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Afraid Of The Dark
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acekingewc Offline
Registered but either hasn't added self to a roster yet or doesn't RP



XWF FanBase:
Some of everyone

(cheered; very rarely plays dirty but isn't lame either; many likable qualities)


#1
02-20-2022, 10:52 PM

December 21, 2021
Estadio do Maracana
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
12:48 a.m.


Exhaustion.

The feeling is etched on Ace King’s face as he stares out blankly, barely registering the camera flashes and buzzing media members surrounding him as he sits behind a dais, less than an hour after seeing his second run as Undisputed EWC Champion come to an end at WrestleFest XVII.

‘The Gambler’ groans as he leans back in his chair, the microphone feeling like a lead weight in his hands, perhaps dragging him down even more than normal without the protection the Undisputed EWC Championship previously afforded him.

After seeing the PR person point to one of the front row reporters, Ace knows he won’t be going anywhere for a while, so he tries to make the best of it as he listens intently translating the question from Portuguese to English.

“Where is your head right now, particularly after everything that’s happened this weekend?” the translator asks in English.

As the question comes, Ace looks like he’d literally rather be anywhere else in the world, and the ensuing sigh does little to quell that notion.

“Well, obviously it went about as bad as possible, didn’t it?” he shoots back, a slight eyebrow raise accompanying the verbal response. “Not my finest hour, but you can put it in Sharpie that I’ll be back for it. When, I don’t know, but it will happen.”

A clear buzz emanates throughout the room as the PR handler grabs another microphone, with Ace still trying to mask his exhaustion. However, the hits keep coming as another reporter stands up, this one without a translator nearby.

“With your loss tonight, have you ever thought about what life after EWC might look like?”

“No,” he answers abruptly. “From a full-time standpoint, this is where I’m going to be when I’m wrestling, so that really isn’t up for discussion. As long as I can still go, I’ll go.”

“You mentioned full-time there, and I’ve got a follow-up,” the journalist responds. “There are rumors suggesting you’ve accepted an invite to compete in Denzel Porter’s event in Las Vegas in February, can you address those?”

“Well, there’s still…” He tries to answer the question, but instead he faints from his seat, shocking those in instance and leading to a delay for EWC personnel in arriving. Speaking frantic Portuguese, a number of people try to push out of the way to get to Ace, but ‘The Gambler’ is resilient enough to wave it off and walking toward the ambulance, eventually getting in under his own power as it drives off, with Ace feeling the irony of escaping that situation in the clutches of another claustrophobic catastrophe.

---

Mister… Baal, is it? Like the mythological character? Please. You’d blush if you knew the ilk of the demons and beings that have infiltrated my brain over the years, only for me to find a way out the other side.

So, I sincerely hope the name isn’t intended to strike fear into my heart, for you’d be forgetting the guiding principle that we’re all just out here as caricatures of ourselves… Or are we?

Sure, I’m sure you could take a name like Ace King and make your general assumptions the way so many others have in the past, but then you’d be overlooking the thing that’s driven me throughout my 15-plus years in the business: Despite the stage name, I’m really just out here being myself, and I’ve gotten here mostly by following my heart, but finding the counterbalance in my brain to successfully navigate the peaks and valleys this lifestyle has to offer.

Has it taken me to some dark places over the years? You’re damn right it has, but I’ll let you in on a little secret, Baal: Even though the Denzel Porter Invitational’s happening in my own backyard under Sin City’s bright lights, I’m not one of those people who needs to have every waking moment of my existence out there for the world to see.

Au contraire, I’m in my happy place when I can work in the dark, because that’s where I can refine my skills to be ready for the moments when the lights shine brightest.

This is one of those times, because for everything I’ve done in my career, and especially in EWC over the last five-plus years, there occasionally are times where you need to stretch your legs or broaden your horizons as a competitor, to grow from past transgressions and improve yourself going forward. While I’m fiercely loyal to EWC as a competitor, I’ve never been naive enough to think of this business as a place where staying exclusively in your own bubble is healthy all the time, which has led to the occasional sojourn or one-off like this one.

