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Post by Laura Phoenix - HBIC on Oct 25, 2021 19:12:21 GMT -5
PWS:APEX Presents: Tuesday Night Riot LIVE Tuesday, November 2nd Gainbridge Fieldhouse in Indianapolis, IndianaSingles Match, Non-TitleJonathan Sanders (Collateral Damage) vs Kallie Reznik Deadline is Monday 11/1/21 at 11:59 PM EST Min 300 Max 5000
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Post by Jonathan Sanders on Nov 1, 2021 22:57:31 GMT -5
“‘He who fights with monsters should take care, lest thereby he become a monster…’”
*Fade in: we open on a darkened room, the features and furnishings just barely visible, save one lightbulb dangling from a chain in the centre of the room.*
“‘And when you gaze long into an Abyss…’”
*Suddenly the light flicks on, illuminating Jonathan Sanders sat below it in a large leather armchair, with a black leather-bound tome open across his lap.*
“The Abyss gazes also into You.’”
*Sanders now slowly lowers his hand and looks into the camera, his steel-grey eyes boring holes into it from afar. Without another word, he turns his attention to the book.*
“I would like to tell you all a story. This is the story of a little boy, who for as long as he could remember, only wanted to be a hero. He loved to read, this little boy. He had a wonderful mother who bought him books, or took him to the library when their coffers would not allow it. The boy loved stories of all sorts, but particularly had a fondness for those of Greek mythology; epic tales of heroes slaying monsters, of powerful warriors chosen by gods to become champions of the mortal world. These stories captivated this boy’s young keen mind, they enthralled him and captured his imagination, allowing him to escape from the constant torment that occupied his waking hours.”
*Here Sanders pauses, inhaling sharply as he turns the page.*
“You see, this boy did not come from a warm and loving family. His wonderful mother was growing ever more distant and withdrawn, and the boy had no friends to keep him company when she was not around. He had no siblings to share his secrets with, no toys to fill his hours or stimulate his curiosity. This boy did not have love, in any great capacity, or support from his parental units to explore the things that lit a fire in his soul. What this boy had...was fear. He had existential dread and deep, piercing anguish; he had hate and pain and sorrow in abundance, shouted curses and whimpered tears. The boy had many sleepless nights, spent sobbing into his pillow or clutching ice wrapped in a towel gingerly against his newest, darkest bruise. This boy - this poor, sad, frightened little child...had a very real MONSTER in his life.”
*Here Sanders pauses again, his expression both wistful and deeply resentful.*
“And so, he turned to books. The boy immersed himself in worlds where monsters did not always win, where tyrannical gods could be opposed and their curses would be broken. Worlds where villains could be vanquished, where heroes would stand up for the beaten, broken and afraid. These heroes became idols to the boy; he tried to model himself after everything they did and said and believed in, he took great pains to emulate their modes of thought and action. But reality is often far crueler than even the darkest fictions that the human mind concocts...and heroes only live in storybooks, where the world can be especially tailored to allow their noble quests to succeed.”
*Sanders smirks a bitter, vitriolic smirk into the camera, accompanied by a brief, sharp exhale of air through his nose, something almost approximating a cynical bark of laughter.*
“Our boy had to learn that lesson in the hardest way he could. He learned it when he lost the person dearest to him, the wonderful mother who’d bought him all his books, who had encouraged his love of stories and made him feel - however briefly - as though maybe he wasn’t so deeply, utterly alone after all. The monster one day claimed her. He lashed out with his terrible teeth, his fearsome fists, his hateful heart, and in one fell swoop he snuffed out the single point of light in the bleak and grim existence of our lovely little boy.”
*Sanders pauses again, shutting his eyes tightly and sharply inhaling to stave off tears, the story clearly affecting him on a personal level.*
“So the boy made a vow that day. He would use everything he knew about how to be a hero, every morsel of information his beloved books had taught him, and he would get REVENGE. He would slay the vile monster, KILL the wicked beast; he would stand up against this violent, tyrannical god and RIP HIM FROM HIS THRONE, to bring the peace and light she’d made him feel to his weary, dreary world.”
*Sanders pauses once again, frowning a deep, sad frown.*
“But we already know how that went for him, don’t we? After all, we know there are no heroes in this cold, cold world of ours. We have all AGREED they can’t exist in real life...so what became of our poor, poor boy? Well, to his credit, he did TRY to slay the monster. He watched, and he waited, and he planned, hoping desperately to find a moment when the creature’s guard would be let down. Eventually, he found one. When the monster went to sleep the boy struck, seizing up a mighty sword from in the kitchen and PLUNGING it deep into its black and withered heart...unfortunately, the creature woke too soon, and he caught the boy in action, deflecting the killing blow! The monster then arose, terrifying in its swiftness, and struck the boy to the ground, prepared to finish him just like his wonderful mother!”
*Sanders frowns an exaggerated frown, the expression a mix of sorrow and terror, emphasizing the imagery in his story.*
“However...something stopped the creature. The boy did not know what, or which of the gods had interceded on his behalf, but the monster chose to SPARE his wretched life and instead cast him into prison, to be locked away in darkness for the rest of his days, as punishment for his attempted heroism. It was in this darkness that the boy looked inside himself, that he delved deep into the darkest reaches of his mind, the angry little voice he’d always tried to drown out, and found something altogether more powerful than any hero he had ever known. Something truly, deeply wicked, that could finally help him take revenge for all the pain and sorrow he had suffered. Something that could help him put his wonderful mother’s memory to rest, knowing the monster in their life had finally been slain…”
*Sanders pauses here, exhaling softly as if relieved, then he looks up from the book to gaze into the camera, raising one eyebrow as a grin plays across his face, hinting that he may know more than he is letting on.*
“But THAT is a story...for another time. For now, we have a different would-be hero to focus on tonight...”
