Post by Lantlas on Jun 22, 2012 15:25:57 GMT -5
"It doesn't appear to be anything serious," the doctor tried to explain.
It sure felt like something serious. Any time I moved my shoulder, I grimaced in pain. I'd never been injured for any duration of my career, so it was something I'd yet to experience. It was by fluke; falling over the ropes to the outside of the ring like I'd done a million times, and my arm got caught. My arm was feeling better, but my shoulder was resistant to movement without a sharp pain right in the center of it all. This would not be good for anyone to know, specifically my enemies.
"I'll get you some pain medication, and we'll take another look at it in a couple of days."
Standing to my full frame and staring directly down at the frightened doctor, I merely informed him that it wouldn't be the case. "I will not succumb to the weaknesses of my enemies. Your pain medication will have no effect on me anyway."
"Mr. Anduril," the doctor summoned me as I tried leaving his office. I turned back and saw his concerned gaze. "I've seen thousands of wrestlers in my quarters. All of you believe you are stronger than mere men, that you have the ability to fight through serious injuries. Just because we haven't found anything yet does not mean it isn't there. At the end of the day, you are just a man. Don't do anything stupid."
"That's where you're wrong, Doctor," I replied with a smirk. "I'm no man."
Rather than go into detail about the Elves and existence and parallel dimensions and such, I just let that outro marinate in his psyche for a bit. After all, what's an injury without a little bit of fun?
It was the calm before the inevitable storm. Pure Class Wrestling had changed, for better or worse, and I wasn't sure which one it was yet. Some much-needed new blood had been injected into PCW's femoral artery, but it was causing dangerous blockage in the valves. One of these recently-arriving white blood cells was across the card from me on this very event, as I no doubt prepared for the physical onslaught that awaited me at the hands of the determined Sean Rhodes.
Three enemies lay through my path, and none of them were going to be easy stones to step. For what more could Sean Rhodes do to achieve his dream than to defeat the PCW legend himself and finally obtain what he had long sought and never received? The determination would drive him mad, as if he wasn't already, and surely take advantage of multiple vulnerabilities. Whereas I had an injured shoulder and a Dark Lord ready to avenge my existence, his mere alternate focus was that of all of us, the AWA Invaders.
I respected Sean Rhodes as much as any opponent I'd ever had in PCW or any other federation. His intentions weren't sour, his actions not cheap, and his motives pure. I couldn't blame him for finally wanting to reach the pinnacle of his profession; that's where I'd be if I hadn't already held this belt three times. It was natural to want to be called the best, to be the representative of this great company. However, I don't think he'd realize that even if he did achieve this victory, he'd have to learn the lessons of his predecessor, Loki. Just because you have the belt does not mean you are the best. Sean Rhodes might become world champion, but it would take many more years of such performance to become the legendary warrior that I had become.
I was reaching the point in my career where the world title was almost an afterthought. It was a scary thing; because what is wrestling when the championship belt is no longer the zenith? Regardless of what becoming a special attraction might initiate, one thing was for certain; there was a rag-tag militia on the forefront, and warriors were needed on the battlefield.
And so, Monroe would be the newly-appointed sacrificial lamb for those who believed that an Elven world champion was just a sign of silliness or insanity. After all, as I once appeared in PCW as a mere joke and had to earn my stripes, many a newcomer had to learn that the sword I carried around was no mere trinket. Even with a bad shoulder, I could still wield a blade with one good arm, and would do so to hasten the progress of these avengers, even to protect my enemies.
Their throwdown had been matched by several young PCW superstars and the everpresence of the one and only Grimm. A battle had ensued but saw no definitive ending, and that was only the commencement of their ways. Much like my greatest enemy, they waited in the foreground for the opportune moment to strike, and strike they would. Areas had already initiated the problem in our defense; we've already known each other far too long to cooperate for any lengthy period of time. Egos would collide, and the defense would crack, allowing this virus to take advantage of weakened immunity.
I would defend my post and never admit defeat. At the hands of Monroe I would not fall, and it would be the responsibility of the rest of the frontline to defend their positions. One warrior cannot win a war, at least in humanity, and Pure Class Wrestling was about to initiate their greatest defense strategy in its history. Its success was vital for the survival of the present-day company for which we'd worked so hard to build.
Much like the world itself, things would change if enemy success was met. Those red eyes were following me from the shadows, and the cackling of that demon voice made its presence intentionally known at will. Holding the gleaming blade in my hand and summoning all matter of energy for protection, I awaited the strike at any moment. Until that time would come, there was knife-work that needed doing. The former Morningstar was about to meet the power of the current Evenstar, and as in most cases through battles in this world, the Elven Star would emerge victorious. Seven points, each for the greatest powers among our nature, would be utilized for anything necessary to achieve victory. With splintered shields and broken blades, our fortress of class and honor would not fall. Blood would be spilt, lives altered, hearts broken, but at the end of this great day, the fortress and the greatest soldiers would still stand strong.
And at the expense of Monroe, I would do my part.