It was going on near two weeks since Oswald had lost the Leap of Faith match. He hadn't exactly taken well to the loss. The large man felt that he had the win in the bag. He felt like he deserved that win. That he worked hard for it. Now, he needed a true win. He couldn't weasel out of losing this title. In his cockiness he had made this match, with no caveats, no way to find himself a way to keep the belt.

This was it. This match could make or break him. If he loses his belt, he felt like he'd be broken. Not in the way that his Broken self would come back, but just, a mere figment of himself. A shade, a spectre, a creature that was nothing more than a shell.

Each time he thought about the Leap of Faith match, he'd get angry, and his true form constantly broke the veil and showed itself.

This time was no different. He was pissed, at himself, but mostly at the other contenders for doing everything in their way to keep him from greatness. How could they not realize that it was his time!? How dare they keep him from attaining his position of power! How DARE they interfere with the fateful path he thrust upon himself?!

The angrier he got, the more pieces of his Godly form showed as if attaching itself to his very skin like many leeches, biting into his very flesh, anchoring deep into every inch of tissue available to his body. Half of his facial structure had changed, as the godly visage appeared through his anger, seemingly mismatched, out of place, a very disturbing sight.

The visual of only pieces of the puzzle without seeing the whole picture, can cause one's mind to be disjointed, causing unease., as they try hard to remember what the portrait looked like. As if every segment not being fully placed together in their right areas, it was too odd, like none of the pieces were for the right puzzle. The metallic yet oddly tree bark looking plates that sunk and connected into his form, moved with him. He was in so deep an anger that he barely registered what was happening to him. He was pissed and it usually would be hard to calm him from this peak of frustration and hatred.

"HOW DARE THESE MISCREANTS TAKE WHAT WAS RIGHTFULLY MINE!? WHO IN THE NINE CIRCLES OF HELL, SAID THAT THEY HAD A RIGHT TO INFRINGE UPON MY FATE!?"

He let out a roar of pain, of hate, of anger, as if all the emotions had continued to boil inside him and it was all released in one very loud roar. How loud was it, you might ask? All the hanging light fixtures in his home swayed violently, threatening to break free their chains so they could smash to the floor. That is how loud and how long the creature let out that sound for.

Though soon, steam began to slowly seep out from under every nook and cranny of those plates, covering half of his body in plumes of the hot vapor. After a couple minutes, the plates fell from his body, leaving bright red skin from head to toe. The power needed to bring forth his Godly body into this realm would be shown to be immense, as Oswald practically crumpled to the ground, as blisters formed on his skin, revealing just how hot that steam truly was, as his chest rose and fell, taking in deep breaths.

---

Minutes later after he had recovered, Oswald would be seen talking straight into his interdimensional camera, grumbling softly as his servants tended to his flesh, doing their best to help with the blistering.

"Dick Powers. My name is Oswald Autem Sephtis. You, however, can call me one of many a thing. Oz, Ozzy, Big Money Oz, Mister Superstar of the motherfucking Month of May.

Whichever you feel like saying, it matters not.

You wanted my title. You got your match. Typically, I'm capable of having a cooler head, but in my ego, I made this match.

Could I have not defended it except on bWo shows? Sure. However, where's the fun in that? How am I going to get this belt recognized by Management if everyone looks at it as nothing more than just a joke title?

I won't. That's the answer. So, what better way to show that this is more than a trinket, to show that Management needs to make this into an official title. After all, why wouldn't you want a title where when you wear it, you can literally name when and where you defend it as well as the stipulation for the match?

Want to defend it on Savage? Go for it! Wanna go to Warfare? Do it! Your opponent just wants a straight up singles match, with DQs and all that junk? Well you can just pull out the book for this title and slap them with the long dong of BDC rules and say 'No, the match stip is what I want it to be. You don't have a say.' If they bitch and complain, you can also take away their title shot away until they stop being a child and accept your terms. How does this title not make any of you moister than an oyster? It defies comprehension.

Now, I know what you will do. You'll bring up my loss at Leap of Faith. I lost there, so I must obviously lose this one, right?

No. Stop it. You get that shitty thought out of your head. Because at Throwback Anarchy, you are not going to win. You will not be the one to end my streak. You will not take this title from me. I have worked too damn hard to let this title slip from my fingers now.

At Throwback Anarchy, expect to lose. Expect to be another footnote under this title's prestigious lineage. Prepare to go home with only your dick in your hand."

He rolls his eyes,

"You know, that thing that passes as your favorite pastime. See you soon Dick Powerless."