March 3rd, 2021
Wednesday Night Warfare

Ned stepped backstage with Edgar, meeting Demos as had been requested. He was never sure how to feel about these kinds of… "dual personality" situations. Sure, he and Charlie had tagged in the past, but prior to their match, Charlie had insulted Ned as a man, as a son, and as a wrestler. But beyond that, Charlie dragged his mother into his insults, using her as a way to get at Ned. All of the righteous talk in the world couldn't erase the face that had done these things. It was the same reason he had struggled to forgive Corey Smith and why a feeling of resentment lingered in Ned. The Engineer had brutalized his best friend, bloodied and scarred him, and Ned was simply supposed to forget it. To act like they possessed no influence over their actions. Despite all he tried, he couldn't remove that feeling. But he could overcome it. Ned didn't have to succumb to his worst impulses. He was sure of that.

"What did you need to give me, Cha-" he cut himself off, "Demos?"

Demos lifted a heavy black sack off of the ground with an audible umph. The masked man reached into the sack, rummaging around the mostly full bag. Eventually he pulled out a cotton doll with a pin stuck in it’s head. The doll wore a gown with green polka dots spread across an eggshell background. It’s hair was a straw brown, with a few dyed strands of gray falling beneath it’s shoulders.

“I’ve been keeping her safe from the Left Hand. But now, I think you can handle her.”

Demos extended the voodoo doll out to Ned. 

Reaching out to grab the doll, the very same that had previously used to taunt his mother, Ned stared at it, the cruelty of the former Charlie Nickles finding another gasp of life through which to mock Ned and his family. He looked to Demos, noticing the sincerity in his words and his offer. Still, it didn't change the disgust in his voice when he flatly replied.

"Thanks."

---

March 16th, 2021

The Notorious Gym was typically a very comforting place for Ned. He didn't find himself confronting too many of his external issues and was able to focus some time on himself. Having Edgar and Charlie here, however… it confused things a little. He didn't hold disdain towards either of them, yet it still didn't shake the awkwardness of having the man who beat him for the title standing next to a man who had about as much respect for Ned as he had for anything else while they all gathered in the place Ned had created. Tag team partners aside, it wasn't so simple to brush off. Ned took a glance at the training schedule that they had agreed on. The next item sat in his gaze as he took it in.

Sparring.

He sighed, giving a nod to Demos as they all stepped over to the training ring.

"It's about that time, big guy. You ready, Demos?"

Demos cracks his knuckles as he twists his neck from side to side. 

“A few punches to the face never hurt anybody...”

Demos jumped up to the ring apron in one fell swoop. He ducked underneath the top rope as he stepped into the ring. Ned followed suit, heading in behind him. Demos walked over to the far turnbuckle with a pip to his step. The masked man leaned on the top ropes on either side of the post before pushing himself off of them and turning around. Demos squatted down a bit as he placed his left fist out in front of his face and tucked his balled right fist underneath his beard. Ned didn't commit to such pleasantries, instead focusing his eyes solely on Demos's face, primarily the few glimpses through the mask.

It was still Charlie's face. Still his eyes.

Edgar gave the bell a ring and the two men approached each other. It was Demos who landed the first strike, catching Ned off guard with a big hook. The sting was clear in Ned's jaw, but that was more from shock and less from any deliberate attempt to hurt The Notorious One. Even with that knowledge, Ned wasn't too happy to eat another two strikes, one landing on his chest while the other caught him on the chin again. It was the fourth hit that Ned was finally able to land; an elbow strike square on Demos's cheek. But Ned didn't stop at the one hit or even settling for a quick combination of three elbows. Ned didn't stop.

Each hit brought back that feeling of humiliation when he couldn't stand up for his family against Charlie. The blatant disrespect Nickles had shown him by shoving that awful doll of his mother back into his face.

Ned continued with the strikes, Demos beginning to dodge and counter with a few of his own that simply were unable to distract Kaye from the offense.

Stirring within Ned's mind were so many questions. Why did Demos bother tagging with Ned and Edgar if he was just going to act like Charlie again throughout the entire trip to the commune? Was this Demos thing just so he could leverage redemption over the people he hurt? Over him?

Edgar called out to Ned, sliding in the ring and stopping the sparring.

"What the hell was that, Ned?"

Ned glanced down, clearly ashamed to let the frustration get the best of him.

"Sorry," he whispered, walking out of the ring and sitting off to the side.

"I'm… gonna take a short break."

