Gold Rush: Tyrone Blades versus Xander LeBelle [First Blood]

[Da Prophet]

A heated rivalry unlike anything else. This match has no need for pinfalls or submissions. It is without countouts or disqualifications. On this night the only way to win is to draw blood from your opponent and these two men wouldn’t want it any other way. Tyrone Blades has led the war against Mr. Banks and Vis Imperium since his return to the company. He has been screwed out of the Mayhem Championship thanks to LeBelle and Adonis, his relationship with WZCW employee Stacey Madison was nothing more than an evil plot from Mr. Banks and now the younger and motivated Xander LeBelle has his sights set on the WZCW Hall of Famer. After a brutal assault by LeBelle on Ascension, he has made it clear that his job is to wipe out Blades. This match will not be for the feint of heart. Will Blades continue his quest and destroy a second member of Vis Imperium or will LeBelle finally rid Mr. Banks of his biggest adversary?

RP Deadline Monday 24th July 23:59 (Central).

Extensions available upon request.

 

[Da Prophet]

Match has been extended by 24 hours.

 

[Lee]

Deadline is now Tuesday 25th July 23:59 (Central). No further extensions.

 

[TBK]

"No."

"No."

"No."

As the streak of paint fell off the canvas, the brush in Xander LeBelle's hand fell victim to the tile floor. In silence, The Class Act winced at his glove, before angrily swatting his unfinished painting to the ground, and taking a look back at the model, dressed to look as Tyrone Blades, enemy to Vis Imperium, and something much worse to Xander. It was rare for him to ever feel this uncomfortable when by his rose garden, yet this was the second try to get his painting right, and once again it was half completed before being trashed. He needed to calm himself down and start over, but he had high hopes. With a clap, one of his servants brought him over a cup of tea, and he sat down on his stool, to face the model portraying the stylized caricature of Tyrone he hoped to capture. His hand had a shake as he gripped the cup off the plate, from the frustration he had for this afternoon.

"Tea?" he asked, offering to his model.

The repulsive-looking man in a wig and jeans shook his head. "No thanks."

Xander nodded, before taking a sip. The warmness on his tongue soothed the pain slightly.

"To tell the truth, it is hard to tell some days I have to ask myself if I am angry at Tyrone, personally, or perhaps it is everything. Yet, whenever I try to put a face on every single wrong thing that has happened to me, losing the Elite Openweight Championship, losing the Gold Rush, becoming the scapegoat for a pet project I have put a piece of my soul into saving, having to deal with seeing your former tag team partner who you despise every day, and yet he won't acknowledge your existence. Still, whenever I try and put a face on it, I see you, him."

The shake in his hand grew stronger, the more he began to talk, even beginning to spill slightly.

"The man who attacked me on my first day, the subhuman I have yet to beat, the insect whose utter obsession with me lead him to follow pursuit with me, when I joined Vis Imperium. I see you...and I see the real Tyrone. So, inspired by Oscar Wilde's The Portrait of Dorian Gray, I wanted to look at himself and vomit. Only then would he understand how I feel having to deal with him time and time again." He smirked, as his hand grew still. "That having been said, I never thought i would have found myself feeling satisfied meeting him in the ring once more, but there was something very sick and pleasurable about scratching him with barbed wire. Then to see him pathetically attack Andrew in an attempt to feel a little less emasculated. For a brief moment, I almost felt sad."

"Then...y-you picked me because I'm ugly?" The doppelganger asked.

Xander stared at "Tyrone", his expression blank and uncaring.

"I did. And right now, you have exactly the same expression he did: uncertainty, disappointment, frustration, sadness. Keep it. Do not move an inch. Do not think of it, but remember the payout for this."

The servants in LeBelle's home brought him a new canvas and paint brush immediately. He put down his tea, and began his new expressionist masterpiece with a single dipped stoke of furious red.

"You are Tyrone Blades, a dull blade, indeed. Your inhuman pride is a vice that has defined your career, and yet you hate everyone with the same amount of pride because deep down, you hate who you are."

