Post by Dominator / Mortimer on Feb 11, 2019 17:57:09 GMT -5
Saturday 2nd February 2019 - 10.37am
Location: Unknown (Woodlands)
The snow had fallen thick and fast, settling against the woodland floor unbridled by the ceiling of branches from overhanging trees, nor by the moisture of the autumnal leaves that had claimed the land first. Though a thaw has started to repossess the atmosphere, a cloud of fog reminds all forms of flora and fauna that winter’s stranglehold is far from over. So deep is said fog that it is impossible to differentiate one tree from the next, each baring almost identical formations of sodden moss on their trunks.
Amidst the shivering chirps of the avian species that roost amongst the treetops, only the crumpling of snow beneath an octet of hooves traversing the misty terrain can be heard. The exhalations of the horses are so thick that they seem to contribute towards the unrelenting miasma of water vapor in the air. To carry a figure as grand as The Zenith is a testament to his stallion’s power and vigor.
Trailing behind, maintaining the same direction as the leader solely by the imprints left in the snow ahead of them, May shivers beneath her black hood. As comfortable are the garment might seem, it is relatively impractical in such conditions; tailored mainly for show rather than practicality. Eager to catch up to Dominic’s mount, she ushers her own equine vehicle to hasten its pace. The slow walk turns into a gentle trot. So inexperienced a rider is she that she immediately lurches forward, clasping the horse around the neck out of fear of falling off. Within a few moments, she is able to recompose herself. Thankfully, it does not take too long to catch up with Dominic. She draws alongside him. His eyes are not detracted from the tunnel-vision he has lined up with that of his destination.
“Can you slow down a little bit?” May asks as wearily as her steed, “I’m not used to traveling on horseback.”
“If you can’t keep up, you might around turn around now,” Dominic subconsciously replies with a voice as cold as the frozen landscape.
“I didn’t ask for you to tag along,” Dominic bluntly states without batting an eyelid. “As I recall, you invited yourself.”
“Now, now. You needn’t be so distant,” May tries to reassure Dominic with a soft tone and a warm smile. Maybe this is done to reassure herself more so than The Temporal King. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
She is met with blatant ignorance. Dominic refuses to acknowledge her presence further, instead opting to use the reigns he holds in his hands as makeshift whips to order his stallion to proceed faster. May mimics this action with a startled expression on her face upon noticing the widening gap between them. Summoning the courage to advance from a trot to a fully fledged canter, she quickly makes up the ground once again. The two horses slow down as they come side by side once more. Dominic lets out a purposefully audible growl fuelled by his ever-growing frustration.
“What’s on my mind right now is why the hell are you even here?” Dominic grumbles, still voluntarily failing to recognize his stalker’s attempts at making conversation. “Even if you are one of Horacio’s Watchmen, you still have no business following me to Hangtown, so why don’t you just turn around and head back home while you still have the chance? Things are only going to get more treacherous from here on out.”
“Well, I’ve made it this far. I’m not turning back now,” May replies, oozing confidence. Dominic’s attempts of intimidation do not reach May in the way that he had intended. If anything, it has encouraged her to keep up with him even further. He slides his eyes towards May’s hooded figure for a brief moment before unleashing a dissatisfied grimace. Escape at this point is futile, at least until he reaches the borders of Hangtown.
“Whatever,” he dismisses, allowing his steed to maintain a pace that it is comfortable with of its own accord. “
“Why are you being so rude?” May whines once again. “All I am trying to do is get to know you a little better. Is that so wrong?” To her consternation, Dominic lets out a disparaging snort before shaking his head, almost in disbelief that May would say such a thing, much to her own bemusement.
“Has Horacio not told you everything about me?” Dominic protests. “Are you not already aware of who I am, what I do, where I come from, my shoe size, my waist size, how I like my eggs cooked and what my favorite shade of red is? Give over! If anything, I‘m the one who should be asking questions.”
“Such as?” May flutters her eyelids towards Dominic upon lowering her hood. Only now does he take an elongated look at the young woman. It is incredible just how similar she looks to Amy; nay upon identical. It is as though Amy is right there, alongside him. Even their accents match. However, Dominic refuses to entertain any ideas that enter his head about making any further comparisons and instead looks straight ahead once more.
