And the sky opened up in a clap of thunder to wake the sleepy stretch of coast, tepid rain beating down upon the windows of the old house atop the hill overlooking Calypso.

Within the house, a mother awoke from the ruckus but found herself perplexed to be alone in her bed, and to find that the two smallest occupants of the house that didn’t have tails were quiet through it, given how they’d reacted to the storm the previous week.

Her investigation was short lived as she came to the nursery, seeing one long pale leg stretched out on the carpet between the two cribs and an all-too familiar monotone that was velvety save for the light grate of decades of smoking.

“So, Hikari, as I was saying…your brother here? He’s been doing a lot of research for you at least as far as what electronics are edible…” he tugged gently on the finger the little one was gripping on, her dark eyes locked onto his glasz ones “Not that you need his help, or any other man’s…” he curled his finger in the baby’s grip with a smile.

“I hope you’ll understand that everything he does comes from a place of love, same as me and all your sisters. You might find yourself wanting to be violent with them, disagree and scream and all that….and that’s fine. You’re a Knox, means you’re going to be getting used to people disagreeing with you pretty fast..” a small pause “Like you’re getting used to hearing your dad rant endlessly..”

He turned his head to the other arm that was outstretched, the finger upon the hand that was attached in the grip of Asahi Joseph “AJ” Knox who stared at him with eyes identical to Matthew’s. The warm smile only widened as he spoke to his only begotten son then.

“You know, you can pop in at any time, son. Your dad’s dyin’ up here.” Admittedly the mother could stare at this sight for the rest of her time on this earth. Still, she knew before long that her presence would be acknowledged by one of the three, so she took a step closer. “Seems he already knows better than to involve himself in one of your verbal spills.”

His eyes shifted to her with a smile only broadening as he sat up, making space for her in the little area. He took a moment to recover from the way she always took the very breath from his lungs, letting out an exhale after recollecting himself. His eyes could never resist going over any flesh that wasn’t covered by her robe or nightgown.

God, each time she was around his heart skipped a beat like he was seeing her for the very first time all over again.

“Well, if that’s the case then clearly he’s gotten your smarts which puts him way far ahead of any peers he may have…”

Ever the charmer.

Even as the world closed in on him, its noose tightening around a neck that could only evade the drop and snap for so long?

She could bring the hopeless romantic to the forefront.

“Let us hope the similarities end there for his sake. We both know that my ways could lead to some.. trouble, same as yours except with a bit less pageantry and far more tragedy.” A simple hum followed, her eyes drifting between the two children. “So what has snatched you from the realm of sleep? I know it wasn’t the weather..”

He smiled up at her as he made a feeble attempt to reclaim his fingers from the grasp of his two youngest, eyes taking the scenic route from her hips to her gaze, the morning sun shining through her auburn hair. She looked like Cinnamon smelled. Earthy, enticing…intoxicating. He quickly shook the infatuation from his head, retracing his steps to her question before answering.

“Mac…the title…Masque…all of it, I suppose…” he let out a breath, reaching his foot out to run gently up her shin “You know how it is, Marika…I get in my own head, i try to hide myself or distract myself…you find me, pick my brain apart and help me see what I need to, but haven’t…”

“At least with this trip you’ve started what needs to be done. You simply haven’t gone for it all the way because your mind, brilliant as it is.. has been struck down by fear. Not of the others, but of yourself and who you will be after it’s all over..” She paused for a moment as the other two now looked her way, offering them a comforting smile. “Funny how often we spin..”

“Once more my dear, I must remind you that extinguishing a flame is not the answer, and is in fact the whole reason i’ve become a man servant to a madwoman with a slight obsession for porcelain..” he couldn't help the chuckle before gently freeing his hands from the small children, standing up and retrieving them both from their beds. He returned to the carpet, deciding now was an apt time for tummy time for the three of them as he lay on his chest, eyes darting between the small, wondrous wonderful creations he had done nothing to deserve.

“Mac though…that might just happen by consequence..” his eyes lifted to find Marika’s “They’ve booked us into a TaiPei death match.” The small chuckle that left Marika showed her amusement, almost as much as the smile that followed. While she was far too along to join tummy time, she did turn to her side. “All that and yet you still don’t hesitate during any other time when the situation calls for it. How strange you become when the lights are shining so brightly.. almost as if it doesn’t suit you anymore.. Still, the death match sounds intriguing. Any hesitation in this case too?”

He let the unspoken truth now spoken make its rounds in his head, letting out a quiet sigh as it finished one final lap. He reached a hand out to gently stroke Hikari’s dark hair, thumb coming to caress her tiny cheek as she paid her father a loving, curious coo. He felt a small pang of sadness for the girl’s mother, hoping she ended up somewhere that she could finally smile.

She deserved that much, at least.

“I don’t quite know anymore where my head is with it, I don’t think….” he all but mumbled “I got a defense down. I’m already ahead of that douchebag that paid the ref for a win as far as the record books…and whl I wouldn’t refuse it, I never wanted the damn thing…my presence, my mason? Nothing to do with glory…and now,...”

A chuckle.

“Now, i’m Daniel in the pit with Lions but I don’t feel the hand of God on my shoulder, ready to stay the jaws of the beasts…all I can feel are those jaws. Biting down, tightening their grip and waiting for the opportune moment to tear me to nothing..” a pause “However, I suppose i’m eager at the prospect of ending this. Gong up two and oh on Mac settles it and forces them to let another come for my head.” A quick shake of her head

. “Logically one would assume, but you know how it is when the cloth is too tightly wrapped around the eyes and the whispers drown out all other sounds. He will always reach and has influence that will join him. You know there’s only one real answer since you refuse the simplest option.”

He ran a hand over his son’s back as AJ took to loud yells, giving his opinions on the matter to the best of his ability. He let his hand come to rest on the thick head of hair on AJ’s head, the prideful smile betraying the conflict within. He shifted to lean down and kiss his son on the forehead. He then shifted and paid Hikari the same affection.

“I don’t know what I know anymore, except for what everyone else seems to know….” the smile on his face suddenly gained an era of something living firmly between relief and sorrow “I’ve reached the point where I’m winning in spite of my age, instead of just winning…” a brief, scoffing chuckle.

“I don’t fear it..or dread it, really. I suppose my only real dread is that father time couldn’t wait until I was done fighting Page and his table….” another brief pause “The end is coming…and I can’t deny it anymore.”

“Then don’t deny it any longer, Matthew.. and pour the mixture over all the surroundings you’re set to depart. Choose a day..” Her voice hushed for a second. “You know what follows..”

He knew exactly what she meant.

What they always fantasized about…

Leave, and burn every path that could lead to them. An existence of nothing but their love, and their loves.

“I’ll make it so, my love…” he whispered in a hushed tone to match her own as his hand finally reached across to take hers within it.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, the six of them sprawled on the floor just enjoying life. He remembered a heated debate between AJ and Hikari that would end in a nap, vigorous kicks from the yet to be named twins…

And feeling a peace, that he would willfully shatter along with Mac Bane’s jaw and aspirations of revenge, and gold.


I wonder, if you’ve gotten tired of failure yet Macentyre?

You were a failure of a World Champion each time you held this title, a victim of your hubris over and over again.

If memory serves, the reign I indeed began as you getting the title back from the man who took it from you in surprising and humiliating fashion, no? Maybe you take solace in that. History showed once that you can course correct when given the opportunity.

A solid theory, but you fucked up the equation trying to prove a point with your infantile outburst a couple episode of Clmax Control ago when you decided to try and end this before it began. Putting your pride before your legacy to win a fight that would do nothing but prove what we all already knew:

You’re not the one to end me.

You had every opportunity, you even had help if he wasn’t too chickenshit to swing on me, and still. Still, I walk. Still, I breathe. Still, I fight.

Seven days after your infantile outburst, I defended MY SCW World Title for the first time and In doing so I showed the lockerroom a few things. First off, they finally have a Champion to be proud of. One who will fight through anything, one who doesn’t shy away from any challenge to his throne.

Secondly, that you are not a threat. That the worst of your wrath can’t even shelve an old, broken man for a week.

Pathetic.

Fucking Pathetic, Mac.

You have disappointed me twice as much as you have claimed that I have you. Even for all your shortcomings as a fighter, even for your professional codependence, even with the history of mediocrity you disappoint me. Because you did exactly what any other jackass who failed to fulfill their most basic functions would do.

You deflected the blame, Macentyre.

You chose piety and sanctimonious posturing over owning your mistakes.

You lied. You LIED about trying to stop what happened to Amber.

I can already hear your blood simmering from that one.

Everyone around you, they’ll think as deep as the surface. They’ll see your face flush, your eyes glaze over and the corner of your mouth twitch and know like the gospel that you’re furious at my implication. At the gall that I would even put it into the universe.

But you and I, Mac? You and I will know why you’re really so enraged at that nugget of wisdom.

You and I will know that the reason it burns so much, the reason it hurts so bad?

It's because it’s true.


Jab. Cross. Check.

Jab. Cross. Jab. Cross. Uppercut. Check.

Jab. Cross. Check.

Jab. Cross. Check.

The sweat beaded at the base of his neck beneath the dark locks of hair that had long since dampened to the point of sticking to the flesh. The warm up was basic, dumbed down and free of the usual kicking exercises. Arrogantly, he knew he only did them for the sake of routine as they offered nothing new to his repertoire.

Educated feet, just one part of a body educated primarily for violence.

And violence was all that awaited him now. And if he could, he would spare his legs as much as possible. Keep it where it was focused anyway. Boxing, but with glass, glue and a reckless abandon for the concern of staph infections. It was one of the few matches he himself hadn’t participated in, but it didn’t really raise any new fear in him.

You’ve been in one blood soaked spectacle, you’ve been in them all if you want the truth of it.

If he were to be asked the question while drunk, he would be honest and braggadocious of the fact that, honestly? He was at peace with whatever happened in this match. Did he want to lose the title? Of course the fuck not. But if he lost it, he knew now that it wouldn’t be the end of him. And silently, that was an earth shifting realization for him.

Him, who once spent a decade drowning the sorrow of professional failures in a teaspoon filled with black tar heroin.

It felt like letting go, like being cured of a terrible disease. It made the air fresher, water more refreshing. It was freedom..

It was peace.

He’d fucked up, and found peace while still proclaiming himself a warrior.

It was the one secret he kept from Marika, as if such a thing were possible. He hadn’t just felt his body slowing down, he had felt the desire and urge to fight leave him. And he had felt it leave him when he betrayed everything he ever stood for.
When he was beaten, and forced to watch her decimated before his very eyes.

He took in a breath, closing his eyes to focus.

Jab. Cross. Check.

Jab. Cross. Jab. Cross. Uppercut. Check.

Jab. Cross. Check.

Jab. Cross. Check.

He had lost. Hell, not just lost. He was the French in the face of the Blitzkrieg. Driven under and subjugated into being a puppet state, turned to battle those he had once called ‘friend’ and aly. Although, to be fair, he had long since broken that particular peace treaty. Most notably the “don’t try to fuck my wife” clause.

Which, if you asked the likes of George Washington, was likely the most important of any clause.

Jab. Cross. Check.

Jab. Cross. Jab. Cross. Uppercut. Check.

Jab. Cross. Check.

Jab. Cross. Check.

Jokes aside, like France he was left in a position where victory was far off and little more than a dream. If he refused to fight, if he just stopped and rolled over? He would be wiped from civilized society and his children would forever live in the shadow of his worst transgression. They would not just be the products of a lothario’s trysts.

But the children of a murderer.

Jab. Cross. Check.

Jab. Cross. Jab. Cross. Uppercut. Check.

Jab. Cross. Check.

Jab. Cross. Check.

He leaned more into each strike now as he leaned into the soreness, into the burning in tired muscles that so much wanted nothing more than to buck the weight they had been hauling. He felt his heart beat in his chest, the heart that no longer desired to drive him to stand alone in the squared circle over another damaged human whos only real crime to bring about the violence he had committed? Was being booked against him.

A heart that only truly desired to be home, to watch the new life he had created with Mari grow. To form a relationship with the children whos life he had been absent from for twenty some odd years when it came to his oldest. To watch his students take his lessons and grow with them. To go forward and make something of themselves carrying his knowledge and experience, but free of the weight of his demons.

But just as his heart would dare become light enough for him to smile, reality would crush him.

He had to settle this with Page.

He had to end this with Mac, one way or the other.

And the final weight that would break even Giles Cory…


He belonged to her, until she said otherwise…

Inhale…
Exhale…
Sigh…

Jab. Cross. Check.

Jab. Cross. Jab. Cross. Uppercut. Check.

Jab. Cross. Check.

Jab. Cross. Check.


So, with that truth eating at you? Let’s twist the knife, Mac.

For months. Since I stepped foot in SCW, I said I was here to help a friend. And while you postured and waged a war worthy of little more than Maury Polvich’s stage with me I did all I could to fight the true evil here in SCW, back when I saw it as such.

I desperately fought against a crazy woman dead set on leaping into a shark tank wearing little more than fresh blood and a smile. I cried out, desperately, for anyone to help. I cried for you to help, Mac. And all you did was posture, and condescend, and turn your fucking nose up.

And then it happened.

The event that everyone was mad about for a week before their personal lives became more interesting than the trendy tragedy they all played a part in. It was like a firing line. Five rifles, one blank, nobody knows which so they all walk away feeling innocent.

Except with the caveat that you, and this entire fool’s lockerroom have convinced themselves that I was the only man with a rifle.

Fuck you.

Fuck All of you.

I hope nothing but the professional worst for everyone in the back, even those i;ve shared a smile with. Fuck Christian for allowing those who should not be, be exposed to the violence that they are. Fuck him for how he treats Ms. Chloe and fuck everyone in the back for setting the girl up to be  the next lamb to slaughter.

Tell me, will you all mourn her as long as you did Amber? Or will her notoriety only buy her a day of grief?

Now you, Mac. We won’t have to worry about them grieving you. I could take that crowbar, turn you into a fucking popsicle and use you to beat those braindead commentators to death and no one would bat an eye.

Because as much as you tried to with your super group.

As much as you try to, hanging from Page’s teat.

As much as you try to convince yourself that you do…

You don’t matter to anyone who isn’t half dead and intimately aware of what that crowbar feels like.

As far as me, with my rocks and glass house? I’m well aware that I only matter for as long as I hold this title. If you take it from me? You will only matter for having the title. I will fade into a bloody obscurity, soon forgotten as an uneventful world champion.

I will be at peace if you bury me, Macentyre.

But you?

You will suffer in victory, and defeat.

And in that, how can I feel defeated in the slightest?

I have a confession though, and you’ll like this one. It’ll buy you those good guy points and maybe an extra cardboard sign in the crowd…

I don’t feel guilty anymore.

And I never did.

You all want to paint me the villain, say that I stood by and let it happen?
It’s true. I did.

And I’d do it again, because I’ve reached the point in life where I can no longer justify helping people who won’t help themselves.

And Mrs. Bane-Ryan-Terrafex-DeLune practically begged for the guillotine, secured herself in the stocks and asked how sharp the blade was. You mourn her destruction as a tragedy when in reality it was a mercy.

It was Right.

It was Resplendent.

It was Rapture.

And you have to live with it, Macentyre. You have to live with it for as long as the lord lets you live that you’re married to a time bomb that went off once, and will no doubt run right into the jaws of death again at the first opportunity.

You can’t save her.

You can’t even save yourself.

So maybe, just maybe…

What I do to you will be a mercy, too.

I am Raze. I am Ruin.

I am The Raven.

And all you are, Mac?

Is next.

How often has man told stories of seeing figures out of the corners of their eyes? Fleeting gossamer of people who aren’t really there.
Or are they?

Tonight, in this Hospital in his home state, Matthew Knox was one such apparition as he moved through the halls mostly undetected, the surgical mask and black scrubs doing enough to not warrant the second glance of a dejected night shift.

His limbs were as cold and ghostly as his pallid, damp skin. Arctic sweat caused a few stray bangs to cling to his forehead. His destination wasn’t very well hidden, between the whispers and the lackadaisical leaving of charts at the nurse’s station.

Well, that and the 6’6 enraged giant standing guard.

He walked past first, before stopping and standing much too close to arm’s length. After a beat to be sure no other scrubs were near, he began to speak.

“I had no idea what she was planning. I thought it was going to be mind game bullshit….hell, I was almost assured as such.

At first there was no reply from the other side of the door. Then the sound of a man's deep baritone voice that has a light tremble can be heard. "You stood there and let it happen, what am I supposed to say to that?"

“Nothin’ with your mouth and not enough with your fists…” he couldn’t help the chuckle, briefly putting himself in the shoes of an outside. Looking at it from the surface level “But, the fact that this door isn’t off the hinges and i’m not flying out a window tells me that you know something got fucked up..” a pause, a shake of the head.

“You were right, Macentyre. Everything you said about me, about me sticking my nose where it didn’t belong…I tried putting out this fire but i grabbed the gas can instead of the water jug.” a deep sigh comes from Mac, a sharp intake of breath. "You were someone that I considered family. I asked you to stay out of this because I was already working on amber to try to wake her up to what masque was trying to do. I finally got thru to her 3 days ago. "

There was a momentary pause, "Please tell me you didn't try to seduce that monster." Then a chuckle comes from him, "of course you did, and now she's got her hooks do deep in you that there is no escape. " The door swings open as a very haggard looking Mac Bane stands before him.

“Seemed like a solid play…awful as it is. Flawed, lonely, somewhere i’ve been…” he narrowed his eyes at the wall, keeping his guilt-laden gaze off what once was one of his best friends before everything went tits up “She is…impressive though, in her ability to go undetected. But i guess a life of people not wanting to look at you, and see those deformities allows some sort of benefit..”

Finally, he turned his gaze to Mac and shook his head.

“You should go get some rest. I know you don’t trust me, but i’m telling you: She’s done here. She thinks this is enough and is content to lord her accomplishments..” Mac's gaze hardens as he looks directly into msg Matt's eyes. "It's a smoke screen Matt. You can't even see the level of corruption and the control she's got on you."

