Post by hate on Oct 7, 2022 19:45:32 GMT
Forty-seven minutes and a single fucking second. Not bad for the guy who entered at number one, and who cares for the styhle of these gimmick matxhes about as much as the dead bitch cared about Diana's life.
Never been satisfied with 'not bad' though, but I can't really go back and change the past now can I? That briefcase ain't in my hands - instead it belongs to LEON CHANT, who via his entrance and deciding to involve himself in my fucking business has won more than the Royal Crown briefcase: he's also won himself a place near the very top of my fucking hit-list. I say near the top because despite how badly I wanna de-glove him until he looks more like a pile of shredded pork than a human being, I sadly have other victims to consider before he gets his chance. And the wild thing is that this week marks my first singles competition in this fucking company - they finally got tired of sticking me in triple threats and tag teams.
Really shit news for AREN MSTISLAV but hey, he's already had to stand in the ring with me so he's used to getting shit news.
I want you to consider a little something Aren, if you'll humor me. I want you to think about all the shit I've said in previous weeks. I want you to consider say, how pissed I was that McCain's lucky shot on me ended up in a pinfall because I had to babysit LIZ KARLSON. Think about how many times I've told everyone watching and everyone in that locker room that I'd fight anyone, anywhere. Think about how badly I whipped your ass last time we were in the ring together, and how I eliminated you at Royal Crown. Lastly, think about how I entered that battle royal at number fucking one and ran through five fucking men before LEON CHANT squeezed me out.
Are you getting an idea yet of just how fucking pissed I'm gonna be when I get in the ring with you again? Yeah - it ain't gonna be pretty.
I think it goes without saying that I have nothing to prove here. You've got nothing on me, couldn't squeak a win out from underneath me even when I had a whole third person to consider and track. Now it's just you at me, one white canvas, four posts and three ropes. No distractions, no gimmicks - the bell ain't gonna ring if either of us happens to pin someone else or get each other over the ropes because those are all non-fucking-factors.
Nah this is a real fight Russki, you're gonna die. In a very public venue in front of a lot of people that are gonna be more uncomfortable then then entertained by the time I'm through, I'm gonna pull you apart piece by fucking piece until I can fit what's left nicely into one of those little nesting dolls. Then, depending upon who wins between STEFAN MCCAIN and HANZO AGUILAR, I'll place you all neat and tidy on one of their locker rooms with a little sign around your neck that says 'YOU'RE NEXT'.
Since it seems like booking is done fucking with me, I'm done fucking around too. Whether I have to clip the Eagle's wings or show McCain what LETHAL really means doesn't really make a difference... especially since that second one is coming no matter what. There's a little score to settle between us, however long it takes to actually get addressed. What you need to take from this Aren is that if I wasn't pissed that I admittedly missed the mark in London? You'd just be an afterthought - I would have just steamrolled over you doing my bare minimum of violence for the win and that would have been it. Like I said there's nothing to prove here, I've already shattered your throne once 'Monarch' - I don't really gain anything by making a big show out of doing it a second time. But now I'm pissed and it ain't your fault - you're just gonna have to bear the brunt of the fucking consequences until I get my hands on someone else. That applies to everyone honestly, until it's Leon Chant standing across from me in that ring and I can force feet him that briefcase until I break his jaw and every bone in his neck.
I know it's a cliché to say Aren - but it really ain't personal this time. This is about as wrong place and wrong time as you can get. Some people are gonna tell you that your best bet is to take my first big shot and lay down for the count so I don't hurt you too bad but I'm gonna do something kind for you right now and just state that's a fucking terrible idea. I might already be pissed and I might already hate you, like I hate most people, but the only way you could make this worse is if you decided to become a fucking pussy. You better bring all the offense you've got Aren, because if I suspect you're holding out on me it's just gonna make everything so, so much fucking worse for you. Right now it's Chant's head that I want on a spike - don't fuck around to much and replace him with yourself in my head.
Or you know what? Do, if you really wanna. The only person that's gonna cry about it is you. No crown for you, no victory parade. No kings or queens here, only gods and monsters. And this October I'm the scariest motherfucking monster any of you clowns is gonna see. First Aren, then McCain or Aguilar... then Myojin. Then it'll just be me with that belt slung over my shoulder atop a mountain of fucking corpses.