The fact that Amy continues to haunt him from beyond the grave in such a manner irks The Zenith no end. If this girl is truly who she says she is, she only appears to serve as a constant reminder of the life that he is trying so hard to leave behind. Love is not something that can simply be abandoned. It is something that only fades away over time. Some might claim that it is easier to fall out of love than it is to fall into it, but if that is the case, then did love even exist in the first place?
“Just who are you!?” Dominic repeats the very same question that he asked the first time he saw May’s face. “You’ve told me your name and your position within the Order, and that’s fine, but I don’t know a single thing about you. And yet, all of a sudden, here you are, following me around like my fucking shadow.”
“All you have to do is ask,” May giggles.
“Didn’t I just do that?” Dominic says, hiding a clenched fist formed out of mounting frustration. May lets out a sigh but smiles as serenely as she can.
“Well,” she says after a pause, seeming a little unwilling for some reason, “As you know, I’m Amy’s twin sister. I didn’t know until quite recently, of course. Maybe three years ago now?” she questions herself. “Either way, I could see that Amy was going through a difficult time, what with the love triangle she found herself in between you and… Shawn, was it?”
“Yes,” Dominic grumbles affirmatively, that name alone has brought him more aggravation than anybody else in recent times, maybe with the exception of Horacio Mortimer.
“That’s right,” May confirms to herself. “Well, as you also know, I was the first of four members of The Chronological Order that would become ‘Watchmen.’ But I’m much more than the first Watchman. In truth, I’m the first person that Horacio introduced to The Chronological Order.”
This statement alone piques Dominic’s interest. As difficult as he finds it to believe, he notices a larger sense of confidence and self-importance on display as a result of this revelation. It was as though May herself was more disbelieving of herself when explaining her biological links to Amy in comparison to these words.
“I’ve been loyal to Horacio ever since,” she continues. “At first, he would assign me with recruiting followers by holding my own ‘sermons’ to get our point across. Given my success, he decided that I should oversee others who would preach our cause. This was more up close and personal at first, but given time, he would entrust me to watch from afar. From that, and that alone, he realized I could do anything he wanted from afar, and hence The Watchmen were formed.”
“That’s… actually very insightful,” Dominic admits. Horacio had never delved into the depths of the formation of The Order or indeed The Watchmen for that matter. The conviction in May’s voice made Dominic know it to be factual.
“I’m pleased that you finally have some sort of understanding,” May smiles with genuine levels of glee. “You could say I was Horacio’s first ‘pet project,’ long before you came along.”
“You say that as though I’ve stolen some of your thunder,” Dominic says with a small amount of jovial one-upmanship at play.
“Far from it,” May replies without so much as a flinch. “Since Mortimer is devoting so much of his time to turn you into the Order’s poster boy, it is nice for me to be able to live under my own schedule rather than work my way around the rigorous timescales that Horacio sets out.” Skepticism cannot help itself but to surface on Dominic’s face.
“Is that really his goal?” Dominic asks, as if pining for an opinion. “Surely you would be a better fit.” May quickly falls silent but preserves the smile on her face towards him. Not committing to one single answer, she quickly shrugs her shoulders.
“I don’t think so,” May replies, slipping one of her arms into the depths of her hollow sleeves momentarily, though certainly not just for her fingertips to escape the cold. “I do genuinely enjoy helping people though. That’s why I figured I’d come with you… to lend you a hand.” To amplify the impact of her pun, she slips her arm back into view, now holding a series of Tarot Cards spread like a fan.
“I suppose your abilities to read the future are something Horacio values highly,” Dominic says whilst maneuvering his steed through a series of low-hanging branches, sweeping them out of his way with an outstretched arm. May simply ducks beneath them, having to follow behind Dominic where the track narrows. May quickly hides her Tarot Cards. So thick is this wall of branches that she could quite easily lose them forever if they were to leave her grip.
Once they are through this belt of trees, May gasps as she notices an immediate change in the environment. Where there was once fresh snow is now nothing but undisturbed leaves. The path that had been eroded by footsteps of mankind and equine-kind has long since been left behind, though the gelatinous levels of fog continue to linger. It is eerily silent; even the birds have not dared to venture this deep into the forest. No matter how thick the fog becomes, Dominic is able to navigate through it both confidently and competently. To May, it seems as if they are simply wandering in endless circles.
