Survival Instinct | King Brad Swann | EOD W4 | #1

[The King]

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He has reaped what he has sown. Through Maverick I have sanctified both myself and him, through suffering I have made us both stronger than ever before. Yet Maverick's strongest pales in comparison to that of my own. I am the rightful monarch of the XHF. I am the one true King. Undisputed in name. Undefeated in contention. Long may I Reign.

The white suited man opposite would nod his head, clasping his hands together.

Very well... your liege. Thank you for sharing. 

The King would snarl, trying his best to share a smile. The white suited man would cross his leg onto his lap and raise an eyebrow - reaching back with his hands on his head.

Now I know a little bit about you, would you care to reveal why you have met with me today? What could you possibly want out of my private collection?

The King would take his time. A fire almost burning in his pale white eyes.

I believe you have something of mine.

The white suited man's lip would waver, his eyes unsteady, eyebrow raised higher - yet his stature firm, a façade. One the King could see right through.

And that would that be?

The King would take no pause. He would not blink. He would not falter.

You have my crown. My crown of gold.

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With his crown securely back on his head, having been auctioned following his alleged death, the King would be in a very good mood - though you couldn't be able to tell through the look of scorn in his face. His blood stained fists would indicate that a struggle had ensued, but his clean countenance would indicate that the blood was none of his own.
 
Ooohoo! I do be liking your halloween costume, mister!

A plump man with dungarees would pass the King on the street, his eyes wide and a great big smile on his face. The King would stop, his robe blowing in the wind. His garments securely tied. Gold on his head. He would turn his neck, his eyes locking that with the short fat man.

Halloween costume?

 The man would gulp, his chubby cheeks bright red.

--I meant no offence, sir.

The King would smirk, nodding his head.

Then none have been taken.

The fat man would nod his head and faintly smile, turning; the King too would turn - and land a haymaker right into the back of the fat man's skull.

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Having just got off of the phone with XHF lawyers, the King would smash it against the side of his throne.

This is why I don't like mingling with the common folk.

He would rise from his seat and head over towards a shelf, the two rotting heads of Galloway and Lio and the missing spot of Anthony Caffrey's. He would look at them and sigh, shaking his head.

They have no respect.

The King would tut before turning to his throne - running his hand through the crack where his axe once met. That brutal Kingdom match; the downfall of the King. That dreaded window; the drop for a King.

I often wonder if I would be where I am right now without that duel with Caffrey. Would I still be in the semi-finals of the End of Days? Would I have become the FWA Professional Wrestling Champion? Would I still be, me? I should have died that night; I shouldn't be here right now but I am - for good or for worse, there seems to be a purpose for that. To reap what people sow. To bring forth sanctification through suffering. I am karma... the king of karma - and I am to suffer with this begrudging fate as karma for my past actions.

The King would peer through the window in his wall. His eyes looking down at the forty foot drop and gazing upon the drying lake below. A vein bulging from his forehead.

I should have died that night - but I did not deserve the sweet pleasure of death. Which is why the riverbed dries. Which is why I am so intent on taking away what 'saved' me.

The King would gulp - his mind racing back to his struggle in the water, the dark mossy water clogging up his lungs.

The next time I face someone in my castle, the next time I fall out that window, nothing will save me except the release of death. I do not want to live again and suffer the horrific pain of surviving. If I am to fall. I am to die. Only then shall I be free of my sins; my suffering.

 The King would close his eyes - taking in a long deep breath. Turning from the window he would reach for his broad-sword by the side of his throne.

For now, I shall continue my path of sanctification. I shall free others of their sins by reaping that of which they sow. Just like I have done Ognom, for signing up to a tournament that was way out of his league. Just like I have done Maverick, for wearing a crown that was never rightfully his.

The King would lift the sword to the light, his white eyes beaming in the reflection.

Now I face Dakota Jennings. The AWF United States Champion. It is time for her to reap what she has sown.

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The horse stable would be adorned with big sheets of steel walls. The ring in the middle loosely surrounded by four sheets of the stuff - and there, sat in the middle, would be the King.

Emily... Dakota... Jennings.

The King's right shoulder would be heavily taped, considering the close popping of his shoulder that he experienced during his Coronation Match with Maverick. His body would be welted; the imprint of steel cage mesh against his pale white skin, indicating the training he has undertaken for that of his upcoming steel cage match.

You have impressed many, having recently defeated James Mueller on week three of the End of Days. Congratulations are in order. I, for one, did not see that coming. James Mueller, tag team legend of yesteryear, a star of GUNS - losing to you. It truly means something... But I have to ask... Where was the fanfare for your victory? Where are the crowd of on-lookers going 'you know what, she may have a chance to win this thing'... I don't see them, and I reckon it's because of two strong factors.  The first factor being that in the main event of the very same show, the King and his pretender battled it out in a war that spanned three long years of Icons, Killers and Monarchs - overshadowing that of your pathetic game of 'don't touch the floor'; the second, being the fact that I am the next name on your list of opponents - the very same man who won said war. The very same man who defeated the pretender and proved why he deserved to wear the one true crown of gold.

