Riches to Rags

Posts : 33 Join date : 2022-03-02 Age : 28

Riches to Rags

APEX WORLD HEAVYweiGHT CHAMPION Finnegan Wakefield

"Kings are not born; they are made through artificial hallucination.

Royalty. Divinity. All the same a seemingly endless parade of the woefully prideful compelled to proclaim themselves something they can only ever fail to be. We live in an age in which everyone feels they’re entitled to call themselves king of something, ruler over some intangible concept — monarchs that stand before the world under the impression they do so undisputed. They treat their word as something so absolute. It’s all very one-note -- a fragile pedestal to prop yourself atop. A result of souls poisoned by greed, by envy — an incessant need to feed a superiority complex that would otherwise starve. And yet, it has been an ever-present ideology among those who decide to cross my path with the intention of making me bend the knee to their faux majesty. Arata Asakura believes himself to be king of his precious new, ideal world that his divine influence has been leading him towards through meadows of gaslight, hypocrisy, and masturbatory zealotry. Stark acts like the whole world is his domain with how he believes he has ascended to a level of freedom that puts him above all others, impervious to any and all consequence as he attempts to fly by the seat of his pants toward some reality far more grand than the one he currently occupies as a perpetual abject failure. And let us not forget Lizzy Karlson, someone who became so delusional with the grandeur of being a hand-picked world champion and having to contradict herself constantly around its legitimacy, thought APEX to be her kingdom to shape as she wishes through the idle hands of a self-appointed ace — fit herself with a crown that was too heavy for her head to carry beyond the expectations of a bare minimum. They all preached to me their superiority, believed themselves to sit upon a throne that all can only wish to, but were merely just imitations of something they could never grace. All felled to a singularity; something they refused to exist, what they believed to be inevitable rendered a pipedream as I stand tall - a direct result of their hubris being their downfall. Their ambition far outweighed their conviction and Aren Mstislav is but another in a long line of the disillusioned that challenge a reality they refuse to abide by. What differentiates you from the aforementioned is very little. In all actuality, it feels like I’m facing that necessary next evolution of what I’ve already vanquished. Another that doesn’t live up to the legend they crown themself to be — another with a complex of their worth that has spanned a praised Hall of Fame career. Something that would be contradictory to any existent doubt of one's ability to hold themself in such high regard, in any normal case it would be valid justification. But you’re a special case, an exception to the rule — as too am I, as are we all. Because time changes all things, it demands that which doesn’t evolve with it to be left behind where it can wither and die.

The shadow you cast upon the industry isn’t as imposing as your heralds revere it to be; the ivory tower of your legacy doesn’t crest at such incredible heights.

At the very least, not at heights that are insurmountable as you’ve so claimed in the wake of your resurgence. The standard has changed. You’ve seen it, experienced it; APEX has been a constant challenge of that standard. And in the wake of every challenge, you’ve only let that legacy be tarnished as a monarch with no absolution behind his actions and words. Your understanding of what exists, who they are, who is capable of any given thing, proved time and time again to be far too limited — ignorant to what lies beyond the walls of what your ego allows you to accept. It has rendered you a desperate man, Aren. That much was made clear to me when you felt compelled to attack me following my title defense against Stark. You want to claim that as an act that was done without being personally motivated? Well, that ignorance caused you to act against someone with whom you’ve made a personal vendetta. That comes with the territory of being the APEX World Champion; all that oppose you make it personal, especially after all I had gone through to obtain it. All slights against you are personal. All bids to take it from you are made personal. And to not treat it to the standard I have born speaks to that evolutionary mistake; one that comes at the price of spilled blood, broken bones, and shattered pride. All things have already been rendered forfeit. And you’ll be rewarded no flowers for your attempt, nor will you collect any for the years that have now brought you to witness the peak that rendered all before it a valley. A peak I continue to raise. Many may not be privy to the information that you and I share a little bit of history that goes back the last half-decade, albeit some not directly conflicting. We’ve been pit against one another once before — a younger, more virtuous version of myself, and a version of you that has remained perpetually the same. An iron fist that holds on with a dying grip to a past that has been long since overshadowed — the threat of the Russian King all but lost to time. I was dubious then, and the result that followed only confirmed to me how much of it was little more than hype. The only people passing along that particular folklore like a Mandela Effect of the tyranny you once had on the industry are yourself and the boot lickers that compensate for the ever-growing list of setbacks by dusting off the old throne to carry you out into the spotlight upon.