“What beats me is why you would even hide something like that from Amy and Marx,” Dominic judgmentally thinks aloud, having contemplated the matter further. “Marx was equally as distant until I uncovered the truth of his kinship to Amy, yet I could tell that when they were in each other’s company, they were able to relate to one another is they’d be the best of friends for years, no matter how much time had passed in between.” He stops dead in his tracks. So too does his steed. “Does Marx even know about this?” May can only let out an awkward giggle.
“Well, I haven’t exactly found the right time to tell him yet,” she admits half-heartedly. As sheepish as she looks, the disgust is not appeased as it appears on the face of The Zenith. To think that he had given the time of day to this girl. Ultimately, she had proven with this one simple declaration that she was no different from any of the other cogs in Horacio’s machine.
“I can’t believe this,” Dominic gawks with a cropped face. He leans back, looking up towards where the sky should be, instead he is barely able to make out the branches of the trees looming over them through the thick fog. “Marx is a fellow Watchman, never mind your brother and you haven’t even told him you’re related? Why? Why would you do this!?”
“It’s…” May fumbles to find the right words. “It’s more complicated than you think.”
“Lies upon lies upon deceit upon lies!” Dominic exclaims with a frustrated outburst. “Every single person within this Order seems to have some sort of hidden agenda. And I’m sick of it! Amy lied to me. Shawn lied to me. Marx lied to me. Hell, every single word that comes out of Horacio’s mouth seems to be a fucking lie! Why do I even bother continuing to be a part of this? The whole Chronological Order is a farce!”
“Listen,” May tries to introduce resolutions to the rising tension, “I’ll admit, Horacio has an unorthodox way of thinking but is that not what The Chronological Order is all about? The perception of time being greater than any force in the universe is a thought-provoking concept. We have each chosen to accept this way of thinking and, as such, Horacio requires us to spread the word. That is why Horacio has given each of the Watchmen different instructions as to how to move The Chronological Order forward…”
“Really?” Dominic unflinchingly scorns. “Then how about you tell me your instructions. What is your real purpose for following me around?”
“I‘ve already told you,” she states. “Horacio thought that my introduction to you would somehow benefit the bereavement process so that you could rid yourself of the guilt you carry over Amy’s death. It would be like wiping the slate clean and starting anew---”
“And how did you intend to do that?” Dominic frowns. “Were you eventually going to try to seduce me? Were you just going to slot into the void that Amy left? I hate to break it to you, but that void is now filled with nothing but hatred. Hatred for anyone and everyone who gives me grief.”
“You don’t deserve to feel like this though,” May soothes encouragingly. “All you need is someone to talk to. Sometimes a man needs to cry, even if one thinks of such a thing to be a sin against his masculinity.”
“I don’t need to fucking CRY,” booms The Zenith. “I refuse to play the jester in a world full of fools. What I need is to exemplify what happens when other people want me to play that particular role.” He raises his fist, ready to pound it forcefully downwards. He stops mere inches away from the horse’s neck as he stares through the fog directly ahead of him. His eyes begin to focus, somehow able to penetrate the blanket of vapor to see what lies ahead of him. “Only Phinehas and Ruth seem to understand,” he says with a grin before the steed suddenly launches itself like a rocket into the fog.
“Dominic?” May whines.
“You should head back,” Dominic shouts, far less of a suggestion than it is an instruction. “We’ll reconvene soon.”
“But how will I get back?” May shouts in a direction uncertain as to the accuracy of where Dominic is now located. As if black magic is at hand, the fog begins to dissipate, as if sucked from the forest like a drink through a straw. May looks confounded by the phenomenon she had just witnessed. The Zenith is long gone, vanished into the ever extending wilderness. Not even his steed’s gallop can be heard. Relenting, May gently taps her heels into her steed’s side, prompting it to move with just as much caution. It pivots on the spot before following the fresh trail of hoof-prints in the freshly uncovered ground.
“Dominic?” May calls out once again. This time, there is no voice that is returned. She is alone. “Forgive me,” she whispers solemnly, knowing that she is out of earshot. “I don’t mean to lie to you like this…”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
One could propose the argument that this contest, similar to others on the card, is nothing short of a gimmick for the sake of an overly commercialized day, such as Christmas Day or Easter Sunday. At least these two examples were born as celebrations of the Christian Faith, one from a day of birth, the other from a day of rebirth. Valentine’s Day? It is not to rejoice Cupid in the same manner as Jesus Christ himself, but a corporate cash-grab aimed towards the feeble masses who have it drilled into their heads that they must impulsively demonstrate their love for their partners by flexing what little wealth they can muster to make the biggest impression.
