Post by EricMX on Mar 19, 2021 14:30:03 GMT -5
ACCEPTANCE
As we view an image of darkness, a feminine voice can be clearly heard.
???: That's what you get for putting your life on the |BLEEP|in' line.
We fade into the familiar image of a modern Los Angeles house - more specifically, its living room. Here, two gigantic windows span the entirety of the northern wall, allowing the rays of the California sunset to be visible but not blindingly so. Inside, white carpeting lines the floor of the large space, upon which one of the house's owners, the mesmerizing Sophie Irvine, stands with her fists clenched and face contorted in frustration. Wearing a blue t-shirt and khaki slacks, her long brunette hair covers part of her enraged expression as she stares across the room at the man currently serving as the source of it: her husband, the Wrestling God, Syndicate. Fresh off a brutal loss to his arch rival, Tommy Lipton, at Holiday Hell, Syndicate stands with his back to Sophie and the camera, staring out the large window at the beautiful neighborhood surrounding his home. From behind, we can see that he's wearing a white tank top and blue jeans - a noticeable step down from the upscale attire that the Wrestling God is usually found in - but his face and front profile are obscured by the angle of the camera. As Sophie continues to speak to him from across the room, he remains silent, refusing to look his wife in the eye.
Sophie: Almost a year ago, you told me that you'd be leaving for one match, one show, and then you'd be done. You promised me that you would walk away before things got too serious. But one match wasn't enough for you, and now look where you are. Fired from your job. Distant from your friends. All you care about is that goddamn World title, and where has that gotten you? In the damn hospital for a week, that's where.
Syndicate continues to be silent as Sophie slowly moves around the black leather couch in the middle of the room and walks towards him, continuing her well-deserved tirade.
Sophie: And how do you think I feel after all this? I love you, and I'll always be there to support you, but how do you think it feels to stand there and watch as you hurt all these people? Every time we go out there, it's another exercise in holding my breath as I watch you beat those men senseless. And then, when you willingly walk into a cage that's on |BLEEP|ing fire, I just have to let it happen? No. I am not going to allow you to risk the future of our family just so you can prove a point to Tommy goddamn Lipton, do you understand me?
A pause. Syndicate still doesn't say a word.
Sophie: You flew too close to the sun, and you've paid the price for it. Are you happy, Sydney? Are you happy with how things are?
Syndicate: ...what did I say about calling me Sydney?
The Wrestling God turns to look over his right shoulder, allowing half of his face to finally be seen by the camera. As this happens, we catch a glimpse of a stark red burn mark, stretching from the top of Syndicate's forehead down to his jawline, that was likely caused by Syndicate's encounter with the enflamed cage wall at Holiday Hell. This unsightly burn significantly disrupts the normally picturesque face of the Wrestling God, and judging from his expression, he's none too happy about it.
Syndicate: The prophecy stated that at Holiday Hell, the Holy Grail would finally become mine to hold once again. The prophecy said that I would prevail. The prophecy...that you yourself foresaw.
Syndicate now turns to face his wife, finally bringing his full profile into view. In addition to the significant burn covering the right half of his face, a smaller but similar mark can be seen on his left. Around the edges of his tank top, numerous scrapes and cuts are visible, also stemming from his intense battle within the Inferno Asylum.
Syndicate: This is YOUR fault. This is YOUR doing. How am I supposed to act if my Oracle is providing prophecies that turn out to be falsehoods?
It's clear that Syndicate still sees Sophie as "The Oracle," the persona that she's adopted in order to remain close with her husband...even if it's far from her true personality. Even so, Sophie continues to play along somewhat.
Sophie: Did I read an incorrect prophecy, Sydney, or did you just fail to enact it?
Syndicate once again grimaces at the sound of his real first name, once again showing how his mind has reverted to the destructive tendencies he displayed early in his career.
Syndicate: Leave me. I have much to consider.
Sophie: No, we're talking about this right NOW. You can't keep dodging the question of -
Syndicate: I said LEAVE ME.
Another pause. Sophie doesn't know whether to press forward in their argument or let it drop - she ends up choosing the middle ground between the two options.
