Post by C̸̣̠̑̊ŗ̸̙̔͠u̵̗̾̾Z̴̗̺̿̀e̷̛͓͕̕ on Aug 2, 2022 8:16:47 GMT
Back Against The Wall
Saturday, July 30, 2022
Darkness shrouded all but half of CruZe’s devilishly handsome facial features as his eyes took in the ending of his involvement in the WrestleVerse Championship Battle Royal. He winced a bit at taking the jumping soccer kick from Aiden Reynolds before being dumped rather unceremoniously to the sand below. CruZe began to grind his teeth as he could almost feel the grains of sand stinging his gums once more. He could taste the dryness and feel the gritty material cracking under his teeth.
“Fucking wolves,” he muttered under his breath in an almost trance-like state.
Suddenly, the song ‘La Cucaracha’ began to blare forth from his cell phone ripping him from his seething day dream.
“What do you want,” he asked toxically.
“Now is that a way to greet the man who saved your wrestling career,” the voice on the other end chided. “Muchacho, you wouldn’t even be walking right now if it were not for me, lo harías?” CruZe wanted to answer, but the words seemed to just stick in his throat like a pill that not even a glass of water could force down. “I thought so,” the smug voice on the other end stated causing CruZe’s face to twist into a grimace of silent irritation.
“When are you finally going to let me live MY life,” CruZe said finally gaining back his voice.
The voice on the other end just chuckled at first. “Buena pregunta, mi amigo,” he said mockingly, “how about when you pay me back? You owe me, recuerda?” CruZe’s face turned ghostly white and his pupils shrunk; the sweat of fear began to drip from his brow. “Y until you pay me back for those legs, I own you, amigo.”
It was rare when CruZe was speechless, but what was there to say when someone literally owned the legs you walked on?
“Now, let’s not get on the wrong foot, mi amigo,” said the man on the other end. “After all, you’re the one who is failing to reach his full potential, am I right?”
“What do you mean,” CruZe asked unsure of whether or not he would like the answer.
“At Eternal #1, you failed to capture the WrestleVerse Campeonato, but more importantly, you failed me,” the voice on the other end suddenly became grim.
“B-but, El Gringo Loco,” CruZe stammered his words, “I was teamed up on by three men! Wh-who can contend with those odds?!”
“No quiero escuchar tus excusas,” El Gringo Loco shot back, hushing CruZe, “But, you have a second chance. Another opportunity, if you will.”
“Go on,” CruZe said, definitely listening now.
“I had a little chat with Nuestro amigo, Danny Powers. At Eternal #2, you will face Kyle Williams, Amelia Winston, and Lachlan Kane for the Eternal Campeonato,” El Gringo Loco stated, “in a Fans’ Choice Street Fight.”
“What the fuck is a Fans’ Choice Street Fight,” CruZe seemed to be focused on the wrong part of what El Gringo Loco said.
“The fans choose the weapons used during the Street Fight, but that’s not what is impor-…”
CruZe cut off El Gringo Loco, “Are you out of your damn mind?!??!! They could break my fucking legs!!”
“Silencio! Focus on the Eternal Campeonato,” El Gringo Loco ordered. “Consider the fact that it’s a Fans’ Choice Street Fight your punishment for failing me at Eternal #1. All in all, I would say I am taking it pretty easy on you, wouldn’t you say, CruZe?”
CruZe doesn’t say anything, but that’s enough of an answer for El Gringo Loco.
“Muy bueno. Now don’t fail me again.”
The call ended abruptly, leaving CruZe staring at the monitor still showing the replay of Eternal #1, but at this point, he is looking at Aiden Reynolds hoisting the WrestleVerse Championship. One day that would be him, but he would have to take this one step at a time: The Eternal Championship would have to be first.
The WrestleVerse logo flashed across the screen before the scene faded in with CruZe sitting in a locker room with his eyes turned down toward the floor as if recalling something from the past.
“At Eternal #1, I was quite literally left to the wolves,” CruZe began. “There were three men who made it very clear to all of us that they were working together in the WrestleVerse Championship Battle Royal yet Amelia Winston thinks that’s the right time to be ‘selfish.’ Her words, ladies and gentlemen,” he added with acid in his words as his eyes suddenly lunged up to the camera lens.
“I say divide and conquer, but that’s over and done with now,” he shrugged. “Unfortunately,” he began once more, “we still have found ourselves, between myself, Kyle Williams, and Amelia Winston, under the threat of an onslaught from Wolfslair because who knows if they will stop with the WrestleVerse Championship?”
“What’s going to stop them from appearing during the Fans’ Choice Street Fight to help out their amigo, Lachlan Kane?” The barrage of questions left no room for answers, but he didn’t need an answer; he already knew after all.
“Absolutely nothing; it’s that simple because the lack of rules in a Fans’ Choice Street Fight in allow for that very thing,” he spat at the camera.