They say that you cannot put a price on love. Evidently, though, you can. Ever been to a brothel?
So many people try to put a price on Time. Primarily the price is paid in exchange for services; the hourly wage of a corporate crony arbitrarily tapping away on a keyboard with his eyes transfixed to a computer screen or the notes handed over to a friend helping another to move furniture into a new home. But can these truly be considered to be fair transactions when the most valuable time of all is spent away from the daily grind of the ’9 to 5?’
While precious in its own right, even the time spent with loved ones at the end of a hard day cannot be considered as cost-effective. After all, time is still needed to perform the most mundane of tasks. Cooking. Cleaning. Purchasing. Even most recreational tasks these days equate to a loss of wealth.
No, the most valuable investment one can make to time is by constantly bettering oneself. Taking the time to source the most reasonable resources rather than paying for it outright, for that is taking the easy way out. Convenience for the sake of money is not making the most of one’s time. Going out, heightening one’s senses and uncovering the truth with your own eyes rather than taking the words of the media for granted.
Everything that I have experienced has brought me to the position where I am today, but when today becomes tomorrow, and when tomorrow becomes yesterday, my strengths will only continue to develop. Given the current magnitude of my potency, it is only a matter of time until I reach the top of the mountain…
Is that the only reason that I give a damn about this contest? Why should I feel obligated to shelve my desires to become North American champion and set aside my differences with the man who stands in my way to glory for the sake of one match? It’s simple really.
From the second that bell rings to the one that closes the bout, my focus will be to feed my fist into the mouths of two of the most outspoken, egotistically inflated and verbally diuretic pieces of filth that plague PCW headlines.
The Deadly Rumble of 2017 boiled down to two final combatants; Gerard Angelo and The Zenith, contrary to Kyle Shane’s laziness when it comes to research considering he placed me as the fourth away from victory. But then again, society only remembers the winners in life and never the losers. Being the runner-up might as well mean coming stone dead last.
Believe me. I’ve been waiting to introduce Gerard to his comeuppance for denying me my right to challenge Kyle Shane on that day. If things had been different, it would be me who was facing Shane by now. And believe me, your belt would have left your waist in a far more convincing manner.
Furthermore, Kyle had claimed that I had lost to Gabriel back in September of 2017. Granted, by my own recollection, Gabriel had emerged from that particular contest as the victor at the expense of one of the other two men in that match. He managed to scrape through with a win, but it was not by taking down the rampaging bull elephant in the ring, instead opting to strike down one of the lame wildebeest calves that struggled through such a contest.
By that logic, if Gabriel holds a quote-unquote “victory” over me through such means, then based off the results of Trauma 244, Dominator holds a victory over Kyle Shane; the unconquerable monarch who reigns supreme above the whole of Pure Class Wrestling, even though his own reign is in a state of limbo, simply because he himself couldn’t get the job done against Gerard Angelo.
And that is what all of this boils down to. Kyle is not as ‘unfuckwithable’ as he leads us all to believe. He may have been World Champion for over a year, but given his recent sense of jeopardy and the intervention of upper management, he suddenly finds his own value falling like a crash in the stock market.
Imagine then the boost in MY stock when I defeat not one, but, theoretically, two World Champions.
Gerard Angelo has a literal affinity for basking in the spotlight, even if it is at the expense of others. Even when we were paired together ourselves to face Kyle Shane and Stormm, you were ecstatic in pointing me out as the superior factor of our team like The Hulk within The Avengers. In said match, it was me who stamped the exclamation point on proceedings. And that sums you up, Gerard. You, much like Kyle, cannot continue to ride your own hype train without getting derailed. You might have a victory in The Deadly Rumble to your name, but until you hold one of this company’s top prizes, without any sense of controversy, you have accomplished sweet fuck all around here.
I am a King that has clawed his way above ground and I am ready to take my rightful place on the throne. That is why they call me The Temporal King. The North American championship is anything but a consolation prize. Many place Kyle Shane and Stormm on the same plinth; both are supposedly the best at their craft with the longevity of a fine wine. Permit me to smash that bottle, leaving you with nothing but shards of your dignity trickling across the floor alongside your blood.