Stroke, after stroke, the colors on his palette mixed on the canvas to transport any onlooker into WZCW, in the middle of a ring.

"Your accomplishments shall stay the test of time, but your beliefs are but things that should have remained in the past. You are an unbelievable hypocrite. You choose to judge me and my lifestyle. Many have worked under Tyrone Blades, many more will fight in his honor, yet when it came time for Batti to try and save the day, he insisted that he stay and face the punishment. Whether or not he wishes to admit, because deep down he himself refuses to see the part in him that would ever be this, the only true logical conclusion is that it was because Batti is a woman, and he is a man, and to be saved by a woman would be the ultimate shame. Yes, it is rather remarkable how our trust for others allow us to put hold a blinding veil over people we trust when they do things to betray you. I had to see that firsthand from my former partner to pull back the veil and see the painful truth like this every day."

Next up came the skin, a skin more pasty than Elmer's Glue, and harder to look at than a child walking onto the highway.

"You have fought every piece to Vis Imperium's puzzle. Cooper, Keaton, Andrew, even I. Your past wins have made you confident, that even with the crucifixion to your god complex, you believe you will come out of this on top. If anything, I am merely a punching bag to get out your frustrations, as you have seen me in the past, as you will see me once again."

Everything was to Xander's liking. His ill-fitted clothes were shabby, his scaly skin was the stuff of even the bravest man's nightmares, and the crowd around him reminded him that everyone was watching this unattractive slouch. He was just as ugly as Xander had always envisioned him to be. Next came the daunting task of capturing that expression. 'Pride in Sadness', a perfect title for the painting, much more beautiful than Ty should ever have deserved.

"But no, I say. Not this time. For once, the end of the line for you is not by your own will. At one point in your life, you were the storyteller who told how things would end. Not this time. This is not your story. It is mine, where the World's Greatest Mind found himself constantly ends with this abomination who held a tight grip back then, even in his short-lived absence, and holds a tight grip to this day, will finally be brought down once and for all by the same man he helped fuel a fire under. After all this, I have to thank you for inspiring me more than anyone else, Tyrone. You causing me to lose my first ever match for my return was what lead to me pushing myself time and time again. So feel proud as you feel blood trickle down your head, your chest, your back, wherver it may be. It is the one piece to you worth any merit, but it was never intentional, so still from the inside, and the outside, you are just... UGLY."

Xander's arm dropped at his side as he finished the face. It was a perfect likeness. Now, it was time to give Tyrone the final dagger. He dipped his paintbrush into the red, before reaching up to Tyrone's forehead for the bloody red forehead that was in his future. However, right as he was just an inch away, a single drop from the red paint fell and hit the floor. And he paused. He paused, and then he began to laugh.

"The World's Greatest Mind is that of an artist. How brilliant. Tyrone, you are free to go. Your check will be in the mail within seven business days."

"We're done...?" The Model said, still broken up about the comments on his appearance.

Xander stood up on his gold tipped cane.

"Yes, and no. Thank you. You are done. You have given me, no, Tyrone and the rest of the world a glimpse into his inner personality, but...I cannot possibly complete this right now. Red paint cannot compete with the real deal."

Xander slipped off his white glove for demonstration.

"I will bring this portrait with me ringside for my match at Gold Rush. Adonis can hold it high and show it off to the world. There will be two Tyrone Blades in matches that day. One fighting in the ring, the second one, captured in a painting that will stand forever as a symbol of my accomplishment. Then, when I make him bleed, I'll simply wipe up the blood and used it to complete my masterpiece. If beating Tyrone Blades is a task that makes your reputation immortal, this certainly shall be the reward for having done so. Now then, if you excuse me... I have a meeting to attend to."

With a snap of his naked fingers, "Tyrone" was escorted out from the building, and Xander began his phone conversation with Adonis. It would take a few phone calls to make this a reality, but he would do anything to make sure this became a reality.

He would stop at nothing to complete his masterpiece.​

 

[Ty Burna]

A fatal attraction.

A desire for revenge.

