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Post by PANGAEA on May 21, 2015 20:29:11 GMT
 -v-  World War Tournament: Semi Final[Single Match]Olethros vs. Cesar Salazar |
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Post by Olethros on May 29, 2015 0:43:09 GMT
//[WORLD WAR.NIGHT 2.01]\\
//[SALAZAR, CESAR]\\
BEGIN TRANSMISSION_\\
[Feed clears. The Herald of Destruction stands before the camera, as calm as ever.]
[Not so The Destroyer, who paces behind him, his pitiless gaze fixed on the camera.]
Victory, as predicted, for Him, in Munich.
Even if the fight was one-sided, He enjoys a fight.
Nevertheless, He wants something better this time.
I hope you will not disappoint, PANGAEA.
Very little will stop Him from fulfilling his purpose.
It is simple. It is direct. It is inevitable.
Destruction is what He was made for.
It is what he will bring upon his victims.
Victims like Stratosphere. Like Pedro Gonzales.
In their ignorance, they heard His Litany:
Crush. Kill. Destroy.
It will haunt their nightmares forever.[The Herald pauses as the giant behind him lets out a low growl.]
Conquest.[The Destroyer savors the word, tasting it upon his tongue.]
Kingslaying.[Teeth are bared. A smile. A threat. Both at once.]
Domination.[The Herald turns and nods to him. The Destroyer resumes his pacing.]
I said what would happen to Señor Gonzales. He fell at the hands of The Destroyer.
Convergence was nothing but a fluke victory, as anyone could have seen.
And now, the Pride of Mexico City puts on a brave face for us all.
Masking the pain that he feels from the beating he took in Munich.
Even now, he thinks he has accomplished something by surviving.[The Destroyer's hand lashes out, punching a hole in the wall behind him.]
[The Herald turns his head slightly, watching him, and the giant starts pacing again.]
In no way as Señor Gonzales achieved anything. He is a foolish child, nothing more.
Señor Salazar, now, is not a child. But no less a fool for daring to face Him.
As renowned as you are, Señor Salazar, you are not the legend you once were.
Walking wounded, against Him? You are merely another piece of meat to be eaten.[There is a low noise from The Destroyer-- a laugh, a rumble of amusement.]
[Behind his mask, The Herald smiles.]
It may be that you have one last truly great fight left within you. We hope so.
Come Moscow, you will be pitted against one of your greatest challenges.
"Old Man" does you a disservice. You have what others lacked: Experience.
Not that it will prevent the inevitable from happening, mind you.
Quite likely, you will pose more of a threat than your little friend did to Him.
Unless you spit your final breath at Him, bear your soul in the ring against Him.
Even this may not be enough. But we hope to see you at your best.
Regardless, you will see Him at nothing less than His.
Everyone falls one day. Moscow will not be His.
Destruction is your destiny. Conquest is His.[The Destroyer steps forward now, and His Herald backs into the shadows.] STRENGTH. POWER. DOMINANCE.
THREE THINGS THAT RUSSIA UNDERSTANDS.
THREE THINGS THAT ITS PEOPLE RESPECT.
THREE THINGS THAT I EPITOMIZE.
HOW APPROPRIATE THEN WE FACE IN MOSCOW.
THAT IT WILL SEE YOU FALL TO MY STRENGTH.
THAT IT WILL SEE YOU FAIL BEFORE MY POWER.
THAT IT WILL SEE YOU CRUMBLE AT MY DOMINANCE. [The Herald hands something to the giant, who holds it in his hands.]
[An old crown, its luster faded, its glitter muted.]
[There is a sneer in The Destroyer's voice.] HAIL, CAESAR?
NO.
[His massive hands twist and shatter the crown to pieces.]
HAIL THE DESTROYER.
MY CROWN IS IN THE BLOOD I SPILL.
MY REGALIA IS IN THE BONES I SHATTER.
MY THRONE IS ON THE BODIES I BREAK.
MY KINGDOM IS ATOP THE ASHES I LEAVE BEHIND.
MY LEGACY IS IN THE WORDS I SPEAK:
CRUSH! KILL! DESTROY! END TRANSMISSION_\\
Darkness. A man stands before a bright, searing light.
