A bolt of lightning cracks through the clouded sky as Demos steps into the scene. The masked man holds the reins of his brown stallion in his right hand as he takes in the beautiful scenery. The horse neighs softly before Demos reaches up for the saddle and pulls himself into the seat. As Demos gets comfortable he digs his heels into the ribs of his stallion while pulling back on the reins. The gelding bursts forth upon his master’s command. A buzzing chorus of trumpets rang out from inside the castle walls, sending a flock of birds flying from their nests.

The horse’s hooves stomped tirelessly against the rocky terrain as the stallion darted towards the castle. Demos leaned forward as the wind ran through his greasy mane. His gelding rounded the corner as the gravel path took the pair through a thick clearing of pine trees that seemed to soar to the clouds. Demos couldn’t help but smile as he passed by the ancient wardens of the forest. They stood so tall, so proud, Demos couldn’t help but relate to the thousand year old pines.

Demos tried to clear his head as his galloping gelding stomped rocks into rubble beneath it’s horseshoes. Demos was less than a fortnight away from his first universal championship match. While Demos knew he had proved himself more than able during his short time on earth, there were still lingering doubts in the minds of the masses about whether Demos was truly capable of bringing about revolution. Of course, much of this doubt was sown by bad faith actors hoping to throw the masses into a state of confusion ahead of the savage battle for the crown.

Demos knew there were many backstage that couldn’t wait to watch his downfall. All the hyenas in the brotherhood were of course licking their chops, hoping to feast on the leftovers of a great game they themselves could never take down on their own. The hapless hyenas hung low and hung back, waiting in the shadows as their prodigal son stepped forward to challenge the Demos. But what of Corey Smith, Lycana, and Ned Kaye? Demos could sense that each of them was hoping to see the embers of revolution stomped out before the flames could take hold. What was their stake in the continuation of BOB’s reign? Were they merely hoping to see Demos snuffed out, no matter the context?

The masked man found it hard to swallow the immense hatred and dislike of him from the boys in the locker room, but he wouldn’t let himself forget the few who saw the world as he did. The conscious few who were as fed up with the Brotherhood’s world order as he was. The conscious few who were clamoring for a revolution in the XWF. Jim Jimson, RL Edgar, Dean Rose. Their support for his mission was the fuel he needed to trudge through the misery and mockery.

But where did Doc D’Ville stand in all of this? The Mad King was careful to conceal his demarcations and agendas. But still, even with his old age he was not a blind man. Demos thought that the Mad King must see the threat to his sovereignty burgeoning inside the Brotherhood. Is that what the King wanted to speak with him about? It was always hard to get a read on D’Ville. Would it be all that surprising if the Mad King merely absorbed the Brotherhood into his nation? What if the Demos was walking into a trap? Demos knew he had to be careful on this side of Montero.

The brown courser began to slow it’s stride as it’s legs began to jostle into each other more and more often. Demos eased up on his stallion’s reins as he gave his tired horse a brief rest from the hard trotting. Demos patted his horse on the neck gently as he spoke a few soothing words into the stallion’s ear.

“You are doing fantastic work, comrade. A revolutionary’s job is never easy: the Demos knows this all too well. To bring the hegemonic order crumbling to the ground is no easy feat. When German national socialists rolled into Albania and Yugoslavia with their panzers and their infantry, many thought hope was lost. The Nazi empire stretched across Europe and it’s murderous sons did all they could to make sure they would reign supreme in their lands.

Just imagine the task that was before Enver Hoxha and Josip Tito. It seems almost Sisyphean, does it not? To expel the most powerful military in the world out of your lands with nothing but a rifle and a cause? But still they pressed forward, undeterred by all their common senses! And what did it win them?

Freedom, my boy!

Freedom from tyranny, freedom from oppression, freedom from capitalism, from fascism. Those men were willing to DIE to save the people from the National Socialist menace! They would charge headfirst into battle on the streets of the Yugoslav, firing shots into a crowd of infantry officers unafraid of the consequences!

Their legacy is a communist inspiration we can’t help but honor through our own praxis.

We can not let the XWF sink deeper and deeper into the sands of desolate subjugation! Something must be done, a hero must rise! Just as Tito and Hoxha were called upon by the tides of history to bring freedom to the people, I have been called upon to free the XWF from the Brotherhood’s cruel grip. It is up to me to do everything in my power to bring the Brotherhood’s reign to an end.