They say Love Hurts…
But as you will soon find out… Hatred is Agony.
Location: Unknown (Woodlands)
The snow had fallen thick and fast, settling against the woodland floor unbridled by the ceiling of branches from overhanging trees, nor by the moisture of the autumnal leaves that had claimed the land first. Though a thaw has started to repossess the atmosphere, a cloud of fog reminds all forms of flora and fauna that winter’s stranglehold is far from over. So deep is said fog that it is impossible to differentiate one tree from the next, each baring almost identical formations of sodden moss on their trunks.
Amidst the shivering chirps of the avian species that roost amongst the treetops, only the crumpling of snow beneath an octet of hooves traversing the misty terrain can be heard. The exhalations of the horses are so thick that they seem to contribute towards the unrelenting miasma of water vapor in the air. To carry a figure as grand as The Zenith is a testament to his stallion’s power and vigor.
Trailing behind, maintaining the same direction as the leader solely by the imprints left in the snow ahead of them, May shivers beneath her black hood. As comfortable are the garment might seem, it is relatively impractical in such conditions; tailored mainly for show rather than practicality. Eager to catch up to Dominic’s mount, she ushers her own equine vehicle to hasten its pace. The slow walk turns into a gentle trot. So inexperienced a rider is she that she immediately lurches forward, clasping the horse around the neck out of fear of falling off. Within a few moments, she is able to recompose herself. Thankfully, it does not take too long to catch up with Dominic. She draws alongside him. His eyes are not detracted from the tunnel-vision he has lined up with that of his destination.
“Can you slow down a little bit?” May asks as wearily as her steed, “I’m not used to traveling on horseback.”
“If you can’t keep up, you might around turn around now,” Dominic subconsciously replies with a voice as cold as the frozen landscape.
“I didn’t ask for you to tag along,” Dominic bluntly states without batting an eyelid. “As I recall, you invited yourself.”
“Now, now. You needn’t be so distant,” May tries to reassure Dominic with a soft tone and a warm smile. Maybe this is done to reassure herself more so than The Temporal King. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
She is met with blatant ignorance. Dominic refuses to acknowledge her presence further, instead opting to use the reigns he holds in his hands as makeshift whips to order his stallion to proceed faster. May mimics this action with a startled expression on her face upon noticing the widening gap between them. Summoning the courage to advance from a trot to a fully fledged canter, she quickly makes up the ground once again. The two horses slow down as they come side by side once more. Dominic lets out a purposefully audible growl fuelled by his ever-growing frustration.
“What’s on my mind right now is why the hell are you even here?” Dominic grumbles, still voluntarily failing to recognize his stalker’s attempts at making conversation. “Even if you are one of Horacio’s Watchmen, you still have no business following me to Hangtown, so why don’t you just turn around and head back home while you still have the chance? Things are only going to get more treacherous from here on out.”
“Well, I’ve made it this far. I’m not turning back now,” May replies, oozing confidence. Dominic’s attempts of intimidation do not reach May in the way that he had intended. If anything, it has encouraged her to keep up with him even further. He slides his eyes towards May’s hooded figure for a brief moment before unleashing a dissatisfied grimace. Escape at this point is futile, at least until he reaches the borders of Hangtown.
“Whatever,” he dismisses, allowing his steed to maintain a pace that it is comfortable with of its own accord. “
“Why are you being so rude?” May whines once again. “All I am trying to do is get to know you a little better. Is that so wrong?” To her consternation, Dominic lets out a disparaging snort before shaking his head, almost in disbelief that May would say such a thing, much to her own bemusement.
“Has Horacio not told you everything about me?” Dominic protests. “Are you not already aware of who I am, what I do, where I come from, my shoe size, my waist size, how I like my eggs cooked and what my favorite shade of red is? Give over! If anything, I‘m the one who should be asking questions.”
“Such as?” May flutters her eyelids towards Dominic upon lowering her hood. Only now does he take an elongated look at the young woman. It is incredible just how similar she looks to Amy; nay upon identical. It is as though Amy is right there, alongside him. Even their accents match. However, Dominic refuses to entertain any ideas that enter his head about making any further comparisons and instead looks straight ahead once more.