So there you have it, Baal, my cards are on the table. That competitive fire and desire to become a more complete fighter is what brings me to this match… That’s what will have me back home.

But what about you, Baal? What’s your endgame out of this? You’ve certainly been around this business for a while yourself, so what’s got your interest here? Is this just you trying to make a statement? Furthermore, do you consider this matchup an insult since I’m not perceived in the echelon of a headliner like James Raven? SURELY a man naming himself for such an historic honorific would have expected someone more… shall we say… Well known in these particular circles?

Just as you’re relatively unknown to me, I’m incredibly unknown to you… Do you fear that unknown? I guess we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?

We might be part of the final night of this event, but this will be the match everybody’s talking about at the end, because when people see my name next to theirs, they KNOW they need to step up.

It won’t be enough for you to just appear, Gabriel… You’d best be ready to fight to the death.

---

January 21, 2022
King’s Court Wrestling School
Las Vegas, Nevada
7:16 p.m.

“Are you really sure doing this event is such a good idea?”

The right hand of King’s Court Wrestling School, Ace’s friend John Martin, poses the question as the two get set up in their gorilla positions, with this being a traditional Friday night King of the Court Gauntlet match at the school. For his part, Ace does his best to play dumb with the statement.

“The kids love it, and it gets word out about how far they’ve come along-”

“That’s not the one I meant, and you know it,” John interjects with a level of assuredness that makes Ace’s cheeks go slightly rosy, not the best environment for that to happen. Ace’s face then hardens back up, as if he doesn’t want the matter broached anymore, though John is quick to keep getting answers from his friend.

“You know I mean the Porter thing,” John explains while shaking his head, “it feels like it might have been a bit-”

“A bit what, John?” he asks, tossing his headset onto the nearby table as he focuses in on his friend. “Short-sighted? Unlike me? Unnecessary? Dangerous? Come on, pal, out with them-”

“Well, yeah, pick any of them-”

“And so you already know what my answer is going to be,” Ace counters, briefly getting up from his position. “For a long time now, it’s been EWC-first in my approach, but this was too good a thing to pass up, even in the offseason. Having a plan is what separates the good from the very good, the very from the great, the great from-”

“I get it, I get what you’re saying,” John says, trying to calm his friend down. “I’m just saying it might not be the best way to approach 2022, especially when you have the shot at StrangleMania already-”

Ace pauses at the last statement, his back turned to John. He stands there almost frozen, apparently weighing the suggestion a bit more than he previously was.

“Some would look at it as sacrilege,” he confesses. “But to me, it’s built on a sacrifice, because I’m more than willing to put myself out there if I think it’s something that’s going to help me.”

“And how do you figure it’s going to do that, especially knowing what’s coming in your future?”

“Simple: It’s somebody new to me,” Ace explains, appearing a bit more confident in his assessment. “Being in EWC so long, you start to see the same people over and over again, and so you can’t help but wonder if there are bigger challenges out there, and Gabriel Baal representing that kind of challenge and growth opportunity for me… and anything I can learn there, whether it’s for me or the kids, will help.”

As John looks to say something, Ace gently holds up a hand and shakes his head dismissively.

“I’m in this for the right reasons, man,” he pleads. “This isn’t me strutting or preening with any bigwigs or anything like that to further my career. This is just a matter of me doing my one job against a new face in a familiar place. Had it been anywhere other than Vegas, I’m not sure I’d have done it, but I’ve always wanted to be well-rounded, and I’ve been through it all before, and it’s going to be just fine.”

“I sure hope so,” John counters “because if this blows up in your face, who knows how long it’ll take you to get back into those conversations-”

With a warm smile, Ace softly puts a hand on John’s shoulder as they peek out through the curtain.

“Back into the conversation, you say?” he asks with a smirk. “Just like last year, I plan to be the conversation around the Undisputed Championship, and that means being ready to fight anyone at any time. This fits that bill, and I’m going to be ready for it. Gabriel Baal? Maybe not so much.”

Noting the countdown has ticked down to 30 seconds, John decides to not belabor the point any further, getting back into position for another Friday night of harsh competition, knowing that if there’s anyone in the world who can get things straightened out, it’s the man across the curtain from him.

