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Prince Adeyemi · (03-31-2023)

play the song hoe.

EUUUARGGHHH

The two yell out into the open as they tumble into each other and slam into the cold, wet tarmac of Harlem’s streets. Isaiah had leaped as hard as he could, wrapping his arms around the waist of his friend’s assailant and taken him down from behind. The two find themselves entangled in a mess of arms and legs, until Isaiah manages to get a right free and slam into the others face.

The masked assailant blacks out…

…Just for a second before awakening just as another fist comes flying into his face.

Then another.

Before two more.

He stopped keeping count after five.

Just before he fully lost consciousness, Isaiah’s hands stop.

“For f-sake, that was just getting good.”

The voice of his coach rang through his head, even when shit hit the fan he couldn’t get this parasite out of his thoughts.

“Where is he.”

Isaiah’s voice is cold and stern, his gaze looking right through the man on the ground. Spitting out a wad of blood right at Isaiah’s chest.

“Don’t make m-”

“Fuck you n’, you welcome to give the bossman a call. He where he always been, at the top. “

The aforementioned fist comes slamming into his nose to a sickening crack.

“Speak.”

Another wad of blood comes flying towards him, this time splattering against Isaiah’s chin.

“D-d-doc’s.”

A wave of confusion rises up from Isaiah’s chest to his throat. He inhales deeply to keep it down.

Doc? What did the old man have to do with any of this?

Doc was The King’s Court’s resident street physician, a veteran that would fix their battle scars. Isaiah hadn’t seen his aging relative since that day. Since the day he got his head kicked in and almost curb-stomped by Empire. Since the day Jeremiah had saved him. Since the day Chae, Ezekiel and him had left The King’s Court officially.

Isaiah presses himself up onto his feet, eliciting a groan of relief from Empire’s thug. The masked man begins to pull himself up to his feet until a cold, hard makeshift Boba Fett boot comes slamming into his temple, knocking him out cold.

“Very nice, sport. Quick and efficient.”

Isaiah reaches down into the man’s waistband and pulls out a 9mm. He slots into his blaster holster, earning himself a chuckle at the sight.

Ezekiel was still bleeding out back at the gym, but he did have Chae looking after him. This was the best time to strike out at whoever was camped out at Doc’s. They’d find out about the failed hit soon when their men fail to report back, and then Isaiah, Chae, and Zeke would be outnumbered and hunted once more.

“It’s time ya did something on yer’ own, kid.”

Isaiah’s brows furrow as he tries to shake the voice out of his head. He reaches into a hidden pocket in his costume to check on his phone. There was a single missed called from Chae, about four minutes prior, when he was still beating the living lights out of the Empire boy.

“You’re wasting time, your prey is in sight. IT’S TIME TO HUNT. “

Though apt to the situation, the line was a copy of something Pops had said to him years ago, back when the gang was still running for him. Back when Pops both coached them to box competitively and be his hunting dogs to take over Harlem’s blossoming drug trade.

Back when Isaiah was a young, hungry… deadly lion.

Something clicked in Isaiah's head, and he put his phone back into his pocket. Inhaling deeply, The Heir Apparent begins to run down the street, heading towards the home of his uncle and the base of his hunter.

Your camera crackles to life and we find ourselves back at the hospital again. Isaiah’s still seated on a long coach but has changed up his bloodied clothes since his last visit. He has on a black tanktop that hugs his muscles and reveals the many bruises he’s earned himself over the weeks.
His eyes are still lightly bruised, the discoloration faded but evident.

“Fate has an interesting way of working here in XWF.

Magic, voodoo, destiny, horoscopes, divine timing.

Whatever you might attribute it to… Somehow I’ve found myself across the ring from the bitch who clawed her way through me… Once more.

I’ve found myself facing her for the title that started it all… Once more.

Some might look at this and call it a second chance.

An opportunity for redemption.

A way to get back on top.

And they’d be right, it’s all of those things…

But most importantly to me, it’s a time for retribution.

Nice and simple payback.

I don’t like losing, and I certainly don’t like going blind for a bit - so I’ll leave the fancy storytelling at bay for now and just promise you pain and suffering far greater than what you inflicted on me.

Because retribution need not be proportional to the crime - it just needs to make me feel better about it all.

And just like the arrogant, impudent child that you are… I’m going to throw an out-of-proportion tantrum and break your face into two.

I’m going to leave you scarred and battered so that for the rest of your hopefully short life, Dolly Waters will have to remember what being a shitty little cheating punk gets her.

Because until you face retribution, until you pay beautifully for your cheap tricks and repugnant actions - you will never learn.

You can keep riding on your little tea-high horsed chariot, free from the discipline of a real father-figure… But only until you come before the firm hand of painful justice.

I’ll backhand you AAAAALLLLLLLL the way back to your adolescence, before you even debuted here at XWF (at the age of 13 as you won’t let us forget).

I’ll slap you senselessly back into nostalgia.

I’ll help you remember what it was like to be a child - ashamed, guilty, fearfully waiting for punishment from a parental figure.

