▶The Fragile Tightrope
Are you utterly MAD!?
Not even a moment after the broadcast stopped had the passenger started its vitriolic questioning. Silas had gone to a war of words with the woman he wanted to cross, and he walked away with a contract with a stipulation that might give him some form of advantage. He makes the rules, but that was the rule that Mia made. Could it explain why the passenger was upset, or was the cost of the match something they could not bear? The legacy of one of the most recognisable faces within the CWF, against Silas' career as a competitor?
"Perhaps," he replies as he enters the foyer of the manor he had called home for his entire waking life.
I don't think you realise the risk you're taking with this audacious act. Do you not realise the consequences!?
Silas had only one destination in mind: the central chamber that was his training ground since he decided to lace up his boots, simultaneously where he was made as an athlete and home of his dragon's hoard of personal treasures.
"You're nervous all of a sudden; that's new for you."
He unlocks the door and observes the chamber itself. It was time to get to work.
You think?
"Oh, I don't think," says Silas, with a thin layer of smug satisfaction within the works. "I know."
You know nothing, you pathetic little vermin.
Hah!
"Vermin? That's refreshing coming from you."
You think this is a joke!?
Silas slides into the ring with one flawless motion and starts running the ropes. A simple warm-up exercise, designed to get the blood flowing through his veins and into his muscles, all without tiring his body out. He was going to need every advantage he could get.
"Of course not. It's a high-stakes gamble. It requires nothing less than maximum effort. No time for weaknesses--"
Enough with your attitude, boy!
Without any prompts or opponents, the Psychotic Aristocrat flew above the ropes in one jump, his stomach not even grazing the barriers separating the ring from the rest of the manor. It was a move he couldn't have brought out the last time he was competing, as it would've automatically eliminated him from victory, and the time since he last performed it was evident from his rough landing. He wasn't hurt, but he stumbled enough that he ineffectively rolled at the point of landing, stopping flat on his back on the dusty floor.
The ceiling was nice, something he hadn't taken into consideration before, and the mundane thought only brought amusement.
The man chuckled, much to the passenger's ire.
Laughing, of course!
The man slowly got up and dusted himself off.
The desperation has gotten the better of you, Silas. We had the opportunity to shape this little corner of the world to our liking, and instead of being smart, you go all in without any way to chase your losses. You think your happiness matters? It doesn't! You think these people respect you? Give you the time of day? You've heard their whispers targeting you, and yet you're more than happy to give them the ultimate satisfaction.
Silas seems not to pay much mind to his passenger’s words, as he nonchalantly moves aside various training mannequins to be positioned by the walls that surround the chamber. He’s even humming to himself, almost as if he is enjoying himself.
And you enjoy this predicament?
He drags a small table across the room and positions it in a particular way, not against the wall but about 12 feet away from the nearest point.
"My joy is directed to you."
Pardon?
"After all these years, you never considered that this was against you?" He takes a deep breath. "How utterly pathetic!"
Silas jogs to the nearest comfortable chair, one that wouldn’t look too out of place in a drawing room. Nice armrests, made of mahogany, perfect for the situation he had drawn out on the way to the manor. He positions himself appropriately and starts pushing the chair across the sanctum; intermittent grinding echoes in the room as the legs scrape across the floor.
"For as long as I can remember, I've entertained your requests and demands, and what have I gotten in return?"
There is a brief silence as he stops dragging the furniture.
"Utter contempt, from you!"
There is a hand mirror within the treasures, a perfect way to address the passenger from a man whose mind was broken long ago. He grabs the mirror and looks directly at his mother's only son.
"What is all this about at the end of the day? You, me, Mia, our match, our relationship--no, dynamic even?"
The passenger doesn't reply.
"Everything in this federation is a power play. Everything in my life has been a power play between the pair of us, and the funny thing about spending so much time in a game between the physical and the political is that the principle of equivalent exchange is subjective to individuals."
He points to the reflection.
"So let me make this abundantly clear to you, my unwanting, faithless passenger that's done nothing but haunt my head for as long as I can think. You desired this match to satisfy your bloodthirst, and I did everything I could to make it possible. I got her attention through methods you would approve, and it worked."
He points to his reflection as his eyes narrow and his tone gets harsher.
