Post by Dominator / Mortimer on Mar 26, 2018 18:40:52 GMT -5
TUESDAY 20TH MARCH 2018 – 11.13am
LOCATION: Residence of Amy Trenton-Metallinos, Shipton Bellinger, Hampshire, England, United Kingdom
With great sacrifice comes great triumph. High risk and high reward go hand in hand. Every breath he takes is difficult for him; as if the marathon he had run less than two days ago had occurred within the last two minutes. Indeed, it had been duly noted that he looked comfortable at height when he was solely focused on the destruction of Johnny Matthews. While that certainly was the case, it did not detract from the magnitude of the injuries he had sustained throughout such a brutally contested bout.
It feels as though the fire continues to burn against his skin with an eternal flame. Trying to extinguish this pain produces an even greater sting. He sucks in air through his teeth as he gently applies a dollop of ointment balanced on his fingertip to the wound, slowly working it into the affected area with a circular motion.
These, of course, were only physical wounds. But the mental wounds that he had been carrying recently were no so easy to apply medicine toward.
But today is a new day; the first day of the rest of his life. The sun is shining through the window as if permitting The Zenith to bask in its glory. He can feel the heat radiate through the double glazed windows and against the bare skin of his torso and arms, yet it only amplifies the pain that has scorched his nerve endings like matchsticks allowed to burn to their bases.
“Do you need a hand?”
The warmth in Amy’s smile is something that Dominic has become anything but accustomed to, but he cannot deny that it is a pleasant sight. Her hair is styled tidily; her makeup covering her face as if applied by a professional. In fact, the only artist that had assisted her was the time she had allowed herself to sculpt her features to the perfect definition. She steps towards Dominic, who in turn lets out a small scowl.
In spite of his employer’s insistence to permit their medical staff to examine the full extent of his bodily damage, he had outright refused. He wanted his body to heal naturally, perhaps as a mental test of strength fueled by the release of testosterone. Before he can decline, Amy slips behind Dominic as smooth as a serpent and begins to gently rub Dominic’s back. He feels her moisturized fingers and palms glide across the lumps of muscle around his spine. They move up to the back of his neck and the tops of his shoulders. As much as Dominic wants to shake her off like an unwelcome mosquito landing on his skin, there is something soothing about her touch. Momentarily, he closes his eyes, allowing his body to fully relax, even if only for a brief moment. All of his burdens and tension seem to scurry away like mice sprawling away from their uncovered den. He inadvertently lets out an enraptured grunt, which triggers Amy to let out a humored giggle.
“What’s so funny?” Dominic huffs as if trying to maintain his macho exterior.
“You’re actually relaxing for once,” Amy chuckles sweetly. “It makes a nice change.”
“Relaxing is a strong word,” Dominic tries to smile, but a muscle spasm soon puts a stop to it as he winces out of grief. Amy pouts, believing a reaction has been garnered from the recklessness of her massage; a thought provoked by her self-doubt. Looking over his shoulder, Dominic sees her pensiveness. “It does feel nice though,” he admits to her. Amy’s smile returns, prompting her to resume her methods of soothing.
“It feels as though it’s been months since we’ve actually been able to have a normal life,” Amy says, kissing Dominic on the back of the neck for just a moment, savoring the moment of tranquility that they share. “Things are finally looking up though. Right?”
“Yeah, things have been pretty hectic as of late,” he concedes to the truth. “It’s nice to see that you’re up and about too.” She bobs her head in agreement. No matter what sort of ordeals Dominic had been through, they were nothing compared to Amy’s. With the abduction of her daughter, the malignancy of the diagnosed tumor, the desire to end it and the coalition of depression surrounding all three, all it is a breath of fresh air to see her with such a spring in her step. Credit where credit is due, Horacio had seen to it that Amy was well looked after in Dominic’s absence.
Although Dominic was not there to witness the meeting, Amy and Marx had finally met face to face for the first time since their youth and without Marx donning ‘The Bird Man’ garb. From what Amy had told Dominic about their conversations, Marx’ claims were genuine, despite Dominic having his own reservations, although he would never admit this. Especially not to Amy. This was the happiest he’d seen her since Dawn was brought home. He wasn’t about to ruin that.
“Is Dawn asleep?” Dominic enquires, ready to drift into a slumber on account of just how relaxed he feels.
“Only just,” Amy confirms, slowly lifting herself away from her significant other. “She should be alright for a couple of hours. Do you mind keeping an eye on her?” As the warmth of Amy’s touch vacates Dominic’s skin, the stinging and aching begins to return.
“Are you going somewhere?” he winces, almost dismayed that Amy is leaving.
“I’m meeting up with Marx for brunch,” she beams. Dominic looks momentarily hesitant. He remains skeptical about Marx’ true intentions, given his recent behavior. With everything that has happened within the past several months, he was finding it increasingly tentative to simply ‘forgive and forget’ those who had motivated his angst. “Matt’s coming too,” she opts to include this detail to incite some peace of mind, although it does not make a lot of difference. “Do you want to join us?” she continues to try and remain as optimistic as she can. Dominic acknowledges the effort Amy is putting in to appeasing him, yet he cannot help but remain irresolute.
“You carry on,” Dominic nods as a false signal that he does not mind, “I’m still feeling a bit rough,” is the excuse that he conjures up on the fly.