But - unlike a nice, healthy home where the discipline comes with love and a desire to watch you grow - I’ll remind you what it’s like to grow up in the shadow of a glory-hungry, me-first home of the Waters. I’ll remind you what it was like to grow up in the home of an adult who thought it was okay to let his daughter put on some tights and fight grown ass men and women.

I’ll beat you out of rage.

I’ll beat you out of a hurt pride.

I’ll beat you senseless until I’m satisfied for absolutely no concern for your safety.

I’ll beat you like your daddy. “

A pale hand comes out to rest on Isaiahs thigh, restraining him as he’d been edging closer to the camera with his face contorting in anger. Isaiah glances down at the hand and leans back into the couch. He raises a leg and rests it on a coffee table in front of him.

“Retribution will be sweet princess.

For me especially - but also for you I guess.

Maybe it’ll finally give you back some ambition, maybe it’ll help you actually see what you had and reach back out for the stars.

Because your complacency will be your end.

You hold onto gold in one of the most prestigious businesses of all time, and all you can think about is what, grifting the fans and using your gold for marketing?

You kind of want the TV title to be like it used to be, bringing back 15 minute time limits but also diluting it’s worth as you handicap your opponents before every match - for what?

It doesn’t make you look better, it doesn’t make the title look better, it doesn’t make the business look better.

You asked Dionysus what he's fighting for, but really... What're you fighting for?

Why are you back?

Why do you bother?

You walk and talk like a gristled veteran, jaded from years in this business when really you’ve just realised glory is no longer in the cards for you.

You’re not sick and tired of fighting Dolly. You’re sick and tired of losing.

So you keep yourself in spaces of mediocrity, in places you can claw back victories and feed your ego enough to belittle the rookies they put up against you.

This coming Warfare I’ll show you that there is no place for mediocrity, for contentment, for selfish comfort here in the XWF.

I’ll make you feel like the helpless, hopeless, powerless girl that you are.

I’ll hunt you and crush you so YOU can actually start rethinking your career.

No calculation, no mercy, simply Moonstruck, wanton aggression.

Whatever stipulation you come up with -

You’ll be going home bleeding and broken.

Whatever cheap trick you come up with -

You’ll be going home beaten and desperate.

You need to win this match to know you’ve still got a place in this business.

That the glory days are truly not over.

That this rookie division at least can be your kingdom.

That this newcomers title can at least be your crown.

You’ve reclaimed the title that started it all for you, one you claimed years ago.

And so you feel safe.

But Dolly - there is no safety in the ring.

I don’t NEED to win this match Dolly.

I just need to make you suffer.”

Isaiah grins at the camera as he rests a reassuring hand on Chae’s.

BLACK

Chae noticeably flinches, before settling into the touch. Something was not quite right with Isaiah, this fixation on just one match was unlike him. He always had a plan, he always had a route to “his throne”. Matches and opponents were always steps to get there, platforms to leap off from, to keep moving up.

This time it was different. This time it was for pure self-satisfaction.

It didn’t matter to him if he won the title or not.

It didn’t matter to him if it set him up for glory.

Winning didn’t matter - And that terrified Chae.

Ezekiel was still in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) and she’d been worried sick. For years these two men were the only real friends she had in her life. Everyone else was just a side character, a plot-device for them to stay together and excel together.

They were going to takeover the world. The Kings Court, led by a man with a plan, supported by two individuals who would do anything in their power to achieve that plan.

When they first got out of the gang Isaiah had concocted a plan so simple. They’d taken it to the streets, starting out training kids for free to box. That developed slowly into renting spaces out at gyms and putting on exhibition matches and selling food and tickets to boxing shows on the side.

Slowly they started to make a substantial amount of money from putting up boxing matches and sponsorships.

The King’s Court.

They couldn’t drop the monicker, I mean the four of them had come up with it. It was Pops that took it and named his gym after it when his prodigious orphans started dominating the scene. The King’s Court was theirs.

It was Pops that stole it and started manipulating his trainees to start dealing for him, to start fighting for him, to start… Killing for him… Under THEIR name.

So when they branched off - they thought the gang would die and they’d be able to reclaim their name. They thought it had died when they didn’t hear back from anyone for years, when they no longer saw the thugs on the street corners, when harlem looked like it had been cleaned out somewhat.

So when they had enough to buy their old gym back, they retained the name. Reclaimed the name. The King’s Court was open once more. Training enough young killers to earn the gym a decent reputation in the state - a place where hardwork paid off and discipline was instilled.

All because of Isaiah’s plan.

All because of their team work and love.

All because they stuck together.

But now… Their past wouldn’t let them go. Empire was back and presumably some dark characters from their past.

Zeke was in the hospital, closer to death than she’d ever seen the big man.

Isaiah was fixated on only getting his payback. He couldn’t even look her in the eye anymore.

It had started to fall apart… And that terrified Chae.

Getting up from her seat next to Isaiah, Chae walks around a corner and reaches into her purse. Taking out her cellphone she dials a number and stares at it for a second… Should she?. She hits call and raises it to her cheek.

“Hi, I know you’re not expecting this… This Chaeryoung, Isaiah’s manager.”

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