A droplet of sweat would fall from the King's beak and land upon his bushy, unkempt upper-lip. He would point his finger forward, tapping the air.

It's because your first hurdle pales in comparison to that of your second. I am no James Mueller. I am not a legend of times gone by. I am the here and now. The legend of today - and no-one, not a single person, truly believes deep down inside that you have what it takes to topple me and my crown. To stop me on my path of sanctification.

The King would shrug, with most of the weight going to his good shoulder.

Sure, you've had quite a journey throughout these End of Days. An I Quit Match against Misha Constantine, a... Floor is Lava Match... against James Mueller. You have earnt your place in the semi-finals of the XHF's most prestigious tournament - there is no doubt about that - but every good journey has to come to an end, and for you, its this Sunday in a Steel Cage Match against the King.

With a large smirk on his face the King would indicate to the make-shift steel cage that he had set up around his ring. Not the best attempt, not professionally done either - which is unsurprising really seeing as the King likes to do most things himself. Those welts, though, must have come from someone else - though it is not unlike the King to just keep throwing himself at steel in the hope that it would harden his skin - maybe his only friend, Dreadvan, had been training with him? 

You know, it's a shame really that I do not get to fight you in your peak. I'm sure the fight you would have put up would have made your name even more noteworthy - but this Sunday there won't be much of a fight from your side. It will be me, unfortunately, picking up the scraps of whatever is left of you after your United States Championship defence against Neo James Carner - and that's if you can even stand. In-fact, its not a damn shame - its a complete mockery. You go from one match straight to the other, and its not like there's some break in-between, its one after another. One for gold, the other for glory. The first night of EOD I had to first face off with Ognom, then later on in the night have my toughest battle yet against STRiFE for the Visual Kei Championship. That was with a break in-between. That was against... Ognom... of all people. Now you are to go from Neo James Carner, one of the AWF's top rising stars, straight into a steel cage match with the King of the XHF? There is no possible way that you shall survive. Not a single bit of logic dictates that you are to walk away with the win. --Not that you had any chance of winning, anyways.

The King would rise to his feet, taking his time - his body a sweaty imprint on the canvas below. Running his hands over the cold steel of the cage wall, the King would be firm.

--but, just like my opponents before you, it doesn't mean I'll be taking a laid back approach to our match. I am still preparing at one hundred and ten percent as though you were going to challenge me with your best, because I am not going to make a fool of myself come the eighteenth of October. You are AWF's United States Champion for a reason. You are in the semi-finals of the End of Days for a reason. I'm sure deep down inside there is a drive that is going to push you to make one last stand - a final surge of adrenaline that will drag you into fighting back. You have it. I have it. All of us have it inside us. That survival instinct. Right in there.

He would motion to his brain. Avoiding that of his heart - if he even had one.

The thing is, Jennings... Survival instinct wears off. You cannot rely solely on that to pull you through, especially when my survival instincts will be twice as strong - and not worn down like yours will be following your title defence. Adrenaline lasts as long as you have energy in your mind and blood in your veins. So this Sunday, I am going to sap your mind of energy when I drop you on your head with the Fine Ending; I am going to rid your veins of blood when I mash your head up against the side of the cage wall - when I grate your pretty little red-cheeked face into pure, unforgiving, steel.

With both hands clasping the steel he would press his face up against the cage, smirking, allowing the sharp metal to dig right into his skin. Slowly pulling away, trickles of blood would fall and he would let out an eerie smile. 

Now don't come back giving me retorts about how you were 'born' to fight in a 'steel cage'. One MMA win doesn't make you a seasoned pro, just as much as one win over James Mueller doesn't make you a fan favourite. The truth is, no one is truly ready for a steel cage match. I know that despite how much work I'm going to put in, when I'm in there, there are still going to be some things that surprise even me when it comes to that environment. It's going to be a bloody mess. A violent festival of carnage. --and I'd be lying if I didn't say I was excited. It's just unfortunate that you won't be joining me at one hundred percent.

Sweat and blood on the King; no tears in sight. A savage in the skin of a man. A sadist in the shape of a King.

This Sunday I am going to advance to the finals with ease. I am going to break whatever is left of your 'firecracker' body and have my good arm raised, the victor of our battle - the winner of the fight that is our steel cage survival instinct. By pushing yourself too hard, for having management that has no regards to your well-being, you, and the AWF will reap what you have sown.

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