“Fair enough,” Amy gleams, still maintaining a cheery demeanor as she slides her handbag over her shoulder. She bounces back across the room, pressing her puckered lips against Dominic for a fraction of a second, giving a big smile towards him before bounding toward the door like a deer navigating woodland. She almost bumps into Horacio, who enters the room hold a mug of hot coffee. He throws himself against the wall, holding the cup high as if this somehow ensures its contents are not spilt. “Morning, Horacio,” Amy beams, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before fancifully humming herself out of the building, not even listening for the welcoming exchange that doesn’t come. Mortified by the unforeseen greeting, Mortimer slowly slides into the lounge, staring in the direction that Amy left as he hears the front door close softly.
“Amy looks well,” he states, trying to regain his composure.
“About time too,” The Zenith grunts unintentionally callously, yet the honesty in his voice surprises even himself. He didn’t mean for it to come across this way, but so relieved was he that all of the additional worry over Amy’s wellbeing overflowed in that one statement.
“Time heals all wounds,” Horacio assures. “For now though, while your body heals, we should ascertain our next objective. Now that Marx has reformed his allegiance, we need to focus on building The Chronological Order further.”
“No,” Dominic grunts as he attempts to stand up, his joints still sore and stiff from the weekend’s affairs, “what we need to do is find Shawn. Then, we ensure that he never lays a finger on my daughter ever again.” Horacio draws breath in preparation to fire a counterargument, but the unmoving sternness in Dominic’s eyes impedes his speech. “No time like the present, right?” he adds with a returning grin, which quickly fades from the pain that accompanies such a simple act of walking. He perseveres, making the short trip across the lounge and slapping Horacio encouragingly above this shoulder blade. Walking past him, Dominic grabs a black shirt draped across the top of the living room door before returning to his seat. The dark coloration of the shirt enables him to hide the majority of his dermatological inconsistencies. Horacio lets out a mildly despondent grimace to accompany the shake of his head.
“I have Harley on renaissance duties. He’s keeping an eye on Shawn,” Mortimer informs, slightly insulted by Dominic’s blatant disregard for what he has scheduled. “You needn’t worry about that at this stage. What I think you need is for you to give your body time to heal appropriately.”
“Would you care to update me?” Dominic frowns, hauling the shirt over his head.
“Shawn is none-the-wiser to Marx’ double cross, or so we believe,” Mortimer explains. “Marx has received multiple messages from Shawn asking what sort of progress he is making. Shawn is under the impression that Marx will retrieve Dawn on his behalf.”
“I just want this all to be over and done with,” Dominic snarls, trying to stretch his limbs as vigorously as his body will allow. His muscles and tendons refuse. He feels like his body is locking itself into a statuesque state of rigor-mortis before he finally relents, allowing his arms to go limp at his side. “One way or another, he will pay for what he’s done to me and my family.”
“I appreciate your lust for revenge prevails over all else,” Mortimer mutters sarcastically, “but you cannot do anything in the state that you are in now. You need a good week to heal. I’m more than willing to relieve you of any duties within The Order this blows over, but I ask that you at least heed my warnings and trust my judgement.” If there is one thing that Dominic cannot stand, it is being told what to do. He owes Horacio so much, but at the same time he cannot help but feel as though the majority of everything that has happened in recent months could have been avoided if only he had not chosen to become a part of this group. He couldn’t view it as a negative to a huge extent. There were a number of positive factors that outweighed the negatives, yet it seems to be said negatives that are prevalent in his mind.
“I’m going to check on Dawn,” Dominic thinks his excuse to depart out loud. His knees crack under the tension of standing, the sound of which create a glower of grief on the face of The Zenith. Jerkily, he moves towards the staircase beyond the entrance-slash-exit to the living room. Horacio says nothing, merely looking on with malcontent as his protégé makes his ascent.
Dominic traverses the landing slowly. His whole body aches.
No. To call it an “ache” is the understatement of the century.
He hurts.
His whole body hurts.
Nevertheless, the agony was worth it to see the look of despondency on the face of Johnny Matthews after plummeting to Earth with the Underground championship still in his possession. The predominant ramification of this is that he now has no choice but to ignore the yearning that his body cries to him for respite. If he were to collapse and admit defeat, the hyenas would inevitably come to pick his carcass clean, stripping him not only of his flesh, but his integrity and his pride alike.
But it would be Dominator who feasts amongst the famine of his peers; starving them of the Underground throne that they so richly desire, but not deserve.
It could not be denied that Crazy Boy had been cargo loaded into the trebuchet that had propelled Dominator’s stock skyward. If one casts their mind back to Trauma 214 on Thursday 6th July 2017, the first introduction to The Zenith came in the aftermath of a vicious assault on Crazy Boy. To make a mark on someone who had been inducted into the Hall Of Fame immediately generates interest. The weeks that followed saw multiple repeat performances and even the supposed ‘revenge’ that Tyrone wished to exact did not come to be; overwhelmed by Dominator’s might once more.
Whilst Dominator rides the peaks of tallest waves, Tyrone Smith has been left to flounder amidst an ocean of mediocrity. It is so abundant for all to see that if there had been a shred of credibility left to his name, Brittany would have actually put up some sort of a fight at Mass Destruction. She saw that she was booked against a perpetual loser on stage where tens of thousands of people would be watching. Rather than keep her dignity, she simply put on a performance as interesting as watching two slugs mate.
And yet, Dominator remains focused. Dismissing him so easily as an inviable hazard would be truly foolhardy. When one thinks about it, Tyrone is the one person who has come the closest to defeating The Zenith in a one-on-one setting.
