There's a point, when even free-falling down a vortex into obscurity, that you feel the need to reminisce on what you were, what you know you can be and you get a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

That feeling? It's terror.

Sharper then any sword, it can pierce you through the gut and grind out anything left that was once great.

But is greatness ever gone?

Do Legends truly fade away?

Or is there an 'after-image?'

(Suddenly, a voice-over cuts into a black void picture, which has hijacked the television program.)

???: What I've done, I've done for many reasons. My blood-stained hands and tarnished legacy are what remains. Do I ever regret the pains I endured? No. Have I struggled to pluck myself up from the bottom of an abyss? The hardest uphill battle of my life. No more... I can not bear this mediocrity any longer...

Even still though, there are many faces that have come and passed through this struggle, weighting down what was originally a singularly destructive entity.




An image flashed across the screen of Blair Sully, the demonic clown protoge of Cyren.

???: At the end of the day, I'd lost myself in my own monikers. I became enthralled with the idea of not being a person but embodying a 'spirit.' I was to be 'The Sickness', the 'Devil-God', etc. etc. However, just as man can't abide by 'bread alone...', I must recognize that I am flesh and that I am bone. I require a sustenence that is more then psychological... I must not be a 'theoretical' shadow any longer...



(An image of Cyren with the XWF World Title strapped around his waist flashes on the screen.)

???: Who am I, you ask? What name, what 'hat', am I wearing now? Am I the 'Mad' Cyren? Am I the 'Evil' Cyren? Shock Artist or conniving Villain? Let's sweep these 'masks' under the bed, for once, shall we? Let's try something new(and old), at the very same time.

(There's a vision of a man, standing atop a cliff, overlooking a breezy ocean, a cigarette dangling between his lips as he watches the ocean inhale and exhale. His breath aligns, each puff of tar and smoke in sync with the sway of the waves.)

???: I no longer deserve the name of 'Cyren.' That's a name I've put too much effort into the destruction of. I also, no longer deserve the right to craft my own name. I am but bones and flesh, struggling to take a true form, once more. I have been 'walking wounded' for longer then any can imagine....

It is the false shame of fools to try to conceal wounds that have not healed.
Horace

The quote stays briefly.

???: For now, I am anything but 'C Y R E N.' I am his husk and shell, his drafty-cold memory with all his scars ripped open. An oozing wound in the span of his lifetime, brought into view. I am the remnant of his implosion. I am... The Nameless.