HELLHOUND I | ETERNAL LUCK

[KERBEROS]

HELLHOUND I  /  ETERNAL LUCK

10 NOVEMBER 2020

KANSAS CITY PRO

“REZNIKSKI IS BRUTAL TONIGHT.”

Sweat poured from the veins of the rookie grappler. He grit his mouthguard in his teeth, the sound of the fans responding to the calls in the match as if they were on edge. Somehow, he’d made it up into the main event. Somehow, he’d pushed himself into the limelight just six months into his career, and now he had to give it his all.

Talent scouts were out there from bigger companies, which meant higher paid salaries and more opportunities. He would be stupid to squander this, stupid to not do everything that he could do to make it in the world. He pushed himself into the turnbuckle, clenching onto it as he used it for support. The match had gone on for how long now? He wasn’t sure, but his entire being pulsated and he struggled for breath.

His opponent was a wrestling legend in Kansas City. A man who had been in every show since probably the nineteen nineties. He was a known name, a paragon of everything that KCP stood for. In his forties, he’d been in thousands of matches trying to brand himself. He was a star.

But Zachary was looking for more than just Kansas City.

He wanted the lights of the world on him.

The man laid on the ground, panting, trying to pull himself upwards as he also held his hand. Zach had gone after his hands, manipulating his joints backwards, causing probably years of arthritis buildup to smart. He knelt on his knees, and Zach rose to his six foot height, standing tall.

“And we’re not done yet, Kansas City! Reznikski is the first to his feet. The utter torment of twenty minutes going, these two must be tired!”

“The Colorado Chaosdriver needs this win tonight. If he can succeed, he will be the first in almost six months to defeat Chesney!”

The crowd noise became oceanic as he stepped forward, grabbing his opponent by the head. He pulled him upwards, ramming his head between his legs and locking him underneath to hoist him in the air. A piledriver. A constant staple in any moveset. He was supposed to ground him with this one, and he would get the win. He had to.

He didn’t know where it went wrong.

All he knew was that after the move had been done, after the crowd’s cheers had died out, after he realized the prone man on the ground was not faking his lack of movement, it was chaos. Medical personnel flooded the ring, and they pushed him back. Zach scooted himself into the corner, his eyes wide. He would find out later that it wasn’t as bad as they’d thought it was, but in that moment, he was ready to tell himself that he shouldn’t be in the ring, he shouldn’t be doing this. Lives held in his hands, and it was too much.

Because he had to be, he was declared victor of the match, but he didn’t feel like he should have had victory within his palms. And after all of it, as he sat down on the ring apron later that night, after all the fans had dissipated and the cleaning crew had come in, he looked at the ring as if this would be the last time. What if it happened again? What if it was somebody’s livelihood he would take?

“Rough night?”

He shrugged his shoulders. The man that stepped up to him, wearing a smart suit that wasn’t at all ostentatious, with his hands shoved in his pockets, merely gave him a smile. Thick black hair was pulled into a ponytail, but other than that, he looked like a businessman through and through. Zach leaned back against the ropes for a moment, peering at him through slightly narrowed eyes.

“We all have rough patches, kid.” The term was meant to be endearing, but only made Zach sneer.

“This your version of a peptalk?”

“Nah, this is the line I’m casting that I hope you grab onto, because I can see right now that you’re invested in hanging up your boots. Just because something goes wrong in one match doesn’t mean the ending of your career.” The man leaned up against the apron with his elbow, crossing his arm over his body and clasping his inner elbow. “With some proper training–”

“I’ve had it.”

“Not enough. It’s an ongoing thing, really. We should always be pushing ourselves to be better, to strive for more. You’ve had the bare minimum when it comes to what you need to know. There’s something more to be had if you let your mind open.”

He was silent in response, peering at the clear businessman with an untrusting expression. The man chuckled, and then reached into his pocket.

“Not easy to convince. I get it. But you could be better than this, and I’d like to help you get there. We’d like to help you get there.”

Within his index and middle fingers, he held a card, reaching out his hand for Zach to take it.

“Think about it, and get back to me. But I hope we’ll see you there.”

And then he walked away, waving briefly to him. He stared at the card, the logo of a wolf blindingly staring back at him. When Zach looked up to say something again, the man was gone like a wave upon the shore. Prominent, overbearing, but coming back for more when the tide, and time, was right.

Maybe.