*Jonathan Sanders lets a smirk cross his features now as he shuts the book from which he'd been reading, placing it on the table beside himself.*
“Kallie, Kallie, Kallie Reznik. What am I going to do with you? It seems even after I and my ANTITHESIS brother Dionysus conquered your boyfriend and his tag team partner, the boy I could have been, the shadow of Dickie Watson continues to hound his dark reflection...”
*The Snake of Eden continues to smirk, flicking his fringe out of his face before leveling his gaze at the camera.*
“Ah, but it is fitting. After all, your namesake was a hunter, and there are few beasts in this company more fearsome than Jonathan Sanders. But I wonder if you truly know precisely what you’ve done to yourself by requesting this match with me, Kallisto. I wonder if you are prepared for the Hell you have unleashed.”
*Sanders' lips twitch as he briefly allows himself to break into a sadistic grin. His steel-grey eyes lock with the camera for a long, uncomfortable moment before the grin slowly becomes a more subtle smirk and he begins to speak again.*
“Let us wind the clocks back somewhat, if you’ll indulge me. Let us take a brief stroll along memory lane. I know who you are, Kallisto. I have watched some of the battles you have fought. I know that you’ve held trinkets not unlike my own…”
*He lifts the Collateral Damage Championship languidly into frame, casting it a sidelong glance before letting his arm drop again.*
“And I know that you believe you are a warrior. I know you’ve fought in matches that live up to the spirit of your namesake; deathmatches, barbed wire brawls, gloriously bloody affairs of ultraviolence designed solely to inflict torture upon the modern-day gladiators consigned to endure them for the enjoyment of our ravenous, bloodthirsty audience. I suspect that’s why you’ve chosen me, Kallisto - why you believe you can survive our first encounter. This will be your one and only warning, little girl, the only chance to save yourself that I will offer: run. Do not pick this fight, Kallie Reznik; you are NOT prepared to see it through. I am not a thing you can survive, my brand of violence is not a STORM you can outlast…I am the rocks that Odysseus will crash against, I am the tempest that will run his ship aground! I am the plague in professional wrestling’s veins, and the only way to save yourself is to stay as far away from my creeping, growing ROT as you can manage.”
*Sanders sighs, a bitter and wistful half-smirk overtaking his features as he does.*
“But I know you will not do that, Kallie Reznik. I know you believe that you’re a ‘hero’. Like our little boy in the cautionary tale I’ve just told, you’re a bright-eyed young idealist who thinks she’s seen a monster, and has made a vow to slay it to make the world a better place. You REQUESTED this match. You WANTED to cross my path...but Little Red Riding Hood does not knock on her grandmother's door expecting to find the wolf. Hansel and Gretel do not go LOOKING for the witch. History is rarely kind to those would-be warriors who seek trouble for their own glory, Kallie Reznik. The end is not a pleasant one for any butterfly that flies into a spider’s web. For every Perseus who slays the Gorgon, there are a thousand unnamed souls who turned to stone before him. Well I may be your Gorgon, Kallie, but you are NOT my Perseus. Stronger foes than you have sought to slay this demon, and every one has failed. More experienced blades than yours have shattered clean across my back. I am no mere beast of the wild for you to slay, young Kallisto. I will not fall at the feet of the ‘Great Bear’. I am the worst-case scenario for all the wayward children, lost and struggling in the wretched darkness of this world. I am the Snake of Eden, who tempts the not-yet-fallen to embrace their darkest urges. I am the bitter end of EVERYTHING that makes you happy, the black mirror into which you gaze to see the hopelessness within your soul.”
*Here, Sanders pauses, shifting to lean forward in his seat and stare into the camera, his brows furrowing in a deadly serious frown.*
“I am your temenos, Kallisto. The forbidden precinct you should not have wandered into, and the thing that will spell your ultimate undoing. But it will not be an arrow to pierce your heart this time, nor the mighty javelin of Arkas, and there will be no Zeus to spare you from this execution. Yours will be a slow demise, Kallie Reznik. A creeping, eating emptiness that will worm inside that fresh-faced, bright-eyed optimism and corrode it from the inside out, until you’re left a bitter, angry, broken-down old woman wondering why oh why you ever chose to knock upon the Devil’s door. I will plant that seed tonight, Kallisto. I will root it in with violence so it may germinate within the soil of failure, I will water it with BLOOD and AGONY until it blooms a wicked, wilted flower of darkness in your soul. I will show you what happens to those who hunt for demons, and what becomes of butterflies when you rip off both their wings.”
*The Lost Cause pauses here, leaning forward in his seat and glaring daggers through the camera. He remains silent just long enough to really let the words sink in, then slowly lets a smirk blossom as he begins to speak again.*
“But when I do, when it’s all over, when I’ve left you lying, bleeding on the mat, wracked with sobbing, brutal agony, I hope that you remember, Kallie…you asked for this. This is what you wanted.”
*Sanders grins a wicked, chilling grin, his steel-grey eyes glinting with malicious glee as he glares into the camera.*
“I hope it will not disappoint.”
*With that, the Lost Cause has finished, and we hold on his grinning face for one more moment before he reaches up to click off the bulb above his head, plunging the scene into darkness...except for two piercing, glowing white eyes that open up behind him. We hold on this for just a moment or two longer, then the footage begins to corrupt as if the film is burning out as we fade.*
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