The fact that Amy continues to haunt him from beyond the grave in such a manner irks The Zenith no end. If this girl is truly who she says she is, she only appears to serve as a constant reminder of the life that he is trying so hard to leave behind. Love is not something that can simply be abandoned. It is something that only fades away over time. Some might claim that it is easier to fall out of love than it is to fall into it, but if that is the case, then did love even exist in the first place?
“Just who are you!?” Dominic repeats the very same question that he asked the first time he saw May’s face. “You’ve told me your name and your position within the Order, and that’s fine, but I don’t know a single thing about you. And yet, all of a sudden, here you are, following me around like my fucking shadow.”
“All you have to do is ask,” May giggles.
“Didn’t I just do that?” Dominic says, hiding a clenched fist formed out of mounting frustration. May lets out a sigh but smiles as serenely as she can.
“Well,” she says after a pause, seeming a little unwilling for some reason, “As you know, I’m Amy’s twin sister. I didn’t know until quite recently, of course. Maybe three years ago now?” she questions herself. “Either way, I could see that Amy was going through a difficult time, what with the love triangle she found herself in between you and… Shawn, was it?”
“Yes,” Dominic grumbles affirmatively, that name alone has brought him more aggravation than anybody else in recent times, maybe with the exception of Horacio Mortimer.
“That’s right,” May confirms to herself. “Well, as you also know, I was the first of four members of The Chronological Order that would become ‘Watchmen.’ But I’m much more than the first Watchman. In truth, I’m the first person that Horacio introduced to The Chronological Order.”
This statement alone piques Dominic’s interest. As difficult as he finds it to believe, he notices a larger sense of confidence and self-importance on display as a result of this revelation. It was as though May herself was more disbelieving of herself when explaining her biological links to Amy in comparison to these words.
“I’ve been loyal to Horacio ever since,” she continues. “At first, he would assign me with recruiting followers by holding my own ‘sermons’ to get our point across. Given my success, he decided that I should oversee others who would preach our cause. This was more up close and personal at first, but given time, he would entrust me to watch from afar. From that, and that alone, he realized I could do anything he wanted from afar, and hence The Watchmen were formed.”
“That’s… actually very insightful,” Dominic admits. Horacio had never delved into the depths of the formation of The Order or indeed The Watchmen for that matter. The conviction in May’s voice made Dominic know it to be factual.
“I’m pleased that you finally have some sort of understanding,” May smiles with genuine levels of glee. “You could say I was Horacio’s first ‘pet project,’ long before you came along.”
“You say that as though I’ve stolen some of your thunder,” Dominic says with a small amount of jovial one-upmanship at play.
“Far from it,” May replies without so much as a flinch. “Since Mortimer is devoting so much of his time to turn you into the Order’s poster boy, it is nice for me to be able to live under my own schedule rather than work my way around the rigorous timescales that Horacio sets out.” Skepticism cannot help itself but to surface on Dominic’s face.
“Is that really his goal?” Dominic asks, as if pining for an opinion. “Surely you would be a better fit.” May quickly falls silent but preserves the smile on her face towards him. Not committing to one single answer, she quickly shrugs her shoulders.
“I don’t think so,” May replies, slipping one of her arms into the depths of her hollow sleeves momentarily, though certainly not just for her fingertips to escape the cold. “I do genuinely enjoy helping people though. That’s why I figured I’d come with you… to lend you a hand.” To amplify the impact of her pun, she slips her arm back into view, now holding a series of Tarot Cards spread like a fan.
“I suppose your abilities to read the future are something Horacio values highly,” Dominic says whilst maneuvering his steed through a series of low-hanging branches, sweeping them out of his way with an outstretched arm. May simply ducks beneath them, having to follow behind Dominic where the track narrows. May quickly hides her Tarot Cards. So thick is this wall of branches that she could quite easily lose them forever if they were to leave her grip.
Once they are through this belt of trees, May gasps as she notices an immediate change in the environment. Where there was once fresh snow is now nothing but undisturbed leaves. The path that had been eroded by footsteps of mankind and equine-kind has long since been left behind, though the gelatinous levels of fog continue to linger. It is eerily silent; even the birds have not dared to venture this deep into the forest. No matter how thick the fog becomes, Dominic is able to navigate through it both confidently and competently. To May, it seems as if they are simply wandering in endless circles.