It was the eighth annual broadcast of ‘Deadly Intentions’ where Dominator had been pushed to his limit by none other than Tyrone Smith as part of what-would-have-been the final contest of the Round Robin tournament that would eventually see the inauguration of a new King. The bitter taste left in his mouth has still not washed away after he had been held to a No Contest. Even though he did not technically lose, he had not won either. Ultimately, the outcome had only delayed the inevitable inauguration of the new Underground King. However, the misconception in Tyrone’s mind may have manifested into the illusion that he can go one better this time around.
Since that day, Dominator had vowed unto himself to never overlook anybody, regardless of their ability. To live up to his namesake, he could not take his foot off the accelerator for even a moment. The sheer momentum continues to carry him forward, even when barbaric altercations equivalent to that at Mass Destruction affront to Johnny Matthews are there to impede him, he breaks through like a train barreling down the track.
It would be a reckless idea indeed to believe that The Zenith would make the same mistake twice. What will be Tyrone’s resolve this time?
Tyrone had just as easy a time as Razor Blade at Mass Destruction. Apparently, this is the way that viable contenders are determined these days. Forget about actual physical combat with another person in a competitive setting. All you have to do is get booked against someone who doesn’t put any effort at all into a contest, or even show up to the event at all!
Yes, there was indeed an air of mystique surrounding the opening bout of Mass Destruction. Speculation ran rampant with regard to who might reveal themselves as the ‘mystery opponent.’ A debuting star? A returning name? A legend showing their face for one more match? It is a travesty that we still don’t know. There must have been plans put in place, but there is only one logical reason as to why this mysterious individual failed to appear…
… It was because of the knowledge that they’d have to face Razor Blade.
Here is a man who takes a period of absence in order to return as a better man. Most people spend months, years or even decades to search for their soul. And yet, this man seemed to locate his almost overnight. His run as the ‘mascot’ of The Sea Men or The Flying Freebooters or whatever they call themselves have not added to his success, making one wonder what purpose his inclusion benefits the group?
Poor Kassandra Black, who is still no closer to finding the solace and justice of her husband’s murderer, has to put on a brave face and listen to a dithering idiot who struggles to string a sentence together just as much as a putting on a good match.
It had occurred to Horacio that there is something about Dominator’s presence that draws out the most potential in his opponent’s abilities. More to the point, his challengers would often surpass their own limits and exceed the expectations of everybody around them; themselves included.
Crazy Boy and Razor Blade were the two such candidates directly in front of him, but there had been individuals such as High Tide, Arica “Trouble” Lewitt and Hiroshi Yukio who have also fought with every ounce of vitality they could summon from their spirits.
And yet, it wasn’t enough.
It will never be enough.
Every victory is a necessity, but there are greater stakes in this particular contest than the Crown of the Underground King itself. It is only fitting that The Chronological Order would scour the archives to obtain information with regards to the passage of time of various championship reigns. One statistic discovered by the administrator is truly fascinating;
On the night that Trauma hits the airwaves, Dominator will have been Underground King for 154 days, matching the length of the reign of the longest ruling King up to this point; PCW World Champion Kyle Shane.
By defeating Crazy Boy and Razor Blade, it extends his reign beyond that of The Catalyst; thus marking Dominator as the longest reigning Underground King since its inception. In itself, this will be a monumental achievement and a defining moment in the championship’s history. Yet it serves as secondary purpose; it will further reinforce the notion that Dominator is one of the most powerful and destructive forces that has ever graced Pure Class Wrestling.
The question on everybody’s lips is ‘where does Dominator go next?’ After defeating Johnny Matthews, arguably his most exigent and testing opponent to date, surely this is enough of an indication that Dominator is ready to transcend to the next level. There may be a competitive element whereby he seeks to break records set by the likes of Monroe, Non Compos Mentis and Billy Sadistic in terms of the tenure with a championship belt.
Or, of course, there is The Icemann Invitational Tournament; a prestigious competition where only those deemed worthy by Luis Malave are handpicked to compete. Invitations may seem scarce this year though, given the titular organizer was murdered recently with little to no explanation as to a culprit or a motive.
There could still be time for saving grace. Perhaps those who succeed his position will act on his behalf; his brothers or his wife, all of whom are somehow still conglomerated with the company. The one thing that must be made clear is that Dominator must have undeniably secured his position within the tournament.
A fact that he will back up by emerging the victor.
As he does so time and time again.
So lost is he in thought that he barely notices the bulging eyes of Dawn staring lovingly back up at him. She wriggles with excitement, her face expands to reveal a gummy smile. From nearby, he hears gentle footsteps.
“You’re right,” comes Horacio’s confession, “you should be in the know. However, I do hope you understand that the truth often hurts. And I fully understand that you’re hurting already…”
“Whatever you have to say, say it,” Dominic says bluntly. With that, Mortimer spins on his heel, not looking Dominic in the eye as he speaks.
“Marx was never truly against us,” he begins, which immediately causes Dominic’s nostrils to flare and his eyebrows to furrow. “Of course, I couldn’t comprehend his usefulness until he unveiled more about his past. I enlisted him as part of The Watchmen to ensure the welfare of Amy,” he explains. “That way. He could spend time with his sister, to an extent, even though she was not particularly able to hold much in terms of conversations with him. His instinct as a brother fuels him to protect his family. As such, he was very skeptical about you, especially when one considers the way in which her relationship with Shawn failed.”