He stared down at his arms, feeling the adrenaline pump through him. He knew he overstepped, but it was hard not to. He wanted to throw away all of that baggage with the old Charlie, hell, he had tried to ignore it the whole trip.

It wouldn't go away no matter how hard he tried.

Edgar walked over to Ned, each of his steps echoing with an unspoken judgement. On the other side of the ring Demos leaned over the rope, holding his head with his right hand as he gasped for breath. 

"Ned… you're not the type to do that. What happened?"

Ned hesitated, not sure how to put it into words. He looked over at Demos, seeing him blatantly overwhelmed by what Ned did. And despite every bit of anger that poured through Ned, he couldn't help but feel a deep regret for the action. Demos wouldn't be hurt, but it was fairly clear such an outcome was Ned's intention when he lost control.

"Well?" Edgar pried.

"Have you ever-?" Ned lost the words before he could say them. With a deep inhale, he found them again.

"Have you ever walked alongside someone who hurt you?"

"No, I haven't."

"It's awful. I know he's not trying to be like that anymore, but… it's like talking to someone else. He doesn't see himself as the person who took cheap shots at my own flesh and blood. For him it's as easy as saying he's on the side of good. And I do think he deserves that chance… but why do I have to pretend like he didn't do any of that? Why is it on me to accommodate him because he thinks he's an angel or whatever the fuck he's on about?"

Ultimately, Ned said what had been caged within his mind the entire time.

"Why do I have to be the better man so he can pretend to be one?"

“We both know the wrenches this life can hurl at us, Ned. Demos ain’t immune to it either. I think you and I are both perfect examples of how working hard, and elevating yourself beyond your comfort zone can be beneficial.”

Ned's ears perked up, remembering the title match announced for this year's March Madness. Himself vs. RL. They had yet to speak about it, but it was absurd to act like they hadn't both seen it with their own eyes. With a deep breath, Ned made an abrupt announcement.

"I'm pulling out of the title match."

“What? Why the hell would you do that for, dude?”

"I see you out there as Hart Champion… and it all seems so effortless to you. The fans love you, management loves you, hell you can defend that thing better than it's last few champions. I don't want the belt right now, but more importantly, I enjoy being your friend and I don't want to jeopardize that for anything."

The two share a brief silence before Ned chuckles.

"Can you imagine The Left Hand having a genuine moment like this? Hell, having a real connection at all? I'm half convinced Lycana doesn't even recognize Marf as human. Hell, I don't even know what she's on about a lot of the time."

“It’s hard to ever REALLY know what exactly Lycana is babbling about. She spends so much time spitting into the wind it’s amazing that the entire XWF roster hasn’t contracted some canine herpes. 

Want me to let you in on the ‘totally-not-at-all-obvious’ reason why that is, Ned? 

It’s because I’ve been living in her head since the first time we faced one another back in January. Because I was just the mistake- the half blemish on her record that she could explain away so long as she could beat this “lucky champion” one-on-one. Good ole Reggie Edgar was poised to be slim-pickins for the “Vixen”. The simple-bitch. But she fucked up. Because she can’t hang. Just like I’ve been saying since the beginning. 

Now all you have is Lycana tripped up in a web of excuse-making for issues she couldn’t resolve weeks ago. Trying to explain away any, and every detail of why she couldn’t beat me and why she was wrong about everything she said. 

But while she’s living in the past, still licking her wounds, I’ll be lapping her to the finish line again.  

It’s not even funny anymore… I mean, even though she is unironically funny as fuck, it’s really just gotten sad. 

Sad enough that even her glib little whimpers scream aloud when she whines about the words that cut her the deepest. Here she is, howling at the moon like her cheap schtick demands, trying as hard as she can to act like a badass while just between the lines she explains exactly why she’s going to lose.   

She said I made a big deal over beating someone I considered to be the worst on the roster… but she’s lying to herself. Her self-delusion has evolved and devolved all at the same time. 

She went from not caring about wins, to really wanting to “expose” someone she called an idiot, back to not caring about wins again. And around, and around the web we go... it’s pathetic.

I told her that she couldn’t beat me, and thus began this stupefying journey of Lycana ducking in and out of traffic like a hibutal j-walker getting run down time and again. 

Reaching, grasping, scrambling for anything to fling against the wall that might stick. But it’s all a show. An attempt to try and feel better about losing. Saying I had to “work hard” for that win. She might have “worked hard”, but I just went to work. 

I just did what I do best , but according to her, R.L. Edgar was forgettable... 

R.L. Edgar was “Ash Quinn”. 

