Threaded Mode | Linear Mode

Prince Adeyemi · (08-12-2023)

Refining Fire

II

Under The Masks

“You got to be fuckin’ kidding me.”

Isaiah cocks a brow and steps up to Ned. Tilting a head to the right, he raises a hand questioningly.

"The fuck you mean, partner. I'm not sure if you got knocked on the head on your way up here but Wargames was a couple of weeks ago, I didn't get to cull your ass than, but this coming Saturday you better get read to-"

"To win the tag team championships?"

Isaiah tilts his head the other way, annoyed at being cut off too much to register what Ned just said.

"You cut me off one more time and -"

"We're teaming up for a shot at the Tag Team Championships on Warfare."

"The fuck you on about, Theo called me and told me-"

"-That you and I have a match this Saturday, and he's right. Except it's a match where we're a team."

"You need to stop cutting me off. And maybe get your head checked, nobody in their right mind would put us in a match as a TEAM."

"Unless of course someone asked him to. Which I did."

Isaiah takes another step towards Ned, getting right up to his face. His breathing picks up pace as anger begins to pulse through him.

"And why the fuck would you do that?"

"Because I think we could win."

"The golden boy of SAGA thinks he could win the Tag Team Championships with the guy that's been gunning for his head for weeks?"

"You were there at Leap of Faith-"

It was Kings turn to cut him off.

"Yeah where we both screwed it up and lost."

"Where we both somehow kept working together to take out more dangerous men... And whatever Jenny is."

Isaiah stared deep into Ned Kaye's eyes, almost threateningly. The threat of death from the Jeremiah's goons still had his muscles tensed and ready to go. He could take out Ned Kaye right now. He knew deep inside that he could beat the man... But outside of a ring it was pointless.

"...We came out with nothing."

"Because we haven't intentionally worked together for anything. I picked you at Wargames. I picked you ahead of the other SAGA boys, who the hell knows where half of them are anyways..."

"That you did, and I thought it was a fools errand. I still want to crush you to bits and prove to the world that I am the better man, you're my prey-"

"Yeah, yeah, prey this, predator that - we’ve all heard your spiel Isaiah. Right now you gotta get your head out of your ass and think straight.”

Isaiah breaths in deeply and snaps a hand up to hold Ned by his country boy plaid shirt collar.

“Don’t tell me what to do Kaye. You’re a goal, a step to be stepped on, you’re my way up not some hippy partner to get all chummy with. You call Theo right now and call your idiotic match off, I’m not doing it - I’d rather face those clowns alone than with you.”

Ned stares into Isaiah’s eyes and doesn’t move, he doesn’t even acknowledge the hands around his collar.

“You genuinely believe that? That you could take the Just Us League on your own? That having me in your corner will do you no good, that the two of us couldn’t “destroy” the competition and bring gold home? If that’s true, than you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

Isaiah’s grip on Ned’s collar relaxes for a second before he let’s go completely and shoves the man back a few steps.

“I do - I know I can beat them on my own, what the fuck have they done to deserve any more respect than that? Two clowns in masks, at the top of a division with no competition, that’s hardly… A fight.”

Ned shakes his head, running a hand through his hair before looking back to Isaiah.

“You might be able to beat them, but you’re thinking too small. You saw us at Leap of Faith, you saw us at Wargames… HELL, you saw us when we fought each other for unified gold. The two of us, albeit… Vastly different in some ways, are ridiculously similar in others. I might’ve beat you once, but you’ve been hot on my heel since… Heels that have been a little slower on my own than I’d have liked. You haven’t nearly gotten close to your potential either, hotshot.”

Isaiah turns his back on his enemy, walking back towards his ring and settling on its apron. His prey was finally right in front of him, and he was proposing something that had never even crossed the Kingslayer’s mind.

“No, no I haven’t - and it’s your fault really. You’ve been skirting me and dipping me, all I have to do is beat your ass, and I’ll move a step up, a step closer to the top. I want to face you.”

“Who’s to say we can’t do that. I’d love to beat you again, prove that it wasn’t just a fluke last time. But right now, you and I, we’ve got an opportunity at gold - gold I know you’ve missed - an opportunity that we can clinch if you’ll just see the good in working with me. In letting me sharpen you and turn you into a real weapon.”

Isaiah scoffs.

“There you go with your saviour bullshit again. I’m not Mark Flynn. I’m not your little pity project. I don’t need a sponsor Kaye, I need blood.”

“Than let me give it to you! I got you put into this match, into facing some decent opponents, and with me and Theo by your side - you know we can get you so much more. We can fight our way to the very top. I need something new, I need a GOOD reason to keep fighting… And well you need some help yourself.”