“Are you going to be selfish then, Amelia? I’ll be crystal with you. If you get distracted, I won’t hesitate to take advantage, but how can any of us take advantage when there are wolves circling? The answer is, Amelia,” —CruZe said his next words in a slow, condescending manner— “sometimes you need to be selfless in order to BE selfish, and that’s what you and Kyle Williams don’t quite understand. That’s what the two of you couldn’t get through your thick fuckin’ skulls at Eternal #1!”
“And, that’s exactly why I found myself in an impossible one on three situation against Jacob and his pack of stupid idiots instead of one or both of you in the final four. That’s why the two of you just don’t have what it takes to a champion. That thought process is what makes the difference between the two of you and me,” CruZe’s thumb jabbed his chest as he sat atop his soap box. “The two of you will just pretend nothing is wrong; you’ll pretend everything is okay until it’s not.”
“Well, not me! I’m going to do something about it. I’m going to put my boot through any skull that I see in that ring come Eternal #2 because my back is literally against the wall because—let’s face facts— how can I really trust that the two of you will play your part when Wolfslair inevitably show their faces to stack the odds in Lachlan Kane’s favor?”
“And, of course, I haven’t forgotten about you, Lachlan. Based on what I’ve seen so far, you’re nothing more than a Lapdog. Real talk, bro: Is that the role you play in Wolfslair? You sit around and try to make the other two happy when they’re at each others’ throats?” “Tell me something,” CruZe scooted the chair he was sitting upon slightly closer to the camera as if he were actually expecting an answer to his following question, “Where did that get you? I’ll tell you exactly where, eating sand and watching as everyone was able to breathe thanks to your ill-conceived prediction that your boy wouldn’t turn on you.”
CruZe feigned laughter.
“That prediction didn’t age too well, did it? KERBOROS tossed your helpless ass to the sand, and he cared just about as much as when I did it to Axis earlier in the Battle Royal. It’s funny because I just know you’re going to predict that there’s no possible way anyone else in the main event could walk out as Eternal Champion.”
“Well, folks, you can breathe again because I’m walking out as Eternal Champion if I have to stomp out the all of Wolfslair and those two stupid idiots, Kyle Williams and Amelia Winston!” “Don’t get me wrong, I’ll give you all credit where it’s due, you made here. You made it to the big show, kudos on that,” The Cybernetic Assassin clapped his hands for a brief moment before he raised an objecting index finger and added, “But I’m sorry to disappoint the three of you because no amount of the mobs’ choice of weapons are going to save you from the best weapons of all: My feet. I’m very literally just built better than all of you.”
The scene faded to black with CruZe staring directly into the camera’s lens as if daring it to say something.
Saturday, July 30, 2022
Darkness shrouded all but half of CruZe’s devilishly handsome facial features as his eyes took in the ending of his involvement in the WrestleVerse Championship Battle Royal. He winced a bit at taking the jumping soccer kick from Aiden Reynolds before being dumped rather unceremoniously to the sand below. CruZe began to grind his teeth as he could almost feel the grains of sand stinging his gums once more. He could taste the dryness and feel the gritty material cracking under his teeth.
“Fucking wolves,” he muttered under his breath in an almost trance-like state.
Suddenly, the song ‘La Cucaracha’ began to blare forth from his cell phone ripping him from his seething day dream.
“What do you want,” he asked toxically.
“Now is that a way to greet the man who saved your wrestling career,” the voice on the other end chided. “Muchacho, you wouldn’t even be walking right now if it were not for me, lo harías?” CruZe wanted to answer, but the words seemed to just stick in his throat like a pill that not even a glass of water could force down. “I thought so,” the smug voice on the other end stated causing CruZe’s face to twist into a grimace of silent irritation.
“When are you finally going to let me live MY life,” CruZe said finally gaining back his voice.
The voice on the other end just chuckled at first. “Buena pregunta, mi amigo,” he said mockingly, “how about when you pay me back? You owe me, recuerda?” CruZe’s face turned ghostly white and his pupils shrunk; the sweat of fear began to drip from his brow. “Y until you pay me back for those legs, I own you, amigo.”
It was rare when CruZe was speechless, but what was there to say when someone literally owned the legs you walked on?
“Now, let’s not get on the wrong foot, mi amigo,” said the man on the other end. “After all, you’re the one who is failing to reach his full potential, am I right?”
“What do you mean,” CruZe asked unsure of whether or not he would like the answer.
“At Eternal #1, you failed to capture the WrestleVerse Campeonato, but more importantly, you failed me,” the voice on the other end suddenly became grim.
“B-but, El Gringo Loco,” CruZe stammered his words, “I was teamed up on by three men! Wh-who can contend with those odds?!”
“No quiero escuchar tus excusas,” El Gringo Loco shot back, hushing CruZe, “But, you have a second chance. Another opportunity, if you will.”
“Go on,” CruZe said, definitely listening now.