“I don’t exactly trust him either,” Dominic says, trying to remain as calm as possible for the sake of his daughter, who he is now bobbing gently in his arms in a bid to get her to fall back to sleep. “If he’d have been open from the start, we could have avoided all of this. Only when one is not being clear do the lines become blurred. How was I to know they were related by blood? The way he talked about ‘loving her’ made it seem as though he were a jealous ex-boyfriend or something.”
“He said that he loved her. He didn’t say that he was in love with her,” Mortimer refutes. “There is a significant difference between both statements. But I will concede that his choice of words could have been easily misinterpreted.”
“He tried to blame me for everything that has happened to Amy,” Dominic moans wearily. “Not to mention that he effectively made an attempt on my life on that damned rooftop. IT seems like a bit of an overreaction if he was meant to be on our side. Something’s not right.” Horacio has fallen quiet, unnerving Dominic somewhat. “What?” he questions speculatively. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Do you want to know the truth?” Horacio says calmly, flashing a wicked and knowing smile. “How do you think Marx got the idea to encourage you to meet at the top of one of the tallest buildings in all of England? Do you think that was something that Shawn would have told him to do?”
If his hands weren’t wrapped around his daughter, they’d be wrapped around Horacio’s throat. Dominic’s face turns red; proverbial steam ruptures through this eardrums and sinuses like bull seeing a matador’s cape.
“You did this?”
“I manufactured a situation where you would not only face your fears, but also be put in the situation where you would have no choice but to conquer them,” Horacio beams. “And you cannot say that it didn’t work. If it hadn’t, Johnny Matthews would be Underground King by now, would he not?”
“You’re insane!” Dominic snarls hushly as not to disturb Dawn, whose eyelids are starting to droop in preparation to fall asleep once again.
“I’m a realist,” Mortimer retorts, “and a creative realist at that. If I were truly as ‘insane’ as you label me, why do more and more people choose to heed my every word? Not just across The Chronological Order, but even right here. You have been listening to me since Day One. I acknowledge this and build you to become the competitor that you never thought you could be. I orchestrate the recovery of your daughter when she was kidnapped and assign people to tend to the welfare of the people that you care about the most, for better or worse…” he pauses, staring out of the window for a brief moment, unable to bring himself to look Dominic in the eye. “And this is the gratitude that I get?”
“This doesn’t excuse your lies,” is the closest thing to an apology that Mortimer will receive from Dominic at this point in time. “
“At no point have I lied,” Horacio says assertively. “It is you who has interpreted situations incorrectly due to your irrational thinking under such stressful conditions. Can’t you see that I am trying to aid you in overcoming your boundaries?”
“You are the one who is making it stressful!” is Dominic’s argument.
“Given time, I know you can overcome anything that is put in front of you,” Mortimer says, encouraging himself more so than The Zenith. “You’ve defeated the vertigo that has plagued you for years.”
“I’d hardly say it’s been ‘defeated,’ as you so put it,” he huffs. “You don’t just overcome something like that overnight.”
“Oh, but you do,” Mortimer grins. “How often have you worried about it since?” He pauses to grant Dominic a moment of reflection. He had a point. The anticipation of having to ascend to a great height had not been a factor since the pay per view. Whether that was because there was no immediate situation around the corner in which it would be factor or simply because he’d been cured was arguable. But still, Dominic could not argue with Horacio’s logic.
“That’s still not an excuse,” is all he can respond with.
“I will admit that my methods are not conventional,” Mortimer says lugubriously, as if acknowledging that he is at fault in some capacity, “but you must have known this from the get-go. After all, it is how practically one utilizes their time that yields the best results.” There is a tense moment between the teacher and student. Dominic looks back down at Dawn. Thankfully, she remains blissfully unaware of the conflict taking place in front of her. She has fallen back into the realm of dreams, far away from the intensity. Her father carefully lays her down in her crib on her back, lowering her head carefully onto a folded up velvety cloth that forms a sort of pillow. “I’m not forcing you to stay,” Horacio suddenly blurts out, causing Dominic to jerk his head to one side. He immediately regrets this, twitching as his neck cricks.
“What?” Dominic holds back a gasp.
“Evidently, you are not comfortable with my methods,” Horacio begins to elaborate, yet Dominic follows him back out onto the landing in protest.
“I’ve not once said that it is my wish to leave,” Dominic says firmly. “All I want is to be told all of the necessary information.”
“That is precisely what I have been doing,” Horacio maintains, “and I choose not to disclose every single aspect because it is neither my place nor my duty to provide you with it all. Some of the answers you have to find on your own. It is how you grow as an individual. It helps open your mind to new scenarios.”
Dominic exhales loudly, running his hand through his beard with yet another pain-stricken contortion of his face. He cannot believe that they are even having this conversation. Is Horacio really reading this much into the situation? In spite of Dominic’s insistence that he simply seeks the hard facts, Horacio refuses to allow his logic to be questioned. In truth, it is difficult to question, yet his will is as unwavering as Dominic’s desire to succeed.
“You need time to rest,” Horacio instructs like a father figure cautioning a defiant child. Ruminating this for several silent seconds, Dominic slowly bows his head, coming to the settlement that Horacio’s point holds more validity than anything else he has tried to explain at this stage. The physical and mental abuse his body has affected his rationality. It has taken him this long to realise this. “Depending on what detail Harley comes back to me with will affect which course of action I propose to take.”
“I just want this to be over,” Dominic parrots his earlier sentiments.