"We are pleased with what we saw in Munich," a voice says.
He bows his head. "As I said, you would see what Olethros could do."
"Do not congratulate yourself yet. Someone showed defiance," it points out.
He gives a brief chuckle. "And he was put down hard for it."
"We dedicated too many resources to this project to tolerate it," it snaps.
He glares into the light. "Olethros faces the defiant one in Moscow. He will pay for his defiance."
"See that he does. Or we may have to start over and liquidate our current assets," it replies.
The light goes out, plunging him into darkness once more. A growl escapes his lips. "Your lack of faith only drives us to greater heights." |
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Post by Cesar Salazar on May 29, 2015 3:52:03 GMT
Days later I ache when I move, when I lay down, and even as I talk now. Jake did more than put a number on me. He won. History says different, and the thousands of live witnesses saw a different ending, but I can't help feeling he won. And that feeling – all up and down my body – is angry for me doubting it.
I have always been honest with you. My intentions are laid bare, my actions follow through, and the results advance me. Honesty is undervalued in the wrestling world. It's why, from time to time, a wrestler dares speak out in such an uncensored, career-risking fashion that the establishment either immediately oppresses the shooter or terminates their contract. These are drastic stories most of the time.
But honesty needn't be an ace in the hole. I'm of the mind to speak free and open. So when I say Jake Mandell destroyed me, I very much mean it! Heck, can you feel it from the look of me? Bandaged, darkly bruised, and not as well dressed as I prefer. If ever I been a shell of myself, Jake forced this hollow look on me to confirm such.
Except I feel full of... pride. Somehow I applied the cloverleaf in clutch mode, and my strength answered me in the end after too many minutes of resisting. The match, however subdued I appeared, was classic in only the sense of great pain and yet overcoming. I still got it, the fans commended me afterward.
Although, pride in the face of such a bloody, narrow victory isn't healthy. A plan of being beaten into corners to pull off a miraculous exit maneuver is a commitment to premature death. And against the Destroyer himself, well...
I sit here with an ice bag on my neck. Pedro told me he felt recovered by the evening of the next night. Could be a matter of youth, but all these days later I still feel the impact of me driven by my neck onto the canvas. I said it before, and I'll admit it again: Olethros is my greatest challenge yet.
Jake gave me hell, and Olethros disposed of him like trash over the shoulder on a walk. That is a bad man – notwithstanding all the wicked threats spoken biblical and maniacal.
Still I made it to the semifinals. Critics attribute my experience as to why, and several of the locker room boys think of me as legend as my family. Did I come this far because of all that? Experience and blood? I suppose its in the spin of those words – how you choose to contextualize them. Blood has repeatedly been forced out of my body, and the experience either rescued me or is simply luck.
I don't feel lucky. But then again I don't feel any of these words assessing my chances. I did put Jake to sleep, and I did kick Armada bloody, but I will find the answer I seek against Olethros.
The answer to my question of whether a champion lives in me still. As to how I seize this truth, and why this match must expose me, I tell you people that I will wrestle with the intention to destroy Olethros.
Destroy the destroyer. A high task, and a foolish thought. Olethros isn't to be made a joke, and I would never imply this. But to pretend that is not possible is denying my self destruction too.
We head into Moscow not as just opponents in a tournament to crown the first champion, but as two men with war on the mind. Olethros demands total annihilation, and I aim to bomb him in return.
Not because he chose to blindside me at chapter two, or because he overkilled Pedro in winning a match. No, I can't let us fall into a feud. Since the dawn of wrestling it's too easy to hate another wrestler because wrestlers lie, cheat, interfere, and lose control of themselves.
And since I arrived in Moscow, spectators wondered my response. Whether I'd exact revenge. All I am willing to do in regards to Olethros' attack is show up and outperform him. And Pedro will show up too. That alone should infuriate the alleged destroyer of everything. And may he charge into battle blind with rage, eager to spike my head. I won't spend my time working away and out of him.
This is the hour I do what a Champion must: believe in one thing only, the power of human will.
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