"As much as it pains me to admit it, she did have the cards, and I played with the hand I was given. If I hadn't, I would've likely been matched up with, I don't know, John Obvious or Paul Freedom, and I know you would've been extremely unsatisfied--insulted even. You wanted an opponent that wasn't just 'good'; you wanted an opponent that had some sort of significance to our history in this federation. Everyone that matches the description outside of MJ Flair is gone, moved on to other things that matter more than what is brought into the ring, and the only one that fits the prerequisite of 'good' and 'has history' remaining is Mia."
His voice turns soft.
"Am I correct?"
Silence.
"AM I CORRECT!? ANSWER!"
The bellowing words echo throughout the manor, from the inner chambers to the furthest hallways to the foyer; one could say that the leaves rustled upon hearing his demand. Normally, such an attitude would've been replied to with great hostility that his consciousness would've faded into the darkness as the passenger would take the wheel. The previous times it did only inflicted chaos and destruction that made even some of the more stone-faced individuals break as if hit with hot vinegar; such is the price of talking back to something that could never be understood.
It's now been thirty-five years since Silas arrived in this cruel, awful world, and throughout all that time the passenger rode along and steered him towards any direction it saw fit.
And now its hand has been exposed as absolute junk.
You have some nerve saying that.
A smile escapes Silas.
"I'm walking a very fragile tightrope..."
He tosses the hand mirror aside.
"...so it's best to get everything out, lest it remain silent forever."
The footsteps of the Aristocrat echo in the dark inner sanctum of the manor as he approaches a table. In his hands is a large projector clearly wired to something, alongside the power supply via an extension cord. He gently sets the technology down on the table and faces it against a wall which features no decor, nor any sort of opulence. With no grace in his movement, he leaves the frame and returns with the accompanying screen, looking like it had been purchased from the 1990's. Its tripod setup was quick and simple, no flair to it; its sole purpose is to help in the project of what Silas has prepared for what could be his final address.
Everything is set up; Silas stands centre-screen, and he looks towards the camera as he presses a button on his remote.
“Let’s start from the beginning.”
He glides to his chair as the projector turns on to become both the primary source of lighting and the only source of light in the sanctum.
The first slide features a young-looking Silas Artoria at an arena show, all bright-eyed and more baby-faced, but still wearing the outfit that became synonymous with his career.
“CWF Evolution, November 13th 2017, Pensacola, Florida. I debut in the CWF and win my first match against a French athlete by the name of Aphmau Enders.”
He presses the button on the remote, and the slide starts playing the moment he took the microphone.
“I thank you all for this polite gift, a kind gesture. But next time, send someone who can actually put up a fight.”
The video stops.
“It’s interesting looking back on this now, as the man who is speaking to you right now is very different to the comparatively prosperous fool who had no idea of the journey he was about to embark.
Admittedly, the speech I gave left a lot to be desired, as the inexperienced tend to be, but I knew the CWF would be my home for the foreseeable future, and that I would have a part to play in shaping its future.
And it seems the management agreed, as the next week I was thrown into the battle royal to determine the Academy champion.”
A quick press of the remote, next slide, and the battle royal begins.
Silas let out a little chuckle as the events unfolded on that episode of Evolution.
“Some familiar faces in that match. The Shadow, Duce Jones, Jace Valentine, Dean and Seth Moxley too. I even made it to the final four. Quite a promising start.”
He presses the button. Next slide.
“Fast forward to December, at Frozen Over VI, and we see two entities that would come to shape my time at the CWF forever.”
Next slide, and a close-up shot of a female is displayed. She looks unhinged with her long hair and unsettling presence, enough to make even the brightest of roses wither away.
“Autumn Raven…”
Next slide, and the first slide featuring Silas’ unwanted passenger is shown. The condensed red writing, the grin that looks like hooks at the corner of his mouth were pulling, and the familiar unnatural skin whose workings a meaning is impossible to understand.
“...and my passenger.”
He leans forward out of the chair and turns towards the camera. There is a faint smile on his face as he points towards the slide featuring the younger Aristocrat, the Bloodletter.
“To ask what my passenger is isn’t the right way to understand it, for I don’t even know.”
Blink.
“It has haunted me for as long as I can remember, and no amount of scans or sessions or blood tests can explain how this thing crawled into my skin and made me its host.”
He leaned back in the chair.