“I had a little chat with Nuestro amigo, Danny Powers. At Eternal #2, you will face Kyle Williams, Amelia Winston, and Lachlan Kane for the Eternal Campeonato,” El Gringo Loco stated, “in a Fans’ Choice Street Fight.”
“What the fuck is a Fans’ Choice Street Fight,” CruZe seemed to be focused on the wrong part of what El Gringo Loco said.
“The fans choose the weapons used during the Street Fight, but that’s not what is impor-…”
CruZe cut off El Gringo Loco, “Are you out of your damn mind?!??!! They could break my fucking legs!!”
“Silencio! Focus on the Eternal Campeonato,” El Gringo Loco ordered. “Consider the fact that it’s a Fans’ Choice Street Fight your punishment for failing me at Eternal #1. All in all, I would say I am taking it pretty easy on you, wouldn’t you say, CruZe?”
CruZe doesn’t say anything, but that’s enough of an answer for El Gringo Loco.
“Muy bueno. Now don’t fail me again.”
The call ended abruptly, leaving CruZe staring at the monitor still showing the replay of Eternal #1, but at this point, he is looking at Aiden Reynolds hoisting the WrestleVerse Championship. One day that would be him, but he would have to take this one step at a time: The Eternal Championship would have to be first.
The WrestleVerse logo flashed across the screen before the scene faded in with CruZe sitting in a locker room with his eyes turned down toward the floor as if recalling something from the past.
“At Eternal #1, I was quite literally left to the wolves,” CruZe began. “There were three men who made it very clear to all of us that they were working together in the WrestleVerse Championship Battle Royal yet Amelia Winston thinks that’s the right time to be ‘selfish.’ Her words, ladies and gentlemen,” he added with acid in his words as his eyes suddenly lunged up to the camera lens.
“I say divide and conquer, but that’s over and done with now,” he shrugged. “Unfortunately,” he began once more, “we still have found ourselves, between myself, Kyle Williams, and Amelia Winston, under the threat of an onslaught from Wolfslair because who knows if they will stop with the WrestleVerse Championship?”
“What’s going to stop them from appearing during the Fans’ Choice Street Fight to help out their amigo, Lachlan Kane?” The barrage of questions left no room for answers, but he didn’t need an answer; he already knew after all.
“Absolutely nothing; it’s that simple because the lack of rules in a Fans’ Choice Street Fight in allow for that very thing,” he spat at the camera.
“Are you going to be selfish then, Amelia? I’ll be crystal with you. If you get distracted, I won’t hesitate to take advantage, but how can any of us take advantage when there are wolves circling? The answer is, Amelia,” —CruZe said his next words in a slow, condescending manner— “sometimes you need to be selfless in order to BE selfish, and that’s what you and Kyle Williams don’t quite understand. That’s what the two of you couldn’t get through your thick fuckin’ skulls at Eternal #1!”
“And, that’s exactly why I found myself in an impossible one on three situation against Jacob and his pack of stupid idiots instead of one or both of you in the final four. That’s why the two of you just don’t have what it takes to a champion. That thought process is what makes the difference between the two of you and me,” CruZe’s thumb jabbed his chest as he sat atop his soap box. “The two of you will just pretend nothing is wrong; you’ll pretend everything is okay until it’s not.”
“Well, not me! I’m going to do something about it. I’m going to put my boot through any skull that I see in that ring come Eternal #2 because my back is literally against the wall because—let’s face facts— how can I really trust that the two of you will play your part when Wolfslair inevitably show their faces to stack the odds in Lachlan Kane’s favor?”
“And, of course, I haven’t forgotten about you, Lachlan. Based on what I’ve seen so far, you’re nothing more than a Lapdog. Real talk, bro: Is that the role you play in Wolfslair? You sit around and try to make the other two happy when they’re at each others’ throats?” “Tell me something,” CruZe scooted the chair he was sitting upon slightly closer to the camera as if he were actually expecting an answer to his following question, “Where did that get you? I’ll tell you exactly where, eating sand and watching as everyone was able to breathe thanks to your ill-conceived prediction that your boy wouldn’t turn on you.”
CruZe feigned laughter.
“That prediction didn’t age too well, did it? KERBOROS tossed your helpless ass to the sand, and he cared just about as much as when I did it to Axis earlier in the Battle Royal. It’s funny because I just know you’re going to predict that there’s no possible way anyone else in the main event could walk out as Eternal Champion.”
“Well, folks, you can breathe again because I’m walking out as Eternal Champion if I have to stomp out the all of Wolfslair and those two stupid idiots, Kyle Williams and Amelia Winston!” “Don’t get me wrong, I’ll give you all credit where it’s due, you made here. You made it to the big show, kudos on that,” The Cybernetic Assassin clapped his hands for a brief moment before he raised an objecting index finger and added, “But I’m sorry to disappoint the three of you because no amount of the mobs’ choice of weapons are going to save you from the best weapons of all: My feet. I’m very literally just built better than all of you.”
The scene faded to black with CruZe staring directly into the camera’s lens as if daring it to say something.
