Ned’s footsteps echoed as he sauntered forward, the musky air of the empty cathedral filling his lungs. The interior was unlit, the shining of the sun outside pooling light through the stained glass surrounding him. As he looked upward at the murals, he saw familiar face after familiar face. ALIAS, Mark Flynn, Corey Smith, Robert Main, Chris Page, Bobby Bourbon, Isaiah King. All Universal Champions who had added weight and legitimacy to the belt they held. Figures sanctified in the only faith Ned had remaining, adorning the walls as he looked forward to the largest piece, standing behind the altar.

Shattered glass, leaving only the brimming heat from the outside world, whatever face it held strewn across the carpeted floors below. Taking a seat, Ned’s breath seemed to tangle within his chest, barely expelling with a deep, unsteady sigh. He clutched his hands together and, for the first time since he was but a boy, he prayed.

“Father… forgive me for what I have done.”

The words seemed to comfort him as he focused on easing his inhalations.

“Forgive me for what I may do.”

“I want to believe in Mark Flynn and Sean Parker. I’ve watched them grow in different ways. Witnessed their efforts towards differing aspects pay off. For Sean, he’s slowly transformed into an Anarchy Champion that makes the title mean something. Who imbues it with value through his very presence. For Mark, I watched the world reject him. Throw him away like he was some useless, petty, evil remorseless man who shouldn’t be given a second thought and now he’s cashing in the right way. The honorable way. All he needed was a little faith to bring him here, back to the top of his professional prime, ready to clutch that title and bring it home.”

“And yet…”

“There is a feeling clawing up the base of my skull, etching itself into the bone, and causing the core of my being to rattle.”

“Doubt. What if they fail? What if they are the next casualties to a reign more about the man than what he holds? Another way to secure the Universal Title to a man who doesn’t need it. Who holds it on a string with other federations he puts under his boot, enjoying the spoils of executive fancy while our old employees linger away in bars. People who gave their everything to this company only to watch it catch a new eye, a new infatuation, and scoff at those who would give it everything.”

“Will they cheer for him if he expels those two- those two who represent X-Treme more than his half-hearted array of gods ever could? Will they boo me for people like S.E.B. and Razor Blade and whatever fun new hero they find?”

“I’m the same… and they don’t want me.”

Tears begin to trickle down Ned’s cheeks, staining the skin they travel across, catching on the hairs affixed to his face.

“I did what you’re supposed to do! I stepped out of the way when my time was up even though it felt like searing pain against my skin! I focused on what I had and it still fell out of my fingertips! I had to watch them wheel in challenger after challenger because everyone seemed to be waiting for when I was ready to challenge him again! When I was ready to get that belt back… but I don’t even know if I want it anymore. I held that burden and it brought me here. Just as I predicted.”

“All for a man who didn’t know a damn thing about me when we faced. All for some champion who fought the champion of the XWF while spouting the kind of routine he could waste on anyone. I was supposed to stop him. And I failed.”

“And that’s what I fear most, father. I fear I’ll succeed at Leap of Faith. That I will rip the Universal Champion from the hands of Sebastian Everett Bryce for the good of this company at any cost. That I will give up another piece of myself for this federation even as my body turns on me and my soul strains under the pressure.”

“I don’t want to need your forgiveness.”

He stood up, prepared to leave as his head lingered towards the ground, a single question passing his lips.

“Why? Why do I have to consider this?”

His eyes lifted upwards, blinded by the light of the open window, assaulting his senses as realization came through, clear and bright as daylight.

“We both knew it might come to this, didn’t we, S.E.B.? That a leader of Gods would have to face his greatest non-believer once more. But you didn’t expect it might be so soon. I hope you fail. I hope that Mark or Sean severs the connection you have to that belt and gives it meaning beyond the hunk of scrap metal you have allowed it to become in your rusted grip. I have to watch as all of these people who reject me accept you with open arms as you happily stomp on this Federation as being less than yourself. Because it’s not enough to have the money and the fame and the respect, you must deprive others of that to inflate your worth.”

“Thin mask, thin morals, thinner patience. The XWF has watched your reign for long enough. I’m fighting for an idea, Sebastian. For a principle and a cause, but all you have is fancy suits and fancier bullshit to peddle. You don’t treat your opponents like they matter because in the limited scope of your vain existence, they don’t matter. I have to hear about how much of a nice fellow you are, while this company sacks loyal employees to fit your fucking pockets. And it’s my fault. I should have stopped. We should never have gotten to this point.”

“But I’m not going to sit here and let this federation be a notch in your belt. You beat me last time without knowing a damn thing about me, Seb. It’s not a luxury you will get to relive. You will wake up without the most important championship in professional wrestling adorning your waist, mark my fucking words. I refuse to let you flaunt my greatest failure in front of my peers for a moment longer. I refuse to be the man who lost to you for one more second than I have to.”

“I wake up every morning thinking of the people I have failed. Thinking of my father, if he is still out there, looking down on me with regret and shame and I know it’s not true, but it burns me alive all the same. I look at the XWF and I see people like Pip Collins and Vinnie Lane pushed aside, I see how storied belts are replaced with cheap “updates.” I see a world that needs a hero and they hate me for being one. I can’t change who I am, Sebastian, even that’s your whole fucking schtick. I can only be myself. You are as plastic as the belts they would sell on the X-Shop, something you’ve never heard of. You are no more a champion of this federation than your friends are. You are the Pepsi zero of professional wrestling: endlessly marketable with no taste at all.”

“I believe in something, Sebastian. More than just myself. More than just my cause. I believe that belt can mean something, but not around your waist and after Sunday night…”

“The Universal Championship will mean something once more, my soul be damned.”

"You can't run from yourself."