“All in good time, my friend,” Horacio grins triumphantly.
“All in good time.”
LOCATION: Residence of Amy Trenton-Metallinos, Shipton Bellinger, Hampshire, England, United Kingdom
With great sacrifice comes great triumph. High risk and high reward go hand in hand. Every breath he takes is difficult for him; as if the marathon he had run less than two days ago had occurred within the last two minutes. Indeed, it had been duly noted that he looked comfortable at height when he was solely focused on the destruction of Johnny Matthews. While that certainly was the case, it did not detract from the magnitude of the injuries he had sustained throughout such a brutally contested bout.
It feels as though the fire continues to burn against his skin with an eternal flame. Trying to extinguish this pain produces an even greater sting. He sucks in air through his teeth as he gently applies a dollop of ointment balanced on his fingertip to the wound, slowly working it into the affected area with a circular motion.
These, of course, were only physical wounds. But the mental wounds that he had been carrying recently were no so easy to apply medicine toward.
But today is a new day; the first day of the rest of his life. The sun is shining through the window as if permitting The Zenith to bask in its glory. He can feel the heat radiate through the double glazed windows and against the bare skin of his torso and arms, yet it only amplifies the pain that has scorched his nerve endings like matchsticks allowed to burn to their bases.
“Do you need a hand?”
The warmth in Amy’s smile is something that Dominic has become anything but accustomed to, but he cannot deny that it is a pleasant sight. Her hair is styled tidily; her makeup covering her face as if applied by a professional. In fact, the only artist that had assisted her was the time she had allowed herself to sculpt her features to the perfect definition. She steps towards Dominic, who in turn lets out a small scowl.
In spite of his employer’s insistence to permit their medical staff to examine the full extent of his bodily damage, he had outright refused. He wanted his body to heal naturally, perhaps as a mental test of strength fueled by the release of testosterone. Before he can decline, Amy slips behind Dominic as smooth as a serpent and begins to gently rub Dominic’s back. He feels her moisturized fingers and palms glide across the lumps of muscle around his spine. They move up to the back of his neck and the tops of his shoulders. As much as Dominic wants to shake her off like an unwelcome mosquito landing on his skin, there is something soothing about her touch. Momentarily, he closes his eyes, allowing his body to fully relax, even if only for a brief moment. All of his burdens and tension seem to scurry away like mice sprawling away from their uncovered den. He inadvertently lets out an enraptured grunt, which triggers Amy to let out a humored giggle.
“What’s so funny?” Dominic huffs as if trying to maintain his macho exterior.
“You’re actually relaxing for once,” Amy chuckles sweetly. “It makes a nice change.”
“Relaxing is a strong word,” Dominic tries to smile, but a muscle spasm soon puts a stop to it as he winces out of grief. Amy pouts, believing a reaction has been garnered from the recklessness of her massage; a thought provoked by her self-doubt. Looking over his shoulder, Dominic sees her pensiveness. “It does feel nice though,” he admits to her. Amy’s smile returns, prompting her to resume her methods of soothing.
“It feels as though it’s been months since we’ve actually been able to have a normal life,” Amy says, kissing Dominic on the back of the neck for just a moment, savoring the moment of tranquility that they share. “Things are finally looking up though. Right?”
“Yeah, things have been pretty hectic as of late,” he concedes to the truth. “It’s nice to see that you’re up and about too.” She bobs her head in agreement. No matter what sort of ordeals Dominic had been through, they were nothing compared to Amy’s. With the abduction of her daughter, the malignancy of the diagnosed tumor, the desire to end it and the coalition of depression surrounding all three, all it is a breath of fresh air to see her with such a spring in her step. Credit where credit is due, Horacio had seen to it that Amy was well looked after in Dominic’s absence.
Although Dominic was not there to witness the meeting, Amy and Marx had finally met face to face for the first time since their youth and without Marx donning ‘The Bird Man’ garb. From what Amy had told Dominic about their conversations, Marx’ claims were genuine, despite Dominic having his own reservations, although he would never admit this. Especially not to Amy. This was the happiest he’d seen her since Dawn was brought home. He wasn’t about to ruin that.
“Is Dawn asleep?” Dominic enquires, ready to drift into a slumber on account of just how relaxed he feels.
“Only just,” Amy confirms, slowly lifting herself away from her significant other. “She should be alright for a couple of hours. Do you mind keeping an eye on her?” As the warmth of Amy’s touch vacates Dominic’s skin, the stinging and aching begins to return.
“Are you going somewhere?” he winces, almost dismayed that Amy is leaving.
“I’m meeting up with Marx for brunch,” she beams. Dominic looks momentarily hesitant. He remains skeptical about Marx’ true intentions, given his recent behavior. With everything that has happened within the past several months, he was finding it increasingly tentative to simply ‘forgive and forget’ those who had motivated his angst. “Matt’s coming too,” she opts to include this detail to incite some peace of mind, although it does not make a lot of difference. “Do you want to join us?” she continues to try and remain as optimistic as she can. Dominic acknowledges the effort Amy is putting in to appeasing him, yet he cannot help but remain irresolute.
“You carry on,” Dominic nods as a false signal that he does not mind, “I’m still feeling a bit rough,” is the excuse that he conjures up on the fly.
