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Prince Adeyemi · (12-21-2022)

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Isaiah King Corporation Said:The following is a work of art, a visceral experience, an unparalleled masterpiece produced by Isaiah King Corporation. It will be best enjoyed along with its musical accompaniment and your full attention, any less and you should be ashamed of yourself. Try to keep your hand(s) out of your pants, if you can - you have been warned.

17th December 2022, Saturday Solstice.

The distinct thuds of the referee’s hand slapping the mat ring through his head, a head that is spinning, a head that is throbbing. He hears a bell go off in the distance, a far, far distance. He feels his legs move on their own accord, his belt being wrapped around his waist. He feels his hand raised above his head. He feels the lights on his face. He hears his fans scream his name.

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Who is he?

All he can see is her long black hair, cascading down her back. All he can see is her twinkling eye as it winks at him. All he can see is that crumpled chair, stained with blood not his own. All he can feel is a raging headache worse then he’s ever felt before.

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What is he?

His eyes glance across his stadium. His gaze lands on a few of his fans. His attention zeroes in on one of his fans in particular. He lets out a snarl.

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Why is he looking at me like that?

The boy’s face stares blankly back at him. He had on a black shirt with a single gold crown, cracked down the middle. He couldn’t have been more than ten years old. This was probably his Christmas gift from his parents. A chance to see New York’s own black superhero at work, defeating the forces of evil mediocrity on a savage Christmas show.

A hero who didn’t win clean.

The boys fear turns into a scream, fists clenched into a clap. He was ecstatic.

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Isaiah drops his gaze, lifting a hand to cup the side of his head. His eyes never once glance over at his opponents. Even if he tried hard, his mind couldn’t even conjure up their names. Opponents that were meant to mark his true journey as a champion. Opponents that were meant to be cogs in his honorable rise to fame.

Opponents he was meant to crush… on his own?

One hand still clinging to his head, and the other resting on his belt. Isaiah makes his way up to the ramp, unable to recognize himself.

Unable to come to terms with what just happened.

Unable to be him.

Isaiah walks through the curtains, dripping in sweat. Your screen shakes with chaos, with anxiety. Camera clicks go off as reporters oogle and ogle over their Television Champion. A beautiful hand comes up to protect his eyes.

“Mr King, what a victory that was!”

“Mr King, what was Chaer doing out here tonight?”

“Mr King, what do you have planned after the end of Savage?”

”Mr King, is this how you wanted to win?”

The last question cut through the air like a knife, as soft and sweet as it was. Uncovering his eyes, Isaiah searches for the source. A voice so familiar to him for so long. A voice that now felt… Malicious.

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There it was again. She was here. She’d stuck around.

She had some explaining to do.

He hadn’t been able to find her. Probably for good reason too, Isaiah wasn’t sure if he could control his temper if he’d gotten to her just then. She had interfered in his battle, won it for him even… Won it for him. The thought disgusted him. Felt like every ounce of effort he’d put into his training camp was a waste.

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Isaiah shakes his head, trying to get the velvety voice out of his head. A car door clicks open, a gloved hand holding it.

”Right this way, Mr King.”

Sliding into the backseat, Isaiah leans back onto the headrest, finally letting out his breath. The adrenaline rushed out of his body being quickly replaced by pain. Everything hurt.

His head, his eyes, his arms, his legs, his chest, his heart.

Take me home, please. H-“

”Sorry Mr King, we’ve already got the destination.”

The apology doesn’t register and Isaiah assumes he’s heading the right way. He’s busy replaying the match in his head, one hand clutching against his title. He’d not been focused enough. He’d let Mastermind flourish, he’d let Geri take the fall for his floundering. He hadn’t scouted his opponents nearly enough. Of course they’d cheat to get at his belt.

He hadn’t been good enough.

Not good enough to be the King.

Delusions of grandeur indeed, delusions he had gotten away with this time.

Gotten away because of Chaer.

The car came to a standstill, coming to a park a lot sooner than he’d expected. Opening his eyes, he looks out the window, only to see it covered by the red overcoat of his… driver?

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”Let’s go Iz, we’ve gotta talk.”

A frown creeps up Isaiah’s face. An exasperated sigh escapes through his lips.

"Damn it Zeke. Now is not the time."

Looking up, Isaiah realizes he’s standing outside his gym. The King’s Court. Ezekiel places a firm hand on Isaiah’s arm, lugging him into the old brick building and up the stairs.

