Post by Gavin Drake on Aug 10, 2024 18:25:01 GMT -5
‘The Great Psychotic Goth. The Serpent of SWAT. The Dragon of the WUK. The King of Hell. The King of all Goths. One of the most dangerous, most feared men in the entire XHF! A man who is a contender to any championship he sets his mind to. A legend.’
Drake leaned forward into the light, his eyes narrowed as he frowned. He stared down at his hands, and then rose to step into the light as he looked down at his hands. Rolling his shoulders before he spat, and he glared at the camera.
‘I am sick of legends, Goth. I am sick to death of legends. You all walk around here like you all own the world, like we all live in your shadows, while you choke the bloody air from our lungs! While you take chances and opportunities that should belong to your betters! But no, you sit there, take the piss and rest on your laurels!
And tell all of us how back in two thousand and fucking whenever you were beating up losers in Australia like I give a bloody fuck!’
Drake looked up, tossing his hair back before he pointed at the camera.
‘I haven’t forgotten what you did the last time we met, Goth. I haven’t forgotten how you got in my way when I was trying to deal with that piece of shit Crane! I remember how good it felt to have my hands around your throat, to taste your blood, to see the pain in your eyes!
When I stood backstage at Revolution, and I laid out that fucking jack off Slam Three! When I threw off the deadweight pushed onto my back by another bloody legend! Another legend who didn’t do a damned thing for anyone but himself! And then when I grabbed his failure of a father and I threw him across his shoulders! And I settled my old business with David Slam the Second!’
Drake laughed, a wild look in his eyes as he turned to stare into the darkness. A shrug, and he tilted his head back before he paced in a slow circle. He shook his head, and smirked.
‘I knew then what my destiny was, you see I was raised in a time when men like Slam weren’t legends. I grew up in the shadows of men like Anthony Jordan, of Timmy Draven, of giants! Right, mate? And I knew as I stared down at the broken body of that relic Slam the Older! And I knew!’
He hammered a fist against his chest.
‘I KNEW! That I had been trained by a legend to kill legends, I knew that Donzig had taught me long ago what my destiny was! I was to be the Butcher of Legends! That I was to tear them down, and throw them into the ashes! So mate? In Fulham? I am going to end one more legend! I am going to beat the hell out of one more legend!
A man who walks around here like he is a king, a man who claims he is a serpent, a dragon, and a thing from Hell! That man is you, Psychotic Goth!’
He grinned, eye wild as he clapped his hands together. Twisting and grinding them together, fingers twisting and curling as he bared his teeth in a wicked grin. And he pointed again, shrugging.
‘But you know what Goth? Beating you isn’t enough for me, disgracing you in front of the WUK is not enough for me! Humiliating a legend like you? Not good enough for me, I want to send a message to these other legends! I want to show everyone exactly what I am capable of! I am the Empty Hand! I am the Butcher of WUK! I am the Death of Legends! I am Gavin BLOODY Drake, yeah?
I want you in an extreme rules match, I want no fucking rules, yeah? I want everyone in Fulham to sit there and watch as I slay the Dragon of WUK, as I take away everything from you! As I beat you at your bloody game!’
Drake smirked, and he walked from the light. A door opened, and he stared back from the shadows before he shrugged.
‘Empires fall, yeah? Legends die. I am waiting for your answer, O King of all Goths.’
The door slammed shut.
Drake leaned forward into the light, his eyes narrowed as he frowned. He stared down at his hands, and then rose to step into the light as he looked down at his hands. Rolling his shoulders before he spat, and he glared at the camera.
‘I am sick of legends, Goth. I am sick to death of legends. You all walk around here like you all own the world, like we all live in your shadows, while you choke the bloody air from our lungs! While you take chances and opportunities that should belong to your betters! But no, you sit there, take the piss and rest on your laurels!
And tell all of us how back in two thousand and fucking whenever you were beating up losers in Australia like I give a bloody fuck!’
Drake looked up, tossing his hair back before he pointed at the camera.
‘I haven’t forgotten what you did the last time we met, Goth. I haven’t forgotten how you got in my way when I was trying to deal with that piece of shit Crane! I remember how good it felt to have my hands around your throat, to taste your blood, to see the pain in your eyes!
When I stood backstage at Revolution, and I laid out that fucking jack off Slam Three! When I threw off the deadweight pushed onto my back by another bloody legend! Another legend who didn’t do a damned thing for anyone but himself! And then when I grabbed his failure of a father and I threw him across his shoulders! And I settled my old business with David Slam the Second!’
Drake laughed, a wild look in his eyes as he turned to stare into the darkness. A shrug, and he tilted his head back before he paced in a slow circle. He shook his head, and smirked.
‘I knew then what my destiny was, you see I was raised in a time when men like Slam weren’t legends. I grew up in the shadows of men like Anthony Jordan, of Timmy Draven, of giants! Right, mate? And I knew as I stared down at the broken body of that relic Slam the Older! And I knew!’
He hammered a fist against his chest.
‘I KNEW! That I had been trained by a legend to kill legends, I knew that Donzig had taught me long ago what my destiny was! I was to be the Butcher of Legends! That I was to tear them down, and throw them into the ashes! So mate? In Fulham? I am going to end one more legend! I am going to beat the hell out of one more legend!
A man who walks around here like he is a king, a man who claims he is a serpent, a dragon, and a thing from Hell! That man is you, Psychotic Goth!’
He grinned, eye wild as he clapped his hands together. Twisting and grinding them together, fingers twisting and curling as he bared his teeth in a wicked grin. And he pointed again, shrugging.
‘But you know what Goth? Beating you isn’t enough for me, disgracing you in front of the WUK is not enough for me! Humiliating a legend like you? Not good enough for me, I want to send a message to these other legends! I want to show everyone exactly what I am capable of! I am the Empty Hand! I am the Butcher of WUK! I am the Death of Legends! I am Gavin BLOODY Drake, yeah?
I want you in an extreme rules match, I want no fucking rules, yeah? I want everyone in Fulham to sit there and watch as I slay the Dragon of WUK, as I take away everything from you! As I beat you at your bloody game!’
Drake smirked, and he walked from the light. A door opened, and he stared back from the shadows before he shrugged.
‘Empires fall, yeah? Legends die. I am waiting for your answer, O King of all Goths.’
The door slammed shut.