“Fair enough,” Amy gleams, still maintaining a cheery demeanor as she slides her handbag over her shoulder. She bounces back across the room, pressing her puckered lips against Dominic for a fraction of a second, giving a big smile towards him before bounding toward the door like a deer navigating woodland. She almost bumps into Horacio, who enters the room hold a mug of hot coffee. He throws himself against the wall, holding the cup high as if this somehow ensures its contents are not spilt. “Morning, Horacio,” Amy beams, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before fancifully humming herself out of the building, not even listening for the welcoming exchange that doesn’t come. Mortified by the unforeseen greeting, Mortimer slowly slides into the lounge, staring in the direction that Amy left as he hears the front door close softly.
“Amy looks well,” he states, trying to regain his composure.
“About time too,” The Zenith grunts unintentionally callously, yet the honesty in his voice surprises even himself. He didn’t mean for it to come across this way, but so relieved was he that all of the additional worry over Amy’s wellbeing overflowed in that one statement.
“Time heals all wounds,” Horacio assures. “For now though, while your body heals, we should ascertain our next objective. Now that Marx has reformed his allegiance, we need to focus on building The Chronological Order further.”
“No,” Dominic grunts as he attempts to stand up, his joints still sore and stiff from the weekend’s affairs, “what we need to do is find Shawn. Then, we ensure that he never lays a finger on my daughter ever again.” Horacio draws breath in preparation to fire a counterargument, but the unmoving sternness in Dominic’s eyes impedes his speech. “No time like the present, right?” he adds with a returning grin, which quickly fades from the pain that accompanies such a simple act of walking. He perseveres, making the short trip across the lounge and slapping Horacio encouragingly above this shoulder blade. Walking past him, Dominic grabs a black shirt draped across the top of the living room door before returning to his seat. The dark coloration of the shirt enables him to hide the majority of his dermatological inconsistencies. Horacio lets out a mildly despondent grimace to accompany the shake of his head.
“I have Harley on renaissance duties. He’s keeping an eye on Shawn,” Mortimer informs, slightly insulted by Dominic’s blatant disregard for what he has scheduled. “You needn’t worry about that at this stage. What I think you need is for you to give your body time to heal appropriately.”
“Would you care to update me?” Dominic frowns, hauling the shirt over his head.
“Shawn is none-the-wiser to Marx’ double cross, or so we believe,” Mortimer explains. “Marx has received multiple messages from Shawn asking what sort of progress he is making. Shawn is under the impression that Marx will retrieve Dawn on his behalf.”
“I just want this all to be over and done with,” Dominic snarls, trying to stretch his limbs as vigorously as his body will allow. His muscles and tendons refuse. He feels like his body is locking itself into a statuesque state of rigor-mortis before he finally relents, allowing his arms to go limp at his side. “One way or another, he will pay for what he’s done to me and my family.”
“I appreciate your lust for revenge prevails over all else,” Mortimer mutters sarcastically, “but you cannot do anything in the state that you are in now. You need a good week to heal. I’m more than willing to relieve you of any duties within The Order this blows over, but I ask that you at least heed my warnings and trust my judgement.” If there is one thing that Dominic cannot stand, it is being told what to do. He owes Horacio so much, but at the same time he cannot help but feel as though the majority of everything that has happened in recent months could have been avoided if only he had not chosen to become a part of this group. He couldn’t view it as a negative to a huge extent. There were a number of positive factors that outweighed the negatives, yet it seems to be said negatives that are prevalent in his mind.
“I’m going to check on Dawn,” Dominic thinks his excuse to depart out loud. His knees crack under the tension of standing, the sound of which create a glower of grief on the face of The Zenith. Jerkily, he moves towards the staircase beyond the entrance-slash-exit to the living room. Horacio says nothing, merely looking on with malcontent as his protégé makes his ascent.
Dominic traverses the landing slowly. His whole body aches.
No. To call it an “ache” is the understatement of the century.
He hurts.
His whole body hurts.
Nevertheless, the agony was worth it to see the look of despondency on the face of Johnny Matthews after plummeting to Earth with the Underground championship still in his possession. The predominant ramification of this is that he now has no choice but to ignore the yearning that his body cries to him for respite. If he were to collapse and admit defeat, the hyenas would inevitably come to pick his carcass clean, stripping him not only of his flesh, but his integrity and his pride alike.
But it would be Dominator who feasts amongst the famine of his peers; starving them of the Underground throne that they so richly desire, but not deserve.
It could not be denied that Crazy Boy had been cargo loaded into the trebuchet that had propelled Dominator’s stock skyward. If one casts their mind back to Trauma 214 on Thursday 6th July 2017, the first introduction to The Zenith came in the aftermath of a vicious assault on Crazy Boy. To make a mark on someone who had been inducted into the Hall Of Fame immediately generates interest. The weeks that followed saw multiple repeat performances and even the supposed ‘revenge’ that Tyrone wished to exact did not come to be; overwhelmed by Dominator’s might once more.
Whilst Dominator rides the peaks of tallest waves, Tyrone Smith has been left to flounder amidst an ocean of mediocrity. It is so abundant for all to see that if there had been a shred of credibility left to his name, Brittany would have actually put up some sort of a fight at Mass Destruction. She saw that she was booked against a perpetual loser on stage where tens of thousands of people would be watching. Rather than keep her dignity, she simply put on a performance as interesting as watching two slugs mate.
And yet, Dominator remains focused. Dismissing him so easily as an inviable hazard would be truly foolhardy. When one thinks about it, Tyrone is the one person who has come the closest to defeating The Zenith in a one-on-one setting.