Isaiah glances at the calendar hanging off the side of his ring, days to Warfare.

“One match. We work together for ONE match, like you said, it’s not like we haven’t done it before. BUT. BUT - I’ll only do it if you promise me a match before the end of the year. Me and you, fair and square, till we draw blood.”

Ned can’t help but break into a smile, Isaiah would be his secret weapon to the top. They’d bounce off each other perfectly until Ned was better than he’d ever been before. Theo had been the first to propose he spend more time in the ring with the young rookie. There was something about both of their drive and work ethic that guaranteed growth - Theo had initially meant they face each other a few times as Isaiah had wanted but Ned’s mind couldn’t help but wander into partnership territory. Here was a clearly talented, misguided boy that could be shaped into a Champion. Ned was a trainer, he owned a gym for heaven’s sake - he couldn’t pass up on the opportunity to mould talent.

Ned Kaye stretches out a hand.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, King.”

“Well, there was one thing I promised. One catch."

‘That's some fat load of shit.

That arrogance the both of you spew. Do you really expect anyone to believe that the Spandex Dipshits of 2023 have done ANYTHING to claim the title of established tag team champions? When all you've done is face a disgruntled Jason Cashe (ala remember how he literally walked out on his self-entitled partner?) and a pretend party of the Space Homos?

While y'all fight your supervillains and try and save the day as best as possible, I think the Spandex you've got on is just on a little too tight.

Cos you two must be oxygen deprived if you think either of your has done more in the XWF than Ned and I. Than a rookie and a midcard wonder.

Yeah, that's what we were.

A mismatched pair who really are probably better suited to face each other and drag ourselves out of the midcard than team together.

And we're still better than you.

Still stronger than you.

A rookie and the king of the midcard... And we're still better than both of you individually, added together or squared.

Squares.

Let's remind everyone that it was ME that wiped the floor with Raion in one to one combat. It was ME that slayed him while he still carried that title.

Let's remember that it IS me that should be the Universal Champion right now.

It was me that had a hell of a rookie run and it was Ned whose kicked more ass than you two can count with your concussion heads.

It was Ned that unified the titles.

Ned that captained a winning War Games team.

Ned that showed strength.

You see SUPERheroes, the two of you with all your whams and blams don't have a single iota of a clue of what true strength is.

Strength is taking a loss and biting back with more aggression.

Strength is working through your demons and vanquishing them.

Strength is getting better week in and week out and THEN climbing to the top.

Ned and I, blood on blood, iron on iron, two ENEMIES teaming up together to get stronger - that's strength.

Your bullshit? Your "dominance" of the tag team division that hasn't had a name to truly cheer for what... A year? That's not strength, that's the consolation price.

You both complain about the lack of names, the lack of competition in the division but what have you done to raise the bar?

Instead of slacking off with your gold, have either of you gone out to fight? To sharpen your steal on your own in the singles division if the tag is lacklustre? Not at all.

You've both just accepted on your "top" spot and WAITED for Theo to quite literally raffle your opponents together. Hell if he didn't screw me into this match they might be dissolved your division altogether yknow? What're champions with nobody to fight against.

The only reason you two could talk such trash in that first promo is because while you've been sucking each others toes, we've actually been breaking a sweat in the ring.

Can't lose if you don't fight right?

You shouldve gone and made enemies, you shouldve MADE your title worth fighting for. You shouldve had the entire XWF itching to claw at your feet.

You saw how many people fought tooth and nail at wargames, who teamed together to fight for something they actually wanted? People will work together, tag together to fight - you two are just not champions worth fighting against.

You're not strong.

And weakness deserves losing. Weakness deserves conquering. It deserves complete and utter humiliation.

And we're happy to serve it to you on a platter.

Get the signals up, because we're calling two weak ass bitches to come and get their asses whooped by a mongrel group of wrestlers.

The mismatched duo versus the mishyped freaks.

Trial by fire.

Refinement by blood.

Ain't no way y'all leaving with your dignities in check.

We'll ripped those masks off and show the world who you truly are - what you're truly worth.

Two pennies and a wardrobe mishap.”

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Isaiah, typically proud and rigid, was slumped in the discount folding chair provided for him as he complained. The venues they got for these fan meet and greets, slash autograph signings were almost always empty, blindingly white rooms with little more than a banner or three strewn across the walls with some associated faces printed upon them. He visibly had no patience for a distraction of this caliber, periodically rolling his eyes as each cheap, plasticy photograph was passed in front of him, forcing King to lean forward and scribble a signature across it. The dry air conditioned gusts crowded around him, as stifling as the rest of his surroundings, the oxygen itself seeming to seize his throat. It was enough to drive anyone mad from the sheer monotony. Say hello, sign a cheap ass picture, wave goodbye, repeat, all the while countless cameras train on your every move. He silently began to list the countless things he could do that weren’t actively wasting his time. Then he looked aside to witness Ned, unburdened by the repetitive nature of the exercise.