---

Under a cloudless sky with the sun setting off in the distance, the focus descends upon a rather quiet part of town. Vacancies abound in this commercial space outside of one building, which bears the signature sign for the Las Vegas Little Theatre.

With hardly a soul around, you walk into the theatre, where a digital clock just inside the entrance gives the time as Feb. 13 - 6:17 p.m. The atmosphere is still quiet as you walk through the main lobby and into the theatre itself, which is also vacant apart from a stool on the stage, the signature red curtain serving as the backdrop.

Curious, you advance to the front row and take a seat, wondering if anyone else is coming. Seconds turn to minutes, which turn into a near silent eternity until a gruff voice cuts through the building tension.

With a simple command of “Cut the lights,” the theatre is plunged into absolute darkness, with static the only sensory accompaniment. After a few seconds, the voice re-emerges.

“I hope you can forgive me, Gabriel,” the voice, now sounding somewhat familiar, begins. “I tend to do my best work when I feel like nobody’s watching.”

The voice echoes through the otherwise void space, crackling through a microphone to amplify the previous static.

“See, as much as you might think somebody who calls Sin City home would be as one with the bright lights, it’s what I do when the cameras aren’t rolling that’s gotten me here,” the voice explains. “And yet, things often don’t work out the way we expect them to, do they?”

In the midst of the darkness, a solitary set of footsteps creaks along wooden floorboards, presumably from the stage itself, though the darkness provides a shroud for the figure.

“Contrary to what you may have heard on the occasional dirt sheet, I’m not exactly a man who hides from a challenge…”

As soon as the word ‘hides’ comes out, a spotlight bathes the stage, revealing former Undisputed EWC Champion Ace King sitting on the stool before you, providing an uncharastically intimate setting as his gaze pierces off into the distance.

“Not to state the obvious here, Gabriel, but I’d hoped to be coming to the Denzel Porter Invitational as both the Undisputed EWC Champion and one half of the EWC Tag Team Champions,” Ace explains, looking wistfully out toward the otherwise vacant crowd. “It would have been a nice representation across from a man who’s experienced similar success within the UGWC walls. Unfortunately, a weekend in Rio went about as bad as it possibly could have, and now here I sit before you, essentially naked without gold of any kind and representing myself.”

The deadness of Ace’s facial expression doesn’t tell the entire story, as he slowly narrows his eyes while speaking.

“Now, I could have completely withdrawn from all this after that happened if I really wanted to,” he acknowledges with a shrug. “After all, I’d more than proven I’ve still got what it takes to compete with ANYBODY IN THE GODDAMN WORLD over the course of 2021, so I don’t think anyone would have blamed me for riding off into the sunset… However, a nagging sensation cast me as its George Costanza in the name of pulling me back in, and truth be told? It was this, the Denzel Porter Invitational. By extension? It was you.”

Ace runs a hand through his hair, which is slightly longer and more unkempt than usual, as his gaze turns skyward, almost looking directly into the spotlight.

“The second I saw your name across from mine on this card, my mind pivoted,” he explains, still working to get himself comfortable on his stool. “See, I’d heard about you through the grapevine the odd time or two, and as such, my curiosity started to grow: Who was this diabolical Brit, exactly, and how would I fare against him? The more I learned about you, the more I realized that, despite our difference in perspectives, our career paths really aren’t that different in the long run. We’re both veterans of the business, we’ve both become synonymous with the places where we ply our crafts, we both earned our way into our second top-tier reigns in 2021 to show the young bucks how it’s done… Hell, we’re essentially the same size, too. On paper, there really isn’t much to pick and choose between you and I, so why wouldn’t I want to push myself against someone of similar capability? Alas, there’s a reason these things don’t just happen on paper, isn’t there?”

Ace appears defiant as ever as he lowers his gaze to the audience of one again, sliding off the stool as he stretches out his lower back.

