The war continued up the ramp and into the arena. Silas, Autumn, and Sam, going against Shadow, Mia, and Dorian. The three continued wailing into each other, but the matchups were curious but unsurprising. In the cafeteria, the scuffle splitted up. It was hard to make out what was happening, but what was clear was that Silas and Shadow were focused on each other. Fist after fist, clashing with the body of each other’s bodies.
Shadow grabbed Silas’ head, ran towards a canteen table and threw the canadian over it, breaking and smashing cups, plates, and saucers before eventually landing on the hard floor below. Shadow inspected the damage, before making his approach. He ran around the table, only to be met with a charging Silas. He grabbed Shadow’s hips during his charge, lifted him up, and continued his running tackle. Shadow started striking his back. The two eventually hit the wall, crashing throughout it and landing on the floor. Dust, insulation, and plaster fell on Silas’ back.
The two laid in the debris for several seconds, before Silas placed his hands on the ground and lifted himself up. Shadow was still conscious, but stayed down and absorbed the pain. Silas staggered to his feet and leaned against the hole in the wall, struggling to maintain is posture as Shadow sat up to look at the man who tackled him through the wall.
The two laid their eyes on each other, a mixture of contempt yet understanding filled the air, and Shadow eventually started smiling. Silas just kept looking at Shadow, and said, “whatever scrap you have with the Ouroboros, keep it to yourself.” Silas staggered towards Shadow, whom was still smiling. He leaned down to look at his enemy, face to face. “You’re on your own, so don’t try to persuade me otherwise.”
Silas stood up straight, staggered backwards, and climbed through the hole in the wall, back to the outside world.
It was raining, thundering at times, as the doors of the Artoria Compound opened up to a car driving towards it. It pulled up at the front door, and almost the very second the ignition turned off, the car door opened and out came Silas Artoria. He marched immediately for the front door, opening up and entering the main building and throwing his coat on a nearby wall hanger. His pace didn’t waver, and he was quickly up the stairs, marching towards his study. Autumn followed behind, catching up to him quickly.
“The hell has gotten into you recently?”
Silas said nothing.
“You lose your temper, you destroy public property, and say nothing about the events that just occur. Where the hell is the sense of joy you normally emit?”
“We don’t need to focus on petty details, Autumn,” Silas darkly replied. “What matters is that we move forward, onto Golden Intentions with direction.”
“The hell does that mean Silas?”
Silas stopped walking, staying still in place while Autumn continued talking.
“We’ve failed to qualify for the tag team gold, we’ve been having bad luck for several weeks, and you haven’t been the same since your match with Amber.” She stepped forward, turning around to meet Silas eye to eye. “What’s your plan Silas? What are we going to do?”
Silas looked down into Autumn’s eyes, narrowed, and calmly said, “Worry about yourself, I’ll be fine.” He pushed her aside, and continued walking towards his study.
Autumn quickly caught up, and pushed him against the wall, pinning him. “No more vagaries, what is going on--”
Silas grabbed her sides, and pushed her aside. He then placed one finger on her chest. “Never…” He tapped his finger against her. “...ever, assert any form of authority over me again.” He was uncannily calm, but stern, ensuring a small area of discomfort surrounded him. Autumn was within the sphere of influence, and it was clear his words were, to some degree, seeping into her head. “Do you understand?”
Autumn grabbed the hand that pressed against her, and lowered it so it was out of sight from both parties. The two kept their eyes locked, asserting their own footing in this verbal conflict. She swallowed lightly, and nodded her head with near disdain. “Fine.” She turned her back and left the owner of the compound alone, as she turned down another corridor and disappeared into the maze of walls and stone.
Silas simply observed her as she went deeper and deeper into the beast before he lost sight of her, and after several seconds out of his sight, he sighed deeply and looked down.
‘Are you wasting your time and thoughts on her?’
Silas pursed his lips and returned to his walk. “I brought her into my abode, it is only right that I at least abide by the vow I made her.” He opened the door to his study quickly.
‘And what vow, may I ask? She is an expendable element. When was the last time she brought a victory to the table?”
He closed the door. “We learn more from our losses then our victories.” He eyed his desk, starting his approach to the curtains behind it. “Why do you think Caledonia hasn’t learned to never offer opportunities to those close to her? To those who try to get on her good side?” He closed the curtains, eliminating any form of light that was present in the study.
‘She’s foolish, Caledonia. Almost moronic, and yet you have no means to get her attention.’
A candle soon lights up, giving the room some sort of light. Silas sat down and drew up his pen, starting to write notes on a piece of paper that was waiting for him. “There’ll always be a way to the champion’s attention.”
‘Yet one way of drawing said champion’s attention slipped away from your grasp.’
“Technically the match never ended.” Silas focused on the last few words of his writing. “I can easily appeal the decision and get the march restarted. We will have that Impact title, eventually.”
“And condemn yourself to a completely different division? A different place on the card to what we demand!?”