“But the world was going to find out what they are capable of.”
Next slide: The passenger savagely throws Autumn into the turnbuckle by her head.
Next slide: His superkick landed with an almighty crack, and seemingly twists her head into a position that might’ve killed her.
Next slide: Silas has a worrying grin on his face as he emerges victorious.
Another click of the remote, and audio of the aftermath plays.
“By god… what have we brought into this company…?” asks Jim Gunt, perhaps foretelling what the CWF was going to deal with for the next several years.
“Well said, Mr Gunt.”
Next slide.
“Despite the kind of match that could’ve made us enemies for life, Miss Raven and I developed a little bit of a rapport with each other, and in the next few weeks we would officially compete as one.”
The image was of Autumn and Silas, shoulder bumping each other while their hands were clasped.
Next slide: It’s a video of a match. The Foresaken vs The Coalition and Marksman. The Foresaken are a man down after their third man walked out on them, but the Marksman ended up eating the pin.
“I find this match to be quite intriguing, for you say that The Foresaken is integral to your identity–you even go by the name “The Foresaken Psychotic”.
He rewinds and watches the match.
“And yet…where are you in this?”
The Foresaken’s third man was someone who went by the name Mannequin, who abandoned Shadow and Ataxia to their fates as they walked out of the match. It would’ve been a statement on the traitor if their opponents didn’t have a weak link of their own, one that The Foresaken took full advantage of.
“For someone who said that this group was your blood and soul, it doesn’t seem like they considered you the same, nor did they think you were important enough to bring you until you were in the company several weeks later.”
He leans out of his chair and looks towards the camera, and, by extension, his opponent.
“I remember you mentioning that I invited you into our little union of strange and interesting fellows, and yet looking back on the tapes we have access to, not one of them featured my extending a hand to you.”
He looks a bit perplexed.
“Was the footage lost to time? Was it burned in an accident? Was it some form of hallucination to channel your anger towards me? I’m not mad, just…puzzled.”
A small grin leaks from his face.
“But you know what I do find?”
Next slide: Silas, Autumn, and the Lost Boys of Sam Braxton and Dean Coulter.
“I found some people wanting to leave a mark in this company, a lovely group of eclectic individuals who stood by and supported each other.”
Next slide has a video: It’s The Lost Boys against the Entourage. Silas is screaming at them in a fit of pure energy. “COME ON BRAXTON! GET UP AND SHOW THEM WHO’S THE CHAMPION!” The banging on the mat got the downed Sam to drag himself to the corner and tag in his partner, and not long after, The Lost Boys collected the tag titles.
“This was one of my proudest moments, being alongside these guys. In fact, some of my warmest memories of my career have been travelling with these three guys, talking tactics, and one time in Japan when we just went into Tokyo and had a night we couldn’t remember.
Even when we didn’t see eye-to-eye, we always made it out stronger than ever.”
The Lost Boys vs Autumn and Silas, no holds barred, weapons a plenty in front of the Tokyo Dome audience. Silas hitting Sam in the head with the force of a thousand elephants, Autumn Raven crashing through a chair structure, Silas delivering a chairshot to the referee to keep the match going, Dean breaking up the pin while a replacement ref counted, Silas getting pinned after taking a sustained beating, and the four of them carrying each other to the back covered in blood.
"The memories of this bring a tear to the eye."
He peers out of the chair again and looks at the camera.
He was right. His left eye was watering.
"The bond that was forged within the fires of the Tokyo Dome that night was bound by blood and sweat; every iota of frustration we had with each other had vanished, and we were poised to dominate the tag team scene while building ourselves up individually.
What's lost in the shuffle of this story are the numerous singles matches I had with the likes of MJ Flair, Caledonia, and many others, all ending in the same way."
A pause.
"Defeat."
Beat.
"There's a reason why, in the coming weeks, I will have accumulated the most losses in the history of this federation, and it wasn't from lack of trying.
It was extremely frustrating, but I knew that success didn't come from victories within the ring, but also from victories to those closest to you."
Silas paused a little longer than usual before wiping the tear away from his eye. His look turned grim, and his voice lowered.
"Little did I know, there was a cancer within the CWF."
He hit the button to the next slide, all while maintaining eye contact with the lens while the video of a moment not involving the man was playing.