I will be baptized in the flames of the class war before the week is out. I fear not the consequences, for I know that my actions are just. All I have, all I am, all I could ever be, I will sacrifice for this one chance at revolution.

I am under no illusions about the task before me. I know that I may well fall on Saturday night. My blood may well flood down the ring aprons. But who am I to reject the call of history?

The Francs-Tireurs et Partisans were under no illusions about the task before them, either. They knew that they would fall by the thousands in the war for liberation. Partisan blood flooded the streets of Paris on a nightly basis, but still, their resistance to the Nazis did not yield. The Partisans answered the call of history, and for that, they were rewarded with sovereignty.

Just as the communists could not sit by and watch while the Germans eradicated the Jews, I can not sit back idly while the Brotherhood slaughters our wrestlers like cattle! Solace Tatum’s murder will not go unpunished. She was a fine young woman, she just wanted to work her ass off and become a true professional wrestler! But the Brotherhood gutted her like a fish when they cleaned her clock!

Violence against black women is an epidemic in this nation. I will never stand for it! Solace Tatum didn’t need to be just another statistic, but Chris Page’s cock holster was determined to steal the breath from her lungs. Page’s Brotherhood only struck out against Solace Tatum because they knew they would never be investigated for the crime. America’s police departments are hog pens of racism and misogyny. Violence against black women is as American as apple pie and Main vs. Page reruns.

More than 20 percent of Black women are raped during their lifetimes. Black women are two and a half times more likely to be murdered than white counterparts. The Brotherhood thought they could do whatever they wanted with that poor girl. I can’t bring myself to imagine what those ruffians did with Solace in her dying minutes….I am sick to my stomach.”

Demos hung his head solemnly as his horse continued to walk down the path. By the time Demos was opining on Solace’s untimely demise, he and his horse had escaped the clearing of trees and were now walking alongside fields of golden grain. The castle was visible in the distance, now just a short ride away. The mountains that were separating Demos from his destination were now firmly in the rear view mirror.

“I will not let Solace’s memory be forgotten. But she is not the only victim of the Brotherhood’s barbarism….

Poor Pappy Moonshine is just another of a long list of names sent to the reaper at the hands of the Brotherhood. He had never done harm to anyone- he was just your normal working man. He woke up early in the morning, ate breakfast with the family, went and did an honest day’s work, then came home and played with the youngins before helping them with their homework. He’d lay his head on the pillow at night, a simple yet deeply satisfied man.

But he was just that, wasn’t he? An ordinary worker. He wasn’t a genetic freak. He wasn’t a behemoth of a man. He wasn’t a juicer, he didn’t lift. He was just a family man…..and still the Brotherhood wasn’t content to let him live his life? Working people are nothing but playthings to the Brotherhood. Nothing but ants in their imagination. It is no wonder they are so willing to stomp the life out of commoners just for the fun of it.

If Chris Page professes to lead the Brotherhood, then it is Chris Page who will be held to full account for the Brotherhood’s crimes against the people!

No matter his stature, no matter his legacy, no matter his prestige, he will be brought to justice. The people will no longer rely on the United States criminal justice system to dispense righteous retribution. Money and influence buy innocence inside the neoliberal core: but with the Demos? Those currencies get you nowhere.

The Demos will never rest until I can say I have avenged each and every victim of the Brotherhood’s publicizied murder spree. The Demos is many things to many people, but only to a fool could one of those things be a coward. No matter the cost to myself I will press ahead in this war. Even if I have to stand against the entirety of the Brotherhood alone, I will raise my sword and charge forward with a heart of steel!

I am just a partisan in this class war, and I will always play my part. If I fall in my quest to bring the Brotherhood down, I know that my fighting spirit will inspire the man behind me to pick up my rifle and charge ahead to win the war himself!

The knees of oppression are digging deeper and deeper into our necks. I know that the people will rebel. Page’s Brotherhood can not remain at the top forever, not with their wicked ways! The people are begging for a way out. They can not see that they are their own saviors. In the darkness, the people do not know that their hands are hammers.

All they need is a spark.

Even if I fall on the battlefield, I know that my bravery will inspire a thousand self-conscious Demoses the world over! I will inspire them to see the hero in themselves. I will inspire them to never give up the fight against injustice. The Brotherhood will be torn apart by the hands of the people, sooner or later…”

Demos smiled softly for a few moments as he bounced up and down inside of his saddle. Over the course of a few seconds his smile slowly morphed into a neutral expression.