Mac shakes his head in dismay. Matt exhales through his nostrils, shaking his own head as he chuckles once.

“I know exactly what she has on me…and it’s something that I can’t make go away any better than I did before, and the second I step out of line, i am powerless to stop it and..” he trails off, shaking his head “I can’t be ruined, not when so many are suddenly dependent on me.” he breaks their gaze, shame causing his body to twitch as he lets out a scoffing chuckle.

“God…I don’t even have words. I probably shouldn’t have even came but, on some fucked up level? You still matter to me, Mac. Your word carries an annoying weight. And I couldn’t just have you thinking that this was..” he shrugged “I don’t know, sour grapes over not bagging the redhead…my hands are tied now. I gave her the rope, and I will own my share of this guilt and play my part..”

He shakes his head, another scoff.

“Fuck do we do now?”

Mac's posture straightens, and his fists clench so tight they are a scary shade of white. Through a tightly clenched jaw, "You're forgetting one thing, there's a price to pay for this Matthew." He let's his fists relax, "not today and not in the hospital." He reaches back and snatched the rubber band that held his hair back. "Know this, I would not treat any of my brothers any different. I'm going to hurt you. I could say that it will hurt me more but that would be a lie. You and Masque couldn't have hurt me more. You two ripped the heart out of my chest."

“I won’t berate you, Mac. But I will say, that perhaps the best route for you right now? Is to be where you should have been this whole time..” he let out an exhale, daring to find the gaze again. He set his feet, posture shifting and ready to disappear as quickly as he had appeared “This whole thing…nothing but fools pride and ego. I won’t berate you, like I said..”

“But I also said, that this was coming. That Masque was dangerous and not to be ignored. Yeah, I fucked up but I did my best. I did something. While all anyone else did was get angry at my presumptuous nature…
Sure, you had right. Plenty of it. But you let it blind you and…that in there?”

He motioned to Amber.

“Is Caesar. And sure, Masque may be Brutus but we’re all Senators here, Mac. We’re all guilty of this murder…and now we are all under her thumb..”

He turned his back then, starting to walk away while adding “Bring your receipts when you come to collect, brother.”

Mac snorts a laugh as he starts to shut the door. "Same old Matt, only listening to respond instead of comprehending what's been said. I've always been where I was supposed to be. I was working on this before you set foot in this company. Don't worry about receipts. I accept the fact that I'm at least partially to blame for her. This one will be impossible for you to walk away from. You don't even know if she'll keep your secret dumbass, ever considered that?" Mac allows the door to close quietly.

Pausing, Matthew considered it, before speaking to the empty hall, but knowing it would reach him.

“Has she lied yet?”

‘How did I get here?’

Was the most dominant thought permeating the very existence of Matthew Knox as he continued cramming his belongings into an old Adidas bag after a losing effort helped along by the ineptitude of a Zebra, he found himself in a foul mood when taking account of the here and now, the only time that really accounts.

Losing record, No one believing he earned his place in the contendership line, which was without a doubt as warranted as it was foolish. But worse than any of it, maybe the worst of it? Mac had ruined everything he had planned by naming him the number one contender.

Much as the world wanted to believe it, he wasn’t a liar…

An almost petulant shove of the foot as he flopped down on the pine bench in the locker room, biting a camel non filter between pearly whites as he sparked up, taking a healthy drag and releasing the noxious fumes into the enclosed space. He focused on a chipped bit of paint in the locker, his mind drifting to the very beginning. His opening declaration.

He had come here on a mission of love.

Fucking fool that he was.

Amber Ryan. Amber Jane Fucking Ryan.

It always felt like she was at the eye of whatever shitstorm he found himself so willing to throw himself into. To many, it was obvious why. He’d refuse to acknowledge it, deny it til he was blue in the face, and downright ignore it to protect the both of them but at the end of the day? He had coveted another man’s wife for far too long.
Selfish bastard that he was, he wasn’t even sorry about it.

Why should he be? To either Amber or Mac especially. His own marriage, he of course apologized and the saintly fool he married found it in her heart to forgive him his transgression, however borderline, and move forward. It was a wash, and half the guilty parties were comfortable pretending it never even happened.

And then, like all guilty people, he got caught.

Plucking the bag up, he pushed the thought from his head and began realigning himself for the battles to come. One more show, the go home. He wasn’t booked. He didn’t plan to show. He had no interest in following a script of expectations, not this time. Not when so much was on the line. No, he’d let him get comfortable. Boil in all the justified anger and rage.

And then fucking drown him in it.

The hallways had long emptied, save for the sparse bits of crew loading the last of it up to head on. He made his way patiently through the halls, as stealthily as a man his size could. The whispers and finger points ignored mostly, save for the courteous smile he’d give occasionally.

Still, and unsurprisingly, the vast emptiness did little to keep him from eventually rounding back to the news of Camden Roth Sr. His friend and, technically, boss in PWV’s passing. The two had formed a bond if only in mutual dislike of his grandson, and Knox’s seeming son-in-law Cam Roth 3. It was amazing, how tightly spite can bind people.

In some ways, he liked to think that the time Camden spent with him and Jason Cashe may have been the last bit of mercy for the old timer. One last good time for the road.

‘When I think of all the good times i’ve spent wasted, having good times…’ the melody made the rounds within his skull, inevitably leading to him humming the tune as he trekked his way to the parking lot.
A fair few new stares
And not a damn thing to alter the reality.

He’d lost a friend.
And at into the void, he’d end another.

---

The camera comes to life to reveal the Acropolis of Athens in all it’s legendary, resplendent glory. Stone structures weathered and eroded by time and man alike stood in defiance as proof of a glorious yesteryear where man was much more invested on shaping the world around them through sweat, blood, and artistic vision than simply bitching about it using the wings of a loud, repugnant blue bird.

The drone camera pans over the numerous buildings on the hollowed hilltop, over ground where centuries before men, women, and the children they raised all lived lives that were long since forgotten and lost within the countless sands of eternity. As the shot transitions to another camera on the ground level, focused on the steps of the Parthenon.

In the silence of the dusk, where only the wind and the sea dared howl he stepped out from within the ancient and holy being, matching only one of those adjectives on most days and never the other in any positive way, was none other than the number one contender to the SCW World Heavyweight Championship Matthew Knox.

He stood silently for a beat dressed in a faded pair of jeans, scuffed Stacy Adams loafers, a deep blue button-up dress shirt and an old brown leather jacket. Usually slicked back and well-kempt hair splayed wildly toward his shoulders, his gaze distant as he gingerly lowers himself to take a seat on the steps of the old temple. Deep, steady breaths soon join the orchestral offerings of Sea and Air alike before the deep-chested, smoke stained monotone rolls from him.

“Where does one even begin, with all that we have endured Macentyre?” he spoke evenly, honestly “I feel like, lost in all these transgressions, perceived and obvious alike, that the history we do share has been lost in translation. So, as i’m sure you’ve offered your perspective on it i’d like to take a moment to offer mine to the viewing audience..”

A small shift, the raven’s pale hands coming together to clasp onto one another, hs brow furrowing in quiet contemplation of where next to direct this stream of consciousness.

“We weren’t properly introduced for a minute, when I came back. You held a belt of equal value to the Internet Championship here. You nearly ended Magdalena Lockheart’s career. You were buddies with Jack Michaels, and you put my ex father in law through a flaming table.” he furrowed his brow further, the lines on his forehead deepening.

“Unless i’m misremembering, the first time we had a conversation was you posturing to me about the words and actions of my then stablemates. Defending the Old guard as it were, standing up for what you saw as the essence of what made that company we were both in as great as it once was..”

“And here we are, nearly two years later,  and you have…well, you haven’t changed actually, is the crux of our issue…” a chuckle escapes him then, mostly filled with mirth but with an undeniable underlying venom “You’re still the same Mac Bane I ever saw, much as you’ll deny being that man. Or at least deny what I saw that man as..”

“Because, The Saviors? They’re nothing new. Especially with you, Mac. You who has never stood on his own two feet, facing the world with nothing more than what god gave him. You who has so long ago accepted your place in this world as second fiddle. Even when you hold the richest prize in a company.”

“I distinctly remember, back in Baltimore. The first night you ever did me any kind of favor, one of the ones you hold over my head at any given opportunity. Shit you think I forget because I don’t praise you for it endlessly. Do you remember, when that slimy cocksucker C$J had Belle Silva backed to the ropes? Alex Winter there to act like slimeball muscle?”

“Do you remember, how I was the only one to step out there and do a thing about it at first? Then your ‘sister’ Kat Jones attacked me with a lead pipe after faking a back up entrance- guess that whole being a snake thing is just common in your circle, huh Macentyre? - Then, a good five minutes and a brawl into it all….here you come on your white horse.”

“You, Jon Willis, Steve Matthews and some other schlub that I can’t be assed to remember. And why should I, or anyone outside of the marks who watch these PPVs on repeat be assed to remember it Mac? Your ‘Higher Standard’ was a non-starter.”

“Maybe it was ambition, maybe it was everyone chasing their tails over beef, grief, and gold but the beta test of the Saviors went nowhere. And left alone to your own devices, you vacated a title you defended successfully for your final act in the charm city. On the same PPV where I put a lot of my demons, the demons that prevented me from being the man I am before you, to bed? You fell flat on your face, in your shining moment to stand out in front, alone and solo…”

“....and against your former mentor's ex, and your current brother’s future ex.
Tell me, does that make Holidays awkward?”

“But, the point stands Mac. You have never stood alone for a damn thing. You have never been the man you claim to be. You’re a cog, not a machine. A soldier, not a general. I mean, yes you have the World Title and yes Ken had the Internet title but the ‘Saviors’? As they sit?”

“You’re a World Champion with a couple washed up, broken cronies who serve no real purpose other than insulating your fucking ego. I mean..” the stone faced expression cracks, grimacing in disgust “Your ‘brother’ assaulted your fucking wife to evade losing to me like the crybaby bitch he is, and your response? Your response to a coward doing coward shit with your wife?”

“Oh he was defending himself. They have history. That’s their business.”

“Christ, when you’re at a bar do you ask for two drinks? You know, one for each face?”

“I said that I came to SCW as a labor of love, and it was twisted and perverted. The message therein i mean, and of course it was done so by you. And I mean, who could deny your version if they looked hard enough and bought your bullshit?”

“Here comes this slick asshole, buddying up to your wife. Signing her up for a tag tournament in another company. Just barging in, and acting like her business is his business. Trying to prevent the onset of a rapture as it were, finding her when she ran away after almost dying in a fire you shamed her for publicly.”

“How the fuck dare I even have the urge to step in on my friends behalf, eh Macentrye?”

“You’ll deny this, of course you will. You’ll play up that Amber is a force to be reckoned with on her own, pay the usual lip service about not imposing on your wife and how she isn’t a wilting flower. No doubt, as soon as you finish vomiting that wherever you choose to, that everyone in your circle will agree and make some catty comments.”

“It won’t change how shit of a husband you are though, Mac. And I mean that with all the sincerity I can. Because no matter how you twist it, no matter how big a soap box you pull out of your redneck ass to preach at me from, and no matter how hard Chris Page sucks your cock to validate your bullshit, it changes NOTHING.”

“I came to SCW because I saw a friend drowning. I saw another friend blinded by ambition and surrounding himself with the lowest common denominator of allies. I came here to fight you, to fight some sense into you. I came here to help you pull her up for air…”

“And since being here, I’ve seen her slip from my grasp into the depths. I’ve found myself suddenly subjugated to a mad person in a porcelain mask. I’ve been screwed by shitty refs, i’ve had a record spat on because all the double digit IQs we work with only care for the bottom line and not the substance…but that suits you just fine, I suppose.”

“Given your depressing lack of substance, that is.”

“I should thank you, though. Because you have been the one thing that keeps me warm here in SCW…well, aside from that other thing. That has you so fucking angry at me.” he paused, letting the smirk spread across his lips as he averts his gaze “The elephant in the room, as it were…I’m sure you two have talked about it by now…”

“I’m sure that she’s denied it. I mean, why would she own it? It was a mistake and she can’t allow herself a flaw. And even if she could be flawed, why would she show that flaw to a person whos response to her almost dying in a fire was to shift the blame closer to her feet?”

“Much as she denies what happened….both times….Much as you’ll believe at least half her denials, you couldn’t quite deny away that ‘K Mart Cologne’.”

“Just like, as much as you will to everyone around you, you can’t deny that you drove her to it.”

“But…like I said….hardly worth bringing up. You’ll deny it.”

“You’ll deny that I’m anything, I imagine. Well, maybe not that far. You need to justify to the boys in the back that I was a challenge, to preserve the sanctity of your title. To preserve the knock-off Alex Jones of a legacy you’re forming here in SCW.”

---

The pitter-patter of raindrops falling against the windshield of a ‘66 Impala SS dominated most everything else in the world as he sat parked overlooking Carmel Beach and the steady rolling of the tide. Even in such a serene setting, he couldn’t help but feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand as his attention was pulled east and toward the war on the horizon and all the million moving parts that made it up.

He thought silently of the Saviors, and how he first heard of them through simple rumblings. His attention only piqued when Supreme Machine was added to the ranks, which only seemed to serve Mac Bane’s interests if he were to be believed. His stomach churned as the night replayed once more in his mind. Coming home to find Marika and Aimi shaken and mostly unharmed, save for the superficial wounds Tom had seen fit to deal them.

He knew then, as he caressed the face of his wife and ran his thumb over what Tom had hoped would scar far worse than it ended up doing, he was going to find a way to end all of them that were left standing. Thankfully, if only for time, Dom Strife had returned to garbage collection or whatever asinine job he had in Baltimore.

Although, he really could have used that easy win.

So he settled for a more traditional route. Plant the seeds with Kat in private, use her closeness to Mac and twist her view on the Saviors for what he allowed to linger among them. Among their ‘family’. Mac had made it clear once, that to get a fight with him Knox would need to get through all of the fingers of ‘his gauntlet’.

God, how impressive that must have sounded within his own head.

The fingers fell by hook or by crook. No doubt, anyone on the other side of things would challenge his view and assessment of the situation. Why wouldn’t they? This whole dance was about discrediting the other side, doing all you could to slip them up. Question themselves. Their motives, their intentions, their very souls and where they stood with God if you could.
How unfortunate, they didn’t bring enough to match him.

In his humble opinion, anyway…

Still though, Supreme Machine was cut off by the very hand he was supposedly a part of. He was cut off, and cut down because Matthew Knox gave the order to do so.

Ken Davison? Well, it took some doing. In their first tussle, rage won out over wanting a midcard title reign and he laid into a face that had deserved it for far too long. In the second installment, his greatest work. A competitive match, worthy of their reputation with the added caveat of a rising star into their cosmos.

And while it went as a loss on his record, it was the biggest win he’d had in SCW to date. Ken Davison was defeated and stripped of his gold by Jack Washington, because Matthew Knox allowed it to be so. Unfortunately, as with most threequels, their last meeting was nothing more than an exorcise in futility. One team with history and secrets as deep as the sea dominated Mac’s final sycophants.

And not unlike their encounter with Mac’s new daddy in Thunder Pro, the opposition chose to disqualify itself and save what little face they walked in with against the onslaught a pinfall would have brought from the egos of the two who made up Never//morE. He felt his blood boil for a second as the image of Ken attacking Amber replayed, and Mac did nothing.

Mac did nothing, and left her t-

A sharp inhale through the nostrils accompanied what seemed to be his entire face retracting from the thought as if it burned his very flesh. He couldn’t think of that. Couldn’t allow her that power, not anymore. Not when the truth had bitten him with the suddenness and lethality of a cobra in the bush.

She wasn’t much more than flawed, barely above a liar, and the catalyst for what could his own armageddon.

A person who knew how he was wounded because they were wounded much the same, however she was also a person who didn’t feel ashamed to dig at those wounds to reopen them, to prey on the empathy of familiarity.
Keep him close in case she wanted, but far enough at bay to not want him.
Fucking fool he was he fe-

Another sharp inhale, and a smack of the steering wheel as he focuses his stare on the red leather seat next to him.

Red.

He had to choose Red.

Whether the hooks she had sunk into him were done so with malice or through a subconscious desire for the comfort only shared trauma can bring? They were in there deep enough for him to do the one thing he would never do for anything, or anyone else alive or dead.

Compromise.
And worse, Compromise himself.

Much as he fought it, the flashes of their ships passing in the night on a dangerously close trajectory flashed against the back of his eyelids, the ghost of a cinnamon perfume wafting from nowhere and causing him to shake his head, willing the spectre far and away from him.
Willing the hooks release the viscera they were planted within.
Will in one hand, shit in the other…

Letting out a slow breath, he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his phone, a small grimace at the time. Half past seven. He was at least a few hours late getting home, by his count anyway. A small chuckle, hers was considerably less liberal. However, he noted no calls or texts from her. Where some would see this as a slight, he knew it was her understanding of where his head was.

She knew he was in his own world, preparing to put everything to rest and move on the best he could. Move on from concerning himself with a man who he had already given far too much concern for, and from lives he’d no longer seek to impact or let impact him.
One more bridge, turned to ash.
One less road home from Eden.

With one tap of his thumb, he started the video call. Of course, the first thing she’d see would be her husband fixing his hair in the reflection of the smartphone’s camera. Always the same and yet never in the best angle. She did what she always would and rolled her eyes at the sight before offering a sigh to inform him of her answer.

“You know you should really take to such adjustments prior to the call, dear. With the doctors constantly phoning in, I have to have mine nearby… How are you?”

“Hopelessly conflicted and full of great rage and shame, mostly…” he smiled at the sight of her, the natural rose of her cheeks acting as a magnet to the corners of his mouth and exposing the teeth far too white for chain smoking behind them, “Saw the storm brewing over the sea, couldn’t help but think of you..”

