VAEVICTIS
Posts : 33 Join date : 2022-03-02 Age : 28
| Subject: Destiny's Edge Sat Jun 18, 2022 10:57 pm | |
| Destiny's Edge APEX WORLD HEAVYweiGHT CHAMPION Finnegan Wakefield
"Reality can only be a disappointing thing to someone like you, Stark.
With the snap of your fingers, you can’t be what you want to be. Others can’t be what you wish them to be. You wave your hand over everything yet nothing happens; you lack the ability to bend it to your whim. Yet that doesn’t seem to discourage your love for playing the role of revisionist historian, cherry-picking from the past to suit this newfound agenda. To paint my entire being, my every act upon defiance towards these perceptions in one broad stroke -- a champion pariah -- a runaway success story. The same third-eye blind wannabe woke shit Arata among many others have tried countless times before. It’s never been anything more than a feeble, desperate attempt to stonewall what reality has already dictated. Though, I expected nothing less from the same deluded cunt that once labeled me an abject failure. The same person that makes it a habit to skip town when rearing his ugly head only brings about self-aggrandized loss after another, culminating in a return to the echo chamber to meditate on but never learn. Doesn’t it speak to evolution's mistake when moths still draw themselves to the flames? But then here you are; speaking against evolution. Speaking against reality. Just being an utter dumb cunt as per usual. Albeit a rather predictable one. Besides this odd approach of “not to minimalize your accomplishments and successes, but…” and blowing cherry-scented smoke up my ass trying to save whatever face you’ve long since lost many times over, you effectively touched on every single point that I knew you would. You weave the story of a wannabe great hero, one that tucked his tail between his legs and ran when he couldn’t beat the big bad who proved an unconquerable giant. You weave a story of a fallen hero that needed to find salvation in greener pastures where said monsters don’t exist — That Finnegan Wakefield ran from the OWA in fear of the big bad Darkane. It’s an amusing fable you spin, Stark — but a single tug on the loose thread and it all comes apart, all rendered mute; none of it meaning a fucking thing. How convenient of a thing to turn a blind eye to like you weren’t there; when I brought about the end of Abholos. Like doing so I didn’t come with a heavy price to pay, yet I was willing to pay it. Like I didn’t fell one of the biggest giants that imposed a threat far greater than any you have ever conquered. You fail to realize I don't give an iota of a fuck about whether or not I am perceived as a hero when it has never been my prerogative. I paid the price for my selfish need to give OWA an edge over its extinction, and what it afforded me was liberation. I know that’s a big thing for you now; the idea of freedom, the ability to do whatever it is you want to do. I accomplished the same in his fall. The furthest thing from bitching out, I was free to choose to expand my horizons and refused the idea of complacency — in spite of the snakes that occupied my once Eden since you want to be biblical.
That moment was my bite of the Apple.
Though while I use my liberation to evolve, you used yours to become what you hate most. Painfully generic. Undeserving but annoyingly persistent. Just another face in my crowd met with utter indifference, not even remotely special. All the while poisoned by greed. Insatiable to be something greater than you can ever prove to be. Something like that Gargano guy you once compared me to, but I digress. You operate under the assumption that I have no intention of returning to OWA whenever the time feels right to do so. This entire philosophical rhetoric is mute when the difference between yourself and Darkane in the hypothetical of who accepted this open challenge would be that I would have actually felt something other than pity had he shown up instead. As I pity your delusions, this pitiful snapping of your fingers that reality will manifest you that easy way out in suggesting I would see you as anything of equal standing — especially to forfeit and run away from a pissant the likes of you. It's a pipe dream of the furthest thing from a Goliath, a Drago — you are just the first of the many to come. And I welcome it. You're not entirely wrong, I chose to be the champion Liz was proving not to be out of my own stubborn pride. But when have I ever been the kind to compromise? When have I ever been the guy to deny his convictions against what has been preached to me as the impossible? Surely, even you can't be so pigheaded as to not know the answer to that by now. More importantly, am I proud? Of what I am, of what I have become — in comparison to what I once was? More so than your dumb cunt delusions could possibly accept. Not just because I am a champion here, but because those freedoms allow me the same benefits you regularly exercise to be a legacy manufacturer. There is nothing, no walls preventing me from going back whenever I choose, nothing that has me tilting to the windmills you describe. There's nothing keeping that inevitable encounter with Darkane out of the realm of possibility. And that excites me to no end. To think that I am scared of him, or that you dictate that it does in the slightest matter — I make it a point not to be told what is lies by people who are blissfully ignorant about living in their own. Perhaps you forget I was the first person to pin him during his reign of terror on Olympus, fought him in a match that was entirely his habitat, and I beat him. Who are you to deny that could happen again, where the stipulation doesn't afford him a second chance? I weep for you to be of the opinion of what is insurmountable. I'm not an unbeatable champion, never claimed to be, but anyone that has believed the outcome was assured more often than not have died on that hill. Something by now you should know all too well. The few times I have fallen, I have woken up the next day and looked in the mirror. And I saw another motivator. Another reason why -- that intangible thing. I reject the idea eventually I'll have nothing left to prove, nothing left to conquer -- when that day comes it'll only be when I am dead in the ground. But I promise, and you can mark it on my tombstone early; I'll fell Darkane one day long before I'm ready to die. You want to brag about beating him well before he was running roughshod through two entire companies? It's sad you think that makes an impression at all. Hell, even I beat him while he stood beside you when I was still teaming with Ironico. All you accomplished with wins over Darkane was later down the line become Fiora's bitch. You're the furthest thing from what Darkane is. You're no monster, I look in your eyes and see little more than unfound arrogance. That isn't based on any singular or the collective victories I have over you, nor the fact that I didn't feel a flicker of difference to your threats even when you still had that M tattooed on your forehead. But because you've only ever proven to be that abject failure.
I manifest what becomes my destiny. You’re little more than a victim of yours.
You'll have no reason to be proud, Stark. When the scribes of history regale your story, it'll be a cautionary tale of self-fulfilling ruin. And they'll illustrate how you run back to seclusion, to your familiar safe space, and even though you'll spin it as something grandiose your legacy will only be that of an abject failure. A self-entitled pussy that should have just skirted the line instead of trying to Impact some deluded legacy, soaking up stolen moments in the sun but never your own. If you're going to come at the king, the conqueror that has taken on it all and prevailed, you better come correct or you'll only perish corrected. You stand before your destiny's edge, accepting my challenge, coming for my APEX World Championship. But I promise you'll not leave this match unchanged. Bludgeoned to unconsciousness, crippled until you surrender, an epiphany in defeat will come to you all the same. When I stand above your mangled mortal form, foot on your chest, holding high the prize of my life-ling strife, your reality will be forever tarnished. Your life forever in question, when the answer was always so simple. You chased the dragon, and came face-to-face with Starkphontes -- your own slayer. By all means, read me more of your revisionist history, Stark -- read it as proudly and from the chest as you would your own obituary -- the hymn of a pitiful man.
One who tried to be in the company of the gods, the titans, and the immortals.
Only to die a forgotten legacy." | |
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