“But it would be so much better for the world if it was sooner. The Brotherhood's blitzkrieg campaign conquers another throne with every passing week. The universal championship, the tag team championships, what’s next? Even if someone will rise to challenge them down the line, who will it be? How long will the XWF have to suffer?
The Brotherhood adds more and more filler to their ranks by the day, fattening up the group and insulating their meaningful organs. Aging stars and young up and stayers are joining their wrestling organization because they think it’s their only shot. How many days will it be until they announce that Nathaniel Idenhaus and Kyril Krisciev have joined their evil empire?”

Demos shook his head as he exhaled harshly.

“I can not allow myself to fail. If I can not bring justice for Moonshine and Tatum, who will? Who will remember their names as the Brotherhood’s story rolls on? Who will give a damn about all the fallen that came before them when they are trying to hang onto their own skins? Who but the Demos can make Page pay?

I can not let myself rest easy knowing that Page’s reign will soon be ended by another. He has proven through countless pinfalls that his presence can be overpowering. Championship belts don’t walk away from worthless champions by themselves. Corrupt governments do not overthrow themselves.

It takes a self-conscious Demos to make history. No matter how much history calls out for a champion, no matter how favorable the conditions may be to revolution, it still takes a willing hand to turn the pages of history!

A new chapter must be written. A new era is begging to be born from the ashes of the Brotherhood’s defeat. It is my hand that must turn the pages of history. It is the Demos who must pick up the pen and write a new legacy atop the Brotherhood’s ruins.

Taking Page’s championship will be a great introduction to the age of Demos. But still, even after Page is deposed, the Brotherhood will hold precious gold. The XWF will not be able to rest easy as long as Page’s running dogs share that tag team gold.

If only there were a way to strike one fatal blow at the Brotherhood! If only the Demos could end the entirety of BOB as we know it with one fell swoop, the world would be forever changed for the better.”

Demos smiled as he daydreamed. The brown stallion continued walking forward as the two approached a distant stone bridge built atop a dry creek. As Demos bounced up and down in the saddle he fantasized about the icon he would become if he could deliver a truly fatal blow to BOB. If he could end the reign of terror he would go down in history as one of the greats. The children would sing along with his theme song, the women would flash their tits as he walked down the ramp, the whole world would be on the tip of Demos’s dick. A toothy smile spread underneath the man’s mask.

Demos shook his head free of the individualistic impulse.

The Demos was quick to refocus on what truly mattered. He knew that the Brotherhood was the single most daunting faction that had formed in years. Demos knew that they posed a genuine threat to the safety and wellbeing of humanity. Demos thought that some may think that BOB looks goofy, fun, and kind hearted on the surface, but Demos knew they were truly beasts on the inside. Their reign of terror had claimed countless lives, Demos knew they had a blood debt to pay.

WHWAAAAAAAP




A large branch slammed down against the old stone bridge. A gargantuan troll dressed in soiled rags and a blue and yellow mask stepped out from underneath the bridge.

“Teeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmooooooooooylllllllllllleeee

Pick yer partner, square dance with BOBbie!

Tag team! Tag team!

Teeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmooooooooooylllllllllllleeee”

The bumbling troll immediately ceased it’s high pitched squealing/singing as it laid eyes upon Demos and his stead. The troll immediately ran back under the bridge. The BOB troll reached his arm out from under the bridge and began slamming the bridge with his large branch.

“NOOOOOOO!!!! DO NOT TAKE BOURBONZ GOLD! NO MATCH! NO MATCH! YOU WILL NOT NED KAYE ME, DEMOS! NO MATCH!”

Demos pulled up on his reigns as he leaned back in the saddle, signaling for his horse to come to a halt.

“I’m not coming for your gold right now, troll! I need to see the King! Leave this bridge at once. The King will not be pleased to hear that you delayed my arrival to his court!”

“NO MATCH! YOU NO TAKE MY GOLD LIKE NED! I NO WANT LOSE MATCH!”

Demos sighed as he buried his masked face into his palm.

"Just let me through! Our paths aren’t set to cross until Leap of Faith!”

The troll started stammering as it brought the tree branch down harder and harder upon the bridge. The old stone shook it it’s foundation with each and every swing of the lumber.

“NNNN NNNN NNNOOO MATCH! NO MATCH! NNN NNN NNNOOO LLL LLOOOOSE! BOURBON NO LOSE! BOURBON NO WANT FIGHT DDDD DDDD DDDD EEEEE MMM MMM MMMOOOSSSSSSS!”