The Shadow speaks as the Lost Boys deal with their loss to the Foresaken. "Your Coalition is nothing but a hollow shell of a stable, built solely to further your cause..."
Silas presses the button, and the video skips forward a little.
"...That the Lost Boys hold the tag team titles? They did not need you to get them..."
He presses it again, it skips forward more.
"Implying I'm taking their credit?"
"...It is the Women’s Revolution, no offence, but if Autumn was a man, she would be nowhere near that belt. You have dragged her with you, but on her own she would be languishing in the opening matches of any show we do...
He presses again to skip forward.
"Autumn had a CWF Championship match against Flair that night, for your information."
"That is the brick and mortar big achievements are built on, hah!"
He presses again, and the video stops. Very slowly he cracks his shoulders, easing the tension caused by Shadow's words and Silas' current posture.
"In my entire career, I've gone to great pains to not drag down my opponents. Yes, I have to talk smack; that is the nature of the business, but to completely diminish this union we had forged was nothing short of pathetic and completely uncalled for. And The Shadow calls himself a good man? He sees himself as a hero?"
He blinks.
"This is the man you follow, Mia? Your teacher? Your mentor? Does he not understand how a wrestling stable works?"
Beat.
"We supported each other through thick and thin, and yet, without any prompt aside from winning against The Lost Boys, your man took the shovel and threw soil at us. How did you think Autumn felt? She had her title shot and Shadow called it a waste of time. Is that the legacy you want to carry? With a man who implied that the reason she got a title shot was that she was a woman?"
He finally leans back in the chair.
"I don't know what Autumn thought of that little performance, and I cannot speak on behalf of her, but I would've wanted his head on a pike."
He glances back at the camera.
"That part of the proud legacy? Sexism? What a shame."
Next slide: the Coalition falls apart.
"It must've hit Dean hard, but it didn't make him a better man. It made him worse as he joined with the Oroborous, and Sam followed to try and bring him back, and we never spoke again."
Next slide: Silas tosses Autumn aside.
"All that did was make me stressed and paranoid, and my mind started breaking apart."
He exhales deeply.
"Not helped by the passenger in my head."
Next slide: Wrestlefest. The fatal fourway opener.
"I knew that to stop being dismissed, I would've had to utilise all the knowledge I had learned the past year as both a singles competitor and as a tag team athlete, and show the world the true Silas Artoria, the man beyond the Coalition."
Loki Synn, The Shadow, Autumn Raven...
"But the time had come to let them play."
...and the Bloodletter; the passenger had taken the wheel, and once again it was Autumn at the other end.
"The sensation you get when it takes over is like being trapped in a world of pure nothingness, where you cannot move, and the only sensation you have is distorted sight. You become the passenger, and a dread that lurks within has their way with everything and everyone around them.
It might seem like a blessing, but how would you feel if an unhinged individual commandeered your body and actions?"
The Bloodletter violently attacked Autumn, Shadow, and eventually Loki, each of them having difficulty in overcoming this force of pure violence, until eventually they started working together and buried the man under the announce desk. The three of them were tired and broken from the encounter, and it wasn't the end of their match.
"SQUAWK! WORLD TITLE," mocked Ataxia, clearly directing it towards Silas as the replay projected Silas' limp body under the announce table.
"Even when all cannons are firing, you all still took great glee in mocking my attempts to forge something."
There is a resentful anger within his voice.
"Even when your man was made an example of, and came face to face with the over side of the coin, even after the breakup of the stable, you STILL..."
The word bounced from the empty walls of the chamber, and seeming reberberated for several seconds as Silas clutched the armchair tightly.
"...made it your top priority to diminish me at vital points of my career."
He looks at the camera.
"You may call it whining, but when the same woodpecker is tapping at your head over and over again for several months, you have to wonder if they have it out for you.
And so, I had to aim higher."
Next slide: it's the next week.
The world champion MJ Flair vs Silas Artoria in the main event. It's a hefty back and forth, featuring the confident personality of Flair and the bubbling hatred of Artoria. Flair believes she has it in the bag, but the roll up from Silas secures him a victory.
A victory over the world champion.
A darkly laugher seeps from the Aristocrat.
"The problem with confidence is that it is often an insidious mistress. She boosts your own ego while leaving you blind to blatant and simple mistakes that can take you down like a house of cards.