“What beats me is why you would even hide something like that from Amy and Marx,” Dominic judgmentally thinks aloud, having contemplated the matter further. “Marx was equally as distant until I uncovered the truth of his kinship to Amy, yet I could tell that when they were in each other’s company, they were able to relate to one another is they’d be the best of friends for years, no matter how much time had passed in between.” He stops dead in his tracks. So too does his steed. “Does Marx even know about this?” May can only let out an awkward giggle.
“Well, I haven’t exactly found the right time to tell him yet,” she admits half-heartedly. As sheepish as she looks, the disgust is not appeased as it appears on the face of The Zenith. To think that he had given the time of day to this girl. Ultimately, she had proven with this one simple declaration that she was no different from any of the other cogs in Horacio’s machine.
“I can’t believe this,” Dominic gawks with a cropped face. He leans back, looking up towards where the sky should be, instead he is barely able to make out the branches of the trees looming over them through the thick fog. “Marx is a fellow Watchman, never mind your brother and you haven’t even told him you’re related? Why? Why would you do this!?”
“It’s…” May fumbles to find the right words. “It’s more complicated than you think.”
“Lies upon lies upon deceit upon lies!” Dominic exclaims with a frustrated outburst. “Every single person within this Order seems to have some sort of hidden agenda. And I’m sick of it! Amy lied to me. Shawn lied to me. Marx lied to me. Hell, every single word that comes out of Horacio’s mouth seems to be a fucking lie! Why do I even bother continuing to be a part of this? The whole Chronological Order is a farce!”
“Listen,” May tries to introduce resolutions to the rising tension, “I’ll admit, Horacio has an unorthodox way of thinking but is that not what The Chronological Order is all about? The perception of time being greater than any force in the universe is a thought-provoking concept. We have each chosen to accept this way of thinking and, as such, Horacio requires us to spread the word. That is why Horacio has given each of the Watchmen different instructions as to how to move The Chronological Order forward…”
“Really?” Dominic unflinchingly scorns. “Then how about you tell me your instructions. What is your real purpose for following me around?”
“I‘ve already told you,” she states. “Horacio thought that my introduction to you would somehow benefit the bereavement process so that you could rid yourself of the guilt you carry over Amy’s death. It would be like wiping the slate clean and starting anew---”
“And how did you intend to do that?” Dominic frowns. “Were you eventually going to try to seduce me? Were you just going to slot into the void that Amy left? I hate to break it to you, but that void is now filled with nothing but hatred. Hatred for anyone and everyone who gives me grief.”
“You don’t deserve to feel like this though,” May soothes encouragingly. “All you need is someone to talk to. Sometimes a man needs to cry, even if one thinks of such a thing to be a sin against his masculinity.”
“I don’t need to fucking CRY,” booms The Zenith. “I refuse to play the jester in a world full of fools. What I need is to exemplify what happens when other people want me to play that particular role.” He raises his fist, ready to pound it forcefully downwards. He stops mere inches away from the horse’s neck as he stares through the fog directly ahead of him. His eyes begin to focus, somehow able to penetrate the blanket of vapor to see what lies ahead of him. “Only Phinehas and Ruth seem to understand,” he says with a grin before the steed suddenly launches itself like a rocket into the fog.
“Dominic?” May whines.
“You should head back,” Dominic shouts, far less of a suggestion than it is an instruction. “We’ll reconvene soon.”
“But how will I get back?” May shouts in a direction uncertain as to the accuracy of where Dominic is now located. As if black magic is at hand, the fog begins to dissipate, as if sucked from the forest like a drink through a straw. May looks confounded by the phenomenon she had just witnessed. The Zenith is long gone, vanished into the ever extending wilderness. Not even his steed’s gallop can be heard. Relenting, May gently taps her heels into her steed’s side, prompting it to move with just as much caution. It pivots on the spot before following the fresh trail of hoof-prints in the freshly uncovered ground.
“Dominic?” May calls out once again. This time, there is no voice that is returned. She is alone. “Forgive me,” she whispers solemnly, knowing that she is out of earshot. “I don’t mean to lie to you like this…”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
One could propose the argument that this contest, similar to others on the card, is nothing short of a gimmick for the sake of an overly commercialized day, such as Christmas Day or Easter Sunday. At least these two examples were born as celebrations of the Christian Faith, one from a day of birth, the other from a day of rebirth. Valentine’s Day? It is not to rejoice Cupid in the same manner as Jesus Christ himself, but a corporate cash-grab aimed towards the feeble masses who have it drilled into their heads that they must impulsively demonstrate their love for their partners by flexing what little wealth they can muster to make the biggest impression.
