The story picks up right where it left off. Hysteria is sitting at the table in his chair thumbing the title slightly. He pulls the title in and places it over his shoulder. The gleam shines off the belt as the lighting in the room hits it. Hysteria chuckles for a moment before speaking softly.

A Title.

Ohhh how The Higher Power shall be pleased. I even named the championship after him! He must be pleased. You see, I tried all the other religions. I must have spoken to all of their ‘deities.’ Yet none of them uttered a single, solitary FUCKING word. Was I just unlucky? Was I just not chosen? WAS I NOT WORTHY!? How about now you fucking false gods? Here I am with a title over my shoulder and a title under my name. The Prophet. How do you like that Jesus? Buddah? Mohammad? I turn my lifeeee over to The Higher Power, and I’m INSTANTLY rewarded. Sounds like a better deal than any of those lying religions could give me.

LIARS

THIEVES

My Higher Power is none of that. His glory and magnificence shall be felt throughout the entire XWF by the time he arrives. The announcement will take this federation by storm and force everyone to take heed. But back to what we were discussing.

A Title.

What’s in a title? Guppy would know just how important a title is. He cherished this belt. He held it close and dear like a man would his child! Then what’d I do? I ripped his child from his white-knuckled clutch and transformed him into something that better suits myself as well as The Higher Power. The Prophetic Belt of The Almighty Higher Power. Ahhhh what a lovelyyyy sound. Tell me that name doesn’t just sound perfect. It just rolls off the tongue. Now there seems to be a LOTTTT of dethroning going on lately. Isn’t that true Laneybaby?

I’m curious. How did it feel? How did it FEEEEEEEL when The Asylum entered the ring and dismantled your little brigade of merry men? Did Peter cry the night away while using his tears for lubrication for a quick handy for you? Maybe, just MAYYYYYYYYYBEEEEE you laid out on the carpet ass naked with Morbid and Peter lying on your chest crying as you stroke the hair out of their face assuring them that ‘everything will be okay.’ When the truth of the matter is that it won’t, will it? You lost one of the two things you hold most precious. Courtesy of yours truly.

Hysteria tips his hat as he begins laughing slowly in a sinister fashion.

So cry those Gator tears and lay beside that blonde bimbo and think to yourself… Am I worthy? I only had one defense, and I lost it. 0-1 in defending your precious Trios title. Talk about a paper champion. Ohhh I’m sure you want to throw in your win over Morbid AND Peter, right? What an accomplishment! Everyone give Laneybaby a fucking round of applause! Congratulations! You beat a and the most disappointing person in XWF HISTORY! You should be SO PROUD. Yessss, yessss tell me all about how Peter Gilmour is the #1 CONTENDER. Oooh, such meaning. Did you know that XWF is privately associated with the Make a Wish Foundation? Well EVI-FUCKING-DENTLY SO if our FUCKING #1 Contender to the Universal belt is Peter Gilmour. This SPECIAL person should happen to be our Trios Champion too? What a fucking joke. Thankfully, The Higher Power agreed and bestowed a plan through me. He ENSURED the atrocity of that being a champion would be erased from the champion status.

The Higher Power was correct.

HE’s always correct.

Book 3, Verse 16.
For HE so loved the world that HE gave his one and only Prophet, that whoever FOLLOWS him shall not perish but have eternal life.

Hysteria stops speaking a stares ahead. Motionless he stares ahead. The lightbulb hanging over head dangles and the light moves slightly over the mask. The ink spots shift their formation to become a unique vision of black lines. As Guest stare into the mask, the lines slowly seem to shift downwards at an extraordinarily slow pace.

Justin Sane. Beware. You have deemed yourself the name Justin Sane. Literally the most childish name I’ve ever SEEN. SERIOUSLY, who the FUCK names themselves Just inSane? That’s worse than Justin Credible, and that name was shitty too. I can only imagine as a little tyke, Young Sane told his father that he wanted to be called Justin Sane. ‘Oh daddy, daddyyyyy! I want to be a wrestler when I grow up! Oooooh can I be called Justin Sane? You get it daddy? Justin. Sane. It’s like Just Insane but split up into a name! Isn’t that cool?!’ After all of that is said, I can imagine Justin’s father turning to him and slapping the ever-trusting SHIT out of him for being such a fucking moron. Justin Sane. The very name of my opponent sounds like something Peter Gilmour would have named. Nowwww. Enough bullshit about that garbage name.