Boys and girls, it's time to sing the dying song.
Never been satisfied with 'not bad' though, but I can't really go back and change the past now can I? That briefcase ain't in my hands - instead it belongs to LEON CHANT, who via his entrance and deciding to involve himself in my fucking business has won more than the Royal Crown briefcase: he's also won himself a place near the very top of my fucking hit-list. I say near the top because despite how badly I wanna de-glove him until he looks more like a pile of shredded pork than a human being, I sadly have other victims to consider before he gets his chance. And the wild thing is that this week marks my first singles competition in this fucking company - they finally got tired of sticking me in triple threats and tag teams.
Really shit news for AREN MSTISLAV but hey, he's already had to stand in the ring with me so he's used to getting shit news.
I want you to consider a little something Aren, if you'll humor me. I want you to think about all the shit I've said in previous weeks. I want you to consider say, how pissed I was that McCain's lucky shot on me ended up in a pinfall because I had to babysit LIZ KARLSON. Think about how many times I've told everyone watching and everyone in that locker room that I'd fight anyone, anywhere. Think about how badly I whipped your ass last time we were in the ring together, and how I eliminated you at Royal Crown. Lastly, think about how I entered that battle royal at number fucking one and ran through five fucking men before LEON CHANT squeezed me out.
Are you getting an idea yet of just how fucking pissed I'm gonna be when I get in the ring with you again? Yeah - it ain't gonna be pretty.
I think it goes without saying that I have nothing to prove here. You've got nothing on me, couldn't squeak a win out from underneath me even when I had a whole third person to consider and track. Now it's just you at me, one white canvas, four posts and three ropes. No distractions, no gimmicks - the bell ain't gonna ring if either of us happens to pin someone else or get each other over the ropes because those are all non-fucking-factors.
Nah this is a real fight Russki, you're gonna die. In a very public venue in front of a lot of people that are gonna be more uncomfortable then then entertained by the time I'm through, I'm gonna pull you apart piece by fucking piece until I can fit what's left nicely into one of those little nesting dolls. Then, depending upon who wins between STEFAN MCCAIN and HANZO AGUILAR, I'll place you all neat and tidy on one of their locker rooms with a little sign around your neck that says 'YOU'RE NEXT'.
Since it seems like booking is done fucking with me, I'm done fucking around too. Whether I have to clip the Eagle's wings or show McCain what LETHAL really means doesn't really make a difference... especially since that second one is coming no matter what. There's a little score to settle between us, however long it takes to actually get addressed. What you need to take from this Aren is that if I wasn't pissed that I admittedly missed the mark in London? You'd just be an afterthought - I would have just steamrolled over you doing my bare minimum of violence for the win and that would have been it. Like I said there's nothing to prove here, I've already shattered your throne once 'Monarch' - I don't really gain anything by making a big show out of doing it a second time. But now I'm pissed and it ain't your fault - you're just gonna have to bear the brunt of the fucking consequences until I get my hands on someone else. That applies to everyone honestly, until it's Leon Chant standing across from me in that ring and I can force feet him that briefcase until I break his jaw and every bone in his neck.
I know it's a cliché to say Aren - but it really ain't personal this time. This is about as wrong place and wrong time as you can get. Some people are gonna tell you that your best bet is to take my first big shot and lay down for the count so I don't hurt you too bad but I'm gonna do something kind for you right now and just state that's a fucking terrible idea. I might already be pissed and I might already hate you, like I hate most people, but the only way you could make this worse is if you decided to become a fucking pussy. You better bring all the offense you've got Aren, because if I suspect you're holding out on me it's just gonna make everything so, so much fucking worse for you. Right now it's Chant's head that I want on a spike - don't fuck around to much and replace him with yourself in my head.
Or you know what? Do, if you really wanna. The only person that's gonna cry about it is you. No crown for you, no victory parade. No kings or queens here, only gods and monsters. And this October I'm the scariest motherfucking monster any of you clowns is gonna see. First Aren, then McCain or Aguilar... then Myojin. Then it'll just be me with that belt slung over my shoulder atop a mountain of fucking corpses.
Boys and girls, it's time to sing the dying song.