Smiling. Not just a smirk either. A grin that remained as wide for the first visitor as it did for the fifty-first. Debasing himself for the slack-jawed and unmotivated. It gnawed on Isaiah from the inside, its teeth scratching his core every second that Ned put on this polite demeanor. He pandered to the better nature of people who couldn’t receive the message, let alone value it. This was the man Isaiah was going to conquer. This was the man who had taken his crown from him so suddenly…

Why did he have to act so pathetic about it?

Finally, after an hour or so, most of the initial rush of fans had died down, allowing for him to approach Ned, his section on the opposite side of the booth King was confined to.

“They must’ve piled a shit ton of cash to convince you to put on that “good, simple, boy of the people” act,” Isaiah declared, suspecting that Ned would predictably insist it was all done in earnest. For all of the cunning firing off in Kaye’s brain at any given moment, he had to lie to himself about what he really was. The cutthroat killer many had failed to bury.

“It’s not an act,” Ned responded, seemingly confirming Isaiah’s suspicions, then striking with, “I wish you’d actually get that for once.”

“Get?” Isaiah replied, almost chuckling with indignation, “Oh, I get it plenty. I get that you feel bad for being as good as you are. I get that you think coming down to places like this and wasting some time makes you feel like you’re one of them. You’re not. You ain’t ever been.”

It was something in Ned’s eyes that shifted. Isaiah had struck where he wanted to. As much as Kaye poured himself into being an emblem of those who cheered for him, barely any of them showed up while Ned was tumbling down an abyss of obsession. There was a chasm that separated him and the folk who would cry his name one week and forget it the next. Even Ned knew it. There was a melancholy that bled through his irises, the window of his soul forced open by such a simple proclamation. That’s what it had to be.

“Don’t lecture me cuz I don’t share your guilt.”

Leaning forward on the table that divided the wrestlers from those there to meet them, Ned pressed his hands together, allowing his fingers to intertwine as he stared off, a gentle flame appearing to burn past his eyes. He shook his head, a sharp sound as the air escaping his lungs scraped past his teeth.

“Sometimes,” Ned admitted, “I don’t know how you actually believe some of the shit that comes out of your mouth.”

The smile that had welcomed a countless number of adoring onlookers had dissipated, leaving a cold glare that met Isaiah’s as King’s head raised, somewhat in shock, but almost in anticipation. Isaiah’s lips curled upward, curious what kind of point Ned thought he was about to make.

“Yeah? You think I’m talking shit? Why don’t you tell your lady that you just put her dirty laundry out there so you could feel a little good about yourself “helping” that drunk girl. You really “helped” her drink her way into a coma.”

Kaye remained stone faced, disciplined, and humorless despite the attempt to goad him.

“Amelia’s actions reflect on her, not me. You’re so damn convinced that you have to live this big life full of big things, but you never once considered that mabe you’re just putting yourself and the people you love in danger! Where would you be if I didn't open that door, Isaiah?” Ned’s words carved through King’s pride like a well-honed blade, accurate while it stripped meat from bone.

“I don’t think you know what you’re talking about,” Isaiah replied, slumping back in his seat.

“And I don’t think you answered my question,” Ned spat in response.

“It ain’t worth answering,” Isaiah took a defensive tone, a little envious of the time he thought he was still about to punch this high and mighty do-gooder in the face instead of tagging with him, “‘sides, I would’ve figured something out.”

“What if you didn’t? What if worse came to worst and you ended up dead in that room? Where does that leave the people you love and support? Did you think about them for a fraction of a goddamn second or is it just always about you all the goddamn time?!”

“I’m protecting somebody, motherfucker!” Isaiah nearly lifted himself out of his seat from pure spite, “I’m putting everything on the line to make sure my family doesn’t get buried by a crazy person while you lounge around acting oh so incorruptible when you already showed your ass to the whole damn fed years ago! I’m tryin to make sure they have a future!”

Ned’s eyes, long the focus of Isaiah’s careful studying, peered into him, Isaiah able to see his reflection in the dark beads that burnt like meteorites.

He spoke, quickly and decisively, “what does the future matter if you’re a shitty part of that future?”

King struggled to find a response that satisfied him, realizing quickly that that very fact was the point. Ned was a lot of things, but he wasn’t lacking in thoroughness.