All to feed that insatiable hubris.

A proverbial sin of the father you passed down to the likes of Miltiades, designated to carry on your legacy while you isolated yourself from the wrestling world. You asked of him to sacrifice being his own entity, any sense of his individuality capable of making their own mark upon the world, and in the end what was it all for? Just a surrogate to keep the name of Mstislav alive a little while longer. Just another you with a fresh coat of paint — a pawn playing their part in the chess game of your legacy that dawned the emperor’s new clothes. And everything he inherited from you, all that he had emulated from you, it led him to cross my path as well. He took umbrage with my return to OWA, and wanted to add my defeat to his legacy to raise him to meet the heights that were expected of him, only to be felled all the same. This situation feels no different, just with higher stakes. Learning from history is an integral part of the evolutionary process that separates those who have mastered the craft and those that are destined to fall by the wayside. Honestly, the whole presentation, the formalities, literally having a squire call you their liege and sing your praises — it’s a sad display if not utterly pathetic at this stage of your career. It all feels like a means of preserving an old standard than setting anew; protecting a time where Aren Mstislav may have been something greater than a pretentious dumb cunt. Given that I acknowledge your history, the titans of the industry you’ve competed against, and the accomplishments your career has afforded you, I can say it leaves a lot to be desired. All this boastfulness about how you have done so much, the accolades upon accolades you’ve collected in countless companies — both of them — having put you in a position beyond any person's understanding, it’s a pitiful complex to entertain. It's such brazen eagerness to captivate, to steam more than the inch that's given — eagerness that masks the desperation to do so. That which leaks from every pore and hangs on every bated breath like a foul stench; the desperation to achieve something, anything at all. For a brief moment, all that will be taken is relevance, a meager second in the presence of something they can't become — in the presence of someone that holds no discrimination to take every second and everything from them in consequence of every act upon that ignorance. It all reads as someone out-of-touch with a world that moved on without him inconsequential than it does someone with the right to dictate a short list of people that can hold up in comparison. Quite frankly, I don’t give an iota of a fuck about who you’ve judged to be fitting of what. You’re no less disillusioned as those I’ve already collected crowns from to believe your judgment holds any form of significance. The only people that invest any stock in the monarchy of your mind are yourself and the people that huff your farts and thank you for the privilege.

You stand now across from the conqueror that will tear it all asunder before the eyes of the world and watch it burn.

The outcome that awaits you will be that nexus point in your career; that fixed moment in time that challenged everything you were, everything you are, all that you claim to be and it will demand of you to let it all go or watch it all come crashing down around you. The nostalgia that you live in, the hierarchy you woefully place yourself atop, and the throne of the Russian King you ride upon to remind the world of what once was — they will cease to be that crux of who you are. They will be stripped away, and what lays bare will be a man, not a monarch nor a legend, forced to adapt if they have any desire to survive. I can promise that when you fall from the lofty heights of your ivory tower, you will not do so gracefully. Tyrants who believe themselves to rule forever often never see the fated end of their dynasty until it comes to pass. Either as it arrives so sudden they can’t act upon it, or they are too pig-headed in their arrogance to believe it ever will. You fall into the bottomless void of the latter. While legends may never day, it’s often a fate worse than death when they live forever as cautionary tales of pride before the fall. A tale of how riches turned to rags — an avatar of what ruin awaits those that continue to allow their hubris to defy the reality of where it is they stand. Being that example will become your legacy, no one else's to inherit in your place, something you will own until the days of your last breath. A return to seclusion will not bring you safety. Those that call you liege will never be capable of expunging such a grand defeat from your narrative. It will remain, forever staining your skin. All brought about because the monarch came for the master, not with a plan nor the conviction it will take, but an obituary they'll read aloud before they fall upon their sword with a whimper. Every kingdom hath a grave, and while yours will not be marked as being built upon your convictions;

The flag that waves in the wind will have the world remember you as a victim of mine."

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