Post by robriot on May 18, 2022 15:00:53 GMT -5
Whoosh. Cars flash past the camera as it faces a busy road. You’d struggle to place the road if you weren’t familiar with the UK, but to those who know it, it’s Elland Road in Leeds, England, and it’s dark. The cars have their lights on. The hulking mass of Elland Road Stadium is barely visible in the distance. Wrestle:UK will soon be arriving in Leeds, but one man has got there early.
That man is, of course, Rob Riot.
He stands in front of the camera wearing a long black coat, arms outstretched as if preaching to the sky. To the pedestrians that pass on either side, he's either just another religious lunatic in the middle of the road or a famously unhinged wrestler that they know better than to approach.
"Paul, Saul, whatever name you want to call him. They called him the Pharisee of Pharisees, didn't they, Jakie? They called him the persecutor of persecutors. He sought out your fellow believers, and he made them pay for what they held in their hearts, but one day he was struck blind. Blind like you."
Riot turns back to the camera, clasping his hands as if in prayer. There's a glint of something deeply unpleasant in his eyes, brooding but cold.
"If you believe what you say you believe, then you'll know of what I speak, but that's just the problem with you, Wentzel. I don't really know what you believe. I don't know where your claimed faith truly lies. You weren't born with a burning religious conviction, Jakie. You didn't grow up as a lamb of God. Oh, it might have been around your family, but it never seeped through your pores until the day He came and changed everything. The day He laid his hands on you. The day He brought you into his fold. And when I say He, Jakie, I mean…The Crusade."
He sneers.
"Exodus 22:20. 'Whoever sacrifices to any god other than the Lord must be destroyed.' That's the scripture. That's the instruction. To some extent, you probably believe that you followed it, but that isn't true either. You struck down who you were told to strike down. You bloodied who you were ordered to bloody, and those orders didn't come from God. Those orders came from The Crusade. Even now, you seek to avenge him. That's why you spoke my name. That's why you called out to me. You think we have unfinished business because I'm the man who broke The Crusade and turned him back into meek, mortal Morcant Davis. You think we have unfinished business because I committed a crime against your God - because that's who you serve, Wentzel. Not the God of the scriptures but a flesh and blood man who led you astray and left you blind. You talk to me like I'm a sinner, but I never professed to be bound by your faith. You're the one who's turned against the text. You're the one who worshipped a man rather than an idea. Your faith is misplaced. Your piety is itself built on sin. It's you, Jakie - you and not me - who's in desperate need of salvation. And so here we are."
He turns and gestures towards the street again - the hustle of the people, the roar of the traffic. The somehow ominous shadow of the stadium at the end of it all.
"Acts 9:3. 'As he neared Damascus on his journey, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him. He fell to the ground and heard a voice say to him, Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?' Well, we're not on the way to Syria, Jakie, but you're headed somewhere far worse. You're coming to my country. My land. Your road to Damascus is the road to Leeds, and it is I who stands before. I who am tasked with bringing you the light. I who must set you back on the road to righteousness, and I embrace that duty. Because when I set you straight, Jakie, when I bring you back into the fold, you'll learn to worship something more than a madman muttering dark proclamations from behind a hood. You'll learn to believe in something deeper than the twisted words of a false prophet. You will learn to believe in the inevitability, the totality, the truth… of me. You'll kneel before me and know me as Riot the Redeemer."
He crosses himself and bows his head towards the camera briefly before lifting it again. The sneer is back.
"We have business to attend to, the Bastards and I. Frank Windsor is going to finally shut the yapping mouth of Donzig. Billy Fowler is finally going to add his name to the annals of wrestling history as a world heavyweight champion, and no combination of Havok or Eddie D - the man whose parents thought so little of him they didn't even bother to finish his name - is going to stop him. That too is inevitable. That, too, is what is written and what must be done. The birth of Wrestle:UK has brought about the reign of the Bastards, and there isn't a man or woman on this roster who can stop it. But if this new era must start with a ritual, Jakie, if it must start with a blood sacrifice, then allow me."
He reaches into his pocket and produces a short blade, slicing it across his palm and then holding his hand outstretched and flat, palm facing down, blood dripping onto the dirty street.
“When I’m in that ring with you, Wentzel, I’m going to beat you. I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to make you cry out for the God you profess to worship, and then I’m going to convert you. Because when you’re laying on your back looking up at the lights, that’s not electricity you’ll see. That’s no bulb. That is the light that will restore your sight, delivered from me to you at the count of three. And the scales shall fall from your eyes.”