“You wanna know why I do this? It’s because I try to give to others when I can. When I was growing up, you’re right, I was an outcast. I had more bruises most weeks than I did friends and it was hard to get to that next week. It was hard to justify even trying. But I would watch the XWF with my dad and see Centurion or Raven and they would insist upon trying regardless of the situation. For them, that was something they said in a promo and promptly forgot about, but for me that was everything. So, yeah, autographs cramp my hands and some people showing up are jerks and just wanna sell my John Hancock for a couple bucks, but if I can give one person that strength to make it to tomorrow, I’ll put up with all of it if I have to. I try to help, Isaiah, and if you want me to feel weak for that, then that’s on you.”

Sighing with a bit of frustration, Ned cracked open a water bottle, taking a large swig as Isaiah contemplated the words, feeling them bounce around, but not gnaw. With a sniff, he finally replied.

“You’re wound up too damn tight.”

“And you’re too damn self-centered.”

They agreed quietly with the other’s assessment, holding some reservations about accepting it entirely.

“You could’ve asked for any match,” Isaiah questioned, “and yet you chose to tag with me. Why?”

“Like I said,” Ned responded, “I help people. You’ve been caught up in this mess of ambition and passion and vengeance. I’ve been there. Least I can do is do something for somebody else. Maybe it’s just a match for me, but it could be a whole lot more for you. If you allow it to be.”

“Like what?”

Ned shrugged, leaning into his chair for the first time the entire day, “I don’t think that’s for me to decide. You just kinda find out. Like having kids. You ever thought about what you would do if you knew you were about to be a father?”

Isaiah pondered for a moment, deciding upon an answer.

“I know my kid’d kick the shit outta yours.”

Ned rolled his eyes, waving off the comment, “oh fuck off. Like, a real thing. What would you want to name your kid?”

“...Levi.”

Ned smiled, giving Isaiah a bit of a nudge, “see! That’s a good name. I like that. It’s not that difficult to be a human being every now and then. You might even be better off later for it.”

A fan walked up, shyly holding a small photograph they offered at one of the other tables. She looked to be no older than 12, her curly hair shielding her eyes a tad as she placed the picture in front of Isaiah’s area. Ned looked over to King, curious how he would respond. With a begrudging initial response, Isaiah pulled himself upward, popping off the cap to a sharpie and writing a clear, large, concise copy of his name and handing it back to the kid. Ned sensed that he might’ve been fighting a smile, but he didn’t press. He was just happy to see King showing some little drip of progress.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Ned admitted, “but I see a lot of potential in you. We compliment each other and… you remind me of how it felt to just be enthusiastic about competition. That’s why I want you at your best- in every sense. Wouldn’t want any less for when we finally face off again.”

Isaiah returned with a smirk, returning only two words, almost sinister in intent, but the only two Ned wanted to hear.

“Same, partner.”

“Unity. Being synchronized with someone else. It’s the key to any tag team. To exemplify what it means to be a partner.”

“Even when the two partners are so far alike that it seemingly makes no sense at all.”

“See, King and I don’t get along entirely, but we’re actually willing to talk alongside one another. If Tango and Atom weren’t the same person in a different costume, you’d have trouble deducing that they even can stand being around one another. When they’re not sucking up everyone’s time-”

“They’re just plain sucking.”

“A little more apt than I’d put it, but a fair assessment. These are the kinds of people who think losing Leap of Faith by a close call is the wheels falling off. Sorry, “Just Us,” but you haven’t even put the tires on despite holding those belts for months. You’ve been content and skating by on long-winded crusades against people no one knows, let alone remembers. When’s the last thing you’ve said anything relevant to anyone? When I opened my mouth against Bobby Bourbon, he made his mission to survive Leap of Faith after a middling year. You two blab for so long I think you forget what each of you said in the last sentence. You are the endpoint of when words take precedence over action.”

“And you’d think action would be your forte considering your whole lives are dedicated to little more than Ruby’s leftovers. The XWF lost its Super Dear’O, whom I never quite saw eye-to-eye with only to gain people who have all of her flair, but none of her heart. You are the cardboard cutouts promoting a blockbuster no one wants to go see. Empty spectacle that can’t even hold itself up without a bit of cardboard placed behind you. Without those tag belts, you’re Just You. And that fact chills you two to the core. Because there never needed to be bastards or cheap wine or a spaceman and his pal to take you two down. All it takes is two men who know what it means to be better and know for a damn fact it has nothing to do with the clothing and everything to do with the people beneath it.”

“And the people under those masks? They’re just a pair of comfortable cowards who are about to be a couple pounds of gold lighter.”

"Just watch. Just wrestle. Just wait and see. Because if you're looking for the forge of the wrestling industry… then you're looking at just us."

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Refining Fire II: Under The Masks
Author	Message