Post by santiago on Jan 11, 2021 23:59:35 GMT -5
“I don’t understand what you’re doing here, but I gotta say, I freakin’ love it!”
The comment from one of the few reporters lingering around to scout some of the new influx of talent for Revo, meant to be a compliment, grates down his back like acid rain burning his flesh. Still, the forever present scowl on his alabaster pale face shows no reaction to it. Rather than pay attention to the comment from the journalist, he turns his attention to the shuffling of feet seconds before his sparring partner bulldozes forward as if to attempt a double-leg takedown, with both arms wrapping around Drago’s legs looking to trip him up. Unfortunately, the sudden drop gives Drago all the reaction time needed to drop to the floor and sprawl, start wrapping his arms around his bald, pale and toned partner’s neck, and start applying a little bit of english in the torque as he twists where none of the muscles can protect - his neck. Within seconds, the man’s furiously tapping out on the ground, ending the spar, and giving Drago the reprieve to wipe the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. The Revo1 training arena wasn’t the place he was scheduled to be, but funny things about schedules, they’re often indicators of where the most interesting things aren’t. The man heading to the training gym with black jeans and a matching black shirt might not be dressed for a fight, but the lingering seconds between when he stops applying ungodly pressure into twisting and screwing his partner’s neck and when he breaks says everything one needs to know about him before he scoots to the ring apron for a breather.
From the same reporter commenting during his third sparring match of the night at ringside, comes another comment. “I gotta say, the neck crank is cool and all, but what happened to breaking fingers?”
Another grating comment earns a stare that could kill.
“New year, new me.”
The stares, the STARES, they only make his heartbeat feel like a Duracell commercial. It ain’t a brag to say video reels of the special brand of joint manipulation and destruction speaks more than he can. It often speaks for him. It isn’t a ring surrounded by bookers and agents dying for an opportunity to work with the anointed golden child, it’s a town standing with goosebumps because a harbinger of doom stepped onto the scene.
“I just… can’t wait to see it in action, you know? The entire, small dog big bite thing. What’s gonna happen at the next match? You gonna break some fingers for the photo ops? You gonna snap some arms? I’ll be at ringside - i think it’d make for a great snap!”
If there’s a vein in his temples that isn’t throbbing, you couldn’t tell. Finally rising from the apron, Drago passes a few other talents lifting weights, dragging his feet all the while, til a hand taps him on the shoulder. He snaps around like a venomous snake ready to put fangs in the neck of one reporter who was oblivious to the rattling, who doesn’t budge an inch to the cold glare from Drago.
“Can we get one for the merch table? A little something something to make sure your time here’s well-compensated?”
“You seem like a guy who’s down bad. You want to ask me about broken fingers, right? You want an insider scoop?”
“I break fingers so when I get to breaking arms, there’s nothing someone can do to stop me. I break necks because I want to teach people in the only way I know how to make them listen, as violently as possible. Everything I do, I do with intent and purpose. I didn’t come to Revo1 to get basked in adoration and finally gettin’ my turn on the special snowflake roller coaster. I don’t want to have my picture slapped on every T-shirt you can find, I want to have a face worth putting on T-shirts. If I wanted someone worshippin’ my ass I’d start an Onlyfans - if you want to find people looking to be treated like Narcissus, you ain’t gonna struggle to find ‘em. I’ve spent my entire career destroying - and now, I’m building. Building from the broken bodies of my opponents nonetheless, but building something the way I want, how I want, when I want, where I want. So no. I’ll fight as I want to fight, do as I want to do, and kill as I want to kill. So put the camera down, lest you’re something thinkin’ you can stop me.”
One step forward, another step forward, face to face with the parasite who won't piss off. To his surprise, he's met with... a little bit of nervous laughter from the small, frail man setting his camera aside only for Drago to wrap his hands around the bulky device.
"Y-you can't be serious, can you? Do you think it looks strong for a big name to come here and beat up on reporters who can't defend themselves?"
"No. I don't think so. But Momma didn't raise a boy who cared about appearances much. Thankfully, I am strong, so I don't have to care about looking the part."
These are the only words before the sound of metal and glass breaking underneath Santiago's tender embrace.
From a voice recording posted to the Revo1 website.
"Who did I wanna’ be when I decided to lace up these boots and step into the ring? I can’t say I’m familiar with any crack or crevice of Revo one, but that was kind of the point. So many people try comin’ out of the woodwork when they see a newer, fresher federation still working the kinks out and building up it’s identity. You couldn’t ax it at this federation? Come to this brand new spanking place, where nobody cares that you’re a garbage-tier fighter with a shit-tier moveset, they’re just happy that you can fog a mirror and put your john hancock onto paper to fill a roster slot. Let’s say the quiet part out loud - when it comes to a federation, throwing money is like throwing spaghetti at the wall and praying it sticks. It’s a strategy that lasts for three clicks of a deer’s knees, when those investors or board directors realize the money flowin’ out ain’t worth the money flowing in. You need the shit money can’t buy - you need action, you need violence, you need the car crashes that people can’t look away from, and you need it BADLY. "
A smart fighter who has been around the block picks up on it. You don’t gotta be a great white to have a shark-like instinct; when you smell blood in the water, you go for the kill, and younger federations are HEMORRHAGING. There're so many fighters priding themselves on a killer instinct, on being the biggest fish in the sea, on being the predator, and they know how to act like one. They know how to move as if they’re the most dangerous thing in the room, they know how to bolster themselves up to make you cower in fear, and they know how to constantly attack so everyone else is on defense. They move - you react. Hell, about a decade ago, that was me, until I realized that being the champion of a dead federation doesn’t mean a fucking thing, because it’s back to zero, no save point, restart and refresh. Most importantly, recycle. Back to square one, do not pass go, do not collect 200. Go back to spewing the same monotonous bullshit that contributed to the death of the federation that you were at the top off. It ain’t a diss. It’s me speaking from my personal experiences when I was a younger fighter who wanted validation so much that I didn’t realize the only validation I NEEDED comes from inside.