“By now, I’m sure it’s become obvious that, much like you, I have a tendency to run my mouth from time to time, but when push comes to shove, I find a way to back it up,” he states matter-of-factly. “It’s the big reason why I found myself on that end-of-year awards list this event’s namesake drew up, because for all I’d accomplished in my career, last year was a huge step forward, even with age 40 just over a month away now… Granted, I’d question my inclusion in the Comeback Wrestler of the Year section since I’d argue my talent never left even if my brain temporarily did in 2020, but that’s another tale for another time. After all, there were other names on that list, too… You’d likely be familiar with more of them than I would, but there’s at least one name we both know and have considered a past rival, who just so happens to also be coming to Vegas for this event: Magdalena Marie Lockheart.”

The name is hardly out of his mouth before he starts to pace back and forth on the stage, clearly exhibiting some discomfort in bringing this subject forward.

“I know your paths have crossed on numerous paths, but ours have, too,” he says gruffly. “In fact, if you go back a few years, Miss Lockheart was referring to herself as The Future when she was in EWC about four-odd years ago, and indeed, it seemed like the sky was the limit for her… But then, she met me. She was proclaiming herself as a savior, of sorts, but then we faced off, and Maggie Lockheart disappeared from view. Fast-forward a few months, and Miss Lockheart made her intention for a comeback be known… but once again, she faced me, and EWC hasn’t seen her again since.”

Ace continues to pace on stage, the spotlight following his every move as he stands a bit taller than before.

“So, Gabriel, the next time you cross paths with her, I implore you to ask her about me,” he says defiantly. “Ask her what I’m really capable of as soon as I step through the ropes. Hell, look at what she did in Level Up throughout 2021… There’s unquestionably been an evolution there, and I’d like to think we’re on slightly better terms since. Far be it from me to be so self-centered on this, but something changed in her since our encounters. You’re the one with the mythological names and monikers like Baal, Chimera, DrMrsVandertramp and whatever the fuck else, but once the bell rings, you’ve got absolutely no idea of the kind of monster I can become, and despite your ways? That should scare you.”

‘The Gambler’ is as serious as ever as he stops pacing, then briefly sits back on the stool to calm himself down.

“See, I’ve heard of some of your misdeeds and tactics over time,” he continues with a sneer. “Sure, there’s the idea of doing whatever it takes to win these kinds of matches, but there are limits to that methodology, especially since it rarely works out in the long run anyway. Take that cane of yours, for instance… While I could go for the low-hanging fruit of labeling as some kind of low-budget hybrid of Gregory House and Mr. Hyde, I’d like to focus on its overall significance, because we both know it’s not really a cane, is it? No no, it’s more of a crutch, isn’t it? Something to hold you up when things invariably go sideways, the thing you can always crawl to when things seem their most dire… but what will hold you up when you find yourself staring into the eyes of a man more than capable of calling your bluff? Put simply, do you have the Baals to face me like a man?”

The sneer turns into a thin smirk as Ace’s eyes regain their fire, though it all dissipates just as quickly as ‘The Gambler’ tenses up, then gets up and walks stage right to pull the backing curtain open, revealing a giant house of cards constructed behind it.

“It might surprise you to learn, Gabriel, that despite my name, moniker and upbringing in this very city, I’m not exactly one for parlor tricks,” he growls as he pulls a matchbook from his pocket. “Therefore, if you really feel the need to inject me with something to win on February 28? That’s on you, because my high, so to speak, has always been stepping through those ropes and leaving EVERYTHING out there EACH AND EVERY GODDAMN TIME!”

With spittle flying from his mouth, Ace bares his teeth as he roars the final sentence, leaving no doubt as to his intention as he strikes a match from his book. After about 30 seconds, he turns away and lowers his head, trying desperately to calm himself down before raising the microphone to his mouth.

“So consider this your only warning, Baal: Once we’re inside the MGM Grand… If you even so much as THINK of making a move toward that cane in our match, I’ll make damn sure the only Eden you’ll ever see again is the biblical garden, and you’ll be seeing it from six feet under. Bet On It.

The final image you see is Ace casually flicking the match toward the house of cards, setting it ablaze as he walks off the stage, the view now obscured by the rapidly-developing smoke billowing from the theatre.
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