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VAEVICTIS
Posts : 33 Join date : 2022-03-02 Age : 28
Subject: Rags to Bitches Sat Jul 16, 2022 11:36 pm
Rags to Bitches
APEX WORLD HEAVYweiGHT CHAMPION Finnegan Wakefield
"When the day to deliver your monarchic judgment comes it’ll do so too fast to be true, and your failure will be too fateful to be false.
Aren, what you've presented could not have been less inspired; promises made on a basis of hypotheticals, hand-waving, and a woeful acknowledgment of what it is you stand across from. While you claim to have been watching, it's evident in the hollow delivery behind every word that you've not been doing so closely. It would seem you've been deaf to every moment in my history that has resided outside of your direct involvement, a brief skim across the wider narrative, otherwise, you wouldn't have raised points that my many years of defiance against any and all predictions of my failure has long since rendered moot. That of itself was not a smart decision to make. It's a pattern you've fallen victim to numerous times over your APEX tenure thus far. While you so proclaim that you've educated yourself in the wake of the underestimating of the situations you've befallen, the gross negligence of the opposition that had handed you nothing but losses, in the same candid you ended right back doubling down and sticking to the status quo of that self-sabotaging pattern. You presume a lot while understanding so very little; you speak of things far beyond your ignorant comprehension. You've not learned from defeat, only made excuses for them. Something I myself have never understood. Such has been the way of weaker convictions that claim to do whatever it takes, to do what needs to be done to justify the means, in doing so forfeiting any right to complain or call foul when the same is responded in kind. To that same coin, I acknowledge that your losses thus far have come with some asterisks beside them in the history books. I acknowledge that Senn took desperate measures to advance in the Sovereign Cup, that Sabertooth dug to the deepest, darkest pit of himself to call upon the force you directly challenged, even Harvey Kennedy getting the slight assist in his own right to get that upset win at your expense -- though I dare say in that latter case it was an example of having reaped what you sow. To which I am also aware of everything you had said against them being no less asinine with the benefit of hindsight. Playing the role of arm-chair psychiatrist with Chris' inner demons, essentially breaking the match against Senn down to a dick measuring competition of who has the bigger complex, telling all who'll listen that they will bask in your glory as they fall to their knees, bowing to the winds of your faux majesty and how well did such regal proclamations and analysis' from the mind of a legend play out? Even in the Senn brown-nosing chalking him up to almost be your equal powerhouse, he was relieved of the tournament bracket that next round. Every prediction that the Russian King would return to his rule has been dashed.
Yet despite it, you still find it somewhere in that desperate head of yours the nerve to tell me what I should believe.
Better yet, you had the nerve to even entertain the idea that I would give this championship up. After the years of blazing a new trail back to the state of prominence, all the bloodshed to become a stronger World Champion than I was in that former life, and all the ridicule I have been neverendingly subject to about the very weakest moment of my life -- You even entertain the idea that I should just hand-deliver it to you on a silver platter. That alone pushes you beyond the threshold of being a fucking dumb cunt. Honestly, it's enough justification for me to feel no flicker of emotion, no hesitation behind the act of cracking your fucking skull open. The very notion brings my blood to a boil. So congratulations for what it's worth on finding a select choice of words to get beneath my skin, wear it like a badge of honor -- but even then you hadn't really said anything I haven't heard countless times already. Another fuckwit making fuckwit decisions. It's that red button you just don't press if you're hoping to be shown any form of mercy at my hand, all the same I'm glad it joins that list of all you've rendered forfeit, Aren. Because I know you haven't the faintest idea of what it's light to be opposed to Finnegan Wakefield if you're still under the impression that I am a virtuous person. That shit went the way of every other dullard that proceeded you -- the way of the egocentric zeitgeist that preached narratives of my undoing, only to go from rags to bitches. It's that sin of pride that causes people to so boldly attempt to inject the fiction of their mind into a reality that can only ever disappoint them. Such as the fiction of Aren Mstislav being a champion of prestige, that'll be lorded. I genuinely want to meet these people that would always know to be on you, to bring anything that manufactures anything more than head-lore -- I want to meet these people that sit on the street with their cups out begging for the change of passers-by. The only thing in recent memory you've put on your back and carried was the bag in which you packed your shit and went home with when the legend didn't fit the man behind it. I won't pretend I haven't been guilty of the same, hell, honestly I speak to it and the excellence that can be born from that little bit of isolation. But the differences are night and day -- what we bring to the table are worlds apart. While I evolved from my past self, set out to bring changes to the industry through every company I step foot into, challenge the standard completely, you just live perpetually as your past self, have your lickspittles carry you out on a fucking prop so you can make your royal decrees that no one entertains. I became APEX World Champion, and I allowed you to get as close as you are right now.