Sophie: Fine. But you better think long and hard about how Holiday Hell went for you, because if you don't stop this "mission" of yours or whatever, then you're going to keep getting hurt. And the worst part is...you'll deserve it.
With one last angry look into her husband's eyes, Sophie turns and walks up the nearby stairs that lead to the upper floor of the house. This leaves a broken Syndicate alone in their living room as he turns back to the ten-foot windows, looking wistfully out into the world that encircles him.
Syndicate: ...it all happened so fast. One moment, I was standing there in the light, the golden gates of Valhalla mere inches from my grasp. My eternal enemy was gripping to the final edges of consciousness, I rush at him looking for the deathblow, and then?
He looks up into the camera lens with an expressionless stare, as if he's seen a ghost.
Syndicate: Silence. Absolute silence. It's as if, for a moment, the world was whisked away into another corner of the universe while I was left behind in the dark, tasked with fending for myself in the void, and in that instant, that's what I felt...not burning, not pain, but emptiness across my entire being unlike anything I've ever experienced before. Because when I found myself flying into the flames, when I expected the embers to burn my soul alive, I instead felt the hands of fire welcoming me with open arms, as though I was a welcomed guest in their home. I was not harmed by the heat, I was embraced by it, and in that short moment of peace and clarity? EVERYTHING became clear.
The Wrestling God brushes back his long blonde hair that covers part of his face, its ends visibly burnt as a result of the Inferno Asylum.
Syndicate: When I stepped into the final circle of Hell to face you, Tommy, I had expected it to be a round trip. After all, I'm the Wrestling God; I belong amongst my peers in the heavens, overlooking my kingdom with an iron fist and an inescapable will while people like you grovel in the depths. But when I was welcomed by the flames of the Inferno Asylum, when I felt them caress my flesh and mark my face, I finally understood the errors in my ways. For while I correctly understood that the two of us will be locked in an everlasting war until the end of time, Tommy, I made a fatal error in understanding our positions in this world. Because I am not an altruistic deity...I do not go wish to go out of my way to benefit others. After all, where have the rest of my peers been as I've sacrificed so much to defeat the pestilence in this world? What have they ever done for me but throw disrespect in my direction? Why do THEY deserve salvation?
Syndicate: In short, they do not. They deserve nothing but the same eternal suffering that you too are destined to endure, Tommy. And it was in that moment in the embers of Hell that I realized...that's where I belong. Not in Valhalla, not in the heavens, but down in the depths of the inferno along with you, Tommy. The fire accepted me in a way that this company never has...I've always been an outcast in this world, but I didn't feel that way between the tendrils of the flames. I felt...happy. Fulfilled. Welcome. And I'm not going to let that feeling slip away. So now, Tommy, here we are. Stuck with each other in the depths of Hell, destined for confrontation until one of us finally submits. You, the golden boy, the man who has hung onto his spot with an unbreakable grip. And me, the Fallen Angel, the disgraced WRESTLING GOD, who shall come for you again and again and again until one day, one fateful day...you finally fall at my feet. For the inferno has embraced me, Tommy, and I have embraced it in return. I am not here to save the WWX, I am here to burn it to the ground by any means necessary, and if you don't fall first, then you'll most assuredly find yourself buried in the rubble. This is not a warning, Tommy, this is a prophecy: your reign as champion of this world shall soon come to a bitter end, and it will be at my hands that you shall finally perish.
Syndicate takes a moment to steady and refocus, clearly still feeling the mental effects of the war he went through with Tommy Lipton. As he does, a young boy rides past the Irvine household on his bike, blissfully unaware of the internal torment that the home's owner is enduring.