Next line, more writing. The words started to make sense as they were making a case for another title match. “Not a condemnation, simply another bargaining chip.” He coughed. “Think about it, Caledonia’s words to me the previous week were merely to be a method of dressing me down. She aims to banished me into a dark corner, to make me a non factor, but if we hold the Impact title and force her hand, then she’ll take an offer she can’t refuse.” He continued writing for several more minutes. Sentence after sentence, justification after justification outlined and explained carefully.
‘Luchas de Apuestas.’
Silas paused for a moment, but continued writing.
‘Matches with wagers, you’re planning on putting the Impact title on the line against the World Championship.’
“It’ll get her attention. I just need to get the damn title first.”
‘You’re sometimes too foolish for your own good, Silas!'
“Maybe.” Letter completed, signed, sealed, addressed, stamped. “There’s a lot of things you can fault the current state of CWF for, but they are always looking for ways to increase their audience. Two title holders, the top two title holders, wanting to eliminate the prestige of the other for their own reasons. With the exception of careers and luchador masks, what’s the most previous element an athlete can put on the line?”
‘And if Amber Ryan takes the belt for herself?’
Silas lifted his arm and rolled up his sleeve, inspecting the skin. The surface has a vague, dark spark seeping within, pulsating with each heartbeat, forming and unforming. “When was the last time the world saw you for who you really are?”
“Let me take some time to explain what happened.
Ataxia and I had a match scheduled to last for however long it needed to last for. No disqualification, no time limits, for the Impact title. It was supposed to be just him and I, yet Ataxia’s lord and master had to be present like a supportive soccer mother. While I was within the ruleset, the rest of the Forsaken clearly wanted to interfere should their precious little boy was close to losing the title. Losing it, would mean losing their supposed grip at the top of the card, the one thing that vaguely made them a credible threat.
Of course, my associates acted in the best interests of the match and title, did what needed to be done in order to preserve the integrity of the match, and I, within the rules, assisted in dragging the supportive mothers to the back where they belong.
Last I looked, Ataxia was dragged out of the arena in a stretcher, signalling his inability to continue the match. But instead of calling the bell and awarding me the belt via stoppage or mercy rule, the ref instead throws the match out for no reason whatsoever. Was it because I dragged Shadow and his clowns to the back? It was a no disqualification match, after all, and yet the match was rule a no-contest because of...reasons?
As if I had enough to be concerned about, now I have to add the actions of imbeciles to the list.
So, this is what I’ve done to remedy the situation.
I’ve written a carefully worded, very persuasive letter, in order to have my match conclude in a manner that will most assuredly answer the burning question on who should’ve won that match.
Unless I hear otherwise, it’ll be me, Ataxia, for the Impact Championship, at Golden Intentions.
Don’t make any other plans, Ataxia, and next time you will not escape with your life!
Now...onto more...immediate matters.
So for the go home show, you get the secondary title challenger go up against the teretary title challenger. The Psychotic Aristocrat, vs the STARR Attraction, as I’d like to call him.
Let me teach you a little lesson, about promotional material we release.
More often than not you’ll see each athlete perform their piece-to-camera about what the match means to them, what they fight for, and what their enemy means to them. That latter part, they deliver what they think is a savage undressing of their opponents credibility. They talk them down, they boast about how they are better than them in every single aspect, they talk about what they are going to do to them and why they’ll be a big pile of meat by the end of the math.
But here’s the thing, delivery like that only serves to backfire upon yourself.
Think about it. You’re calling your opponent worse than filth each, passing, sentence.
Win the match? Congratulations, you beat a loser. What an accomplishment, eh?
Lose the match? Congratulations, you lost to a loser. Why should we take someone so seriously when you talk big but don’t demonstrate?
That’s why, when it comes to how I deliver my promotional material, I make every effort to understand them. I see for what they truly are, not what I want them to be in the eyes of the audience. When I win, it’s a true accomplishment. If I lose, I lose a difficult fight that had me going against a worthy competitor. My credibility only goes up, and up, and up.
Because at the end of the day, I am the smartest member of the roster going.
Maybe I should deliver lectures on how to properly make the audience engage with your matchup.
So I say to you, Christian Starr, longest reigning Paramount Champion and poster boy of the belt. You’ve worked hard, creating a cult of personality while defeating opponents each and every weak, which is much more than a lot of people in the back can say.
Of course, the title is not in contention tonight, and that is a real shame, but the good news is that you are fighting me instead. A worthy opponent, someone whose victories increase their record and whose defeats serve as a valuable lesson to myself. I have a lot of defeats under my belt, no doubt about that, and my record this season has been far from stellar. I’ve not won a single match, but look at my opponents.
When we meet, I expect a true fight from you Christian Starr. You and me, because I want to learn, and I want to teach you a lesson. This is a fight that separates the main event, to the mid-card. You, and me, at the border of the division, and we are going to define who, precisely, will act as the gatekeeper to a legacy.
I’m more than happy to leave my associates in the cafeteria, so my question is ‘are you coming alone? Or are you going to compensate your fear with the cult of personality you created?’
Every star has to fade at some point, so bring me a goddamn supernova to battle against.
See you in the ring."