world; the sacred keys that unlock any and all pathways are dangling from my belt and are but mere play toys for me. If I decide I want to permanently possess a physical object of this realm, I have already been destined; written by the forces beyond your wildest imagination to own said object.


What's more is the fruits of my labor as you'd call them are already abundant, highlighted and reinforced by respect—fear—admiration; whatever words you choose to use, it is profusely clear that my message has already spread into and infected the minds of Woe and Manu. I've never targeted either of them directly and they already know not to even dare fall asleep and risk dreaming of a battle with me because I will sense that out of body experience and tear their worlds asunder.


I admire you, oh Woeful Hector Luis Ramone Felipe Rodriguez II. I may even adore you, Manu, oh Maori Warrior. For at least men of your miniscule stature understand what you've seen from afar. You know the tempest you've gazed toward from safely afar can sweep in and bemuse you in a flash so hurried that you'd have become just another of my befuddled puppets, unable to reach a vertical stance when all I've done is look your direction and waved my hand in front of me, wiping you from my sights. You see, children, when I look to the skies and hold up two of my fingers to create the illusion that I'm squashing the sun from my vantage point… it really does get snuffed out.


And you already understand that, my bewitched friends.


Thank you, Hector. Thank you, Warrior.