A man blinded to the truth he wanted to ignore. All I have ever known is others craving for what I have, or who I am. A small flicker of passion, a spark against the dreary loneliness lead me to the chains I find myself bound in. I could feel her need for my attention, her body pressed firmly against mine. I am a man of many sins, of many faults, and so I devoured her presence. Heaven was never going to be a place for me, after all, I didn't just dance with the devil, I have been the devil himself. I became reliant on her, she was the constant in my life after the tragedy of my decisions. They all watched in earnest as I fell further down the hole, only for her to be the one to shovel the dirt over the top. The snake had offered me the apple, and all I could do is take that first and final bite.

I found myself in the one place that could provide solace. The moonlight shone down through the windows, providing just enough ambiance into the dusty ring I sat in. My preferred bottle of whiskey sat in front of me, though I hesitated to open it. I was trying to become a better man, a man that didn't need alcohol in order to cope with his own self inflicted suffering. I was a mess. My arms were taped from my hands all the way to my shoulders, my blood oozing out through the wounds. My forehead had been bandaged heavily, even then a trickle of blood came down alongside my nose. My flesh had been torn apart by their barbed wire, my insides turned to soup from my own weapon. You could say I had this coming to me. My brightest days were always everyone's darkest nights, I was due for a receipt at some point. I have survived the physical toll. I have survived the beatings before. But this was different. The ante had been upped without my knowledge. A plot that had taken shape far before my own intentions were clear. Banks has always feared what I could do. I was stripped of my armor and left bare, just to be poisoned by a seductress. I could not blame her for what she had done, for I was the tormentor first.

My associate Mr. Jones had been locked up, his parole now in question. I couldn't save him from what transpired, I could only look on, knowing full well what was going to happen to him. They want me to be the hero. They want me to fix what has gone wrong. I found it intriguing, and so I wanted to stand up and be that hero for them. I wanted to do what was right, but I was reminded very quickly of the villain that lives inside me. That lives inside all of us. Justify their beliefs! Cultivate their own courage with your own. Yet would I be any better than Banks if I did that? To lead the blind and the naive into a war, just so I could defeat my enemy. I know what happens next. I know that I simply turn around and corrupt everything in my path. I have hated Banks not for what he represents, but for what he has. Power and my money. If I cast Banks aside, I become all the same. The cycle repeats. Myself and the Apostles. Banks and Vis Imperium. And yet I have proclaimed his demise. I have raised the support of the suppressed, and it all leads to me becoming the villain once more. There is no difference between Mr. Banks and Ty Burna. They are one in the same. I could fight against it all I want, but I know the end result. Tyrone Blades is who I am supposed to be, but my nature is to corrupt, not to nurture. And so there I sat, a man broken on the inside while his armor showed cracks for the first time. I could feel the darkness ready to pour in, devour my soul once more and leave the changes I had made behind. There's something to be said about the comfort the familiar provides, that I could once more feed into the carnal desires of chaos.

I grimaced as I moved my arms forward, my hands unable to close fully due to the damage. I lit a cigarette, my hand shaking as I hold it up to my mouth. The physical wounds would heal in time, though perhaps not soon enough. I was a sitting duck against Xander LeBelle. The stipulation was made in his favor, I was torn apart and it would take little effort to tear open the cuts once more. There was no honor left to fight for in this war. The ground had been seared away, leaving only ashes to stand on. I inhaled from my cigarette deeply, the smoke exhaling slowly as it hung in the air. As I watched the smoke trail around me, I reached out to the bottle. There was no fighting what I would become once more. I was only fooling myself into getting better. I spun the top off the bottle, the familiar smoky scent filling my senses. I could taste it the release of the alcohol already. My fall from grace, the end of this movement, with just a small drink I would cap it off on my own. There would be only vices, the bitterness of defeat and the anguish of fading away. I began to lift the bottle up, but as the glass touched my lips, I hear the doors of the gym open. It breaks me from my melancholy endeavor, as I quickly spin the top back on the bottle and slide it under the ropes. I inhale from my cigarette once more, my eyes adjusting to the light as a lithe figure walks in, a familiar presence to me. She started walking towards the ring, the young woman Batti who I had taken under my wing.