He pocketed the card.

Maybe it wasn’t time to give up just yet.

- - - - - - -

25 JULY 2022

“I was never a fan of big matches like this. Never thought they could particularly show anyone in the best light, save for the winner of the match. Too many chaotic elements. Too many unknowns. Too many players chomping at the bit.”

His hair was tied in a topknot at the crown of his head, and he held his fingers over his lips as he spoke in a triangle pose.

“And it seems everyone clamors for the same opportunity, the same trophy at the end. The Wrestleverse Championship, the top championship in one of the newest companies to grace this side of the wrestling industry. For most, that is ultimate prize, the ultimate accolade that they want to wrap around their waist and hold themselves as the most powerful wrestler in all of eternity.”

He tilts his head to the side, a slow smile gracing his lips. But it’s not a kind smile. It’s malicious, and it’s clear that there’s nothing good dancing around this man’s head.

“I could hardly care less if I have it.”

He drops his hands and looks forward.

“I know what it looks like. That I am, for whatever reason, not putting my best foot forward, not trying my best to make my name known. I have one goal. But one goal. Ensure that Aiden Reynolds will not land on his fucking forehead and become a vegetable.”

He sighs, annoyed that he even has to go this route.

“As much of a fucking annoyance that man is for myself, it is a duty that I will take honorably. You see, for all the bluster and arrogant confidence that is embedded in that fucking travesty of an Australian man, is a wrestler who has a vicious nature that will not stop at anything to rise above what he has been previously thought of. Wolfslair saw potential in him just as they saw in me after my greatest blunder, and ever since, I have come to know that it is not always about how someone talks, or how someone walks, but the actions in which they take to be the best. Aiden has done his dues. A multi-time tag team champion, a singles champion prior to this, he puts in the effort and the time to succeed.”

Another tilt of his head, which makes him look at least a little more psychotic than previously thought.

“And here I am, doing what I must to ensure that he succeeds. Why? Why is it this way when I clearly dislike him that much? Maybe I just want to see him rise to where he belongs. Or maybe I just want the world to burn, you never know. Or perhaps we push Lachlan Kane, a champion wherever he goes in his own right, to the top? Another Wolfslair brother, and one that could easily decimate all of you.

Perhaps you’ll tell me I’m talking too much about them, but then I guess…tell me…what the fuck have you done? Maybe you have lost every match and now it must be your time. Maybe you were a failed fitness model and now you have decided it is the best option to face men and women who would break your bones for fun. Those would be me. Or maybe you might be a knock-off version of Cyberpunk 2077 in the flesh, thinking that you have a god-modded SIMS 4 game edge over the rest because you have titanium for bone while looking like a raging douchebag.”

A sneer rises from his lips.

“This is just the tip of the iceberg in the ‘talent’ that Wrestleverse has acquired over the course of a couple of weeks. Beyond the three of us from Wolfslair, it is a hodgepodge of some of the best, and probably the worst, in the industry. Of all of you, I have heard of two of you. Which at the end of the day, I know you have not heard of me.”

That sneer enters his lips as he crosses his arms and leans back against the chair he’s sitting in. There’s a long pause, but not one that seems strained. He swirls his tongue beneath his upper lip, sucking it in as he looks dead straight into the viewers eyes.

“KERBEROS. Not lowercase, not like the cute little puppy of the Underworld that everyone finds so fucking endearing. KERBEROS. The Hound. The Son of Snakes. The KATAKLUSMOS. I am not looking for glory so much as I am looking into delightfully breaking every single one of your bones. I will push my brothers higher, and I will ensure success for all of us. So no, I do not want your championship. I do not want the accolade of greatness that others might deserve.

All I want is to break your skulls in half.

I want to tear them apart. I want to ensure that you have no ability to strive for your best. And can you, in such a battle royal? No. It is not a chance for any of us to put our wrestling skills together – it is a game of luck eternal. And for some of you…”

He looks up and down, judging the viewer with a haughty stare.

“You’re rolling snake eyes every time.”

Another sneer lifts to his face and he tilts his head upwards, proud and venomous.

“So come at me. Let yourself be annihilated. And let those that have earned their place in this industry finally take their crowns. Get ready for the beginning of the eternal end, for wolves are harbingers are destruction, and we have come to Wrestleverse to take what is ours.”

He leans forward, foreboding and menacing.

“Everything.”