“How romantic of you, love.” There was a brief pause as she moved from where she was, taking the time to make the usual nap rounds. Seeing everything was alright and making sure he got the same view, Marika made her way to the kitchen, settling into preparing some tea. “So were you looking to bare more of your fractured soul or exchange general pleasantries while avoiding the issues?”

“Well, originally I had just hoped you were naked and go from there..” he quipped back at her dry nature with his usual adolescent wit, complete with an overly suggestive wag of his eyebrows, “But, with those options all that lay bare before me… I suppose i’ll need to be greedy and indulge in both… Mostly because i’m starting to realize something, and it may come as a shock to you.”

He gave it the weighted pause it deserved.

“I may have an awful habit of inserting myself in places I do not belong.” complete with double entendre. He nailed it.
Oh shit, Triple.

There was a soft laugh at that moment, though admittedly it appeared she was biting back a little more. Now she delivered a mocking gasp, placing her hand above her chest. “Nooo! I had no earthly idea you were even remotely capable of such a thing, Matthew. I am shocked. Flabbergasted even. This is… a day that ends in -Y!” She finally shook her head, letting a little more laughter escape.

“Unfortunately you missed me being naked by about twenty minutes although the view would have been blocked. So you will simply have to settle for clothed, exhausted, irritated and feeling that extra kick blessed me.”

“Well, I assure you you’re gorgeous either way, my darling..” a little saccharine he’d never dare show anyone else, and might have accosted a witness of for their silence “But, if i’m being honest the whole situation in SCW…it gnaws.” a small snort as he trailed off, gaze averting back to the ocean.

“Only I can fight my way to a losing record trying to save someone who never wanted to be saved and end up fighting for a world title I never desired or deserved….and wind up under the thumb of some masked psychopath..” another pause “I did tell you about that, right?” Her gaze left the camera for a moment as she let out a sigh.

“No, but I’m far too observant and figured out the situation on my own as I normally do when you choose to leave out the details.” She still kept her gaze away, eyes drifted towards the kettle. “While I do not judge the intentions and the mess it’s led to, it is quite tiring and I’m glad you’re slowly beginning to see how unnecessary it was. Maybe one day I will do the same when it comes to my affairs.. So are you looking for encouragement, dissuasion, or what I always offer yet you have the hardest time absorbing?”

“More than anything,  I desired your face and your voice. Even when they’re disappointed in the man they see and address…” a small smile, a slow nod “My eyes open far too slowly, but if I may pass the buck I spent a good majority of my life with blinders on…Only had you for the past year to remove them, dear…” a pause “Pass the buck, and kiss ass…You’ve married a talented man…”

“But, do give me what you always offer. I will try to absorb it, once more. And with feeling, I assure you.” A small smile slowly made its way to her face as she turned to face him again. “A man of many talents and he always works with the worst ones.” A softer laugh now. “Very well. I will give you what I always do, always have and always will.”

“I accept you, Matthew…”

He let out a soft chuckle, staring at her in a silent wonder for a moment, before speaking over the unusually warm smile that dared take hold of his weathered face.

“That’s all well and good, Mari….but it’ll never hold up in any court, they know you’re a loon.” he shattered the weighted statement as he did all the others, levity deflecting from a nerve that was still far too raw for him to even openly acknowledge the existence of. One more small sigh, before he speaks again.

“I’ll be home before long, my love. Kiss the boy, tend to the robot, and feed the newest…” he dared snap his fingers “On the double now, i’m headed to you..” the car put in reverse, his mocking judgemental gaze…

The loud SCRAPE of guardrail on high gloss paint.
A deadpan expression.

“.....Not a word.”

Her eyes widened for a second, a loud burst of laughter, that one only he gets to hear leaving her system before her eyes narrowed and she displayed a cheeky smile.

“あなたはとてもかわいいです...私は一言も言わないでしょう... I’ll see you soon..”

As the call ended, he knew as all husbands do that she would in fact say the word. All of them, if she could. He let out a huff, and rolled his head back into the headrest.

“Well, at least that was warm…”

---

“You need to get to the final step, Macentyre. And fast.”

The smile on his face warms a few temperatures, a chuckle rolling out of him as humor seems to have returned to the macabre features of the morbid corvid. He runs a hand through his hair, slowly sliding out of the jacket and discarding it before standing up from the steps.

“You know which one I mean, too. Acceptance. The truth in everything but name, complete honesty with yourself and the rest of the world. You need to accept the sin and the inevitability, and you need to accept that even if you leave with the gold it will always feel like lead because of me.”

He jabbed his thumb toward himself to accentuate the point, although the warm smile remained. A friend speaking to his friend.
About how much he’d like to kill him.

“And your only recourse. The only chance you have? Is to absolutely decimate me. Ruin me and save yourself from me, Mac. Save Chris from me, Seb, Tact, all of them. It’s come to fall upon you. Hell, the people voted you most likely to end me…
…Thankfully, they should also be used to being disappointed in you by now, as well.”

A chuckle as the smile falters back to a plainer sort of expression, Matthew paces a small circle as he steals glances at the fixed camera. He slides a smoke out from his shirt pocket, sparking up and chuckling once more through the exhale of the noxious fumes. His face cracks into something akin to absolute bemusement.

“Is this where your Higher Standard led you, Mac? To you becoming a parody of every group and every man you ever professed to stand against? You have taken a couple shots at my proclivity for fatherhood, but I have to wonder…how does Jimmy feel watching his father become everything he ever spoke out against?”

Suddenly his pacing turned into something more similar to a charge, he approached the camera, stopping a mere foot away and seething as he spoke, each syllable dragged out and dripping with a gravely sort of venom, face twisted in absolute disgust and disdain.

“Once more, so short sighted in your quest for personal glory and your pound of flesh that you’ve managed to negatively affect someone close to you….perhaps I should reach out, eh? Maybe we’ll bond over our shitty dads, wrestling, and love of the weird…maybe he’ll call me ‘Pop’ or whatever your hick offspring call you. After all…
….your wife has already called me Daddy.”

The mirth returned with a devious smile as he backed away, taking one more puff as a hearty, bellyful laugh rolled out of him and into the fresh greek air he was doing his best to pollute with repugnance and tobacco smoke.
After a moment, he lets out a slow breath and collects himself. The mirth slowly fades to a more neutral look, with a hint of remorse that might be there if you looked right.

“See Mac, I was remorseful for it days after it happened. Hell, it lessens me. Lessens Amber. Lessens you the most, as the cuckold in the position. Never should have happened, never should have been a thought. And it never would have been, Macentyre…until you all but begged for it to be so.”

He shook his head slowly, a sigh escaping him as he shrugs, waving his arm as if to display the puzzle for someone else to try and solve, or perhaps presenting a truth and daring it to be refuted?
Honestly, some would say he wasn’t even sure.

“Maybe I'm looking at this, and you, the wrong way Mac? Maybe you’ve already made it to Step 7. Maybe you’ve accepted your responsibility in all this…maybe that’s why you picked me then, isn’t it? Because you know you deserve to lose to me for what you’ve done. Braying jackass me, who coveted your wife so. What more could make you feel low enough to match your failures as a man than to know I ended your reign and snuffed out the Saviors?”

Thin, pale lips curl upward into a sneering smirk as his voice drops down a half octave, his eyes boring into the lens, and into Mac’s.

“No…No, that’s far too deep an ask for you. You’ll frame it as what you are able to perceive it as. The lowest common denominator. I’m the fox, I got in the hen house and got a real good sniff of the hens. So you’ll punish me, and put the title up because you want to make an example out of me, show the world that your Championship means more, as you defeated me and my three…some trivial, carney bullshit that grew like a fungus in your pea brain.”

He raised a finger, the mirth returning for a split moment as he snickered, amused by the result of the next firing synapses.

“But when the time comes, Mac…and it’s coming. When the time comes, that you feel the attrition set in. When you realize that your might can’t quite make right? When you realize that My Standard is simply higher than yours ever was? You’ll realize your fatal error, and you’ll feel the weight of the truth crushing down upon your chest. The weight of my inevitability. The weight that my name carries.”

A pause, he gets closer to the camera now, leaning in and whispering this secret, hidden great realization for the world to hear.

“The weight of your total, and complete failure and the weight of a truth i’ve preached and you’ve laid awake at night plotting an escape from.”

He leans back, staring into the camera with a blank expression for a moment, until his brow furrows on thought. His tone shifts to something far off, dreaming perhaps.

“Mac Bane isn’t the one. Mac Bane is a package deal. Mac Bane is a good hand. Mac Bane is a solid B plus….a workhorse. All the steak, none of the sizzle, and just not ‘it’”

Reality returns in all of its inconvenient glory as he snapped back with one more venomous, obnoxious smile that would make Lucifer deem him an untrustworthy scoundrel.

“Me? I am the one. I do what you do, but I have no one to catch me when I fall and I have no one to carry my cross. I stand on my own two feet, facing down monster and man alike. You don’t make a fucking move without approval and validation of your inner circle.”

He backs to the steps once more, taking his seat back and briefly fidgeting with the discarded leather jacket, before flicking the butt of a cleared cigarette away. He mumbles something to himself about being a ‘long winded old fuck’ before carrying on, lighting up another smoke and pointing a wagging finger at the camera as he exhales once more.

“You spent a lot of time on social media bringing up the past, saving my ass. I addressed it briefly with the ‘higher standard’ story but Mac….the question no one has asked out loud? Why did you only appear when the beating had commenced? Why did you form the Saviors when you couldn’t beat Alix Jones? Because every move is about drawing attention to you.”

He jabs his finger in an accusatory fashion then, eyes narrowing as he honed in on the truth. Or at least, his version of it.

“You spent a career flaunting your fucking moral high ground, you continue to flaunt it in passing when this whole time you’ve been down in the muck with the rest of us. Playing the same dirty, visceral games you act so high and above.”

He runs a tired hand through his hair, eyes casting downward, the click of his tongue ringing out soon after before he takes a moment to formulate his thoughts in the chorus of win, sea and a damning, silent history already repeated ten fold by fools long forgotten.
And then, once more…
“In Athens, we both look Into the Void once more Mac. A place we both spent plenty of time staring into, trying to find peace and resolution with the man within. Because, we used to be so alike right? Where did we divert, O Macentyre my friend?”

“Suppose it’s simple really….I never broke my stare.
You flinched.”

“This is Penance, Macentyre. Holy and Just. Penance for your hubris, penance for the wounds you let open and the marriage you left to rot in pursuit of said hubris. I am going to come in with one intention, and one intention only. I’m coming to fight you. I’m coming to punish you. I’m coming to hurt you.”

He takes one more drag, one more moment to compose his thoughts before leaning forward as he exhales, the even and deadpan monotone returning.

“You may be the one to put me down for three seconds, Mac. But I promise you, you will feel everything between the bells for the rest of your life.
And if a Strap is worth 3 seconds….that must be worth a lifetime.”

“I am Raze, I am Ruin, I am the Raven. I’m here for you now, Mac. All the time you’ve wasted, all the time you’ve spent acting like you were above this fight and all the time you’ve kept thinking about just what you’d do when you got your hands on me, right here staring you in the face.
You, standing alone ready to prove a point…”

A pause, a look of sudden shock and realization, he leaps from the steps.

“Wait, I’ve seen this one….”

Only for the feed to cut to black.

---

He sat up in his marital bed, hunched over with his elbows resting upon his knees. He hardly slept as it was, anymore since AJ’s birth? It felt like simply being prepared for the inevitable. It made Marika’s life easier, so who was he to question all the quiet time with his thoughts and demons?

Not like he really deserved to share it with the woman beside him, anyway. She may have been a saintly, forgiving sort of woman but he’d never forgive himself. The day after his son was born, he tried to nuke his marriage just like he did the last one. He didn’t know what divine intervention stopped it, but he knew it had to be divine as he wouldn’t trust himself to find the moral E-brake.

This was all penance for the sin, really. Page, Black, having the stain of retiring his best friend forever on his heart and mind? And now, this violent night in Athens that lay awaiting him. Part of him wanted to let Mac beat him to a bloody pulp like he deserved.
But no. Life was never quite so simple. Not when Mac had earned his own form of penance in the form of violence.

And so, with all the gold and the personal lives affected and shaken in their wake? Into the Void’s main event would prove to be nothing more than a standard affair.

Two sinners punishing one enough for sinning.

A chuckle, the spark of a zippo.

And so the world turned.

It was getting more and more difficult to do this.

Not physically, really. He was in the best shape of his life just about, and was no doubt the most in shape ex addict in the world. Well, hemisphere maybe. What did it even matter, though? For all his strength, for all his determination and grit he showed to drag himself to the success he had endured nothing ever changed.

Here he was, in another hotel room in another country but in the same black pit of misery.

The barbs never got to him, not anymore. Whole world could think he was undeserving of a shot at Mac, it rolled off his back. What did he have to gain from listening to the lamentations of people he’d never had a conversation or a cup of coffee with? If anything, it was a brilliant move by Mac. Rattle the cage, reshape the image and take the focus off how big a piece of shit he’d been and turn the ire onto the new guy who was gifted a shot at a title he didn’t rank for.

God, how mad were they going to be when he won the fucking thing?

The thought brought the ghost of a smirk to his tired face as he sat, long legs stretched out over the rest of the mattress. He lulled his head back as the endorphins of the thought quickly left him as the reality of his current situation bit at his stomach.

Ken Davison. Again.

Kat Jones. Again, although it had been a moment.

Baltimore calling, again.

God, he was so sick of Ghosts….

He shifted again, the thought making him uncomfortable in his own skin. Kat Jones…Katarina, Wildkat. The history there was deep, ripe and buried. To most it was obvious that they had some sort of thing at least in passing. The depth of which was lost on many and anymore ignored by him. It was a pleasant thought at one point. A vivid, wild dream at another.

Now, it was a stain.

He didn’t regret it, but he hated how it changed everything. He and Kat had gone from enemies to lovers to strangers back to enemies, or so it seemed. Sure, the mature thing might be to talk to her but anymore? Every word out of her mouth was dripping with a sadness he saw his fingerprints all over and spoke of a finality that he’d rather tune out than acknowledge.

Why should he, anyway?

Truth was, fate had conspired to put everyone where they were for reasons they would never understand. Could he have had the future he is forming with Marika with Kat? Probably. Did he want it more than what he had now? No, but to be truthful there was nothing he wanted more in this world to be the father of Asahi Joseph Knox.

And honestly, he was sick and tired of feeling like he should feel bad for that.

With a small grunt of effort, he pushed himself from the bed and walked out onto the veranda, snatching his pack of camel non filters and nickel-plated zippo lighter as he passed the bedside table, sparking up and exhale the noxious fumes into the crisp greek air as he looked out over the view, wishing to be young enough to lose his breath to such a simple sight.

He had been joking about another fight with Ken Davison, personally feeling as though it was resolved with the match at Blaze of glory. He told Ken he’d be the one to take the Internet title off of him, and even though Jack Washington’s memory and awareness went no further than a centimeter past the tip of his nose, the entire world saw the end of the “Godly” one’s brief reign over the Internet.

Red faced, trapped, reaching out to his enemy for mercy.

And finding none.

Yet, once more, here he was. On the precipice of Ken Davison acting like he’d somehow won both their previous exchanges. Disregarding him and his ability as a fighter, burying him as nothing more than a loudmouth despite the fact that in two chances Ken never got the better of him in the ring, never pinned him, never made him submit.

But, he voices that, then it’s whining?

God, this industry was taxing on the common sense.

He took another long drag, pacing the veranda quietly. His long lithe form a silhouette in the dusk’s light, plumes of smoke steadily rising from it toward heavens he could only hope to reach at this point. His pacing stops as he leans over the rail, gripping it with tired hands one of which clutching what was left of his smoke between middle and pointer finger.

The failure was the bitterest, most familiar ghost with him this day though. His partner, the whole reason he kicked the door in on SCW? The undeniable, infamous and wrathful Amber Ryan. The details of their relationship remained muddied and odd to those who cared to look. Though they teamed, and had n the past gone out of the way to look out for one another? All the public ever saw were the barbs, the arguments, the posturing.

He never really minded. When dealing with a Lioness, even one who has decided not to tear your throat out and consume you, would never be as loving or affectionate as a domestic tabby. He knew Amber and accepted her and she, him in kind. The world had left them for dead long ago and neither one would give that world the satisfaction of rolling over and accepting what had been offered.

Which is why on the occasions they had stepped into the ring as partners, however few, he felt more confident in victory than with anyone else in that particular setting. Hell, it took an entire organization to bring them down and lateral their titles in Thunder Pro Wrestling to some lesser masked comedy act.

And any reinforcements for the two unfortunate souls that stepped into this ring now would be stayed by the hand of their leader and Amber’s husband.

They’d need to endure and overcome on their own.

….and he was confident, they didn’t have that in them.

---

The camera fades in on an overarching shot of the Amphitheater in Zakynthos, Greece. A bright blue sky looms over the rows of empty seats and the empty stage, save for one black metal folding chair that seemed to swallow all the light that dared touch its surface. As the camera pans in, distant footsteps ring out and become closer, and closer until from stage right enters the man of the hour.

Matthew Knox grabs the chair, dragging it closer to the edge of the stage as if coming to meet the rapidly approaching shot from the camera. The grating sound of steel on concrete grates out, no doubt curling the hair of whatever ghosts lingered in the empty theater. Eventually, he drops it and sits his own form in it.

He brings his hands up, steepling them in front of his lips for a moment, his expression somewhere between pensive and exhausted. After a few moments of silence, save for the air and the nearby sea, he spoke in an equally exhausted tone.

“My god, I'm sick of seeing you…”

As venomous as it was wary. He followed the words with a heavy sigh as he leaned back into the chair, stretching out leg out and resting his forearms lazily upon the pair he owned. After a moment, he brings a hand up to stroke the stubble on his chin once before he speaks up once more.