Rob Riot clenches his bloodied fist, kisses it and then thrusts it into his pocket before stalking away out of the shot, leaving us to linger on Leeds as the darkness grows deeper.
That man is, of course, Rob Riot.
He stands in front of the camera wearing a long black coat, arms outstretched as if preaching to the sky. To the pedestrians that pass on either side, he's either just another religious lunatic in the middle of the road or a famously unhinged wrestler that they know better than to approach.
"Paul, Saul, whatever name you want to call him. They called him the Pharisee of Pharisees, didn't they, Jakie? They called him the persecutor of persecutors. He sought out your fellow believers, and he made them pay for what they held in their hearts, but one day he was struck blind. Blind like you."
Riot turns back to the camera, clasping his hands as if in prayer. There's a glint of something deeply unpleasant in his eyes, brooding but cold.
"If you believe what you say you believe, then you'll know of what I speak, but that's just the problem with you, Wentzel. I don't really know what you believe. I don't know where your claimed faith truly lies. You weren't born with a burning religious conviction, Jakie. You didn't grow up as a lamb of God. Oh, it might have been around your family, but it never seeped through your pores until the day He came and changed everything. The day He laid his hands on you. The day He brought you into his fold. And when I say He, Jakie, I mean…The Crusade."
He sneers.
"Exodus 22:20. 'Whoever sacrifices to any god other than the Lord must be destroyed.' That's the scripture. That's the instruction. To some extent, you probably believe that you followed it, but that isn't true either. You struck down who you were told to strike down. You bloodied who you were ordered to bloody, and those orders didn't come from God. Those orders came from The Crusade. Even now, you seek to avenge him. That's why you spoke my name. That's why you called out to me. You think we have unfinished business because I'm the man who broke The Crusade and turned him back into meek, mortal Morcant Davis. You think we have unfinished business because I committed a crime against your God - because that's who you serve, Wentzel. Not the God of the scriptures but a flesh and blood man who led you astray and left you blind. You talk to me like I'm a sinner, but I never professed to be bound by your faith. You're the one who's turned against the text. You're the one who worshipped a man rather than an idea. Your faith is misplaced. Your piety is itself built on sin. It's you, Jakie - you and not me - who's in desperate need of salvation. And so here we are."
He turns and gestures towards the street again - the hustle of the people, the roar of the traffic. The somehow ominous shadow of the stadium at the end of it all.
"Acts 9:3. 'As he neared Damascus on his journey, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him. He fell to the ground and heard a voice say to him, Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?' Well, we're not on the way to Syria, Jakie, but you're headed somewhere far worse. You're coming to my country. My land. Your road to Damascus is the road to Leeds, and it is I who stands before. I who am tasked with bringing you the light. I who must set you back on the road to righteousness, and I embrace that duty. Because when I set you straight, Jakie, when I bring you back into the fold, you'll learn to worship something more than a madman muttering dark proclamations from behind a hood. You'll learn to believe in something deeper than the twisted words of a false prophet. You will learn to believe in the inevitability, the totality, the truth… of me. You'll kneel before me and know me as Riot the Redeemer."
He crosses himself and bows his head towards the camera briefly before lifting it again. The sneer is back.
"We have business to attend to, the Bastards and I. Frank Windsor is going to finally shut the yapping mouth of Donzig. Billy Fowler is finally going to add his name to the annals of wrestling history as a world heavyweight champion, and no combination of Havok or Eddie D - the man whose parents thought so little of him they didn't even bother to finish his name - is going to stop him. That too is inevitable. That, too, is what is written and what must be done. The birth of Wrestle:UK has brought about the reign of the Bastards, and there isn't a man or woman on this roster who can stop it. But if this new era must start with a ritual, Jakie, if it must start with a blood sacrifice, then allow me."
He reaches into his pocket and produces a short blade, slicing it across his palm and then holding his hand outstretched and flat, palm facing down, blood dripping onto the dirty street.
“When I’m in that ring with you, Wentzel, I’m going to beat you. I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to make you cry out for the God you profess to worship, and then I’m going to convert you. Because when you’re laying on your back looking up at the lights, that’s not electricity you’ll see. That’s no bulb. That is the light that will restore your sight, delivered from me to you at the count of three. And the scales shall fall from your eyes.”
Rob Riot clenches his bloodied fist, kisses it and then thrusts it into his pocket before stalking away out of the shot, leaving us to linger on Leeds as the darkness grows deeper.