They say that you cannot put a price on love. Evidently, though, you can. Ever been to a brothel?
So many people try to put a price on Time. Primarily the price is paid in exchange for services; the hourly wage of a corporate crony arbitrarily tapping away on a keyboard with his eyes transfixed to a computer screen or the notes handed over to a friend helping another to move furniture into a new home. But can these truly be considered to be fair transactions when the most valuable time of all is spent away from the daily grind of the ’9 to 5?’
While precious in its own right, even the time spent with loved ones at the end of a hard day cannot be considered as cost-effective. After all, time is still needed to perform the most mundane of tasks. Cooking. Cleaning. Purchasing. Even most recreational tasks these days equate to a loss of wealth.
No, the most valuable investment one can make to time is by constantly bettering oneself. Taking the time to source the most reasonable resources rather than paying for it outright, for that is taking the easy way out. Convenience for the sake of money is not making the most of one’s time. Going out, heightening one’s senses and uncovering the truth with your own eyes rather than taking the words of the media for granted.
Everything that I have experienced has brought me to the position where I am today, but when today becomes tomorrow, and when tomorrow becomes yesterday, my strengths will only continue to develop. Given the current magnitude of my potency, it is only a matter of time until I reach the top of the mountain…
Is that the only reason that I give a damn about this contest? Why should I feel obligated to shelve my desires to become North American champion and set aside my differences with the man who stands in my way to glory for the sake of one match? It’s simple really.
From the second that bell rings to the one that closes the bout, my focus will be to feed my fist into the mouths of two of the most outspoken, egotistically inflated and verbally diuretic pieces of filth that plague PCW headlines.
The Deadly Rumble of 2017 boiled down to two final combatants; Gerard Angelo and The Zenith, contrary to Kyle Shane’s laziness when it comes to research considering he placed me as the fourth away from victory. But then again, society only remembers the winners in life and never the losers. Being the runner-up might as well mean coming stone dead last.
Believe me. I’ve been waiting to introduce Gerard to his comeuppance for denying me my right to challenge Kyle Shane on that day. If things had been different, it would be me who was facing Shane by now. And believe me, your belt would have left your waist in a far more convincing manner.
Furthermore, Kyle had claimed that I had lost to Gabriel back in September of 2017. Granted, by my own recollection, Gabriel had emerged from that particular contest as the victor at the expense of one of the other two men in that match. He managed to scrape through with a win, but it was not by taking down the rampaging bull elephant in the ring, instead opting to strike down one of the lame wildebeest calves that struggled through such a contest.
By that logic, if Gabriel holds a quote-unquote “victory” over me through such means, then based off the results of Trauma 244, Dominator holds a victory over Kyle Shane; the unconquerable monarch who reigns supreme above the whole of Pure Class Wrestling, even though his own reign is in a state of limbo, simply because he himself couldn’t get the job done against Gerard Angelo.
And that is what all of this boils down to. Kyle is not as ‘unfuckwithable’ as he leads us all to believe. He may have been World Champion for over a year, but given his recent sense of jeopardy and the intervention of upper management, he suddenly finds his own value falling like a crash in the stock market.
Imagine then the boost in MY stock when I defeat not one, but, theoretically, two World Champions.
Gerard Angelo has a literal affinity for basking in the spotlight, even if it is at the expense of others. Even when we were paired together ourselves to face Kyle Shane and Stormm, you were ecstatic in pointing me out as the superior factor of our team like The Hulk within The Avengers. In said match, it was me who stamped the exclamation point on proceedings. And that sums you up, Gerard. You, much like Kyle, cannot continue to ride your own hype train without getting derailed. You might have a victory in The Deadly Rumble to your name, but until you hold one of this company’s top prizes, without any sense of controversy, you have accomplished sweet fuck all around here.
I am a King that has clawed his way above ground and I am ready to take my rightful place on the throne. That is why they call me The Temporal King. The North American championship is anything but a consolation prize. Many place Kyle Shane and Stormm on the same plinth; both are supposedly the best at their craft with the longevity of a fine wine. Permit me to smash that bottle, leaving you with nothing but shards of your dignity trickling across the floor alongside your blood.
They say Love Hurts…
But as you will soon find out… Hatred is Agony.