“Dream matches are only dreams once, you run the same thing over and over and over again? It becomes monotonous…now, I can’t blame booking here. The second one, they had to yield to the will of a champion and we saw how that ended. Now, I get it…you have to book me against Mac’s cronies, sell the big match…”

A sound both a scoff and a chuckle rolls from his chest, eyes casting off to one side in bemusement, longing for a time that this business still surprised him.

“Kat Jones and Ken Davison, two of the only people on this planet more arrogant than myself. A God and a woman who can’t decide if she’s a victim, or a harbinger of doom. Both of you second fiddle to your ‘siblings’ in every way imaginable.”

Now, his lips curled into a venomous sneer.

“It’d be tragic, if it wasn’t so fucking pathetic.”

Pushing up from the seat, he snatched it and carelessly disregarded t into the rows of empty aisles with little regard, the banging clang of its landing ringing out for no one but him to hear the calamity of its misfortune. He paces the stage as if it were a cage for a heartbeat before carrying on, tone both reserved and venomous.

“Ken, I've run out of things to say about you and as much as I like the sound of my own voice? I loathe a broken record. Which, frankly, is probably why I loathe you. Because three times now, three, you’ve cut the same promo on me. You’ve approached it with the same attitude, and frankly all it’s done is serve to make you even less interesting than you already were.”

He brings his hands together, leaning toward the camera, seemingly begging for his next request.

“So, please, prove me right. Pontificate endlessly about how i’m nothing. Bring up my working in multiple feds but leave off my dominance in just about every one of them. Sure, some Dogs might bark about one or two places i’ve slipped but from Uprising, to the IWF, to Pro Wrestling Valor I am a goddamn force to be reckoned with, and now it’s time to be that man for SCW.”

His hands drop to his side before one comes up to cover a toothy smile, chuckling into the palm a moment before carrying on with his verbal assault.

“You speak from such a place of dishonesty, Kenneth. It’s like you don’t pay attention to the world around you. Content to drift between Chicago and SCW, either riding Kyra’s coattails like Jack Michaels before you or picking up whatever table scraps are left in a singles division that you are sliding into the deepest pit of, a pit I'll gladly leave you to drown in.”

“Do not frame my ability to handle a schedule bigger than yours, to handle a stage bigger than yours, to fight fights bigger than any you’ve been in in the past year as a negative you old husk of a shell of what once was a pretty okay wrestler. I know Johnny likes to talk up Joe and Hide as his best clients, but honestly? He ought to prop you up. Because at this point in your career? You’ve become identical to him.”

The humor drains from the Morbid Corvid’s face as he stares into the lens, and into the eyes of both his opponents.

“An irrelevant blowhard, taking up space that could be given to those that matter. Those with a purpose. You should leave, Ken. Take your ball and go home after this loss because it’s never going to be as sweet in that ring as it is on the couch with Kyra and her kid. You’ve done enough, you’ve proven all you’re going to prove.”

A thoughtful pause, before he adds in a tone devoid of any real emotion to sway it between insult or honest statement.

“And frankly….Pro Wrestling doesn’t need Ken Davison anymore.”


The sands and sea were always his greatest comfort, so of course on a night where rest could not find him he decided to seek her out. His Calypso. A synthetic version though, as he never quite felt her pull, their connection when he was faced with the Atlantic and the sands there as opposed to the Pacific he grew up and lived next to.

Still, there was enough of a bond to bring about enough peace to drive him to sit on the shoreline’s shifting sands, the silhouette missing only one black feathered wing. Hell, he wished for two so he could fly away from all of this. A year ago, when the wounds were fresh he would have reveled in this attrition but now he just wanted it over.

He wished, selfishly, that his Calypso would swallow that wretched ‘charmed’ city so that he may never be faced with its existence ever again. Be it by skyline or being faced with its ‘elite’.
God, the grouping barely made sense to him.
When last he saw those facing him down, they were at one another’s throat.

God, was he truly so wretched that others would lay down their swords and raise armistice amongst themselves just for a shot at culling him?
Was this some cruel design by an orange ghost to pay him back for his transgressions?

Of course he was that awful.

A small chuckle escaped him, lost forever to the night air and the roaring waves as he stared out at the endless expanse of the sea. He was everything none of them could ever be. He stepped out of the wreckage, and became more while their wheels spun. It disgusted them, and he could understand why. Being stuck in one place for more than ten minutes was usually enough to drive him mad.

He couldn’t imagine being as stagnant as the two of them.
Hell, Mac was just as bad but at least he had gold plated validation set on leather for his efforts in mundanity.

To the simple minded, to those content with defeat and laying down n the rut they’d created, anyone who progressed past where they decided to stop their own progress and dared outgrow them were no doubt inherently nefarious by nature and everything they did in the after of shared lives and relevance came from a place of dishonesty. Undeserved and served upon a silver platter.

Because, how dare anyone even entertain the notion of hard work paying off when your own hard work only got you…here?

A tired body offered itself to the earth as he stretched out over the sand, bringing his hands behind his head in hopes his tired mind could find solace within.

A new son, an unborn consequence of a tryst, and now Marika was speaking in an incredibly self assured tone that another was on the way. All the ‘surprises’ of his reckless youth come calling seemingly all at once, bringing him joy and overwhelming him all the same. Time marched on and he was for the first time finding it difficult to stay in lock step and balance the two sides of him.

How does one resolve to be both a Good man, and a Wrathful Warrior? How could he leave one arena with blood on his hands and step into a nursery to hold a newborn that he took up half the entire world of with those stains still on his skin and soul?

Oh well…

Pity it might be, he’d lied to his children before. He could lie to AJ for as long as he needed his father to be held in a shining, flawless regard. When the time was right, as with any son, he’d come to learn about the sort of man his father was. Where it went from there he couldn’t predict and didn’t dare to anyway. He was just happy to have moments like that coming his way.

Peaceful, easy moments as a reward for surviving the violence to come.

Four companies, Four matches, Four titles. The reigns that would follow would no doubt be the last reigns in his career. Final, brutal penances for all the savagery he had wrought and all the awful he had done. Time was running out, and the man was beginning to rise as the warrior faltered. For the first time since he got into the business, he could see clearly a world without wrestling in it.

He cared about the world without wrestling in it.

He could almost taste the freedom, the horizon almost taunting him with all the sweet promises of seeing his youngest grow, and his oldest find themselves and have children of their own. And all that lay between here and there…

Ghosts…

---

“I’m sick of fucking sick of you ghosts, too.”

He drops to his knees upon the stage, arms held limply at his side as he arches backwards for a moment, before righting himself and shifting to a seated position, legs crossed with his forearms resting upon the points of his knees.

“Reminders of mistakes I made, chances I never took, and opening myself up when I never should have. Kat, Ken, Mac, Supreme Machine to a lesser extent. You’re all from chapters of my life that I closed. Closed with reason that your continued persistence in my world only serves to disregard.”

His head bowed once more, chest heaving as a sigh escaped him. The tone that rolled from within that chest was the least venomous he’d had all night, his words carrying an even more lethal weapon…

…Honesty.

“Kat….Kat, this applies less to you.  Your kindness to my wife while she was with child, means the world. But you cannot play both sides of the board, and with you across the ring from me, you have chosen your side because we will not leave this conflict on good terms. You will see me decimate your brother’s favorite sibling…but, maybe that would be cathartic wouldn’t it?”

A chuckle, as the mirth and the venom returns to his tone and a smile to his face.

“Seems to me, all you’ve ever really wanted was to be the favored one. The apple of some eye somewhere. Desperate to belong…The Wild Cards, Unstable, and now the Saviors? You drift on the breeze, longing to belong and longing to be valued but…you never will be, until you can exist on your own and love who you see in the mirror, instead of looking in someone else’s eyes for that validation.”

He returns to a vertical base, almost slithering to it as he pushes off the ground with only his legs. He returns to his pacing, eyes cast up toward the sky for a moment as he mulls his thoughts before sharing them. A rarity, no doubt.

“So, once more just as I did with the Wild Cards, I've come to break up your little family. Except it won’t be you taking the worst of my wrath, it won’t even be Cy or whatever that jobber you parade as a sibling’s name was..it will be your big brother’s favorite. And when Ken is laying, defeated, staring up at the lights? Or, when you’re staring up at the lights as everyone’s favorite sister walks away, and leaves you in the ring?”

A pause, his gaze finding the camera. Finding Kat Jones.
“Take inventory, and find what you’ve been looking for. I guarantee you’ll find it within….but enough of the niceties, because frankly there’s no reason to be nice.”

He slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he returns to pacing once more, briefly stopping center stage to mimic orchestral conduction before laughing the silliness off, and returning to business.

“I know why you both have come to despise me. I know that one of you secretly despises Amber, and i trust that the other one will only serve a plate full of platitude so as not to incur the wrath of his suddenly big brother. I know that you’ll both serve your most scathing comments upon my plate hoping it will shake me, hoping it will put me off my game but you need to realize just like Mac has…”

He raises a hand, jabbing a thumb toward himself as he shares his point.

“I’m a threat. I’m every bit as good as you claim I'm not. Hell, I'm better. I brought an entire company to relevancy through my dominance within their four walls. I showed up in another and in my first night there ended a reign that lasted over half a year. I chose to ignore the count and kick the shit out of you Ken, just like I chose to let Jack choke the life out of you while staring in your empty, dull eyes.”

He chuckles to himself, raising his hands to his throat and miming strangulation for a moment, before adding.

“But…choking on a big stage isn’t anything new, is it Ken? Maybe after this one, you can finally ascend to a new understanding of your place in this world.”

With a chuckle, pressing the tip of his tongue to the inside of his cheek he dropped his hands from his throat. Apparently, he didn’t find throttling himself near as fun as others seemed to. At least in that moment.

“This entire company is convinced that I don’t belong in the spot i’ve been put in. I invited each of them to voice their opinions to me directly and ask for a match, and what did I get? The mighty Fenris backing down and laughing it off as ‘positive conflict resolution’. Piggybacking off a joke I made - getting a reserve seat on the coattails kid? And Mark The Dragon what-the-fuck ever subtweeting and then replying with greek puns. Because you both know…”

He drops to one knee, beckoning the camera closer and whispering his next words.

“Maybe I don’t have the record to back it up, but I’ve got the skill to take on anyone in the back. You know that when the Saviors exhale that death rattle, and fade into the footnote they were destined to be it was not a pack of wolves that tore them apart, but just one single Raven.”

He pats the top of the camera, shooing it away as it pans backward.
“So once more, because clearly you both are not the type to be able to pick up on subtleties, one way or the other after this? I’m done with all but one of the saviors. If you step to me, I won’t wait for a bell and i’ll send you off hearing sirens…”

“I came to SCW as a labor of love, trying to right a ship I saw go off course. And since i’ve been here, my desires have shifted from love to the other end of that spectrum. I could not stop the rapture, but I can cut off the head of the serpent that could have….but that would be too quick, wouldn’t it? So we go with the gauntlet metaphor. Two final fingers and this is over.”

He holds up those two fingers on his own hand, before slowly folding them back into his palm.

“In the after? When the fire dies and ashes remain, I doubt either of you will. Second fiddles never stick around too long, desperate to find an orchestra that lacks the same standards as their current ones. I know you’ve got a cushy gig with the Coalition Philharmonic Ken…but for how much longer?”

“Kat…I imagine you’ll just leave the music behind…”

He gave a half-hearted shrug and a distant smile to accentuate the point but moved on from it as quickly as he broached it.

“As for me? As for Amber Ryan? Wherever our paths go from here, they have diverged for this one last night. The most successful tag team of 2022 with only one loss to our name that took an army to give us reunite to cast a pair of bankers from the temple before the band breaks up and we both aim for the mountaintops we deserve.”

“So, all these plans of mine, these machinations…ask yourselves. Really, Really ask yourselves. Much as you want to, much as you’d love to…”

“...Can you stop me?”

As the toothy, arrogant and self-assured smile returned to his face the camera slowly pans out as it fades to black.

God, how he hated hospitals.

You’d think they were his favorite place, as much time as he spended in them. However, this time at least, he was not the patient and was just visiting. Although that did precious little to improve his mood as he lingered in the small waiting area outside the elevator that had carried him to the fifth floor, where his protege was laid up.

The relationship between Robert McAlroy and Matthew Knox was an interesting one. They’d changed each other’s lives, and even saved them in more ways than one. Robert was one of the only people Matthew spoke with or trusted during the long period of isolation between the two chapters of his life that were his wrestling career. Initially, it was anything but an innocent arrangement.

He was a washed up has been paying money to some mark teen to run errands for him that ranged between groceries and grabbing percocets from his dealer. However, they ended up bonding during one of those nights Bert lingered while he was high as a kite. Talked into the early morning hours about the business, and the misadventures Matthew had gotten into during his time therein.

Robert James McAlroy was the only reason he hadn’t ended it. Much as he’d never say so back then, and as much as he was sure he’d neglected to say enough to date, the kid had saved his life. Kid…not so much anymore. Twenty seven, practically dragged a company to notoriety with his underdog story. Clashing with a demi-god who lay waste to the roster full of misfits and miscreants.

But could not lay waste to the fight within the biggest misfit among them.

It’s tragic how often one finds defeat within their greatest victories.

He could tell in the way he carried himself in the media scrum afterward. Torn to shreds and bloody was par for the course. But the way he carried himself. The limp. The far too careful way he took his steps and kept shifting the title away from his shoulder to drag at his side in a loose grasp….

Pale eyelids close glasz pools off from the harsh realities of a harsher world as he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.  Slowly, the eyes opened again as he pushed himself from the seat, the last by god spot in this world that he could pretend it away for one final time.

Teal painted walls, harsh light and white tile floors. Room 710, Bed 1. Those were the realities right now…

Had he mentioned how much he hated hospitals?

His Stacey Adams clicked with each step down the hallway before finding the room. Once more, he was brought to a pause. One hand rising to rest upon the wall as if he could get a read of what lay beyond, waiting for him as if he didn’t already know. The mental image of Robert laid up, battered and in a neckbrace and hooked up to machines to keep him comfortable while they decided the next step.

He hated being right as much as he hated hospitals.

Bright, intelligent but clearly morphine soaked eyes greet him as he stepped in.The face they were set in looks sullen and annoyed at the company, turning away to stare out the window. Matthew’s shoulders can't help but slump if only a touch at the icy reception. However, he goes to pull the chair closer to bed and sit within it.

“What’re they saying?”

A beat of silence, the eyes flicker over their shoulder but the face doesn’t turn to lay those eyes upon their mentor. A small sigh, and a hoarser version of the familiar youthful rasp of his voice rolls out.

“C1 and C4 fractured. It’s not a question of if, but when I’ll be in a wheelchair if I keep wrestling. Might have a chance to comeback if I get an operation, but you can never tell how successful that will be…or some sugary bullshit..”

A soft grunt of acknowledgement as Matthew shifts in his seat, wetting his lips once while considering his next words. Abandoning a long winded string of sentiment, the older man decided to keep it simple.

“You going to give it a try?”

“I don’t know.”

The answer was instant, preloaded. He knew the question was coming. It probably had come more than once already. Matthew’s head bowed once, shaking.

“Robert, I’m s–”

“Don’t.”

Another beat of silence, Matthew’s head lifting, face etched with confusion.

“What?”

“Don’t. You don’t get to. Not this time. Not with me.”

In hindsight he would feel great shame in the way he snapped at this. Many nights spent over the audacity he possessed to roll his eyes in the face of a man who had just had a world he thought he conquered ripped from his grasp.

“Robert, what in the name of Christ are you talking ab–”

“You know JUST what the fuck i’m talking about, Matt.” the younger man snapped back, leaning up in his bed as much as he could. His hand, knuckles bruised and swollen, swatted at him the moment he twitched from the chair in a move to help his friend. With a strained expression that was fighting off a grimace of reality cutting through morphine, Bert stared down the man who got him into this business.

“You don’t get to butter me up with bullshit. Tell me this is all your fault, and if you had done x, y, or z better as my coach then maybe this wouldn’t have happened. You don’t get to spin some tale about how if you were there, you could have saved me. You don’t get to make what happened to me be something that happens to you.”

“Robert, I wa-”

“No, of course not. Not here, not in front of me. No you’d never be a piece of shit where they can see it, huh? Not when it would justify all those people that know the truth already. The ones who know you’re still a junkie, knows you can’t keep it in your pants, that you knocked up–”

“What the fuck does that have to do with me visiting you in the goddamn hospital?”

“EVERYTHING you fucking chode! You are so toxic, yo. You’re a fucking poison. A parasite. Leeching onto people so you don’t feel so fucking alone in the misery you made for yourself. Well I'm done, alright? I’m done. If wrestling is going to be out of my life? Then fuck you, you’re wrestling. You always were to me.”

A weighted pause as Matthew suddenly found himself unable to meet Robert’s gaze. The pain in his voice cutting him far deeper than any of the insults, insinuations and frigid truths could ever really hope to. The last sentence sent him standing from the chair, turned away as if that could silence something that had been pent up since god knew when.

“You got every reason to stop. Every fucking reason to just go away and live and have everything you kept lying and saying you wanted back, when you were in the middle of a smack bender.Wife, baby you can raise. But no, no fuck you. That was just another lie. Honey to gain my pity then fuckin sink the claws in and make me feel bad for leaving your ass in the dust. I don’t know how Amber hasn’t fuckin sh–”

“ENOUGH, Robert!”

“See? Look at that. Fuckin’ look at yourself, right now….I talk about how you’re dicking off a wife and a baby again. You sit there in silence because you know i’m right…I fuckin take a swipe at the other man’s wife you can’t shake out of your head, and now you’re ready to punch a guy with a broken neck-a FRIEND with a broken neck..” Bert’s smile held no semblance of any supposed friendship. It cut, it mocked, it burned.

“You haven’t changed a fucking bit. It was never the fucking needle, yo…It was never the needle..” a pause, a breath for Robert whereas Matthew found all air had left him “Fuck you, Fuck Wrestling, Fuck Coaching, Fuck the fans….Get the fuck out of here so I can get back to being normal, whatever the fuck that is…”

“Robert..”