”I am exhausted.”

”She’s here.”

Isaiah shakes his arm out of Ezekiel’s grasp somewhat aggressively, wanting to at least walk into his gym on his own.

”What the fuck, Chaer.”

He says the words before he even sees her perfect face. He was fuming – he deserved at least their respect. These two who’ve been with him all his life. These two who knew what it meant to be the King. These two who-

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”You were going to lose.”

”I basically did any ways.”

”That belt you’re gripping so tightly says otherwise.”

Isaiah releases his grip, and feels the blood rush back into his white knuckles.

”I had it under control.”

”You don’t genuinely believe that.”

“I had it under control.”

”You fucked up.”

“I AM the KING.”

“Just in this room.”

”Just for now.”

“You’re supposed to follow me.”

”We follow no one.” They say in unison, ushering in a silence.

Isaiah unclasps his belt and drops it to the floor, sliding himself down against a wall beside it. For now. His head slumps as the exhaustion from the match, his anger, his anxieties and his pain come washing over him. For now.

Love.

A hand caresses his face, cupping his left cheek softly.

”You’re not ready. That’s okay.”

Isaiah looks up into her dark, hazel eyes. Her hair frames her face, and her calm threatens to cleanse him. He resists.

”You’re not helping.”

”I had to show you, I had to show you that you couldn’t do it. That you can’t do it.”

”Those two? If I can’t beat those two…”

”Alone. You can’t beat them alone.”

Isaiah averts his gaze from her, seeing Ezekiel adjust his white glove once more. He’s bulked up, filling up his red coat quite well. His brow showed signs of scarring, his other hand taped up.

”I wanted to heal this business, heal it of spineless cowards. Heal it off callous animals. Heal it.”

”And you will. Soon. One day.”

”I won’t become them before I fix them. I won’t do it like this.”

Chaer’s hand lightly slaps Isaiah’s cheek, forcefully turning it to face her once more.

”And you won’t. That’s not what happened tonight-”

”You laid her out-“

”Mastermind got help, so did you. Geri was… Collateral. She wouldn’t have won anyways. I came to even the playing field, not tilt it to your advantage.”

”You could’ve, might’ve, ended her career!”

”I only brought the savagery you promised them. I brought the blood. I saw the look in your eyes that day, you wanted to destroy them. Make a scene. Turn them into an example. I just stepped in to do what you were going to, what you wouldn’t let yourself to.”

”You should’ve trusted me.”

”You should’ve made me.”

”F-“

A boot comes flying into his face, stopping inches from crushing his head against the wall. A dark leather, covered with salt and melted sludge from the street below. Isaiah didn’t move an inch.

”Shut the fuck up Iz. We listen while you dominate. When you’re slouched on the ground looking pathetic, you just shut the fuck up and listen.”

Chaer’s pale hand come sup to move the foot away, pushing against Ezekiel’s shin.

“He’s got a point. You may not be the King yet, but you’re obviously the strongest amongst us. We believe in your vision, in your dream to sit on top of it all. We want this for you. You know we do. You just have to trust us, rely on us.”

Isaiah meets her eyes, eyebrows narrowing. He pulls himself up to his feet, and squares up against the much smaller woman. He doesn’t say a word.

“That’s what we do here. That’s what… He… taught us. When our king is against the ropes, when he’s about to drop – we make sure he doesn’t. Then we take him home, we teach him a lesson. He either grows or gets replaced by whoever is stronger. You either grow, or get replaced.”

Isaiah glances at Ezekiel once more, who this took has a wry smile on his face – and then he saw him.

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Isaiah shakes his head, and turns back to face Chaer. Just some residual confusion from the match. Nothing to worry about.

“You with me Iz? You know the drill. You have a week to your next dance, you either get there a stronger champion, or you don’t get there at all.”

Isaiah glances down at his belt, still on the floor. A belt he didn’t feel he deserved any more.

“You’re right.”

21st December 2022, A Week To Go.

Your screen flickers back to life, a handheld camera walks through a doorway. In the distance is your protagonist, the perfectly ripped frame of Isaiah King. Clad in a large blue hoodie, sat on the edge of his bed. The room is humble, wooden furniture that looked like it had been around since the 80s. He was taping up his shins when he notices the camera. His gaze flickers to his wrist watch, before rolling his eyes.