Flair may be one of the best to do it, but she was a fool in this match, letting her belt act as a substitute for talent and effort on this occasion.
And she would have to run it back the next week."
Next slide: MJ Flair vs Silas Artoria.
"The Ironman match, the closest I got to the championship at that point."
The highlights begin to play.
Loki Synn hits Flair at the back of her head.
And Flair gets counted out as The Shadow tries to get her back in the ring.
Silas spits in Shadow's face, and a receipt is delivered.
Not even one minute in, Silas is up two to zero, and he pauses the video.
"It's been a while since I took a look back on this match, and I think what really annoys me the most is that even when I'm given the rightful opportunity for the title...
...you couldn't...just...STOP...MAKING IT ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE!"
He looks at the lens.
"Even when I earned, not lucked, earned the opportunity, your legacy once again wanted to get in the way. I'm almost impressed by how much of a spectre the Foresaken has become to me, because why would you want to derail the conversation you had NO RIGHT TO BE PART OF!?"
He stares at the camera for what seems like an eternity.
"The good news is that your man found out that they are not prone to having their plans light up in their face.
The bad news was that there were still fifty-eight minutes to go."
The replay continues as he sits back in the chair, watching as the seconds and minutes go by.
"An Ironman match is a strange sensation. You have to fight your emotional muscle memory in that it isn't over when you get the pin, and you have to get it into your head that everyone and everything is lying to you in some way.
Your friends can lie to you.
Your authority figures can lie to you.
Even your body can lie to you.
But the only thing that is truly honest in this world is a stopwatch.
And having that in the back of your mind presents a mental pressure that's boiling up inside you."
He lightly points to the replay.
"This, this is the match that transformed me in some way, deep inside. It's like being part of the world's longest ultra-marathon within the mountains.
Sure, you can prepare down to the very last detail on how you're going to tackle such a gargantuan challenge, right down to the last detail and the last calorie of food you intake.
But it doesn't prepare you for how it feels.
Plans go wrong, and your preparation will become your biggest obstacle as your thoughts are distracted by trying to find something you missed."
Flair picks up a fall after nearly thirty-two minutes as the crowd explodes for their hero.
"Nothing will beat experience."
Flair takes her second fall after forty-eight minutes.
"Nothing will."
And Flair takes the third fall after fifty-nine minutes. Silas successfully scrambles to perform his finisher as blood pours from his face like a waterfall, but the bell rang as he tried to hook Flair's leg.
He rolls out of the ring without another word, and returns to Gorilla without noticing that he was getting some appreciation from the crowd.
Silas pauses the replay and ponders the frame of Silas covered in blood, and Flair, barely able to stand on her feet, giving Silas an applause for the fight they just had.
"If I could go back and change something, it would be to have enough clarity to see the appreciation and respect I got from this match.
For the first time in my career, I was actually being seen for what I can do.
It took about a year since I first arrived at the CWF, but I finally received one flower.
And I didn't even notice until I rewatched this match."
The next slide: Silas climbs the ladder and unhooks the Paramount Championship within a sea of crowd support before promptly collapsing from the battle he had with Jimmy Allen.
"That man arrived at the CWF in November 2017. He has pushed tag team wrestling to the brink, he fought company legends, he set the bar at the beginning of Wrestlefest, had the match of the year with MJ Flair, and now he finally holds his first CWF championship."
"From the words of Jim Gunt himself. He's always been so eloquent with words when it mattered the most. He knows that during pivotal moments like this, the commentary commending such an achievement must be nearly perfect.
He encapsulated what this championship meant to me. All the pain, all the interference, all the setbacks, it all built up to this moment right here.
And the Foresaken couldn't stop that feeling of pride and accomplishment that flooded every essence of my soul.
It was a beautiful day."
Next slide.
Pure darkness.
Silas stands from his chair and positions himself at the centre frame.
There is a silence in the air.
And then he started to speak softly.
"Then, you left.
On the advent of the biggest show of the year."
Contempt started filling his voice.
And the fabric of the federation began to fray. The vultures looking outside saw their opportunity to feast on the injured carcass of the CWF."
He turned towards the chair and kicked it hard out of frame, breaking into pieces before it even left the sight of the camera.
"Through that period of desperation, a new concept for this company was made manifest."