“Go.”

Matthew slowly turned away, almost swaying for a moment until he found the strength to take a step. But just the one. He paused, looking over his shoulder at the toughest son of a bitch he ever met, and a kid he always wanted a son to be like. He lingered for a moment, piping up only to cut off an even more guttural ‘Go’ from ripping his heart from his chest.

“”Not the fans, Robert. They’re the ones that fuel what we do, what you did. They were happy for you every step of the way, and you don’t matter half as much to them out of that arena as you do to so many others….but in there? You were as close to them as they could be to you….You owe that a goodbye.”

“And remember, Son….Your wife is wrestling, too…”

He didn’t stay to hear the reply if there was one. No one could have offered him a signing bonus with enough zeroes to have made him. Some part of him was sure, these would be the last words he’d share with Robert. If only for a while, but time? Time was finite.

He had to return fire, make sure he wasn’t the only one forced into the ugliest pool there was. The deep end of introspection.

Where truth swam in a slow patient circle, waiting to drag it’s newest victim and drown them in everything they’d fought so hard to escape from.

There was no doubt, his waters ran deep.

For now though, he was to depart Philadelphia. A city that was 2 for 2 on mortally wounding him within the past thirty days, for one that was quickly proving to be deserving of equal ire. All to support a friend.

One he just couldn’t shake.

---

“My god…you are both so disappointing”

The camera comes to life to find Matthew Knox seated upon a random bench along the Hollywood Walk of Fame. In the sprawl of humanity desperate to photograph etched names of people who likely did unmentionable, soul killing things to get away from the dredges that now worship them, even their name upon marble.

Without even needing to die yet.

Within this sprawl, he blended in like he was one of them. Like the devil walked among them, so too did the Raven. Or, rather, was currently seated among them.

Not quite so menacing, is it?

“I’m at a loss at where to begin. I’ve usually got to look in a mirror to be this disappointed. Alright, Luke. We’ll start with you…First and foremost, I’m going to let you know that yes, I’m beating you over the head for being so fucking dull that you mixed up how I entered this match. Yes, I'm sure it was simply because I am far too undeserving of your attention to acknowledge but…really, son. Really…”

“You’re chasing titles and entering a fight with nothing but former and current champions facing you, and you can’t even get the details of how they both came upon you? That’s sad. That’s butterflies in the stomach, first live show level rookie shit and it’s made me look upon you with…such disappointment.”

“I thought we could have had something. The two of us, doing shots and roasting Ken for the chuckenshit fuckface that he is but no..no, i’m afraid I can’t be seen fraternizing with people who don’t even care about their own battles.” He leans in toward the lens then, face deadpan outside of furrowed brows and an intense gaze.

“So, if you end up being a non factor in this match? If you are just an accessory to my second attempt to rid myself of the last hurdle to Mac bane accepting what's coming his way? That’s on you. That’s on your hubris, and your inability to fully adapt to what’s coming your way? And trust and believe, if I get a chance? You’ve got a receipt coming your way for not paying attention to the most dangerous thing in your path…” a smirk breaks the expression, bringing a venomous levity

“But i’m a sporting sort, I am. So, one, consider this a free lesson should opportunity ever come your way to be squandered again. And two….now, try here. Really focus on this, because it would be a fucking pity should you miss this detail.” He shifted, bringing his hands together and bouncing one knee in a steady rhythm as he paused, giving his query adequate time to really focus and overcome their issues.

“If I overcome this challenge? If this all falls into place for me, and I walk out of Blaze of Glory with the Internet Championship? I’ll gladly give you another crack at it in my first defense. Call it recompense for Ken dragging me into your path in the first place, Fair?”

“No…far more than any of us deserve.”

He leans back slowly, letting out a slow breath that he was unaware he had drawn, let alone held in.

“And then…Then there’s you…”

---

His head was throbbing as he sat in the hotel room, freshly arrived back to Los Angeles after his brief romp around the globe. All of which proved disastrous. Between Robert twisting the knife he knew just where to stick and the continued presence of Peter Vaughn and Chris Page in his life by way of inevitability, and the physical attack by the mystery masked asshole with a hardon for him he wasn’t sure what caused a bigger throb.

In truth, it was none of it.

It was the fact that he felt responsible for costing Amber the International Title. For failing to secure another tether, one she wouldn’t have to rely on him to keep. One he didn’t need to trick her in. Maybe it was Karma, that made him focus on wanting to punch Page as much as it was his ego. He hated knowing that she left the ring with Vaughn in pursuit of this supposed mystery person. Counted out, on his behalf.

It had to be, didn’t it? He knew she wasn’t a rookie. She knew that the count out was going to happen. She knew as soon as the stairs came into the fold that the smart move was to knock Vaugh on his ass while he was hopping the guard rail. Kick his head while he was hung up. Roll him into the ring. Original sin. Done. Only thing to worry about then was Chris Page pulling some shit.

But no. No, she went after the motherfucker.

And he needed to ask why, when next he saw her.

He had one theory, one that turned his stomach. The theory, that it was on purpose. That her heart was never in it. Because she had tied it all to one place already, and their time as Duos champions being cut off served to cut off any real hope he had in reversing her doomed course.

Then, he pondered, what right had he to judge her choice to be saved or not? What right had he to intervene in the first place? None. Not a one. And yet, here he was. Adding reasons to stay. Reasons to linger. To stay in the maelstrom he knew and never point himself toward calmer waters and clear skies.

Masque, Amber, Mac, The Saviors? In truth, he wasn’t honest with his intentions. It wasn’t anywhere near what everyone had assumed, because of course they knew he wasn’t here because of the reasons he stated. He had come for as much a selfish reason as the selfess one.

Yes, Amber needed help in his opinion.

Yes, Mac and the gang of fools he’d mustered ought to be stopped and driven under.

But none of it was his to do. Nowhere near his cross to bear, and it did nothing to stop him from shouldering it.

Because it meant more time. More time to linger. More time to matter. More time in a world that made sense, that he could make sense of and make sense in.

A day would come when he would accept the blessings bestowed upon his undeserving self. The million second chances he never should have gotten. He swore as much to one of the few people he never could bring himself to lie to. And another he never would, for as long as he lived.

He just had to get right with the storm he knew, and the one within.

And somehow, on a mad level, on a level he didn’t understand and never would want to, he knew that this was the cure for what ailed him. Saving those that he deemed saving, and had saved him. Pulled him from the depths when they made the mistake of him being someone worth saving. He had to make that right.

Didn’t he?

---

“Ken..”

His shoulders slumped with the rest of him as he leaned back forward upon the bench, elbows resting upon his knees and helping bear the weight rested upon his shoulders. He let out a slow chuckle that grew louder, albeit no match for the swarm that still marched behind him.

“My god man, you just….you just don’t know how disappointed I am in you. One, for you being so…well, you in the ring. What’s it like, standing in Mac’s shadow while simultaneously being a shadow of “Godly” Ken Davison? You come out with the carbon copy of your last bullshit. As if me being employable by more than here and the company the rats abandoned the ship for is really an insult..”

“If I wasn’t so frugal, I'd wipe the one tear your words drew with a hundred dollar bill. At least then you’d have easy material. Something you wouldn’t have to think for…because my friend you put no thought into this, even after you begged for me to be a part of it….” he shook his head “Pathetic, Kenny. Reeeaaal pathetic…”

He crossed one leg over the other as he sat back slowly, taking a moment to stretch his neck. He craned it back, eyes casting skyward as raven hair beginning to streak silver poured over the back of the bench, just barely past his shoulders. He rotated his head to the right, to the left, then brought it back complete with a new smile.

“Maybe i’m being far too harsh on you though, Ken. Maybe it’s just age at this point? Get lost, wonder if you did something even though you swore you did? Just in case, let’s try another point right? And…well…I’m going to assume this is more age. A breakdown in the faculties, that made you frame my words following our match into celebrating ‘not losing’”

“Ken…Ken, you of all people should have known. I was making fun of you. I was dragging you through the dirt because you dared to speak such nonsense about me. You dared to make me out to be nothing, and then you failed to prove it. You’re not as good as me, Ken. I had you all match, and you know it….and you couldn’t live with it. That’s why I'm here, interloping.”

He slowly stood to his feet then, reaching a thumb up to wipe at the bridge of his nose as he fished his trusty pack of camel non filters from the breast pocket of his shirt. He plucks the last one betwixt two pale lips as he crushes the now empty pack, tossing it into a nearby bin while sliding a dulled silver zippo out to spark up. One noxious plume of smoke flows from his nostrils after he puffs, gaze returning to the camera.

“Fact is, Ken…I’ve already beaten you. If you lose this match to either one of us, you’ve lost twice. You lose it to me? You might as well pack it in and become a Coalition exclusive, because I will take every opportunity to remind the world of who I took this title off of, and the nonsense he spewed about me before I did it.” A pause, a chuckle “Maybe this feels personal, but I promise it’s only because it is…”

“I saw you hurt my friend in Carnage. I saw you doom them to a shadow they fought so hard to escape. And now, I see you helping to expand the shadow others are trying to create even if it’s too ignorant to see what’s happening. And what’s more than that…you’re in my way.”

He took another long drag off the smoke, dropping it and blowing the puff out casually as he chuckled once, eyes going off somewhere else for a moment, somewhere softer.

“So, I'm going to come into Blaze of Glory, hell bent on making sure you don’t get one. I’m going to fight you again. I’m going to fight Jack. I’m going to hurt the both of you, and i’m going to win. Is that bold? You’re fucking a right it is. I was too kind last time with you Ken, I settled for hurting you but now? Now I’m motivated to end you. To make sure that when I’m gone…”

He smirked, flicking the cigarette into traffic as he threw his arms out wide. He stepped back toward the crowd slowly.

“You won’t even be a memory.”

“Come forth, all ye of little faith. Lay upon me your doubts and fears and let me show you…that they’re true.”

“Hello Ken, it’s good to see you in such good health. Vibrant, Youthful, Powerful…i’m sure you’d like me to say God-like…or perhaps you’d be offended at me attaching ‘like’, hm?”

“Oh my dear friend Kenneth, this has been a long time coming hasn’t it? We’ve barely held a conversation between us and a handful of seconds where our eyes locked, but those seconds? Oh, they were weighted as any other great purpose. Weighted with the knowledge of our impending impact.

“Weighted, and soaked in the kerosene of destiny. Begging for a match. A match no one had the temerity to strike, and one I failed to secure. Really though, it makes this better doesn’t it? That time, that precious time allotted to us to think about it. To fantasize over it. To be lost in the reverie of ‘what could have been’. For you, the relief that it did not come to pass…”

“I wonder, is the terror of it finally coming deeper in feel, or have you even acknowledged it yet?”

“It’s fine not to. It’s a ridiculous feeling after all isn’t it? Because, who am I to fear after all? A man with a middling record who lost every big fight he was in, in the one roof we shared. An utter failure in your new Chicago home, reviled by all who have the displeasure of meeting him. Who is that man, to a God?”

“Well, thank you for asking Kenneth. You’ll be happy to know I’ve got the answer for you right here….” a pause as he unfurls an invisible roll of parchment “Oh, my….it appears to be a multipart answer. So, do bear with me Ken. I promise Kyra won’t grow cold for you in the time this takes. You might miss her signal to betray Mac, though..”

“Anyway, onto the point. Which, I do have most of the time contrary to popular belief and heavily in spite of myself…I’m not JUST a man, Ken. Like you, I've gone into the deep end of grandeur. However, where you have come to demand reverence and admiration? I have chosen the path of giving. In most cases, a sign. I’m a harbinger, Kenneth. One for the end, in this particular instance for YOUR end.”

“Because it is coming to your end, Kenneth. Your part in this am-dram is, in the end, smaller than my own in Madison Tower. While you may be Baltimore’s Elite in the worst part of Illinois, here in SCW?

You’re just another one of Mac’s fingers I get to cut off.”

---

It was always tradition, no matter how tight the schedule for his bookings were. He took an extra day to recover quietly in the hotel suite the day after an event. This time however it was more a requirement than any sort of enjoyment in tradition.  His body cried out in an all too familiar symphony of pain. The more his age advanced, the louder the chorus seemed to become. The alto of knee cartilage bemoaning the rapid decline of its brethren.

The sweet bass of his lower back, serenading sweet fantasy of a body torn in two and torn from the constant, gripping pain of more than a decade of physical abuse. His long, lithe form lay bare except a pair of black cotton boxer briefs, stretched over the blankets of a hotel bed. Pale fingers flex and fan open before curling shut as he fights to get his blood moving, to return the sensation of touch to those hands.

Briefly, within the maelstrom of thoughts that kept him awake at night and anxious during the daylight he wondered if this is how Masque always felt? No wonder the woman had gone so mad, who wouldn’t under the circumstance? He pushed the thought out of his mind before it could fester, before another monster could sink its claws deeper into what remained of his mind.

For a while now, Sin City Wrestling had dropped the hints of him being in a title hunt and now on the heels of a decidedly humbling elimination from the Blast from the Past tournament, those promises had come to fruition. Not quite the championship he was after and not quite the Champion either.

There was a time where Matthew “The Raven” Knox vs “Godly” Ken Davison was a match all the little smarks chomped at the bit for, with gold on the line. But that world was long gone, and now that particular title match was worth little more than an upper-mid card spot. Of course, he was grateful for the opportunity as he was with any. Championships hold value no matter where they are in the figurative pecking order.

Even the lowest ranked, the workhorse titles that changed waists like the competitors ought to be changing socks were physical points of pride and validation. Out of a roster full of people, you were one of the select few who fought hard enough to earn hardware for it.

For now though, most of this mattered little to him. Because there was a greater purpose to be found here. Real, actual advancement in the path he had set for himself in Sin City Wrestling. Knocking Ken Davison out of the equation and rendering him to just another face on the roster made the Saviors even weaker than they were now.

Through the pain a chuckle escaped him, although the grimace that came across his face made clear the price good humor had enacted upon him. When he arrived, they were four strong with Amber Ryan in their corner. Now? One had disappeared, one had detached and distanced herself. Some could even wonder, and after their phone call rightfully so, if she hadn’t switched sides in the war.

The biggest finger of the gauntlet, he made Mac cut off himself. Now it was just Ken and Mac, brothers against the wolves. Picked to pieces and bits by a Raven. The thought almost brought forth another painful chuckle, but he settled for a sincere smile. Slowly, he sat up from the far too forgiving mattress, a choked whimper fighting its way past his lips from his chest as his body protested the movement.

He cast his eyes down to look over the scars his body wore as he was apt to, spending precious seconds reliving the memory attached to each. Fingers trace over the one happy scar above the tattoo of his second oldest daughter’s name, given to him by the love of his life the night they left, before they’d come to trust one another let alone love the way they do.

The thought of her brought forth a small pang of guilt. His Mari. The only person who did more than reach out with empty congratulations when he reached the professional pinnacle once more last July. And yet, she reached through it all and touched his heart while he had another woman with him as both traveling companion and bedmate.

Hell, the day he flew back to Reno he’d shared a kiss with another, in their apartment. Covered in glass that tore at their skin in physical semblance of the sin they had committed. He’d wanted desperately for her to stop him that day, that moment. Stop him from leaving, set him on a different course entirely.

However, the pining of them in no way meant that he regretted embarking on the path he had set on. God, how could he? While one was a mystery based around a kiss, the other was the softest bit of reality he had ever found. A woman who understood and loved him despite all his flaws, who was pregnant with his first son,

Yet, it wasn’t enough to keep him away when he saw the fantasy drowning, was it?

---

“And what’s more, your particular finger comes with a pretty little band of gold, doesn’t it Kennth?”

“Only took a year and a half, but the fans finally got what they kind of wanted. “Godly” you against me for a strap. However, even I have to quirk an eyebrow at how this went from top of the marque to mid-shelf at the market…”

“Back then, I was punching up. You were a path to me proving my worth. Lord knows that I had everything to prove, and nothing to lose…except of course, the match for the right to face you for that particular World Title. Now though? My, how time changes as quickly as it flies by us doesn’t it?”

“Since we last shared an arena, I’ve been a world champion. For longer than you were, if you don’t mind the subtle flex. I’ve spread my wings, if you don’t mind the pun. I’ve become more, I’ve ascended, although not quite as high as those in Seattle. And you, Ken? You’ve grown complacent. Stale. Stunted.”

“When we last parted, you were on top of the world. The roster you lead marched to the beat of your drum. You were, and still are, the only person to defeat Amber fucking Ryan for a singles title in the 2020s. The old man with no hair and a questionable ticker was as undeniable as that little stoner I trained in Indy..”

“....And now, what are you?”

“Second fiddle, it would seem. The rhythm guitarist in the cover band of your least favorite band of all time. Because, let’s be honest, The Saviors never were much more than a dollar store Paragon, were they? Which, in that light, makes this about like Zakk Wylde joining Limp Bizkit, doesn’t it? No matter…not that you really do.”

“My point is, Kenneth, that our roles haven’t reversed so much as I have outgrown you, and your ilk. You cling to others in an effort to belong, leaning upon ancient declarations of brotherhood and a love built upon reviling another. I simply belong, and every arena I enter belongs to me along with everyone and everything in it.”

“And that includes the SCW Internet Championship, Ken. The golden validation to match that of your brother and leader’s. See, the weight I spoke of earlier? It’s not just shared, is it? No, you have the weight of expectation resting upon the cueball you keep atop your neck don’t you? The expectation of championship gold, the desperation to evade the gut punch of losing a title on your first defense.”

“We’ve all been there. It’s a hurdle, probably the highest and the one none of us ever speak of. Not near as openly as we do the hurdle of winning the damn thing. Because, if you lose it the first time you defend it? God, it feels like you never had any real business winning it to begin with does it?”

“And then, the much more personal weight. This one hanging from your neck, dragging the cueball and its crown slowly toward the ground they’ll be buried within. The weight of expectation that Mac has for you. Oh, i’ve no doubt he won’t speak it, but he feels it. Just as you do. The expectation that you will stop my advance toward him. That you’ll defeat me, and end this crusade of mine…”

“What sort of brother would ask such a thing?”