Syndicate: And then there's you, Mayhem. You've been placed in front of a vengeful Fallen Angel in what is assuredly the most important match of your life. I'm sure you see these markings upon my face, the bruises scattered across my skin, and you believe that I have been reduced to nothing more than a distracted puppet, ready to be devoured. But if that is what you truly believe, I must caution you. For in this moment, I find myself more focused and driven than ever, and I will not allow someone as undeserving as you to gain a victory over someone that is simply genetically superior to all others. For this isn't just a wrestling match, this isn't an exhibition between you and I, Mayhem...this is the beginning of the end of the world. I may be the Wrestling God, but I do not give a damn about whether or not you survive another day; in fact, I feel as though it shall be quite enjoyable to watch your blood spill all over that canvas, in front of everyone that you hold near and dear without a hope in the world for salvation. As I said, I'm not altruistic...I'm not here to save you, Mayhem. I'm here to end you. I'm here to end the façade that you belong in the same realm as the Wrestling God. I'm here to break your bones into pieces as if they were twigs under my shoe. And when you inevitably resist, when you try your hardest to fight against the will of the the Wrestling God, that's when your confidence, your drive to succeed, shall be sapped from your corpse.
Syndicate: You are not the first man to fight against me, and you will assuredly not be the last. But since this is our first time meeting face-to-face, I feel as though you need to be warned of what is to come. Because this very well may be your final match in the World Wrestling Xistence. Not because you will quit or be fired or anything such as that...but because you will be unable to wrestle ever again after you come into contact with the Fallen Angel, the WRESTLING GOD. These burns, these scars, they exist to show you what I'm willing to go through to get what I want, and in this moment, I want nothing more than to see you burn in the same way that Tommy Lipton made me burn. I want you to experience the same hellfire that I endured inside the Inferno Asylum, so that you too may understand just how immortal I truly am. For if the embers of Hell itself are unable to deter me from my goal of regaining the Holy Grail by any means necessary, then you, Mayhem, shall be nothing more than a bug on my windshield, a breeze in the wind, as I march forward for a higher purpose. But if you must find solace in something, let it be this: one day, when you have since passed, you shall be remembered as the first domino to fall in my quest to pull the WWX, and everyone within it, down into the depths of purgatory where it belongs. The sins of the forsaken shall not go unpunished, Mayhem...I hope that you learn this lesson before it is too late. Praise be to the Wrestling God...and may all others suffer in the same way that He has suffered.
Taking one last glance at the world outside, the shattered Syndicate turns away from the camera and through a nearby open door, likely the one that leads down to the basement of the house. As he does, darkness feeds upon the camera feed until there is nothing left..
As we view an image of darkness, a feminine voice can be clearly heard.
???: That's what you get for putting your life on the |BLEEP|in' line.
We fade into the familiar image of a modern Los Angeles house - more specifically, its living room. Here, two gigantic windows span the entirety of the northern wall, allowing the rays of the California sunset to be visible but not blindingly so. Inside, white carpeting lines the floor of the large space, upon which one of the house's owners, the mesmerizing Sophie Irvine, stands with her fists clenched and face contorted in frustration. Wearing a blue t-shirt and khaki slacks, her long brunette hair covers part of her enraged expression as she stares across the room at the man currently serving as the source of it: her husband, the Wrestling God, Syndicate. Fresh off a brutal loss to his arch rival, Tommy Lipton, at Holiday Hell, Syndicate stands with his back to Sophie and the camera, staring out the large window at the beautiful neighborhood surrounding his home. From behind, we can see that he's wearing a white tank top and blue jeans - a noticeable step down from the upscale attire that the Wrestling God is usually found in - but his face and front profile are obscured by the angle of the camera. As Sophie continues to speak to him from across the room, he remains silent, refusing to look his wife in the eye.
Sophie: Almost a year ago, you told me that you'd be leaving for one match, one show, and then you'd be done. You promised me that you would walk away before things got too serious. But one match wasn't enough for you, and now look where you are. Fired from your job. Distant from your friends. All you care about is that goddamn World title, and where has that gotten you? In the damn hospital for a week, that's where.
Syndicate continues to be silent as Sophie slowly moves around the black leather couch in the middle of the room and walks towards him, continuing her well-deserved tirade.
Sophie: And how do you think I feel after all this? I love you, and I'll always be there to support you, but how do you think it feels to stand there and watch as you hurt all these people? Every time we go out there, it's another exercise in holding my breath as I watch you beat those men senseless. And then, when you willingly walk into a cage that's on |BLEEP|ing fire, I just have to let it happen? No. I am not going to allow you to risk the future of our family just so you can prove a point to Tommy goddamn Lipton, do you understand me?