“Well we’re going to be fighting here pretty soon if you don’t stop banging on that bridge! I need to cross it to see the king! If you so much as knock a single stone loose I’m going to hop off my horse and knock each and every one of your teeth so loose they start fucking Miss Fury!”

The branch is immediately brought down to the troll’s side.

“NO FIGHT! NO FIGHT! MAKE DEAL! DEAL?”

“What kind of deal do you want, troll?”

Demos narrowed his eyes at the Brotherhood’s troll with disdain.

“BOURBON NO WANT DEMOS MATCH! BOURBON WANT DEAL! IF YOU BEAT CHRIS PAGE, BOURBON LEAVE BOB! IF PAGE BEAT YOU, YOU NO TAKE BOURBON’S GOLD! YOU NO EVER TAKE BOURBON’S GOLD! YOU NO EVER TAKE TEEKAY’S GOLD EITHER! NO BOB GOLD!”

“Let me get this right: when I beat Chris Page, you will leave the Brotherhood and vacate your gold?”

“IF! IF! IF!!”

“And if I fall to Page, I can never take Brotherhood gold for my own again?”

“MAKE DEAL! MAKE DEAL! NO FIGHT BOURBON!”

Demos didn’t hesitate for a moment before giving an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“Three birds with one stone? How could I say no!”

“AGREE! AGREE! NO FIGHT BOURBON! NO FIGHT!”

Demos rolled his eyes while bringing his hand back down to the reins of his stead. He curled his fingers around the leather straps as he slowly prodded the stallion forward.

“I accept your plea bargains, Bourbon.”

The troll started shrieking and crying as Demos approached the bridge.

“NO MATCH! NO FIGHT BOURBON! NO FIGHT BOURBON! AGREE! MAKE THE DEAL!”

“Deal.”

Demo spoke with a certain exasperation in his voice. The troll calmed down for a second and wiped the sweat from it’s brow. Then, it started bitching out again. It struck it’s branch against the grassy stream bed beneath the bridge repeatedly as it cried out once more.

“MAKE CHARLIE AGREE! CHARLIE NO FIGHT BOURBON EITHER! NO MATCH! NO TAKE GOLD!”

Demos brought his horse to a halt once more as sighed. Demos rubbed the space between his eyebrows as he responded to Bourbon’s gratuitous pleadings.

“There is no Charlie! Charlie’s locked away for good. He’ll never see the light of day again, let alone challenge for championship gold!”

“MAKE CHARLIE AGREE! NO FIGHT! NO FIGHT!”

“Charlie doesn’t do anything without my command! You have my word that our deal has been made. Now be gone, pest!”

Demos urged his horse to trot forward. As Demos approached the bridge with swiftness the BOB troll dropped his branch and ran off into the distance, his humongous rolls of fat and giant trollboobs jiggling every step of the way. Bourbon’s screams were heard for quite some time as he disappeared into the horizon.

"NO FIGHT! NO FIGHT! NO MATCH! NO TAKE GOLD! NO TAKE GOLD! MAKE CHARLIE AGREE!"

Demos smirked with satisfaction as he rode over the stone bridge. He could see that the Mad King’s castle was literally only a stone’s throw away. Demos slowed his horse to a steady walk as he approached the castle gates. There were peasants and farmers hanging around in front of the castle and Demos had no intent of running them down. Demos couldn’t help but turn an ear and listen into the ongoing conversations as he neared Doc D’Ville’s astral homestead.

“I fucking hate Frankie, Michael, and Osborn! Those jackasses stole the Big Pushin Lawn Mower from the common area! It was a good mower, but they just took it for themselves! Then they painted it JUST LIKE my old Rammer 9000! They said I could borrow Big Pushin whenever I wanted, because it was supposed to be everyone’s mower and all! So I went to their garage and knocked on the door. Osborn let me in and handed me the Big Pushin. I told him I was going to use it to go plow my fields, and he said go for it! Then, when I went to go hand the mower back to them they accused me of stealing it! They said this in front of everyone, in broad daylight! Them No Good Bastards! They lied to me to make me look bad!”

The muscular hunk of a man continued to complain about his predicament to the slender barmaid with impeccable features and long golden curls.

“Oh no, you poor baby. I think Momma Lome can make it all better for you.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm.”

The slender blonde woman grabbed the beefcake by his hand and led him out of the scene as Demos brought his horse to a halt directly in front of the doors of the massive castle. Demos took a deep breath as the castle gate was slowly pulled open by the chainmen inside the walls. As the doors fully opened the scene cut to black.