“Know this, Ken. On that front, no matter the outcome of our match? You will fail. You will fail more miserably than you’ve ever failed before. Because defeating you, and taking this title from around your waist? They’d be feathers in my cap, no doubt. A win over Ken Davison, even one of advanced age and diminished repute? That’s something to hang your hat upon. You’re still big game, Ken…just more a buck now, than a Lion.”

“And nowhere near a God.”

---

Rage was not a new feeling. Whereas cleanliness and purity brought one closer to the Almighty, Rage? Rage brought them closer to humanity. Because at the end of the day, Rage is a part of all things.  Rage is the spark that makes passion burn. And here, in the back of a Dodge Charger in Philadelphia? Caught in another web cast by Cam Roth? Matthew Knox passionately wanted a way out of the predicament he was in.

Initially, they had quelled his suspicions on the time the travel was taking by assuring him it was protocol for high profile and celebrity collars. Take the back roads so the dirt sheets don’t get a shot of him in the back of the cruiser. But the way they spoke in low voices, and the younger one’s eyes kept snapping to and away from him? He knew the score.

He’d never see booking, let alone the jail. With the smallest of grimaces he fought back the creeping, icy fear that rose to fight the rage. No, he couldn’t give into that right now. Think logically, Cam Roth? As bad as he was? He was no Marv Nixon. The child was wrathful, but he was no killer. That wasn’t going to happen. But it would do nothing but tickle his future son in law to know he’d dealt a blow to his ambitions.

When the Charger pulled into the alley, he had resigned himself to his fate. Gotten a jump on strategizing how to overcome the injuries. Decided to fall down to one knee after the first blow. His most injured one, to protect it. Tuck in the chin, try to minimize the facial scuffing. Get in a headbutt. Maybe a bite if he was cheeky.

He had been here before, although it was in a far different life. Live by a far different man. Then, though, the drugs were definitely his.

And so the thrashing came to pass. Fists at first, strings of mockery.

“That all you got, tough guy?”
“The pretty ones are all propped up, get wins off paid dives don’t you know that?”

Empty, mostly. The worst damage his face had been given was from the cheeky headbutt when the badged thug had dared imply that he wasn’t that pretty.

No room in life for liars, after all.

The batons came then, and the first blow drove him down to the knee he had planned upon. The ringing in his ears and the pain in his head caused the loose grip he had on reality to slip if only slightly. The gaping, grinning maw of The Raven some had taken to calling Corvus filling his vision in time with the white hot flashes of pain as each blow landed.

Eventually, he slumped to the side, the conversation distant.

“Alright, you got that bullshit ready to go?”

“Yeah yeah…seems a waste though, we coulda slipped it to Joe and gotten another cool couple bills.”

“Greedy fuck, that Roth kid already set us up better than any of them hooker-lovin’ politicians ever did.”

“Yeah, yeah…but more is more, right?”

The tug on his hair brought him up, more privy to the conversation. The glint of moonlight off a needle surged adrenaline and fear, he jerked against the cuffs and tried to thrash his head away but the needle was far too swift, and true. Before long an all too familiar warmth began to run through him.

No..No, No. No.

He didn’t feel the man’s grip release, barely felt himself hit the ground or them releasing his cuffs. Their voices were distant and muffled, as if millions of miles away and underwater. Through his body, the pain was numbed and replaced with a familiar and warming numbness. Fingers contracted into his palm, as if he could pump the poison out of his blood.

Poison? The living should be so lucky if death was this pleasant.

No..not pleasant.

He exhaled a molten breath, rolling onto his back to stare at the stars in the sky. When he was young, he was always sure they were the dead who hadn’t crossed over, dutfully observing the chaos of the living they could no longer weave themselves into. It brought an odd sort of comfort, knowing that his mother and father were there. Many a cold night waiting for the dawn to come, and for Deuteronomy to be hammered home to him once more.

To bring forth the reddened knuckles, for the pride he dared show when the book of Matthew was brought up. Such cruelty by those so pious, to beat the pride from a boy scared of his shadow. Or, try to anyway.

Lord knows, his pride endured. It survived with the rest of the pieces of him that did, precious few next to the heaps of the dead. Pride that kept him in depths and scaling to new heights alike. Pride that brought him Gold, and all the pain with it. Pride that wouldn’t let him let go.

Pride that brought him right to this alley, right to a relapse he had fought off and evaded for going on two years.

Maybe, he really was as awful as they all made him out to be?

The feud with Roth, driving his daughter into the arms of his enemy while doing nothing to stop the other from going insane. The realization that he may yet have another child on the eve of his first son being born, while a daughter gestated in secret with a woman he never really loved. And through all his best attempts to render Zeus to little more than Steve Urkel in the department of relations, the sin of his presence in Sin City Wrestling.

The drunken confessions, the throb in his chest he fought to dul. Boxes created, stuffed and sealed for the sole purpose of keeping his path as just and true as he claimed it to be. He was here because his friend was drowning herself while her husband measured dicks with the Wolf’s Lair and gallivanted with his saviors.

A thoughtful smile…well, one of them.

Ken…

Fuck you, Ken Davison.

Another man that death had just barely missed, who engaged in hubris fueled endeavors of wrath while exalting himself as better than the rest of the scum around him. Another man convinced that ring acumen made him the father of Christ. A man so blinded by the gleam of old gold that he couldn’t see his coffers had been filled with bronze.

A man who shouldn’t matter, a relic of a time in his life that no longer served a purpose and yet? Yet he couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t let the failure go. Not even now, with a win over JC and that monkey off his back could he get over the missed opportunity. The chance it could have provided. To save the home he thought he had. To be a guiding light before the darkest and most venomous of hubris’ came to drown it.

So focused on that thought, so focused on Ken and how to defeat him that he neglected JC. Disregarded him as a threat, and left Amber in his mind as a known commodity. The real danger. Maybe she was, like she still was now.

Danger..Amber’s in danger.

God, it’s so warm here…

A low groan cut through the haze of memory and hatred as he rolled onto his side, toward footsteps that echoed off old, chipped stucco. They were panicked, running from something. They had nearly passed him by when they stopped. A touch on his ribs, pale fingers brush hair from his face.

“Knox? Knox what the f–” the voice was familiar, as were the sharp features and dark eyes revealed as the hood was pulled back. "Jesus fuck you are a mess…"

More cursing as Avalon Blackthorn straightened back up, panic and concern sharing the rent in her facial expression as more obligatory curses fell into a murmur.
She knew the footsteps that her fury had left in their wake weren't far- revenge was a fools game and she'd paid her fair share to play tonight.

Knox would probably kill her if he knew what she'd done to Roth, and on his home turf as well. Even just the thought brought the brief curl of a smirk across her lips before she was back to Knox and the present dilemma.

A glance over her shoulder confirmed the worst of her fears, the decision to make and sacrifice that would become its consequence.
It was worth it. That's all that mattered.

Heavy eyelids lulled, briefly causing her to turn into a blot on his vision before he shook hsi head, forcing himself to focus. A hand lazily reaches up to grasp her sleeve, trying to tug himself up enough to brace against the concrete as he let out a small groan.

“You left your cape at the arena…” slurred, spoken more to the ground than the ear he meant to aim for. A forced laugh, as though macabre humour would do anything for them.

24 years old and already looking at a second stint behind bars for what… trying to do some good?
Avalon shook her head knowingly, trying to quell the nausea rising in her throat as the voices started resonating off walls.

"You'll be pleased to know I left all my common sense there too… along with what's hopefully remaining of Cam Roth's teeth." Fear drove through her knees, rage forced his weight off the ground and determination balanced his dead weight against her own as her footsteps echoed as loud as the thunder of her beating heart. Another chuckle, a weak hand motion and the strength he had no right to lean on brought him to legs he could barely feel.

“I’m sorry I dragged you here…figured you’d just be a clown bouncer..” words rolling out on heavy, molten breaths. Not labored per say, but clearly unusual. He leaned into her in what could be the parody of an embrace, ignorant to the coming danger “Be sure to let me know how wrong I was when I come down…promise never to lie to me, Avalon. Okay?”

His hand drifted to her shoulder, squeezing it firmly as he made the request from the fog of what would usually be left field but now might as well have been the interstate.

"Don't you dare apologize!" A low hiss escaped with the words as she lowered her volume, as though they weren't an obvious sight. "You knew… we knew… if thing were gonna go south…"

Avalon couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence. It was always implied that things would go wrong… that's why she had insisted on being there. If nothing else but to break the inevitable fall.
Right now she had no career to threaten, no real life or love to speak of - a blank slate, void of personal connections and commitments.

She'd made it easy for him to rely on her… cause they both knew she'd never just stand by and let everything go to hell without taking anyone else they could with them.

"You never asked… and I never told you." Firmly, she made for the lights ahead. Open street was dangerous for those on the run, moths to a flame that burned a little to bright… what were the other options though?
Another dark alley, another dumpster leaking into corrosive puddles. Silently Avalon had promised to make things right…

Whatever the fuck that would entail. He did his best to move with her, fighting being a further hindrance to the only friend he had in the world. He tried to focus on the lights without becoming blind, tried to watch their path without letting the blur of concrete sicken him. In the fog, he found another friend. Sentiment. Soft thoughts to distract him, and perhaps filled with enough saccharine to accelerate her heroism.

Or leave him on that comfortable looking pile of cardboard to rot. Either way, really.

“You’re such a…” he snorted “God, even I hate this word…you know, how special you are Ava? The one person, who two of the worst people tried to instill the best of themselves in..” a heavy sigh wrapped in a bemused chuckle “God, you roll your eyes like Red…makes me wish I could still land a kick on you..”

A slight misstep but he felt her catch him, a smirk coming to his face. That was like her, too. Although, technically he was the last one to catch the other…

Focus, Birdbrain…

“Cam…he’s not worth it. And he’s not worth hating, not worth sullying yourself with it….I deserve this shit, or at least part of it…” he leaned closer as they walked, a hissing whisper rolling past his teeth “He blames me for his mom dying…..he doesn’t know I know…and now, you know..”

“So…let this lie..don’t do anything foolish, Ava. You’re better than it..you’ve always been better than it..” a pause “We never got that Cinnabon, you know..”

Another forced chuckle, this one stuck in the younger woman's throat though and came out resembling more of a cough.

"It's a bit late for that. We both knew bringing me in would eventuate in… well… I'm not a bystander. Red hates it too, although she never admitted it. Told me heroics were for those looking to lose more than they gained. Told her it was a good thing I didn't have a hope with her training me then…"

A soft pause. Trying to focus on the words instead of the welling resentment of her own inability to leave well enough alone.

"She punched me in the mouth for that one. Thought I'd ducked it…" Instinctively, even with so much time in the rearview, Avalon could still picture the moment. A brief distraction from the lights- brighter, safer. Too safe. They were never gonna make it…

“She never misses…it’s why she’s going off the deep end….” he mumbled, shaking his head “Or something like it…weight of expectations, mostly her own…lashing out though? That’s love, i’ve come to convince myself…” his own brief pause.

“If it was hatred, we’d not be here talking about it. At least, that’s my theory…but I am INCREDIBLY high on heroin right now, so I wouldn’t trust a goddamn thing I say if I were you…” he let out a soft chuckle then, lifting his head to read a street sign as they passed it. They weren’t far.

Briefly, he thought of an old film. The warriors. A group of broken friends fighting against insurmountable odds to get home after their leader had been cut down. This was close, except they had no leader. Or numbers. Or vests. And there were no baseball bat wielding clowns…

…Yet.

Pushing the thought from him, he killed the silence with a more pertinent statement “The hotel isn’t far now…Just leave me on my side and go to bed when we get there. You’ve done more than enough, Ava..”

Avalon shook her head vehemently, forcing down the doubts and the guilt that she'd gone too far… it was stupid. It was impulsive.
She couldn't deny though that it felt really really fucking good.

"I never tried to understand Red. Found life a little more peaceful that way." A lie she found comfort in, Avalon shifted the dead weight slightly for what felt like an eternal home stretch.
She wanted to cuss him out and tell him that he was a furious, idiotic mess however concern and determination silenced those voices before they ever took hold.

There would be plenty of time later.

She hoped.

Her words rolled through his head, but in a jumbled mess more than anything. He couldn’t pick up his head, let alone any subtleties in her body language and tone. The pavement was all a continuous grey streak now, leading to the promise of a warm bed and a sleep he would only wake up in misery from. He wondered what he’d remember, if anything?

He wondered if it was real, any of it? Was he still in the alley? There was no way Avalon had really happened upon him, dragged him across Philadelphia in the dead of night just to save his worthless carcass, right?

It was in this reverie he remained, even as their luck run out. A pair of familiar faces, a third parked not far off, keenly observing even through a scuffed and bruised face. He was deaf to her bartering, appealing to their logic. He didn’t hear the slight bit of emotion that dared  creep in that convinced them to not let him die on the curb outside the hotel.

She really was special, wasn’t she?

The diamond patterns in the carpet swirled and ran together, forcing his eyes to shut. He felt like he was tumbling through a void as she finally relieved herself of his weight. Strong hands, however small gently rolled him onto his side. He felt her turn away, finding the strength to fire out a desperate hand to grab back upon the sleeve that had supported him.

“Ava…” he murmured from the darkness, pausing as he focused on moving the air from his lungs and out his nostrils until he found the space aboard them for the sentiment “I’ll be better..”

With the most genuine of smiles she might muster in the face of oblivion, Avalon gave him a nasty little wink… one he recognised on the moments before teeth started hitting the floor. Followed shortly before the rest of their bones…

No… No, you won't… and neither will I."

His hand fell like a stone in the sea then, fingers dragging over the carpet as the door closed behind her. He remained in the void, struggling against the grip of an all too familiar friend as he drifted to an ignorant sleep.

Ignorant of the cuffs being latched onto her wrists. Ignorant of her return to the alley they had taken him to, ignorant of how vigorously she resisted arrest according to their reports. Ignorant, blissfully ignorant of how she spent her night feeling every blow dealt by the imputent wrath of Cam Roth the Third while he drifted in a cloud of warm, poisonous numbness.

Because, as always, The best of us suffer while the wretched are spared.

The designs of a merciless God.

---

“So many of us fill that void where our self worth wasn’t fully allotted with monickers. I know, i’ve already said this, but I need you to keep trusting me here Ken. I’m wordy, I know but you need to hear every last syllable of this.”

“I’ve spent a large portion of my time in this business showing the mortality of the self exalted. Usually by means unbecoming of a gentleman, or any man really. You saw me emasculate, break down and destroy one such man back in Baltimore. Sure, most chalked his demise up to the theatrical ninjas in the parking lot but anyone who knows this business, the warfare of it?”

“I destroyed Insidious. I destroyed Sah’ta Thor. A man who thought himself as untouchable as a politician and mighty as a Deity. A man I once loved like a father…”

“And I’ve held no love for you, Ken…so what am I willing to do to you?”

“Now, I know you’ll likely be offended at the comparison. As you should be…to a degree. Thor was nowhere near your level there. He had no gold that wasn’t rusted, his coffers were filled with cobwebs and his kingdom was of ash…Things haven’t quite gotten that dreary for you. Not yet….but the first step toward that drear comes at Climax Control.”

“I’m sure you’re comfortable, wherever you are right now. Enjoying that domestic peace you’ve found. That you’ve earned. This match, this title? Maybe they don’t mean quite so much to you. Not near as little as I do, I'm sure.”

“I await with baited breath your declarations upon me and my character. Mostly to see which version of me lives in your head. Am I the overgrown man baby acting like a goth kid? Will there be some jab at my abundance of bastard children? Perhaps a crack about me being a junkie who amounted to nothing in your eyes? I personally am pulling for you to lob another accusation of obsession at me.”

“Those have come to be a personal favorite. A guilty pleasure, like ice cream at midnight. Empty, full of calories and a help to no one..”

“I suppose though, whatever drivel you let stain the front of the shirt Kyra bought you just for this promo? It won’t amount to much. All that will matter is what happens between the time the bell rings a start, and an end.”

“You evaded me before, Fate kept you safe Ken. Loyalty, however? Loyalty to a fool blinded by ambition has undone all of fate’s hard work. Because win, lose, or draw? I’m going to send you back to her arms in pain. I’m going to make her daughter see you wince in pain while you do your best cosplay of a father. I’m going to make you wish that your heart had given out and taken you to meet the other Father you continue to cosplay as even today…”

“I am Raze. I am Ruin. I am The Raven, and in this land of Gods and Monsters? Only one of us gets to survive, Kenneth…”

“And I will make damn sure, that even if it’s you?”

“No one will be able to tell.”

[/font][/size][/color]

He stood mostly nude and freshly showered, grimacing as he examined the bruises covering his hips and legs. The stray one that caught him in the ribs standing out in its own purple hue. A small scowl as he pulled his slacks on, a brief fuss with the belt and a slow exhale. He reached out thoughtfully to the blue shirt, taking some material between his thumb and forefinger. He rubbed it thoughtfully.

For a moment he was back on the Island with her, walking down the shore in broad daylight. Just another tourist couple. Just another middle aged white guy who probably dropped a wife and three kids to marry a little japanese doll. Just another gold digger with her ship come in.

Just two broken people, madly in love or as close to it as they could be.

As they’d let themselves.

He’d spent much of the first evening in a fuss over her, monitoring her as she rested. He didn’t slip into any kind of rest for the first day, the image of her floating hopelessly in the lake always waiting there to haunt him. He’d almost lost her.

He fought for her. Near died for her.

Dashing the memories, he paints on a smirk as he begins buttoning up the shirt, mind coming back to now before it got lost, as it often did, in deciding whether the sun or her smile were brighter that day..

On the other side, she kept examining herself, fingers trailing over the reflection. She knew things weren’t the same as they were during that time. So much had happened and been discovered, but thinking back still brought that distant smile.