It was the eighth annual broadcast of ‘Deadly Intentions’ where Dominator had been pushed to his limit by none other than Tyrone Smith as part of what-would-have-been the final contest of the Round Robin tournament that would eventually see the inauguration of a new King. The bitter taste left in his mouth has still not washed away after he had been held to a No Contest. Even though he did not technically lose, he had not won either. Ultimately, the outcome had only delayed the inevitable inauguration of the new Underground King. However, the misconception in Tyrone’s mind may have manifested into the illusion that he can go one better this time around.
Since that day, Dominator had vowed unto himself to never overlook anybody, regardless of their ability. To live up to his namesake, he could not take his foot off the accelerator for even a moment. The sheer momentum continues to carry him forward, even when barbaric altercations equivalent to that at Mass Destruction affront to Johnny Matthews are there to impede him, he breaks through like a train barreling down the track.
It would be a reckless idea indeed to believe that The Zenith would make the same mistake twice. What will be Tyrone’s resolve this time?
Tyrone had just as easy a time as Razor Blade at Mass Destruction. Apparently, this is the way that viable contenders are determined these days. Forget about actual physical combat with another person in a competitive setting. All you have to do is get booked against someone who doesn’t put any effort at all into a contest, or even show up to the event at all!
Yes, there was indeed an air of mystique surrounding the opening bout of Mass Destruction. Speculation ran rampant with regard to who might reveal themselves as the ‘mystery opponent.’ A debuting star? A returning name? A legend showing their face for one more match? It is a travesty that we still don’t know. There must have been plans put in place, but there is only one logical reason as to why this mysterious individual failed to appear…
… It was because of the knowledge that they’d have to face Razor Blade.
Here is a man who takes a period of absence in order to return as a better man. Most people spend months, years or even decades to search for their soul. And yet, this man seemed to locate his almost overnight. His run as the ‘mascot’ of The Sea Men or The Flying Freebooters or whatever they call themselves have not added to his success, making one wonder what purpose his inclusion benefits the group?
Poor Kassandra Black, who is still no closer to finding the solace and justice of her husband’s murderer, has to put on a brave face and listen to a dithering idiot who struggles to string a sentence together just as much as a putting on a good match.
It had occurred to Horacio that there is something about Dominator’s presence that draws out the most potential in his opponent’s abilities. More to the point, his challengers would often surpass their own limits and exceed the expectations of everybody around them; themselves included.
Crazy Boy and Razor Blade were the two such candidates directly in front of him, but there had been individuals such as High Tide, Arica “Trouble” Lewitt and Hiroshi Yukio who have also fought with every ounce of vitality they could summon from their spirits.
And yet, it wasn’t enough.
It will never be enough.
Every victory is a necessity, but there are greater stakes in this particular contest than the Crown of the Underground King itself. It is only fitting that The Chronological Order would scour the archives to obtain information with regards to the passage of time of various championship reigns. One statistic discovered by the administrator is truly fascinating;
On the night that Trauma hits the airwaves, Dominator will have been Underground King for 154 days, matching the length of the reign of the longest ruling King up to this point; PCW World Champion Kyle Shane.
By defeating Crazy Boy and Razor Blade, it extends his reign beyond that of The Catalyst; thus marking Dominator as the longest reigning Underground King since its inception. In itself, this will be a monumental achievement and a defining moment in the championship’s history. Yet it serves as secondary purpose; it will further reinforce the notion that Dominator is one of the most powerful and destructive forces that has ever graced Pure Class Wrestling.
The question on everybody’s lips is ‘where does Dominator go next?’ After defeating Johnny Matthews, arguably his most exigent and testing opponent to date, surely this is enough of an indication that Dominator is ready to transcend to the next level. There may be a competitive element whereby he seeks to break records set by the likes of Monroe, Non Compos Mentis and Billy Sadistic in terms of the tenure with a championship belt.
Or, of course, there is The Icemann Invitational Tournament; a prestigious competition where only those deemed worthy by Luis Malave are handpicked to compete. Invitations may seem scarce this year though, given the titular organizer was murdered recently with little to no explanation as to a culprit or a motive.
There could still be time for saving grace. Perhaps those who succeed his position will act on his behalf; his brothers or his wife, all of whom are somehow still conglomerated with the company. The one thing that must be made clear is that Dominator must have undeniably secured his position within the tournament.
A fact that he will back up by emerging the victor.
As he does so time and time again.
So lost is he in thought that he barely notices the bulging eyes of Dawn staring lovingly back up at him. She wriggles with excitement, her face expands to reveal a gummy smile. From nearby, he hears gentle footsteps.
“You’re right,” comes Horacio’s confession, “you should be in the know. However, I do hope you understand that the truth often hurts. And I fully understand that you’re hurting already…”
“Whatever you have to say, say it,” Dominic says bluntly. With that, Mortimer spins on his heel, not looking Dominic in the eye as he speaks.
“Marx was never truly against us,” he begins, which immediately causes Dominic’s nostrils to flare and his eyebrows to furrow. “Of course, I couldn’t comprehend his usefulness until he unveiled more about his past. I enlisted him as part of The Watchmen to ensure the welfare of Amy,” he explains. “That way. He could spend time with his sister, to an extent, even though she was not particularly able to hold much in terms of conversations with him. His instinct as a brother fuels him to protect his family. As such, he was very skeptical about you, especially when one considers the way in which her relationship with Shawn failed.”