R.L. Edgar was lucky to win the Hart Championship.

R.L. Edgar was nothing but a “plaything”

R.L. was the only win that Lycana has wanted so far, while also supposedly being beneath the other people Lycana lost to...

...and now?

R.L. Edgar only won because he tried really hard! 

God, it must suck to be her. Constantly playing mental gymnastics, slowly losing her grip on reality. 

Could you imagine being a winless hack and needing that level of ego massaging? 

Oh! Wait! That’s right! 

Lycana doesn’t care about wins! Her partner in crime Marf seems to only care about Demos, and Ethos apparently only cares about the dinner table.

This match is going to be an easy win, bud."

Ned nodded, looking more comfortable. They weren't a perfect team, but they would help each other. Even Demos would. Ned stood up and walked towards his teammates, getting ready to walk alongside them into, and out of, the arena.

---

---

---

"Stop me if you heard this one before: The greatest trick that the Devil ever pulled…"

Ned paused, giving the viewers a bit of time to fill in the blank.

"...was making people believe that The Left Hand was a threat. At least, that's how I recall it."

"I know what everyone wants to hear from me is my feelings of being in the Second Chance Battle Royal. Of not being able to finish Shawn Warstein. It's very telling to me that this is what people are interested in. They're not questioning how I feel about teaming with Charlie again and working with RL Edgar or if The Left Hand is looking particularly frightening. For all of your prophecies and promises, Baphomet, you struggle at the most important part of a cult: marketing. So many leave your faux-Manson grasp in the golden age of conspiracy and misinformation that preys upon the spiritual. And the only bloodletting with any results in your organization is the fact that it's bleeding members."

"How many have seen through the charade of The Left Hand? How close is Marf to realizing that no amount of sick actions on his part will ever make him anything more than a tool by which to be vile towards life itself. Hell, The Left Hand is so lacking in ethos that it had to literally name a member of theirs after it to even approach the concept of truth. I have gotten emails from Nigerian princes with more credibility than a single word from any of The Left Hand. And you the thing about it that just burns me to my core?"

"The tragedy of it all."

"Every one of them stands convinced that their actions have meaning. That assault, destruction, and murder are ways that they can achieve that feeling of acceptance. These aren't badasses fighting for the apocalypse, these are lost people searching for meaning and being sold violence. And they're not going up against some team that has been devoid of struggle and pain. We are not some Lacklans walking in here with a pocket full of cash and not a care in the world. Each one of us has felt lost before, but it made us stronger. We fought that feeling in our own… unique ways, but we fought it nonetheless. When I see Lycana, I don't see a killer, I see someone desperate to give her own words meaning and leverage. Someone who wants control over everything because friends and enemies alike fade out of her life so quickly. Marf isn't a warrior out for glory, he is a forgotten son amongst forgotten sons hoping that something or someone can make him feel needed and is so afraid of a man who doesn't need that validation that he strikes out at him with every bit of rage he can muster. And for Ethos, I see someone who covers their face, not just to hide the identity, but to hide the rejection he's faced from everything, but the most extreme of cultists."

"But victimhood is not binary. Yes, these three are hurt people, but they still chose the path they walk. They can always say no. Always seek another way. The fact is that the horrible dynamic they find themselves in has become overwhelming comfortable to them. Like a worn pair of spiked cleats, blood stained upon the steel. You've stomped on so many to reach Baphomet's enlightenment, but his involvement has done little to nothing to secure your success in wrestling and everything to secure you as an asset to him. The only damnation coming is the slow realization that every ritual, every rite, every sinful act was futile. It was a mere test to see if you would leap at the suggestion of atrocities and you all passed with flying colors."

"But the 17th is not a day of salvation. It's not a day of your triumph, but of disillusionment. When the smoke clears and the shadows on the wall become apparent. Because all it takes to defeat The Left Hand is enough people who know there's a better way. Who know that you can't charm away failure or paint an upside-down crucifix above your bed to change the dreams you suffer at night. It's about action. It's about giving a damn about your fellow man and it sure as hell is a lot more than VHS skips and bloody pentagrams! If none of you can find that decency in you then we will beat it out of you! The XWF has had enough fear! It's had more than enough terrorizing from cowards who realized it's easier to torment people in greater numbers! You don't have the luxury of surprise or mystique and you're kidding yourselves if you think you're sniffing the skill and experience standing across from you. This is no seance. No coven. That ring is our realm and it's where those like you all go to be revealed."

"We'll gladly shine that light upon you."

"You can't run from yourself."