At that point she was simply thankful she got to see him again. She had no doubt he’d make it to her, the thought keeping her going even through the worst they offered torture wise. She just wasn’t sure she could hang on long enough, especially as her breath was stolen.

Shaking that away her eyes drifted downward, hands moving from the reflection to the ever expanding apartment the best of them was occupying. She’s begun showing far more, and while it made wearing much of anything difficult, she wasn’t upset in the least. She was thankful.

There goes that feeling again.

Marika knew she didn’t function like most emotionally, but it was nice to almost feel human. Feel love. As much as she could. Familiar.

Of course the two decided to play a little bit, teasing one another as they often did, but this time brought about that warmth to it too. With that thought, she finally rose from her seat and after a quick adjustment to her dress, she stepped out.

Knowing exactly where he would be. Leaning over the rail, staring out at the endless ocean. He felt her approach before the door even opened. He waited a beat before turning to her, flashing a smile.

“My girl…” he said almost wistfully as he stepped toward her, one hand going to cup her chin and bring her lips to meet his. The other going to cradle that which would leave a better mark on the world than either of them, giving the bump a soft squeeze. He broke their seal, resting his forehead to hers as he let out a happy breath.

“You look lovelier every day, you know that?” Her eyes met his, as did her smile, the smallest of tints present on her cheeks. “You are too kind to me, saying such things.” Feeling his hand on the bump, she looked down a moment before letting out a soft laugh. “I do apologize for not fully diving into the nostalgic look, unfortunately he didn’t let me put on what I had our first time down there. Fussy little thing he is.”

The yet to appear Asahi Joseph Knox. His first son after a string of daughters, and a happy accident from their honeymoon. Late as it was. The mere mention of the little one brought forth a warmth that threatened to crumble the very ice that made up his being. Another deep inhale of her scent, and a low happy rumble escaped his throat before he spoke in a hushed tone, just for them.

The only two - three - who mattered in the world right now.

“Oh, he’s just getting eager to escape…” another squeeze, before he began to sway her, or them as it were. His other hand sliding to her hip as the other leaves the bump reluctantly to find her hand. He pulled her as close as Asahi would allow, staring down at her.

“Have I been awful to you, my Mari?” he asked gently, focused on the way the sunset shone in her eyes. A near black easel with the purple and orange hues sparkling across it.

His heart skipped a beat.

His wasn’t the only one.

As his eyes focused on her, hers did the same for him. The smile warmed as they moved so gently. While most would marvel at the time, the scenery, she had her gaze and mind locked on one thing.

“No.. no you haven’t, Matthew. These recent times have been cruel. I know you’re only doing what you can.” Her words brought a facial twitch he’d hide from everyone else on the planet. Everyone but her. He gently slid his hand up from her hip, over her side then back. Just desperate to feel more of her for a moment.

“Neither have you…You’ve been far better than I deserve, especially in the face of all these…” he shook his head, unable to find the right words “My foolishness…and all that come with it. I’m sorry you have to endure, but I admire you for it.”

Now it was her who shook her head, though this was to offer some reassurance and show what she’s always had when it comes to him.

Understanding.

“There’s no need for any of that. What is endured is done so with as much of a smile as I can give and all the acceptance I have given since day one. Nothing has changed since that time. Not what I offered and not all I’ll give.”

A step away, a dainty spin. He adjusted his grip on her hand, and wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her closer to him as they swayed. Both his hands going to cradle their love as he buried himself in the scent of her hair….raspberries..

“I’m going to be going away for awhile after tonight…So many fights…but I promise, what happened with Tom? I’ll be avenging it ten fold. Even if I have to give myself to the void to facilitate it..” he breathed deep once more, squeezing the bump and exhaling a warm breath to her scalp.

“I’ll make him scream loud enough for you to hear..” he whispered in a way somehow both romantic and venomous. The breath that escaped her was intertwined with a soft hum, the sentiment bringing forth a different kind of smile, but still one he accepted and greeted warmly. “I figured a time like this would come and you know I will support you the best that I can. You know all I ask for when it comes to any kind of moment shared without me.. make it so that I may enjoy it as much as possible. While I did not scream, I want him to. I want his tears collected so the memory is sustainable.”

Her voice hushed for a moment, eyes drifting down. “If you must give in fully and feel you are unable to return, do let me know. I won’t be able to maintain what humanity I have.. or pretend to.. but I’ll keep to the task of securing his chance for better, knowing what must be done.”

“I will…” he dipped his face down, gently kissing her neck before resting his face in the crook of it.

“You make me happy, Mari…” a pause “My wild blue sky..” The soft color on her cheeks filled a bit more as she leaned into him as much as she could.

“Look at you.. making me feel again..”

“Just returning the favor, my love..” he whispered, the last words he’d speak for awhile as for a moment as everything burned..

..they danced.

---

I grow weary of waiting.

I understand, but still. I grow weary.

No matter who I've been, and who I am elsewhere. Here? In SCW? I’m the new guy. Wins over a Troll and a Raven who’s roosted here for a minute longer than I, if that. They need to see more before they acquaise and book the blood vendetta Mac Bane and I have called for. Of course, there are ways around it. Tournaments, games of chance…

I’d rather secure reality. And that reality will be secured upon the flesh, blood, and broken bones of you, Dear Jester. A man chasing smiles in the sands of the gladiator pit. How lost you are. If I didn’t have so much riding on this? I’d be your biggest fan.

No one easier to root for than the fool playing at being more, when he’s so little.

Of course, admittedly, these are all surface level judgements. Almost unbecoming of someone who should know better like me. But there’s a caveat to all of this.

The press release, they went out of their way to note that I volunteered. And I Did. Why?

Call it politics. Because son, whether they just have a hardon for humor or just for all the new blood filling the veins to replace the stagnant crimson of Savior and Wolfslair alike? They’re high on you. Have laid expectations at your feet.

And I Intend to show them that they’ve tasked a boy with far too much.

What are you going to do about it?

---

[/font][/size][/color]

She was easy to stalk, because he knew she knew he was near. That bond that connected them, through the poison that made both their blood run a little different. A Rivers family curse. A curse that permeated and manifested in only the worst of ways, depending on who you asked.

He’d never really asked her. Didn’t see the point in entertaining a madness he already knew like the back of his hand. They’d been allies for the briefest of moments, but that need to expand. To feather her own nest. To make more Queen and Supreme Machines won out over trying to shape a new path for the next generations of their accursed family.

He’d lost the war so far, his unborn son and youngest Daughter the only two who seemed unaffected by the poison. Hell, even the latter had openly wished for death upon Thomas Rivers.

Smart Girl.

His footsteps rang out now, tailing her as she slipped into some no name diner. It being empty, and derelict brought a chuckle past his lips as he remained just past the doorway. Paint peeled from the wall, stuffing hung from gaping wounds in most all of the upholstery. The leavings of rats littered the floor, lighting fixtures hung from the ceiling. Truly, an appropriate backdrop.

“It doesn’t have to be a fight, you know.” he spoke finally, tone even. One hand remained buried in the pocket of his spotless black peacoat. Thumb circling the x factor that he had brought with him. The nuclear option. The true nuclear option.

“We are family, after all.”

“You’ve made it clear you aren’t one of us Matthew” came a response. Jennifer Rivers, also known as Queen Machine Jenny had been well aware of the morbid corvid tailing her. She knew this day was coming. Ever since her brother told her what he had done to Knox’ wife. “Whatever it is that you plan isn’t going to help. He doesn’t care. You should know it by now. And me? There is nothing you can do that is worse than what I’ve already gone through”

Jenny turned to face Knox, placing herself in a defensive position. She wasn’t as physically imposing as her brother Supreme Machine or even Knox himself, but years of wrestling had honed her instincts and given her a good base to fight from. “What do you really want Matthew?”

“Peace….but i’m not a fool.” he stated bluntly, hand raising to stroke the stubble on his chin. It shot out, a smirk cracking his features as he wags his finger at her “You know what I want, Jennifer. You to stay away, and let me work without these threats against my children. Actual children.”

He wet his lips, hand shifting once more to open his palm to the heavens, presenting his request to the queen. It drops from the stagnant air after a moment, his eyes narrowing.

“You preach one moment, about wanting to be left from my war with your brother. And then you open your mouth and make those threats…and you expect me to, what? Leave it lie?” he shook his head ‘No’.

“All I’m trying to do is get you to back the fuck off Matthew. He’s going to kill you. Even if it costs his own life in the process he WILL KILL YOU.” Jenny nearly shouted at Knox. She was so frustrated with the stubborn man, her cousin. Even moreso than she was with her own brother. Because unlike SuMa, she thought Knox would see reason. “And what then? Sylvie will grow up without a father and I know better than anyone what that does to our common trait. And the child that Mari has? And Aimi? If you aren’t around, Tom will be the least of everyone’s worries. But you’re too goddamn dumb to see it aren’t you?” She walked up to Knox, staring him right in the eyes, even if it required looking almost straight up. She was beyond niceties. Beyond courteousness.

“You speak as if that scared little boy you call brother is capable of it.” he responded with all the confidence of a man who had accepted death in all its gory violence, “There’s no backing off now. Not after what he did. Not after what his poisonous influence has led to in SCW. The path he’s carved in TPW. Hell, there’s talk of a cult following back on that crazy Island I worked for..” he trailed off, a chuckle escaping him at the lunacy of it all.

“But you…You need to pick a side. Make no mistake, we’ll be talking about Victoria and your influence there before it's done. But this…with Tom. With the Saviors. With all of it. It does not involve you, and it never will. . .” the smirk broadens to a smile that’s almost discontentedly soft as he stares down at her eyes. Somehow both feral, and calculating. Tom was no fool, but he wasn’t a brute either.

However, it was clear where the Lion’s share of the brains had gone.

“Tell me, plainly, that you’ll stay in your lane until such a time that our issues are on the table for resolution…Or you end before either Tom or I.”

The shoulders of the lithe woman dropped in disappointment. “Just do what you came to do Matthew. Not like you’ve ever thought about your actions. Seriously… Mari was bad enough because you knew. But Aimi… Another one? How many more do you plan on unleashing on the world.” She sighed and intentionally turned her back to Knox. “Go on. Do it. Just so you know, if it wasn’t for you and your inability to keep it in your pants… this madness would have ended with me and Tom. Whatever comes… is on your head.” She simply stood there, arms on her side. Not even trying to defend herself.

The twitch of his face was the only sign of the truth impacting him that he would allow, and it only came because she wasn’t looking. He pulled the syringe from his pocket, rolling it across his palm with his thumb…and letting it clatter. Heroin. A dose meant for a much more pseudo poetic purpose that he had overcome, through the actions she cursed. He turned to leave but stopped short, a thought crossing him as his hand rested on the dilapidated door’s handle.

“Do you suppose, he’ll ever come back to the front and be able to stay? Tom, I mean?”

Hearing the clatter, Jenny turned around and looked in confusion as Knox was leaving. His question struck her pretty deep as it was one she had often pondered. One that hurt the most. “I don’t know. He’s still in there as you know but… I don’t know.” Her voice was shaky as she responded. That hit too close to home. “I refuse to let go of hope Matthew. But… This war has made the monster even stronger. It might be too late.”

He lingered a spell, still as the air in the room. His eyes twitched in every direction, as if reading the million possible responses, reactions and thoughts the sentiment could bring forth. They closed as he settled upon one, nodding in resolution.

“Mercy it is, then..”

The bell still worked, sounding as he opened the door and left her there no closer to death than when he had found her.

---

Nothing. You’re going to do nothing.

See, this is no doubt a big, big night for you. You’re under the lights. New Company. Big Debut. PPV. I’ve been there. I was there in June of 2020, way back in Baltimore where all the Saviors were Sinners. I lost that night, came in second to a man who is no longer in the industry. And then I regained ground, grew, and flourished.

There’s a point in that bit of rambling, you know.

That point being, you will be able to come back for this should it go by my design and I leave you humbled and decidedly devoid of laughter. You will be able to move past it, take some positives - because I’m not near fool enough to believe you’ll be a push over - and build from it.

You. Will. Persevere.

But you will not win.

See, you will look upon the violence I lay unto you and think it cruelty. But one day, not too far off if you’re as smart as I think you are, you will look back and see it as Mercy. You got that loss out of the way. The monkey is off your back, and there is no pendulum swinging lower and lower to cleave your confidence in two.

Right now, you are my pendulum, Jester.

Two wins, Zero losses. Not that impressive. Three and Zero begins to look like something. Throw in all the talk they keep spouting off about pursuits of gold, and it becomes something tangible. While Gold is not my top priority here in SCW, I’d be a fool to pass up the opportunity to pad out my legacy further.

To add another accolade my children will look back upon long after I've gone to dust and be able to feel a swell of pride in the middle of the shame I’ve no doubt brought them.

So see, It all fits together here. All the little fragments that have formed fit so perfectly together.

Me, wrought upon this place with a pure and violent purpose in the middle of a war of attrition between two opposing sides of stagnant titans. Ready to cut off one group at the knee, and write my tale in their blood. To become the sole measuring stick in my division for SCW. To prove to newcomers like you that there is no strength in numbers.

Only the weakness of insulation, and insolence.

True Strength? The everlasting sort that serves as one’s foundation? Lies within one’s self and will never, ever be found in others.

You, Young Mister Hawthorne, Get to be the very first one to be shown this glorious new path. This glorious new hellscape.

Honestly, you should thank me for it.

Maybe I’ll make you?

---

[/font][/size]

“Why are you staring at me?”

A smirk cracked his features as the youthful voice cut through the silence, familiar glasz eyes never leaving the tablet before it. Pale little digits tapping a-rhythmically as the plate of greasy diner food grew colder and more congealed before her. Slyvie “Ivy” Norene Knox was the spitting image of her father, but somehow was more brooding at Thirteen than he was in his advanced years.

“I’m not.” he replied after letting the accusation drift on the air between them, chin resting on interlocked fingers as he examined his current youngest child, head tilting only slightly “And if I was, isn’t it a father’s right to admire his handiwork?”

“That’s gross.”

“Yeah well, if I wasn’t gross you wouldn’t be here to ignore me once a week while I try to form a connection with you.”

Sharp eyes rise from the screen to meet his own. No smirk crosses the soft, pale face. Her voice comes out as monotonous as his own, but somehow even dryer in it’s quip.

“Says the man with more tweets than some food chains.”

A chuckle fell from him, one he let out unguarded in a failed attempt to draw her into laughter as well. When it was obvious she wasn’t taking the bat he cleared his throat, nodding and shifting in his seat.

“Suppose that’s fair…So, how have you been? How’s your mom, your studies? I got any young man I need to meet and approve of?”

“I’ve been content. If you cared about how mom was doing, you would get out of the car when you came to pick me up for this. You know my studies have been doing well, they email you separately about my achievements - something I never asked for - and as far as suitors, I’m uninterested. Nothing comes out of romance at my age but parents batting eyelashes and telling fairy tales that will never come to fruition.”

A pause appropriate such a barrage of dry bluntness. He cleared his throat, nodding and taking a moment to pick up a stray french fry and bite down on it. His appetite had long since left, the ice in their cokes melted. A glance at the old wall clock revealed that they had surpassed the usually agreed upon hour. He felt a creeping sadness when her voice cut through his reverie.

“And you? How are you? Have you won more trinkets for being good at violence? How is your new wife, the odd one with the blank stare? Is my brother here yet?”

“Trinkets? Kind of boiling it down and selling it short, aren’t you?”

“Maybe you overvalue it…” she set the tablet down, fingers lingering as her brow furrowed. Her gaze remained altered “Hope said once that it was ridiculous, the value and lengths you put on gold plating and a strap. Especially you, considering it was losing a title that made you g–”

“It wasn’t over the title.” he interjected almost pointedly, pausing for a moment to reign in his temper. He cleared his throat, looking off to the side “What happened, to separate me from you for so long went much deeper than a championship belt. Deeper than the industry, even. As far as Hope…she’s brilliant, but I think she’s forever jaded to this line of work.”

“She’s a hypocrite.” Ivy replied with a sense of finality, her face contorting if only slightly “The way she lets that guy with the afro treat her after spending so long acting like the smartest person in the r–”

“We don’t speak ill of family, Ivy.”

A huff was the response. At least that remained consistent through both his children. He paused for a moment, stewing in the air before the urge to say something, anything to make this more than a moment where he took a stern tone with someone he was lucky to have the privilege talking to.

“Love can make the wisest of us fools. Hope is, apparently, in love with Cam and even if I don’t like it, you don’t like it, the waitress doesn’t like it…we have to respect that and be patient with whatever negativity comes from it.”

“Like you being beaten and humiliated once a month?”

“Like me being beaten and humiliated once a month..” he reached across the table to muss up her hair, only to have his hand deflected. A small sting was quickly buried as he brought the hand back to himself, clearing his throat once more “Besides, she has every right to resent me.”

“Yeah, she does.”

A pause, another bit of hurt quickly buried and pushed out of his mind. Ivy’s gaze studied him for a moment, picking her father apart to the best of her ability. As if examining how the blow landed. After a moment, her gaze averted and mimicking his own pacifying motion from earlier she plucked a cold fry from her plate and chewed upon it. He wrung his hands beneath the table, leaning forward with his eyes cast into the caramel oblivion of a watered down Coca Cola.

“You both have every right to, Sylvie….but i’m trying, you understand that don’t you?”

“I do..I just…” she trailed off, the dichotomy of youthful blunt honesty and a maturing sense of tact clashing for a moment “I don’t quite understand why?”

“Why?” he repeated the sentiment, his tone inquiring and thinly masking the underlying wound his youngest had successfully ripped open with the expected lack of tact that came with youth.