“I don’t exactly trust him either,” Dominic says, trying to remain as calm as possible for the sake of his daughter, who he is now bobbing gently in his arms in a bid to get her to fall back to sleep. “If he’d have been open from the start, we could have avoided all of this. Only when one is not being clear do the lines become blurred. How was I to know they were related by blood? The way he talked about ‘loving her’ made it seem as though he were a jealous ex-boyfriend or something.”
“He said that he loved her. He didn’t say that he was in love with her,” Mortimer refutes. “There is a significant difference between both statements. But I will concede that his choice of words could have been easily misinterpreted.”
“He tried to blame me for everything that has happened to Amy,” Dominic moans wearily. “Not to mention that he effectively made an attempt on my life on that damned rooftop. IT seems like a bit of an overreaction if he was meant to be on our side. Something’s not right.” Horacio has fallen quiet, unnerving Dominic somewhat. “What?” he questions speculatively. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Do you want to know the truth?” Horacio says calmly, flashing a wicked and knowing smile. “How do you think Marx got the idea to encourage you to meet at the top of one of the tallest buildings in all of England? Do you think that was something that Shawn would have told him to do?”
If his hands weren’t wrapped around his daughter, they’d be wrapped around Horacio’s throat. Dominic’s face turns red; proverbial steam ruptures through this eardrums and sinuses like bull seeing a matador’s cape.
“You did this?”
“I manufactured a situation where you would not only face your fears, but also be put in the situation where you would have no choice but to conquer them,” Horacio beams. “And you cannot say that it didn’t work. If it hadn’t, Johnny Matthews would be Underground King by now, would he not?”
“You’re insane!” Dominic snarls hushly as not to disturb Dawn, whose eyelids are starting to droop in preparation to fall asleep once again.
“I’m a realist,” Mortimer retorts, “and a creative realist at that. If I were truly as ‘insane’ as you label me, why do more and more people choose to heed my every word? Not just across The Chronological Order, but even right here. You have been listening to me since Day One. I acknowledge this and build you to become the competitor that you never thought you could be. I orchestrate the recovery of your daughter when she was kidnapped and assign people to tend to the welfare of the people that you care about the most, for better or worse…” he pauses, staring out of the window for a brief moment, unable to bring himself to look Dominic in the eye. “And this is the gratitude that I get?”
“This doesn’t excuse your lies,” is the closest thing to an apology that Mortimer will receive from Dominic at this point in time. “
“At no point have I lied,” Horacio says assertively. “It is you who has interpreted situations incorrectly due to your irrational thinking under such stressful conditions. Can’t you see that I am trying to aid you in overcoming your boundaries?”
“You are the one who is making it stressful!” is Dominic’s argument.
“Given time, I know you can overcome anything that is put in front of you,” Mortimer says, encouraging himself more so than The Zenith. “You’ve defeated the vertigo that has plagued you for years.”
“I’d hardly say it’s been ‘defeated,’ as you so put it,” he huffs. “You don’t just overcome something like that overnight.”
“Oh, but you do,” Mortimer grins. “How often have you worried about it since?” He pauses to grant Dominic a moment of reflection. He had a point. The anticipation of having to ascend to a great height had not been a factor since the pay per view. Whether that was because there was no immediate situation around the corner in which it would be factor or simply because he’d been cured was arguable. But still, Dominic could not argue with Horacio’s logic.
“That’s still not an excuse,” is all he can respond with.
“I will admit that my methods are not conventional,” Mortimer says lugubriously, as if acknowledging that he is at fault in some capacity, “but you must have known this from the get-go. After all, it is how practically one utilizes their time that yields the best results.” There is a tense moment between the teacher and student. Dominic looks back down at Dawn. Thankfully, she remains blissfully unaware of the conflict taking place in front of her. She has fallen back into the realm of dreams, far away from the intensity. Her father carefully lays her down in her crib on her back, lowering her head carefully onto a folded up velvety cloth that forms a sort of pillow. “I’m not forcing you to stay,” Horacio suddenly blurts out, causing Dominic to jerk his head to one side. He immediately regrets this, twitching as his neck cricks.
“What?” Dominic holds back a gasp.
“Evidently, you are not comfortable with my methods,” Horacio begins to elaborate, yet Dominic follows him back out onto the landing in protest.
“I’ve not once said that it is my wish to leave,” Dominic says firmly. “All I want is to be told all of the necessary information.”
“That is precisely what I have been doing,” Horacio maintains, “and I choose not to disclose every single aspect because it is neither my place nor my duty to provide you with it all. Some of the answers you have to find on your own. It is how you grow as an individual. It helps open your mind to new scenarios.”
Dominic exhales loudly, running his hand through his beard with yet another pain-stricken contortion of his face. He cannot believe that they are even having this conversation. Is Horacio really reading this much into the situation? In spite of Dominic’s insistence that he simply seeks the hard facts, Horacio refuses to allow his logic to be questioned. In truth, it is difficult to question, yet his will is as unwavering as Dominic’s desire to succeed.
“You need time to rest,” Horacio instructs like a father figure cautioning a defiant child. Ruminating this for several silent seconds, Dominic slowly bows his head, coming to the settlement that Horacio’s point holds more validity than anything else he has tried to explain at this stage. The physical and mental abuse his body has affected his rationality. It has taken him this long to realise this. “Depending on what detail Harley comes back to me with will affect which course of action I propose to take.”
“I just want this to be over,” Dominic parrots his earlier sentiments.
“All in good time, my friend,” Horacio grins triumphantly.
“All in good time.”