You call this match your redemption? I do believe you mean your retirement. You see, once I finish with you, Sane, I will break you in half. One half, I’ll mount to my wall as a constant reminder of how much of an UGLY fucker you are. The other half? I’ll dice up into small chunks and sent to your mother in a form of a meaty soup. Chili, if you will? She’ll say, ‘Oh boy! You sure were nice to bring a bowl of chili to the house as a gift for our grieving family after the loss of our son, Justin.’ I will stand there with a lingering smile upon my unmasked face. She’ll pick up a spoon, take a bite, and smile as she devours and enjoys the fine cuisine provided by myself. She’ll ask, ‘That’s delicious, but I have to know! What’s your secret ingredient?’ I’ll smile even larger with my teeth bearing. I’ll quietly utter the words…’Your son.’ Her initial reaction will be confusion until she begins piecing things together. She’ll look back at me with her eyes full of fear and horror. In that moment, she’ll realize that the man she’s just taken food from, murdered her son. Oh what a most thrillllllllling experience that will be! Next time you speak to Mama Sane, tell her Hysteria says Hiiiii!

You think I’ll question your sanity? Fuck, you’re more insane than I am? I murder innocent people, smack kids around, and sliced up the face of one of my soldiers. What the fuck have you done to bring fear out of me? NOTHING BITCH. Ooops! I liedddddd! There is one thing that you have that is insane. You’re insanely disappointing. You debuted as one of the hottest attractions around, and what happened from there? HMM?! I know you know. I know that the weight of losing TWICE in the same week must be wearing down on you. Wearing down on your confidence, your ego, your strength inside the ring. You went into the matches thinking you were hot shit. The HOTTEST shit, I’m sure. But you saw what happened didn’t you? You SAW what happened in the King of the Ring tournament? You got your ass kicked by The Violator! How does it feel? We’ve already cost you a match and a tournament victory. The Violator smacked you in the head in with a butter sock and out you went like a lightbulb! How sad… how pathetic… I took THREE shots from the Butter Sock, and did you see me whining about fairness? Hell no. I took each one with a smile and a laugh you fucking cunt!

Hysteria begins laughing wildly as he rubs his title affectionately.

You say that you’re going to teach The Martyr a lesson in extreme? I do believe you are MIStaken, Sane. You see, The Martyr is more than adept at that style. You may go as far to say that this is his specialty. Extreme Rules happens to be The Asylum’s playground in case you can’t tell. As for mind games, why would I bother? It would be all too funny to see you attempt to figure out my strategy. JUST IMAGINE! You stammering through a promo trying to find BALLS enough to have a comeback. You consult the voices in your head who just insult you and call you a fucking ninny? To jump into the MIND of the Prophet. The very idea makes me DIE laughing! Indeed there was something you said in your promo that I actually agreed to. You said you’re into this match to reveal that what transpired at War Games wasn’t a fluke?

Excuse me? How the FUCK are you going to prove that bitch? The only fluke you’re going to prove is the fluke of you being on the winning team and being the one to pin his opponent’s shoulders to the mat. After all, the foes you conquered were of no EVEN SLIGHT note. OH… Hi Avery Martin Alden. Can I call you AMA? GOOD because that name is a fucking eye sore! Much like that mug of yours. In fact, Sane and yourself could enter a local ugly competition and be turned away? Why? They won’t want any god damn professionals. Now, now, NOW. You believe I’m a liar of sorts, Monsieur Sane? Allez vous faire foutre. You say I, HYSTERIA am not a Prophet? I’m no Prophet? Well how about this for a prophecy to set your mind at ease, eh? I’ll give you something you can wait for. Something you can watch unfold as you go through a match with me.

Hysteria begins breathing deeply as the laughter seems to have been drained from his system. The ink blots on his mask seem to have transformed into vertical lines moving at an infinitesimally steady pace. Hysteria places the title on the table with his palms face down over it.

On the eve of Madness, the show’s curtains shall draw to an open to reveal a momentous show of EPIC proportions. As the curtains close, the mask of tranquility shall reign with crimson-saturated hands of other insolent souls.

Hysteria takes a deep breath as he begins laughing darkly once more. He lifts the title in one hand as he speaks the next few phrases.

A Title.

What’s in a title? I’m sure we could ask Sane, could we not? Two opportunities in a three day span. Both ended with finishing fourth place. Fourth place? FOURTH PLACE?! You can’t even finish fourth place in this match, bitch! So maybe we shouldn’t ask you how it feels to be around a title because thus far, you’ve only been licking the heels of any TRUE champions. So why don’t you kiss my boot and hail this ‘worthless’ title, bitch? Because you’re no comic and you’re no competition. Bow down before The Higher Power’s Prophet.

Or.

Find your tombstone and talk to a Mortician. For you’re about to buried six….
feet…
under.