“Why…bother? I guess? I mean…I’m happy you’re around but I guess I just…don’t see why you are? You have a new family. You’re back to being a big deal…I mean it’s not like you’re around as much as normal dads are for me. You’re still gone…Mom just doesn’t have to lie about where you are anymore…”

---

“But really, Shawn. I know i’m coming off harsh. Maybe patronizing and disregarding. Hell, i’m sure by this point you might actually be taking something serious and as you hear these words, you’re itching to get in the ring and pop me right in my mouth. Show me that you’re not just a clown. That you’re a God. Damn. Warrior!!”

“You want to come out, hair on fire, show the world that alllllll the nasty shit they can dig up on me is true. Matt Knox the old alcoholic. Matt Knox the guy who quits companies. Matt Knox the womanizer. Matt Knox the guy with a thing for Mac Bane’s wife.”

“....But you’re not going to.”

“You will try. My god I have no doubt that with all that you are, you will try….but it won’t be enough. I’m sorry. I really, truly am but it just won’t. Because I can’t let it be.”

“I know, I must sound like a broken record at this point. Same points over and over bordering on being canned cliche bullshit. Thing is though, Cliches became cliches for a reason. What reason, pray tell? Because they’re fuckng right.”

“So there it is, laid out neat for you Jester. I volunteered to be your first match in SCW because I intend on making an example out of you as I burn a path toward the arrogant, short-sighted cowboy and his big band of mediocrity and doing what an entire lair of wolves has yet to be able to do.

I’m going to hurt you, as much as I can. I’m going to make sure that your baptism into Sin City Wrestling burns, and leaves you with scars that reignite those flames in your deepest, darkest and most private moments of reflection.

Now, ask yourself Jester…with your bag of tricks, positive attitude, award winning smile and miles upon miles of charisma…

Can You Stop Me?

---

   In truth, he had felt the shadow of tonight’s bullshit long before it took hold. The copper of bloodshed was palpable on the cold Indiana air from the moment he stepped off the plane with his wife and her charge in tow. Between the reports of scattered Matthew Knox action figures being found around the resort town with their heads popped off and the fact that Cam Roth had an unwavering hatred for him he was sure that the night would end in some sort of chicanery unbecoming even the lowest of scum.

In truth, he had no idea.

No sooner had he conquered the monkey on his back of defeating a man known as “The Answer” and more recently “The Bogeyman” JC. Joseph Lee. The man who had brought him back into the wrestling business after his decade long attempt to remove himself from this mortal coil in the slowest and most agonizing of ways. A man he considered more a brother than his own.

Although, to be fair, they were both equally violent sociopaths.

Of all the people Matthew had beaten, this was the man who he couldn’t get past. And part of it was his own fault. He did everything he could not to take the easy road on JC. Stay away from the neck. Don’t attack the one hole in his armor. All out of love, respect, and appreciation. The big issue was…outside of that neck JC was goddamn near bulletproof.

But, like everything else set before him, Matthew was able to overcome The Answer and retain his first world title since 2008. His fourth defense. One hundred and thirty five days as champion…

….And then it all went fucky.

The one thing he had not accounted for was Thomas Rivers lowering himself to be a subservient dog for some snot nosed rich fuck like Cam Roth the Third. The first Apex Ultima rang his bell and took the last bit of fight out of him. It was a powerless feeling, watching that 20 pounds of shiny golden validation be taken from him. He willed himself to move. To fight. But the war with JC had won out.

His knee was on fire, he couldn't stand to put weight on it. His right hand throbbed in pain and seemed curled in upon itself. Probably a broken knuckle or three. He tasted copper, but couldn’t smell or hear anything. Outside of the ringing in his ears.
He felt Tom enter the ring, saw the chair and screamed to get up. To fight. Damn the title, this could put an end before it began.

For Christ's sake, SCW was hyping him up against someone he had come to want to engage with violently in his short time with the company..

But, exhaustion won out. Nagging injuries left untreated. Age. The wreckage laid upon him by the match with his still incapacatated friend.

You better kick his ass for this, Joe. He’s makin us both look b–

The crunch of metal, a distinct pain and numbness….

And then it was all black.

---

“Matthew 7:15…and Christ said, ‘Beware False Prophets, Which come to you in sheep's clothing. But inwardly, are ravening wolves.”

The camera slowly faded in to find Matthew Knox sitting in a black room, white curtains blow lazily upon a gentle pacific breeze as a silvery moonlight creeps in, highlighting his stormy glasz eyes set within a sullen face baring a smirk betraying the macabre intent behind his words.

“It’s a familiar bit of scripture, in that it wrought unto the world one of its greatest cliches. A wolf in sheep's clothing. The threat hiding in plain sight. Be it an actual violent, visceral threat or a more benign sort of danger. The kind that rots the soul, and leaves the body to drift through life an empty husk…”

Long, pale fingers drum upon the table he sat at the head of, its expanse seeming to fill the room. Empty seats and unlit candles laid upon red satin with the most gratuitous helpings of wax fruit in wooden bowls betwixt each one. An absolute tribute to pomposity.

With the most pompous seated at the head of the table.

“Given your choice in totem, one all too familiar with me? I’m guessing that you’re much more one than the other…and yet you act as the one you least identify with. Funny, how the little details play out, isn’t it Alexander?”

“And I stand corrected as much as I do on ceremony. You didn’t just choose the Raven as a moniker, you took it as your name. And that sort of pretentiousness….I respect it as much as I can’t stand it. It’s one thing to say you inspire the same sort of terror a Corvid does in the heart of man, to say you are akin to the harbinger of doom and destruction..”
He sinks down into his seat, long legs swinging to bring his feet, clad in a worn pair of Stacey Adams, to rest upon the long, lonely tribute to the worst of humanity and the best of decadence. He was silent for a pause, fingers coming to steeple beneath his nose and over thin, pale lips. His tone is contemplative as much as it is condescending.

“But, aside from the shallow interpretation of such a fantastic creature, I'm afraid that’s where our similarities end. Because in all other ways you, Alexander, are lacking. One might even say…an ‘Alexander the Okay’ if you'll forgive the pun. I mean, sure, you’re in line for a title shot. You’ve carved out a decent name for yourself here…but it means very little…because it’s still on schedule.”

The steepled fingers come as undone as the man they’re attached to, one hand drops to the oblivion out of frame, the other remaining and curled into a fist. A finer pops up with each step he takes in the tragic plot of Alexander Raven.

“Man with greater purpose enters pasture that has heard hook nor crook of him, grandstands, maybe garners a few followers. Gets under the skin of opponents long enough to make them buy his bullshit, slip in their game and he takes their pride to add to his own…and it’s a fantastic operation. Has to be. As played out as it is.”

“Problem is..it all ends the same way. The fear only extends as far as the line of cowards and fools. Eventually? Eventually, someone comes along who isn’t moved by empty theatrics and emptier notions. Eventually, someone comes who sees right through it all to the scoundrel at the helm, selling salvation to the unsavable as if they won’t be cast upon by their glare as they share damnation…”

The fingers curl back in, except the index finger which rotates and points directly into the lens. His gaze was piercing, but not angry. Something far closer to pity and dismissal ruling his eyes.

“I see you, Alexander.”

---

“You don’t even understand why you’re there…”

The soft, even and all too familiar tone of Hope Adrienne Knox permeated the comfortable darkness he had let himself begin to slip into. His eyes drift open, staring up at the ceiling in the trainer’s room.  She wasn’t his by blood. Another wayward orphan like him, that he was able to pluck from the mire like he had been.

However, Matthew Aloysius Knox was nowhere near the father Hugh Thomas Alano had been.

She became an easy target upon his return. No longer the little blonde girl attached to his hip backstage at FWF shows, but now a captivating and intelligent young woman. Capable beyond reproach and possessed of an ability to deconstruct a person down to their core and poke at the worst and best of them, just to see what made them tick.

Not a drop of blood…

But she was his..

“I’m at least a little sure it has something to do with the chair…”

She scoffed, refusing to smile at his humor no matter how badly she wanted to. They had a falling out, incredibly public. She had met Cam Roth at the party following the second Roth Invitational Tournament. Hit it off, spent more time with him in secret because she knew how irrational her father was. Although, she held doubts that he would have been too focused. Given his new life he’d gotten to go with the world title he’d won.

“No, I mean…You still have no idea which way is up. Why you’re always ending up here, broken? Getting nothing but venom and ire from the people around you. Even your friends, and children.”

“Well, we all make our choices Hope.” he paused, furrowing his brow “If this is about you and Ca–”

“It’s got nothing to do with me and Cam. It doesn’t even have anything to do with me and you. It’s just about you….and the stupid, reckless life you’re leading…” she took in a breath, walking out of his purview as she fought the rage that bubbled just beneath the surface “You know, Ivy still has nightmares over him coming to get her?”

“And yet here her big sister is, facilitating his use in her father’s destruction.”

“I didn’t know..” she said softly, defensively. A twinge of regret she wouldn’t allow to become larger permeating the statement “Not that it would have mattered if I did…Cam isn’t going to stop until you understand, and you stop.”

“Well, he can fuck right off if he thinks throwing people at me i’ve already defeated is going to–”

“Is this what victory looks like?” She cut him off again, earning a frustrated grunt from him as he snapped his eyes shut, wishing his ears could silence her as quickly as his eyes blinded himself to her.

To how right she was.

“Over and over, you repeat the same cycle. You come in, hellbent on righteousness and glory. You draw people to you. Take a wife. Make children. And then you overstep and overestimate. You get yourself hurt, legitimately hurt to the point where sane people would walk away.,..and then prove yourself not only insane, but selfish.”

“Selfish and willfully ignorant to the truth that you’ve got nothing left to prove.No goal left to accomplish. You proved it all, you got your world title. You’ve won a majority of your matches since you came back. You’ve made impacts everywhere you’ve gone. You’ve opened a school to train a new generation…and still, you’re selfish. Still, you need the adoration and the violence and…I can’t deal with that anymore. I can’t be a part of the collateral damage. Not again..”

He let her venom wash over him, tugging violently at the heart beating behind the bruised and battered chest. He did all he could to control his breathing, not give her anything to latch onto.to lash out at.

“If you think that this is all hubris, you’ve got it wrong.”

“I don’t care if I'm wrong, or if I'm right. I just care that you lied.” She hit him harder than any opponent, “You came back, saying it was about fixing what you broke. That you were going to protect me from Grandpa Nate’s world, that you were going to be a father. And I believed it…”

The pause was akin to feeling the death blow fly through the air.

“I believed it, believed you gave a fuck. Even after you walked away, so easily. So willingly….and what did it get me?” another pause, another blade being dropped from the guillotine. “Mocked by Christopher St John. Made out as a daddy issues trope by Scott Dunn. Stalked by your cousin, and then kidnapped by those painted freaks from Chicago…”

“And I had NOTHING to do with ANY of those wars, Dad..” her voice wavered, the emotion raw as it was evident “You haven’t protected me from shit….”

“I tried.” meek, small. Defeated.

“Oh, I'm aware. And all your efforts did was make it worse…and it dawned on me finally, why. Especially after Cam told me why he’s harboring such hatred for you…It’s because you can never be sincere….everything has a purpose attached, one that serves you, and you alone.”

She begins to list his faults then, counting them off on one hand. Each one landing harder than a physical blow, tearing at him in places only she could hurt him. At parts of his heart where only her, and her sisters resided…

A place quickly becoming abandoned…

“I’m a recovering addict, behold my struggle to do right by the kids that i did wrong. Okay you’re on my side. Later Hope, later Ivy–when was the last time you saw her, anyway?”

She steps forward, leaning down to get in his face. Her tone dripping with venom…and hurt.

“ ‘Oh shit, this big guy is wreaking havoc and bullying the rookies I've tried replacing my kids with because even since I got them back in my life, I can't look at them without feeling guilty. Oh shit I mocked him into stalking my eldest, now I look like a hero while I do something that goes a half step, if that, beyond ego…”

“Enough.” He rasped, exhausted. The morphine, war, and attack all slowly trying to drag him to the hell her words were damning him to.

“You don’t know the meaning of the word.” she bit once more, taking a moment to bask in the stale air of the room. Her ice blue eyes staring into him, slowly tearing him in two with the truth.

“Even now…you’re going to go after him. Because you can’t stand the stalemate. You can’t stand not having a bloody war to wage…” she bared her teeth then, a knowing and mocking smile “Or is it just to get close to–”

“I said Enough.”

He cringed at the tone, shaking his head and forcing himself to sit up, grimacing at the pain that shot through him as he brought his gaze upon her. She stared him down defiantly, baby blue eyes tearing past every defense he ever had, just like any other day.

“So have I…” she whispered, shaking her head and reaching up to fidget with the messy bun she’d pulled her hair into “I’ve got to go…Cam has to get back to New York, prep a conference for the next Roth tournament..”

He only stared at her as she stepped to the exit, lingering for a moment before turning to face him.

“I love you. More than I want to. It does hurt seeing you like this, but I can’t stand idly by and get burned by your self immolation….” she trailed off, pursing her lips before finding his gaze and speaking pointedly “I’ll be there, when it’s over. Be it to hug you and enjoy you having come to your senses, or to make sure the earth they shovel upon you is enough to contain you…Goodbye, Dad.”

---

“And I'll be the last one to lay eyes upon you, as you are now.”

The finger retracts, as does the rest of him. Lithe form shifting until it’s sat sideways in the chair, long legs draped over one arm as his back rests against the other. His hands fold into themself, eyes staring up into the moonlight, the only light in his life.

“You’re an unfortunate sort of man. Unlucky, and due for an unkindness. See, you’re not the only pious asshole in SCW preaching a better, or worse way are you? No, you’re not the only man possessed of greater purpose…just the loneliest one.”

The flat, emotionless facade shatters under the weight of a smile, the silence dies a violent death from a deep chuckle that resonates through the emptiness of the room. Soon, it dies off though as he shifts in the seat once more. Planting his feet on the floor, leaning upon the table to stare into the camera as it zooms to meet his gaze.

“See, there are already whispers in the wind of why I have come to SCW. A place where once there may have been friends, but now only ire. See, I must admit Alexander I, too, possess delusions of grandeur unbecoming my humble station in life.”

“I fancy myself a solution, to men like you. Men who would apply a false sense of purpose to cover up their mundanity. Or perhaps, to be the one to matter for once. See, some men like you. Me. Us. They fancy themselves…Saviors. When all they’ve ever been is ‘the other one’ for as long as I have known them, with only fleeting bits of glory. Enough to keep their links to actual greatness valid..”

A pregnant pause, a flattening of the smile. From mockery, to the type you pay someone you have to smile at. The one that’s expected, but you never mean. Not once….now, or ever.

“Hello Mac. I’ve missed you.”

He waves the lie of pragmatism away with one sweep of a pale hand, standing from the seat and leaning over the table. Battered, broken and bruised knuckles press lfush to the polished oak as he rests upon his knuckles. Staring down the camera.

Staring down Mac Bane.

Staring down Alexander Raven.

Staring down Fate itself.

“But hey, that’s disrespectful to you, Alexander. When you’ve no doubt given me the chunk of your attention. If you’re worth your salt you’ve dug all the good dirt up. Addiction issues, fallings out with management, bad temper, unprofessional behavior…I am an absolute goddamn mess. Should be unhirable…yet here I am.”

He stood up straight, spreading his arms as he spoke the last words. As if presenting himself for judgment.

As if anyone here were worthy of doing so.

…..Well, maybe one.

“Because I’m a proven commodity, Alexander. For all my faults, I turn heads. I draw money. And I fight like hell….and that’s when i’m unmotivated.”

Trailing his fingertips over the backs of the chairs he passed as he moved along, Matthew began to pace the length of the table. The camera zoomed out to track his slow journey. The moonlight seems to follow him, only adding to the spectre-like presence he possessed.

“I am motivated now. I’m motivated to exorcise ghosts and I'm motivated to reduce you, and the men like you to ashes. Alexander Raven, self appointed false prophet. The dime store one-man version of Mac Bane’s island of misfit Saviors. You’ve wandered into the deep end and i’m going to fucking drown you in it, son..”

He stops, close to the camera now. Close enough to see what distance and lighting could hide. Dark rings under his eyes, a three day beard. Top buttons on his shirt undone. Face still covered in discoloration courtesy of his cousin Thomas Rivers’, or Supreme Machine as some knew him, attacked at the Slay Ride PPV for PWV.

The first shot of the war..the one heard ‘round the world.

His tone slid once more, to something matching his altered state. A little more unhinged, feral even.

“I don’t hate you…but I have to hurt you. I have to show them what to expect, what to prepare for. Because that…that is how you make fear take root, Alexander. Real, visceral fear. The kind that once made man cling to fire. You show them what is going to happen, the inevitable. And you let them simmer in what they’ve witnessed…”

“And live…with the realization. That they can’t stop it. No matter what lie they craft to ease their mind into a heavy sleep at night. No matter what solution they come up with…the inevitability wins out…”

Slowly, he exhales a breath he had no idea he was holding. He fishes a pack of Camel non-filter cigarettes from his breast pocket, snatching the last one up betwixt his teeth as he crumpled the pack and threw it over his shoulder with so little care…

He produced a polished silver zippo yet, small scuffs betraying its age, a flick, a puff to bring the smoke to life. The snap of the lid snuffing out the flame. He took a long hit, before exhaling the noxious fumes from his nose. He stared into the lens pointedly, voice dripping with venom as he did his best to warn a man who was already dead…

“I am Raze….I am Ruin…I am The Raven. And I’m going to live within your sleep from now until the End, Alexander. As the first man who saw you in SCW….as the man who lit the match…”

Flick.

The zippo roared to life, and holding the gaze of Alexander and whomever else was watching, Matthew held it up to one of those lazy white curtains which soon was engulfed in flame. A flame that spread far too rapidly, dancing to the next set of curtains and on and on until suddenly, Matthew Knox stood at his pulpit…in Hell.

“That burned you alive…”

He walks out of flame as the fire continues spreading, small embers falling upon the table which goes up as if it were drenched in accelerant. But maybe, it was simply drenched in sin and decadence..

As the camera fades to black, his voice rolls forth from the darkness. Calm, even, inquisitive…

“Now…...Can you stop me?”