"Blades-sama....." The pain in her voice, the regret of her inaction. I simply shook my head as I held my arms out once more, showing her the bloody bandages. She did not need to suffer as I did just for me, the evidence clear in what has been done. I stared down at the blood seeping through the bandages, a precursor to what would happen against Xander LeBelle. "You're hurt, let me change those bandages for you." Her voice was calm, yet an undercurrent of sadness only proved to dig deeper into my self prescribed agony. She left the ring, allowing me a chance to brush my hair back. Regaining my sense of reality I look around for a moment, what time was it, and how did she know I would be here? She soon returned, carrying a wet cloth and fresh bandage wrap. She kneels down in front of me, her caring eyes piercing through the lethargic discs of mine. She forced a smile, even now she projects an aura of happiness, or at least tries to. She reaches out, slowly peeling the bandage wrap from my right arm, the underside stained red. Soon the sliced up flesh is revealed, and she goes to work diligently, cleaning each wound carefully. "Blades-sama, I know you told me to not get in the ring, but I just know I can help against Vis Imperium. Please let me fight by your side. If I can reclaim the Elite Openweight title....then I know I can be on the front line with you. You can't do this alone, let me help you." She looked up at me, her eyes pleading, begging for me to give her purpose. Even now, at my lowest point they still look to me to lead. Perhaps it was just her innocence, she did not know what I had done in the past. I could not let someone so pure see the horrors I've lived through. I forced a smile and nodded my head gently to her, giving her the response she was looking for. As she washed away the last of the blood, she begins wrapping the fresh wrap around my arm. I closed my eyes, feeling her suddenly pressed lightly against me as she shifted to better wrap my arm.

I keep my arm straight, and soon she finishes up, pushing the bloodied bandages to the side. She moves behind me, her fingers grazing along the back of my neck as she settles in on the other side. She begins working away, the sensation of her touch still lingering on my neck. My mind began to race, was that an innocent touch? Why would she help me still? She must want something of me, or perhaps....I look to the side, noticing a small tear fall down her cheek. I reach out with my free hand, gently wiping the tear away, I could feel her gently lean into my hand, her trembling becoming noticeable. I turned towards her, pulling her into an embrace, her bearing her head into my chest as I held her close. There were no words exchanged, I could tell when a heart had been scarred by another. Though I was damaged, I could offer her some respite from her inner struggle. Her arms wrapped around my neck, holding close to me. How had I not noticed her before? Her significant other did not appreciate her, I could see the fire and desire in her eyes when she trained. Perhaps..no. I couldn't possibly be thinking that way. I only corrupt, and to leave that mark on her would be a sin I could not forgive myself for. She was a taken woman, she belonged to another. It wasn't my place to move in. And yet, the moonlight dims around us, the dark corners of my mind rationalizing everything it shouldn't. All I do is corrupt, so why stop now? My body moves despite my meek reservations as I pull her slowly from my chest, staring into her eyes as she stares back into mine. My mind goes blank, and suddenly my lips have found her in the darkest of nights. She seems startled, but soon returns the kiss as two broken humans somehow find comfort in the forbidden fruit of one another.