A pause. Syndicate still doesn't say a word.
Sophie: You flew too close to the sun, and you've paid the price for it. Are you happy, Sydney? Are you happy with how things are?
Syndicate: ...what did I say about calling me Sydney?
The Wrestling God turns to look over his right shoulder, allowing half of his face to finally be seen by the camera. As this happens, we catch a glimpse of a stark red burn mark, stretching from the top of Syndicate's forehead down to his jawline, that was likely caused by Syndicate's encounter with the enflamed cage wall at Holiday Hell. This unsightly burn significantly disrupts the normally picturesque face of the Wrestling God, and judging from his expression, he's none too happy about it.
Syndicate: The prophecy stated that at Holiday Hell, the Holy Grail would finally become mine to hold once again. The prophecy said that I would prevail. The prophecy...that you yourself foresaw.
Syndicate now turns to face his wife, finally bringing his full profile into view. In addition to the significant burn covering the right half of his face, a smaller but similar mark can be seen on his left. Around the edges of his tank top, numerous scrapes and cuts are visible, also stemming from his intense battle within the Inferno Asylum.
Syndicate: This is YOUR fault. This is YOUR doing. How am I supposed to act if my Oracle is providing prophecies that turn out to be falsehoods?
It's clear that Syndicate still sees Sophie as "The Oracle," the persona that she's adopted in order to remain close with her husband...even if it's far from her true personality. Even so, Sophie continues to play along somewhat.
Sophie: Did I read an incorrect prophecy, Sydney, or did you just fail to enact it?
Syndicate once again grimaces at the sound of his real first name, once again showing how his mind has reverted to the destructive tendencies he displayed early in his career.
Syndicate: Leave me. I have much to consider.
Sophie: No, we're talking about this right NOW. You can't keep dodging the question of -
Syndicate: I said LEAVE ME.
Another pause. Sophie doesn't know whether to press forward in their argument or let it drop - she ends up choosing the middle ground between the two options.
Sophie: Fine. But you better think long and hard about how Holiday Hell went for you, because if you don't stop this "mission" of yours or whatever, then you're going to keep getting hurt. And the worst part is...you'll deserve it.
With one last angry look into her husband's eyes, Sophie turns and walks up the nearby stairs that lead to the upper floor of the house. This leaves a broken Syndicate alone in their living room as he turns back to the ten-foot windows, looking wistfully out into the world that encircles him.
Syndicate: ...it all happened so fast. One moment, I was standing there in the light, the golden gates of Valhalla mere inches from my grasp. My eternal enemy was gripping to the final edges of consciousness, I rush at him looking for the deathblow, and then?
He looks up into the camera lens with an expressionless stare, as if he's seen a ghost.
Syndicate: Silence. Absolute silence. It's as if, for a moment, the world was whisked away into another corner of the universe while I was left behind in the dark, tasked with fending for myself in the void, and in that instant, that's what I felt...not burning, not pain, but emptiness across my entire being unlike anything I've ever experienced before. Because when I found myself flying into the flames, when I expected the embers to burn my soul alive, I instead felt the hands of fire welcoming me with open arms, as though I was a welcomed guest in their home. I was not harmed by the heat, I was embraced by it, and in that short moment of peace and clarity? EVERYTHING became clear.
The Wrestling God brushes back his long blonde hair that covers part of his face, its ends visibly burnt as a result of the Inferno Asylum.
Syndicate: When I stepped into the final circle of Hell to face you, Tommy, I had expected it to be a round trip. After all, I'm the Wrestling God; I belong amongst my peers in the heavens, overlooking my kingdom with an iron fist and an inescapable will while people like you grovel in the depths. But when I was welcomed by the flames of the Inferno Asylum, when I felt them caress my flesh and mark my face, I finally understood the errors in my ways. For while I correctly understood that the two of us will be locked in an everlasting war until the end of time, Tommy, I made a fatal error in understanding our positions in this world. Because I am not an altruistic deity...I do not go wish to go out of my way to benefit others. After all, where have the rest of my peers been as I've sacrificed so much to defeat the pestilence in this world? What have they ever done for me but throw disrespect in my direction? Why do THEY deserve salvation?