That’s the thing - I was a young, dumb kid who didn’t know any better. I grew the hell up.
Dorian, Samantha, what are y’alls excuses?
Don’t bother with smoke and mirrors. A fae and a bad seed or a knockoff Sabrina and a low-budget Lucifer depends on the perspective you’re looking from. The trick doesn’t work once you know the magic behind it. Life lesson, folks. Hitchen’s razor - what is presented without supporting evidence can be dismissed without supporting evidence. Didn’t everyone hear it last week? He’s the ‘fierce pit bull of destruction’ and Meg and I are little dogs, but he looked spayed when he realized Kelser and I didn’t crumble under his bite. See, we’ve both traveled across the globe getting hit by people twice our size, and step into the ring with piss and vinegar. Undefeated streak this, Horrorcore champion that. If you would’ve asked him last week, Dorian Rhodes would say he’s the holy mountain, til I took a pickaxe and carved my face into ‘em. He’s supposedly the greatest machine you’ve ever seen in the ring, til Jace, a bad part, is all it takes to make him tilt?
Then you think a manic pixie girl is gonna’ be your redemption? Or is she another scapegoat for why you came up short?
You don’t belong in a ring with me and that’s a damn shame, because the only reason it’s true is because you like it. The bad seed, happy to not bear fruit. You’re a weed. You crow on endlessly about a undefeated streak that meant nothing once I looked you in your eyes, I took everything you had, and I ended it. Read the theme ; I am adept at taking everything away from people. I recognize their strengths, I give them the acknowledgment for the things that got them this far, and I take it away. You focus on all the different paths of victory you’ve got in this tag match? I focus on blocking each road until you realize what you realized last week - you don’t have any options. With your skills, you’re powerful. With my passion, my planning, and my dedication, I am ABSOLUTE.
You sitting there allllll comfortable and shit with your mouth stuffed and a lil’ gold around your waist, like that’s supposed to mean a thing to me? Both Megan and I are never sated - these bellies don’t have a bottom - no amount of wealth, no amount of success, nothing has led Meghan to feeling as if when she steps into the ring she can just be content with what she’s got. That’s why she’s always training, always getting faster, getting stronger, and mastering the art of hitting you harder than you can hit her. An overconfident idiot sees a woman like her and thinks, ‘at best, she’s a glass cannon, i know how to handle that.’ Well, everyone’s got a plan until they get hit in the mouth, and she’s the first at bat when it comes to swinging.
I mention her because this is a tag match, just like last week. Notice how I could trust my partner, and know that hunger she had meant I didn’t have to look over my shoulder and watch my back. She’s got speed and she’s got experience, so much so that in the ring we don’t mess a beat. When you’re knocked out of the ring, we’re studying. When your control freak like tendencies lead to you bickering with your partner, we’re watching. Jace got sick of your narcissistic games and decided not to let you treat the match like a handicap match, and you actually argued with him for attempting to help you…
Jace is a big man, but that big man spent maybe ten seconds as a legal competitor in the ring, and the most important seconds were underneath me, horizontal, where he wasn’t tall at all. So how do you think Voxx is gonna hold up? You hoping she’ll surrender to your narcissistic tendencies? One shot from me flattened him, because when I swing, I swing with everything I’ve got - you think vanity and ego are enough? That’s where we aren’t the same.
I don’t get title shots because I asked for them. I get them because I elevate gold bigger than it could ever me under flat-footed fucks like you. I couldn’t accept a handout cotton candy tag title tourney shot like you - and I DAMN sure couldn’t imagine giving a Horrorcore championship match to anyone but the people who just gave me my L because beating people beneath me doesn’t satisfy me - but ignore that, I don’t think pathetic suits me as well as you two.
I didn’t get my strength by pretending to be a false idol. I didn’t get my power by overdosing on moon juice and shoving crystals up my ass. Everything I have, is because I made it so. I wanted to make them respect me - so I learned how to fight. I wanted to make them kneel - so I learned how to break legs. I wanted to make my opponents into believers - so I learned how to break necks, and I wanted to take the skills I’m proficient in and use them for good, so I learned to kill weeds like you two. I ain’t here to choke the life out of this federation - I’m here to elevate the titles and the talent level to a place where you two turn tail and run.
I don’t get to the top of the federation to look back at my trek. I look to the next mountain. These tag belts don’t mean anything to me until fighters are coming from every corner of the globe for a chance to take them. I don’t rest at the top - I keep climbing until the wheels fall off.
So play your game. Be flat-footed. Be defensive, be reactionary, be everything that makes you two the perfect sacrifices for the soul of this place to thrive. The chapter where lazy fucks make it to the top ends here - right where my book begins.