"No....no I can't do this. Blad....Tyrone., I can't" She pulls away from me, though her arms remain wrapped around me as a look of regret and guilt flash across her face. I reach up and wipe away her tears once more, brushing her hair away from her face as I place my hand on her cheek. I know my dear, I know. I have been on the opposite side of this equation, and it lead to so much pain. She reaches up and clasps her hand over mine, her teary eyes gazing up at mine. "I still love Ramparte....even after what he's done. If this were any other lifetime, perhaps......" A sigh escapes her as she shakes her head, slowly pulling away from me as she wipes away her tears again. Rejection is an interesting feeling when you have yet to feel it in your life. I gaze up at her as she brushes her hair back, trying to regain her composure as she looks down at me. I slowly rise to my feet, as fast as one can with internal injuries. I take a step towards her, the moonlight shining between us as a silence casts between us. I hold my hand out to her, my fingers trembling, though I can't tell if it's from injury or nerves. She shakes her head before reaching out and placing her hand in mine. We hug once more, the moon acting as our spotlight. She leans in and whispers to me, her voice soothing in tone. "Tyrone, I know you're hurting right now. I know you're physically hurt as well. But I will be by your side and fight this war with you. You have helped me grow as a wrestler, and as a person. You've given me so much, but my heart belongs to another right now. You're stronger than all of Vis Imperium. It's why I want to fight by your side. Your strength and courage despite being at a disadvantage is what inspires us all. When it's said and done, you will do the right thing. I know you will." I lower my head into her shoulder, her faith in a man that has broken the faith of others so many times before. I nod my head as I lift it to look to her, a smile to assure her. She returns it in earnest before leaning up and kissing my cheek, our eyes catching each other once more. She looks down for a moment before pulling away. "Tomorrow Blades-Sama, meet me here and we train all day." With a wink and a smile, the perky confidence returns to Batt as she skips out of the ring and makes her way out of the gym, leaving me alone to my thoughts once more.

I walk over to where the bottle of whiskey was, picking it up and holding it in my hand. The precious liquid swirling around inside. One drink, and I can finally pull myself down out of all this. I start to spin the top off, but soon Batti's words begin to echo in my mind. Despite everything I had done, the misery and pain I had caused others, she had found something in me to believe in. I crossed the line long ago, I welcomed every bullet fired my way. I shouldered the front line against Vis Imperium and Banks for so long. How could I let them win after all the work I had done. Perhaps I am not the hero they believe me to be, but I am the warrior that leads by example. I stare down at the whiskey, then to my bandaged arms. Stacey Madison may have sunk the knife in my back, but I'll be damned if I won't tear it out and use it against my enemies. I refuse to be broken, refused to let them win a war by harming me. No, it was time to reforge the armor, make it so they can never pierce my heart again. Xander LeBelle wants to shed my blood? Let him have it. I tore off the bandages, revealing the deep cuts in my arms as I let out a yell. My war was not over, nor would I allow them the opportunity to even think I was down. I'm not the hero of this story. Because I'm the one that tore the book apart and ended Xander LeBelle by a thousand cuts. I take one last look at the whiskey bottle before turning and throwing it into the wall, the bottle shattering and the alcohol splattering across the wall. I look down at my arms one last time, whether I'm destined to become the villain or not, all I can do is face that next battle. Because I'm not Mr. Banks, nor am I Ty Burna. My name is Tyrone Blades. And though my sins may never be forgiven, I refuse to let them define me.

Suddenly I hear clapping at the entrance of the gym. I turn my head to see my partner in crime Mr. Jones standing their, a lit cigar in his mouth as he claps at the sight of me. "Boy you look like you lost a fight with a cheese grater." I smirk as I turn towards him, exiting the ring as I walk over to him. I execute my ten step handshake with my friend, no, my brother as I tilt my head towards him. "Man before you ask, I got a new parole officer. Far as he's concerned I've been a model citizen since I got out. So here I am, but you ain't lookin' too hot homie". I shrugged my shoulder, pulling a cigarette out and lighting it as I look back towards the ring, the events of the night causing my head to spin. I turn back to Mr. Jones, a wide grin on his face. "So, what's the plan oh glorious leader?" A chuckle escapes me, the first laughter I've had in a week as I slap him on the shoulder, making my way out to the empty street, the moon still shining brightly in the sky. I take a drag from my cigarette, exhaling slowly as I stare up the moon, and there is but one quote that comes to my mind.

"What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives; who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? Vis Imperium wants to be the shadow cast across WZCW. No one casts a longer shadow than mine, and Xander LeBelle is going to be left broken and bleeding in it."

I began walking away, my cigarette still in my mouth as plumes of smoke escape me. I had a renewed purpose. I was coming for Xander LeBelle. And I was going to walk out, with his blood on my hands. A fatal attraction became my rebirth, and a desire for revenge, my new armor.

With Love,

The Hollow Ones