Syndicate: In short, they do not. They deserve nothing but the same eternal suffering that you too are destined to endure, Tommy. And it was in that moment in the embers of Hell that I realized...that's where I belong. Not in Valhalla, not in the heavens, but down in the depths of the inferno along with you, Tommy. The fire accepted me in a way that this company never has...I've always been an outcast in this world, but I didn't feel that way between the tendrils of the flames. I felt...happy. Fulfilled. Welcome. And I'm not going to let that feeling slip away. So now, Tommy, here we are. Stuck with each other in the depths of Hell, destined for confrontation until one of us finally submits. You, the golden boy, the man who has hung onto his spot with an unbreakable grip. And me, the Fallen Angel, the disgraced WRESTLING GOD, who shall come for you again and again and again until one day, one fateful day...you finally fall at my feet. For the inferno has embraced me, Tommy, and I have embraced it in return. I am not here to save the WWX, I am here to burn it to the ground by any means necessary, and if you don't fall first, then you'll most assuredly find yourself buried in the rubble. This is not a warning, Tommy, this is a prophecy: your reign as champion of this world shall soon come to a bitter end, and it will be at my hands that you shall finally perish.
Syndicate takes a moment to steady and refocus, clearly still feeling the mental effects of the war he went through with Tommy Lipton. As he does, a young boy rides past the Irvine household on his bike, blissfully unaware of the internal torment that the home's owner is enduring.
Syndicate: And then there's you, Mayhem. You've been placed in front of a vengeful Fallen Angel in what is assuredly the most important match of your life. I'm sure you see these markings upon my face, the bruises scattered across my skin, and you believe that I have been reduced to nothing more than a distracted puppet, ready to be devoured. But if that is what you truly believe, I must caution you. For in this moment, I find myself more focused and driven than ever, and I will not allow someone as undeserving as you to gain a victory over someone that is simply genetically superior to all others. For this isn't just a wrestling match, this isn't an exhibition between you and I, Mayhem...this is the beginning of the end of the world. I may be the Wrestling God, but I do not give a damn about whether or not you survive another day; in fact, I feel as though it shall be quite enjoyable to watch your blood spill all over that canvas, in front of everyone that you hold near and dear without a hope in the world for salvation. As I said, I'm not altruistic...I'm not here to save you, Mayhem. I'm here to end you. I'm here to end the façade that you belong in the same realm as the Wrestling God. I'm here to break your bones into pieces as if they were twigs under my shoe. And when you inevitably resist, when you try your hardest to fight against the will of the the Wrestling God, that's when your confidence, your drive to succeed, shall be sapped from your corpse.
Syndicate: You are not the first man to fight against me, and you will assuredly not be the last. But since this is our first time meeting face-to-face, I feel as though you need to be warned of what is to come. Because this very well may be your final match in the World Wrestling Xistence. Not because you will quit or be fired or anything such as that...but because you will be unable to wrestle ever again after you come into contact with the Fallen Angel, the WRESTLING GOD. These burns, these scars, they exist to show you what I'm willing to go through to get what I want, and in this moment, I want nothing more than to see you burn in the same way that Tommy Lipton made me burn. I want you to experience the same hellfire that I endured inside the Inferno Asylum, so that you too may understand just how immortal I truly am. For if the embers of Hell itself are unable to deter me from my goal of regaining the Holy Grail by any means necessary, then you, Mayhem, shall be nothing more than a bug on my windshield, a breeze in the wind, as I march forward for a higher purpose. But if you must find solace in something, let it be this: one day, when you have since passed, you shall be remembered as the first domino to fall in my quest to pull the WWX, and everyone within it, down into the depths of purgatory where it belongs. The sins of the forsaken shall not go unpunished, Mayhem...I hope that you learn this lesson before it is too late. Praise be to the Wrestling God...and may all others suffer in the same way that He has suffered.
Taking one last glance at the world outside, the shattered Syndicate turns away from the camera and through a nearby open door, likely the one that leads down to the basement of the house. As he does, darkness feeds upon the camera feed until there is nothing left..