And I can promise if you continue to refuse to evolve; you'll never know the real thing.
That’s why I do all of this, what it has all been for. It dictates my every act upon this sport; to force it to evolve. You’d know that if you paid any form of attention whatsoever -- that I’ve always rejected the idea of a ceiling -- the neverending pursuit of a place beyond the peak has always been that driving force. But since you know nothing outside your little bubble that echoes your praises through the mouths of your congregation of fat-huffers and boot-lickers, allow me to educate you. Excellence. Mastery. To become complete. Three things that transcends the mere possession of a championship belt alone, and you are someone lacking in all departments. So I am not surprised you’re critiquing my ambition to be a fighting champion; rather I understand why you can’t grasp its significants. It comes with a lot of terms and conditions and to that, I agree -- I have put myself in a very precarious position, one that leaves very little in my favor and a wide margin of error with any given mistake. In doing so, I made myself a marked man -- something I had already taken into account. I opened the flood gate to the wider wrestling world, and maybe you'd be right to that being a mistake or jeopardizing to the overall value of the title if the person doing so was a lesser wrestler than I. Because I know truly what it takes to elevate. And sure, if you want to base your theories on the one challenger that stepped up before you followed suit, there might be the occasional undesirable competitor that steps up to the plate. The occasional fledgling or otherwise outcast from the brass that could be seen as me stat boosting by kicking off those on a lower rung, but what else is meant to motivate? What else is going to force those of the land to make progress to my level; force a necessary metamorphosis in people so that they may eventually join the upper echelon when those that presently reside have already fallen? I'm applying incentive, asserting pressure to make diamonds while you're complacent being coal -- ring chasing after yours had long since lost shine. It's a sunk cost fallacy, proclaiming so much while producing so little. While it's true it may break some, those of tougher stuff will give the desired result. While it may be true to some extent that some may present a challenge I wouldn't have to dig deep for, I'm not above being surprised. I welcome the idea to break the monotony of arrogant dipshits like yourself. I revel in the idea of the minutiae of someone having to dig deeper and force me to do the same, especially from an unexpected source, because it gives me something to keep my eye on and anticipate in the future. That alone is well worth my time, more so than not challenging myself by picking who I want to be scratched off a nonexistent list of what's desirable. Naming my own opponents wouldn't give me that rogue element that keeps me evolving either. So why would I bother calling out a Jacob Senn, or a Christopher Sabertooth, even a Harvey Kennedy, or the likes of you when you can just try your hand at your leisure? Why would I ever lower myself by actively wanting to waste my time with your ilk when it'd just be something to weaponize and satiate your ego? It's a simple concept; I have the prize, you come to me for a shot at it or otherwise find another means to earn it. Something you couldn't do. I don't know why you try to belittle my fighting champion mentality, Aren; especially given it's the ONLY reason you're even seeing a World Championship match at this stage in your career. Your history doesn't make you worthy. Your present is a far cry from that of being worthy. But in defeat, I will make you something more than just a crowned fuckwit. I'll properly introduce you to the sight at the ever-expanding peak, not from the top but from higher than you've ever stood. I'll introduce to you just how little you are. And you're not going to like it. No one ever does. I'll be the first to admit that I take a small measure of enjoyment out of breaking the occasional spirit, but it's always the same kind. Your kind. The kind that approach me thinking they're collecting what they're owed. The kind that feel their self-aggrandized purpose is something more worthy than what I am. The kind that preach to me of inevitabilities; I enjoy nothing more than seeing that pride wither and die. It's almost to a perverse degree that I revel in shattering the glass houses that home such egomaniacal twats from a stones throw away and watch them weep as they kneel in the shades. They forfeited my mercy, and I afford them only pity -- the worst I believe a man can give another. I well and truly pity you, Aren. Your delusions, the disillusion of your court, the crown that you believe to be on your head, and the idea that you're not unseated from the throne of your legacy. I'll leave it all in ruin.
You don't have to believe the reality that stands before you.
But you will perish all the same in your attempt to deny it."