You notice his face is covered in cuts and bruises, little bits of tape hiding the former.

“Right. Championship responsibilities call. Chaer send you on time this time, or am I behind again?”

He gets no response from the cameraman, who simply refocuses the camera on him. No time to talk Izzy boy, get to promoting.

”September 14th. That’s when I debuted against Finn Kuhn. A match that took a man who called also himself a King to his limits. A match that felt like the past meeting the present. A match that seemed to be my birth.

I showed the world, I showed each one of you what I had. And I took down someone who is right at the heart of this business. A man who was good, a man who was worthy, a man who was fighting for the right thing.

My kingdom was at a hand.

I won and got placed in the title picture immediately, not the best booking mind you… But my talent had been acknowledged. I took it a directionless Angelina Vaughn, I set her on the path to championship victory by crushing her with my fists. I showed her who I was, I showed you all who I was – so she could find herself an identity.

I proved that my time was soon, that I was the expectant heir of this company’s throne. And so I was.

I ploughed through Michael Graves, an undeserving obstacle in my path. A man of legend reduced to a pile of drugs, broken personalities, and uncouth claims. I showed him what true glory looked like, only to have it marred by our revolting Universal Champion.

That tainting of my path led me through a list of craven opportunists and the recalcitrant. Madison, Wish, Swaysons & Mastermind. What felt like a list of part-time wrestlers and unguided souls. People who didn’t deserve to hold a title and so… Didn’t win.

My path may have started off glorious, but it has spiraled into sadness. And dragged my down along with it.

Iron sharpens Iron.

Diamonds cuts diamond.

Champions make champions.

You stand out like nobody else Ned Kaye. A shining gemstone in the mud. Some good amidst all this vomit.

Because you’ve had a chance to grow. Had a chance to stare deep into the abyss, plunge right in and come out a new man. You’ve been baptized into glory.

And like a knight reborn, you’ve conquered your foes, slain your dragons, overcome your demons. You’ve gotten your hands on gold and look like you’ll be on top for a while. I am impressed.

Through it all, I’ve been unable to see light at the end of this tunnel – I’ve held onto hope, hope in myself and my ability to single-handedly revolutionize this business. Bring it into a new golden age of sportsmanship and honor. A glorious new future.

But you.

You’re the first glimpse of that hope. That perhaps I am not alone in my desire. That the court is not alone in its desire. You are good. You seek to do good. You seek to be better. You seek to grow.

You are hope.

For the XWF, for wrestling… For me.

Sure, I have my friends to keep me focused, but they’re not better than I am… They’re unfortunately not even my equal. If I kept down this path, kept facing the lowest of the lows this company had to offer. I’d descend into those depths too.

But you.

You’re a champion with a shinier belt. You’re a fighter with brighter victories. You’re a man with more powerful allies.

You are an ace to dethrone.

You’ll make me the champion I need to be. You’ll refine my skills, sharpen my wit, deepen my hunger. You’ll have the privilege of watching the next big thing of the XWF grow right before your eyes.

You’ll see me claw my way up to you.

You’ll see my eyes burn with a passion you’ve never seen before.

You’ll see my fists reign blows on your face like you’ve never felt before.

You’ll see true potential fulfilled, surpassed, blown away.

You’ll see it because you will be my catalyst. My sharpening stone.

And I know it won’t stop next week. It won’t stop with just my taking your title and making it one. It won’t stop with you staring desperately at my heels as I make my way beyond you.

Because I know you’ll chase me, and I know you’ll catch up. I know you’ll claw at my heels and I know you’ll never give up. You’ve experienced too much to let a loss affect you, to let the stripping of gold keep you down. You’ll make your way back to my level and sharpen me once more.

You’re truly the one I need to keep by my side, to keep me growing beyond you, to keep me shining bright. Together we’ll climb the ranks, you right by my heel, climb up as we cleanse this place of every speck of weakness.

I can’t wait to face you Ned. I can’t wait to see your determination turn into fear, your strength turn into pain, your fear turn into bliss. I can’t wait to use you. I can’t wait to grow.

I can’t wait to climb up this ladder.

Let’s end this year with a bang Ned Kaye, let’s take the XWF by storm.”

Isaiah gets up from his bed and reaches out of the frame. His hand returns with the title, which he lifts up to the camera.

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Clawing my way up.
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