Next slide: It's a video of twenty competitors lining up into separate tables as music started to hype up the new concept, named--
"Alpha and Omega.
What was left of the willing roster with the outsiders, split in twain, and to do battle with each other until one from each side was the clear winner."
Next slide, with aggression, a series of matches one after the other. Silas Artoria vs a variety of opponents, old and new, from within the federation and from outside.
He spoke quickly and with clear, near-perfect diction.
"Match number one: Kyuseishu. An arrogant fool whose confidence in previously defeating me only got the better of him. Revenge was delivered.
Match number two: Autumn Raven. The shadow that has haunted me since I first arrived and who has kept the other side of the coin in check. I finally put that to rest, and ended her night in a hospital.
Match number three: JC. My mistake, the outsider I underestimated, and he got the better of me. I asked him if he was good enough, and…well, let’s say he got the name ‘The Answer’ for a good reason.
Match number four: Starlight. The pent-up anger from last week got the better of me, and I dispatched the poor girl efficiently. It might’ve been worse too, but…well, there were already enough unpleasantries. We did make up after."
Deep breath, next slide, he speaks faster.
"Match number five: Bubba Love, and the poor fool was subject to the one time the other side of the coin showed his ugly face, and suffered a more brutal drubbing than Starlight did, only much faster."
Next slide.
Faster.
"Match number six: Ariel Shadows, the end game had begun, and every single opponent had to bring all to bear to have a chance at either winning the bracket, or spoil someone else’s opportunity. Fortunately, even though she took me to task, I was able to prevail, though I would’ve been lying if I didn’t say the match left me worried."
FASTER!
"Match seven: Jay Mora. At this point, the race to the top of the bracket was between myself, JC, and Kyuseishu. Jay Mora was of little concern, but the match between the others presented an interesting dynamic. JC was defeated by Kyuseishu, which only added additional pressure to me, because now it took only one little slip-up to fall out of the competition."
Stop!
Pause.
Breathe out.
Calmly now.
Silas pressed the remote again, and a familiar face presented themselves to the Aristocrat.
"The final match: Ataxia.
A familiar face to those mockery has echoed in my head.
The madman was already eliminated…
…but this was a match I had to win–this was the last hurdle."
The replay of the match is shown, demonstrating the utter brutal insanity each of them was willing to go to. It almost looked like the stakes didn't matter; it was more akin to one side wanting to finally put the other out of their misery after years of taunts and teases.
"We went to war with each other; every last drop of energy, every bullet within our chamber, we laid everything out. Minute by minute we hit and hurt each other, like we were trying to kill each other.
I had a championship match on the line.
Ataxia had a kick of ruining other people’s hopes and dreams for the entertainment of it all.
And even when it looked like outside forces had other plans…"
One...two...three...
"I won."
" Ladies and gentlemen, your winner of the match, and OMEGA BLOCK CHAMPION!"
"I won the block."
"SILAS ARTORIA!"
Next slide: " I entered this tournament as the Psychotic Aristocrat, and now, you’re looking at the one...true...Omega!"
"And all that was standing in the way between me and glory was Freddie Styles."
Next slide: CWF Genesis
"And as soon as Trent Robbins counted to three."
"and now he has Freddie on his shoulders! My god, FALL OF MAN!"
ONE, TWO, THREE!
The Wells Fargo Center were in shock as Silas slumped off Freddie Style's defeated body. Trent presented Silas with the prize that those who entered the federation dared to dream of holding.
"I was the CWF Champion, the Psychotic Aristocrat, the One True Omega…
…Silas Artoria."
Beat.
"And it was all made an afterthought, because some people couldn’t just stand to not be the centre of attention."
Next slide: Three people who were never mentioned before, nor seen in over slides previously, jumped over the barricade. One of them feigns a strike on Silas as the exhausted champion flinched in reflex, just as the remote is once again pressed to pause the replay.
Silas just looks at the frozen replay of the final moments of Genesis, seeing these three people make themselves the main focus on what should've been the PPV to revive the company and bring it into a new era.
He somberly closes his eyes and deeply exhales the air within his lungs.
He looks down as he shuffles his hand in his pocket.
"Whenever I think about my time in the CWF, I come back to this precise moment in time."
He pulls out a match.
