But Seldom Do These Words Ring True (X*Crown)
Jun 19, 2023 15:30:20 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Dave D-Flipz, and 1 more like this
Post by bloodiedfox on Jun 19, 2023 15:30:20 GMT -5
So this is all about my salvation, is it?
The ruins of the church have begun to be reclaimed by nature, greenery extending and entwining upon the exposed bones of the holy place. Bloodied Fox sits amidst it all, crosslegged in the place where the altar would be.
Well shit, I guess all my problems are over! I never have to worry about a thing again because Death Trap is here to save me from the terrible fate of being X*Crown champion and not feeling beholden to a bunch of fickle hypocrites who abandon me faster than Target caving to homophobes! He can beat me up and take my title and return me to my rightful place of almost winning the big one but failing because I cared about doing it the right way!
His bright and breezy tone gives way to a disgusted sigh. He stands, brushing dust and dirt from his jeans.
Now that we’re all overdosed with sarcasm, here’s something sincere: where were you when I actually needed you? Hmmm? When Zoran tried time and time again to kill me. When Misha Constantine cheated me out of my Junior Heavyweight title. When Donzig decided I had to be destroyed. When Seth Dillinger tore apart LGBTKO.
Where were you?
He pauses, before screaming the answer to his question loud enough to echo if this building still had a roof.
YOU WERE NOWHERE!!!
Fox clenches and unclenches his fist as though fantasising about wrapping it around a certain someone’s throat.
Yet now that I have found success and solace in placing myself first, suddenly now you feel the need to be my guardian angel and drag me by force back to the path of virtue. I’m sure the X*Crown title that I won has absolutely nothing to do with it.
He walks forward, starting on the path between the two banks of wooden pews. There are metal barrels either side at the front. He kicks over first one, then the other. From their unsealed tops, brown liquid begins to spill.
Of course, you don’t have the guts to be honest about it, either to me or to yourself. Hence the cloak of righteousness you’ve wrapped yourself in. It’s really only for your benefit, you realise? I know the truth, and these people don’t care either way. They cheered for that cretin Florida Man against me, and last I checked you still have the moral high ground over the mascot for the state of trans genocide.
Two more barrels halfway up. Both go over.
Give up this delusion that I’m some pawn in some villain’s evil scheme, DT, and that you’re the hero coming to save me from his clutches. I am a willing participant in what Submaxiswear has done and will do, because I am no longer prepared to be decent in an indecent world, and you are just a punch drunk aging wrestler seeking one last prize at my expense. This isn’t the Passion Play, it’s Grand Guignol.
Fox reaches the end of the pews, upturning a final two barrels. He then retrieves a can of gasoline and resumes walking, tilting it enough in his grasp to pour a trail alongside him.
You want what I have. We both know that I’ll die to defend it. We both know you’ve made your peace with killing me to take it. Better I be the dead tragedy than the live atrocity, heh?
He passes under the isolated archway of the church’s doorway, going a couple of metres beyond into the clearing the ruined building stands in. He pitches the can back, then pulls out a lighter, ignites it, and throws that after it. Then he turns and walks forward again. We see the ruins catch ablaze behind him. Those who remember NPW feel a strange pang of sadness.
Do what you have to, Death Trap, but do it honestly. If you care like you claim to then don’t pretend you’re trying to save me…
He casts a glance back over his shoulder at his handiwork, then looks back forward with a smile.
…because when you step in that ring with me, you aren’t even gonna be able to save yourself.
Fox veers off out of view, the camera settling on the burning ruins as we fade to black.
The ruins of the church have begun to be reclaimed by nature, greenery extending and entwining upon the exposed bones of the holy place. Bloodied Fox sits amidst it all, crosslegged in the place where the altar would be.
Well shit, I guess all my problems are over! I never have to worry about a thing again because Death Trap is here to save me from the terrible fate of being X*Crown champion and not feeling beholden to a bunch of fickle hypocrites who abandon me faster than Target caving to homophobes! He can beat me up and take my title and return me to my rightful place of almost winning the big one but failing because I cared about doing it the right way!
His bright and breezy tone gives way to a disgusted sigh. He stands, brushing dust and dirt from his jeans.
Now that we’re all overdosed with sarcasm, here’s something sincere: where were you when I actually needed you? Hmmm? When Zoran tried time and time again to kill me. When Misha Constantine cheated me out of my Junior Heavyweight title. When Donzig decided I had to be destroyed. When Seth Dillinger tore apart LGBTKO.
Where were you?
He pauses, before screaming the answer to his question loud enough to echo if this building still had a roof.
YOU WERE NOWHERE!!!
Fox clenches and unclenches his fist as though fantasising about wrapping it around a certain someone’s throat.
Yet now that I have found success and solace in placing myself first, suddenly now you feel the need to be my guardian angel and drag me by force back to the path of virtue. I’m sure the X*Crown title that I won has absolutely nothing to do with it.
He walks forward, starting on the path between the two banks of wooden pews. There are metal barrels either side at the front. He kicks over first one, then the other. From their unsealed tops, brown liquid begins to spill.
Of course, you don’t have the guts to be honest about it, either to me or to yourself. Hence the cloak of righteousness you’ve wrapped yourself in. It’s really only for your benefit, you realise? I know the truth, and these people don’t care either way. They cheered for that cretin Florida Man against me, and last I checked you still have the moral high ground over the mascot for the state of trans genocide.
Two more barrels halfway up. Both go over.
Give up this delusion that I’m some pawn in some villain’s evil scheme, DT, and that you’re the hero coming to save me from his clutches. I am a willing participant in what Submaxiswear has done and will do, because I am no longer prepared to be decent in an indecent world, and you are just a punch drunk aging wrestler seeking one last prize at my expense. This isn’t the Passion Play, it’s Grand Guignol.
Fox reaches the end of the pews, upturning a final two barrels. He then retrieves a can of gasoline and resumes walking, tilting it enough in his grasp to pour a trail alongside him.
You want what I have. We both know that I’ll die to defend it. We both know you’ve made your peace with killing me to take it. Better I be the dead tragedy than the live atrocity, heh?
He passes under the isolated archway of the church’s doorway, going a couple of metres beyond into the clearing the ruined building stands in. He pitches the can back, then pulls out a lighter, ignites it, and throws that after it. Then he turns and walks forward again. We see the ruins catch ablaze behind him. Those who remember NPW feel a strange pang of sadness.
Do what you have to, Death Trap, but do it honestly. If you care like you claim to then don’t pretend you’re trying to save me…
He casts a glance back over his shoulder at his handiwork, then looks back forward with a smile.
…because when you step in that ring with me, you aren’t even gonna be able to save yourself.
Fox veers off out of view, the camera settling on the burning ruins as we fade to black.