"I had a dream about what winning the CWF Championship at the end of one of the most gruelling journeys anyone has had to make would be like: shedding blood, sweat, and tears and not even getting a moment's rest before you had to go back out and fight."
Both his hands play with the match as his frustrations slowly but noticeably built up in his tone.
"I imagined I would be holding that belt tightly, completely spent of energy, barely able to stand, and just take in the moment. The audience, whether they loved it or hated it, didn’t matter, because I accomplished something very few people would have the chance at, and I succeeded."
Sharply, he looks back at the camera, a clear seething hatred of a man robbed of a core memory bubbling up.
"Instead, the closing moments were dedicated to these guys who jumped the barricade and basically turned into the wrestling equivalent of wedding crashers; there for their own enjoyment and damn everyone else."
The subtlety is now gone.
Now the hatred is made apparent.
"AGAIN my accomplishment was brushed aside in favour of something else!"
He sharply points towards the three men in the projected frame.
"Do you know who these guys are?"
You don't.
Because they fucked off and never came back!"
The shot of the trio watching the show slowly burns to ashes within the projection, never to be seen within the federation again.
"And so who had to pick up the pieces and try to get everything back on track? Me!"
The slide switches to the next event, featuring the CWF Champion, the King of the Alpha’s, and the runners-up of Kyuseishu and Duce Jones, each vying for a chance to take the belt from Silas.
Next slide.
There was plenty of bickering, fights, and one particular moment where Silas had both Styles and Kyuseishu on the mat, pointing at the two of them.
The presentation doesn’t progress from here, as Silas stands out from his chair with such force that the furniture flies out of the frame. His expression is indignant, full of frustration and rage at the events that transpired while he held the belt.
"The kingdom full of unchivalrous and rebellious cockroaches, all trying to tear each other apart while I tried to keep this federation going respectably.
I gave people a fighting chance at the championship, even people whom I have convincingly defeated and maintained dominance over. It sapped my strength week in and week out to the point that I wondered what the point of being here was when there was nobody to appreciate the blood and sweat it took to not only get here, but to keep the show going."
He points towards the camera, to Mia.
"YOU RAN AWAY WHEN THE GOING GOT TOUGH. YOU TOOK YOUR BALL AND RAN HOME WITH THE OTHERS WHEN FIRE WAS APPROACHING US. YOU LEFT WANTING THIS WHOLE FEDERATION BURNT TO THE GROUND, AND I DENIED YOU THAT WISH!"
The match from his pocket, rubbing it between his fingers; his spite and rage began to kindle and burn his accessory.
"When I say you are not fit for this role, I am saying that purely based on experience, because as soon as I dropped the belt to Freddie Styles and began to recuperate..."
He throws the lit match behind him...
"...it was all gone."
The projection screen is set alight, and as the heat rises, so too do the flames. From top to bottom, the history of the company is consumed by the purest form of chaos, hot and uncontrollable.
"This is what I am putting on the table."
The fire grows rapidly to cover the walls.
"This isn't just about my career as a competitor..."
The flames were getting out of control, beginning to encompass the room as time went on.
"...it's about the CWF's survival."
They get more violent.
"My story as an athlete is the story of CWF itself."
He tilts his head up flightly.
"I came back at the behest of someone no longer with us, and during that time I've been finding something worth fighting for."
The side of his mouth grins as the embers begin to engulf him
"And what would make me so glad as to take away your identity and expose it as the smoke-and-mirrors fraud that it is?"
BANG! The foundation of the ceiling begins to crumble under the destructive nature of chaos.
"That's why I hate you, Mia. That's why I want to rob you of everything that you hold dear..."
BANG! More of the ceiling collapses, with more rubble following as the manor is unable to contain
"...because the legacy you love has tried to rob me and the CWF, and it only succeeded when I couldn't hold it up."
Blink.
The complexion of his left eye has changed.
His voice becomes distorted.
It speaks for him.
It speaks to her.
"Bring everything at Wrestlefest, Mia, because I will bring everything I have, and MORE!"
The flame finally overwhelms the Aristocrat, and the building doesn't last that much longer, as the walls and supports come crashing down in an inferno of his making.
The screen cuts to black.
"And remember..."
Pause.
"...happiness has to be fought for."
A dark, dry laughter seeps from the darkness.
It waits for her.