AS 45: Empty Arena Match: Black Dragon vs. Chris K.O. (Eurasian Title)

[Ty Burna]

This match is brought to you by WZCW Magazine.

Black Dragon requested that his next match be against Chris K.O., the man who walked out on him before their Lottery showdown for the EurAsian title, under stipulations that prevent Chris from fleeing the scene again: an Empty Arena match. There will be no rules for this match, even going as far as saying that this isn't even a sanctioned WZCW contest. The only thing that will be on the record books for this match is who walks out Ascension as the new champion: Black Dragon or Chris K.O.?

Deadline is Tuesday, March 20th at 11:59 PM Central Time.​

 

[Ty Burna]

Chris K.O. has been granted an extension due to PC issues.

 

[Gelgarin]

Book of the Dragon​

~ Chapter 20 – Vengeance by the Pound ~​

Things are subtly wrong. The Halfway House stands almost exactly as I remember it, but the motto cresting the gate is changed. It should read ‘Una vita – vivere’; one life – live it. A trite little inspirational witticism I penned myself in a moment of rare optimism. Instead it reads ‘suscipiat somniator’. It seems that I’m back here again.

For four blissful days I was gifted nights of dreamless sleep, but since the lottery the nocturnal fantasies have returned stronger than ever; always sharp, always familiar, always different in the details, but in their own way always the same. Tonight will mark the third consecutive journey under Umbra’s shadow, and the first time I have been presented with a vision out of the darkness.

The last surviving Halfway House stands atop a hill just outside of Carson City. On a clear day a man can survey miles of soiled metropolis beneath him. In the dream however the horizon is always black.

We built the Halfway Houses for those who had nowhere else to go; people who society had rejected or forgotten. Criminals and victims sheltered together under one roof, rebuilding themselves one day at a time until they were ready to go back into the world. In many ways I never left the house, sometimes something becomes so badly broken that fixing it is no longer an option and all that there is left to do is sweep up the pieces and start again. Still, the Halfway House has remained a source of comfort to me during my quest, and I travel back there from time to time when the fancy takes me. It is the one place where I don’t need to wear a mask.

I’m not wearing a mask here, but the sight of the building is anything but comforting. The devil is in the details, and the details are all wrong. One of the most disquieting sensations is the familiar becoming unknown, something you have taken completely for granted suddenly changing. The sign is wrong, the skyline is wrong, this dream is wrong. You should not be able to feel ill in a dream, any more than you can feel pain; this is why you always wake up when you fall in dreams; the mind knows that it should feel impact, but it cannot simulate the sensation. Nevertheless, the subtle oddity of my surroundings is making my stomach churn, and the figure standing in the gateway only serves to make things worse. It is me.

At first I think; I hope; that it is simply another man in a dragon mask, but something inside tells me that this is not the case. Details about my surroundings may be wrong, but the man in front of me is too perfect a replica to simply be an imitation. The words of the voice in the shadows come back to me; “I’m you.” Is this figure standing before me the one who has been whispering to me during previous nights?

Whether he is or not, at the moment he is not saying anything. He stands framed in the entrance to the Halfway House, motionless as a waxwork doll. I approach him; no response.

“Hello?” No response.

I wave a hand in front of his face; no response. The rise and fall of his chest shows the figure to be alive, or as alive as a figment of the imagination can be, but he is either unaware of my presence or is choosing to ignore me.

“Oh don’t mind him, he’s always like this.”

I spin, a second voice, behind me. A few yards back an old man sits, his back reclining against a sycamore tree. I’ve never seen his face before, but I recognise the sound.

“You’re the voice from the shadows.”

“Correct. I thought you would appreciate a proper welcome, and as you can see, our friend by the gate is not much up to the task.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s you of course.”

My brow furrows, as the nights pass I am beginning to get a handle on the way that the dream works, but every time I close my eyes the rules seem to change.

“I thought you said that you were me?”

“I am. I told you the other night, you’re dreaming, everyone who you meet here is going to be a reflection of yourself. You’re here until you find the part that’s real. I suggest looking inside.”

The old man speaks with the effortless of ease of one who has existence completely worked out.

“I thought you said that you couldn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. I don’t know why I’m here, how can you?”

“Oh we both know why you’re here Hano, I’m simply much better at expressing myself than you are.”

“None of this makes sense.”

My voice at this point is almost a wail. I know that I’m dreaming, but I can’t wake up. Strange figures claiming to be aspects of my self are passing me messages that I cannot comprehend.

“That’s the advantage of being a figment of the imagination. Suddenly you’re free from any kind of obligation to make any kind of sense. I could spout any old nonsense at you and claim to be being allegorical.”

“Are you sure that you’re me? You don’t act like me.”

“I’m a part of you. You’d be a very boring person if every aspect of your character acted the same.”

“OK then, which part of me?”

The old man smiles to himself.

“Can’t tell you that at the moment I’m afraid. I’m not even supposed to be here; I don’t appear in the dream until later. It’s him you’re here to see.” The old man gestures at the masked figure. “A pretty rubbish aspect of your character to start with if you ask me, but it’s your dream.”

“Can you tell me which part of me he is?”

“A jolly dull and unresponsive part. I call him the gatekeeper.”

“The gatekeeper?”

“Yes. He’s in charge of welcoming people into the house.”

“He’s not very good at it.”

For the first time the old man looks me directly in the eyes, a freight frown crossing his forehead.

“How good do you think you are at letting people in Hano?”

His words echo in my head. He has me bang to rights, I don’t let people in. Is this what the dream means? Is this why I can’t sleep at night? Doubts race across the surface of my soul, discomfort rises in my bowls. Then the old man throws back his head and laughs.

“You see? Allegory; it can be used to explain away anything. Perhaps our friend here is a subconscious manifestation of your fear of intimacy, or perhaps you’re just too damn boring to dream up more than one character to talk to. If you’ll take my advice, once you get inside the house try not to worry too much about what anything means.”

“I have to enter the house then?”

“Standing out here talking to me doesn’t appear to be getting much done does it?”

I look beyond the gatekeeper at the door to the Halfway House. I don’t know what lies beyond it, but I don’t want to face it alone. If only Muse were here; in the real world she’s only a few yards away, but inside the dream they might as well be miles.”

“Will you come with me?”

“I’m already inside. You’ll find me in a library. Probably not for a few weeks though.”

“I’m going to keep having this dream for weeks?”

“Maybe. It depends.”

“On?”

“How long it takes you to find what you’re looking for.”

“Which is?”

“That part of you that’s real.”

“You said that before, what does it mean?”

The old man smiles once again.

“Sorry boyo, you’ve used up all your questions. This wouldn’t be much of a story if I gave away all my secrets right at the start. If you want answers, look on the other side of that door.”

I am growing frustrated with the dream. Every answer I receive begets two more questions. Nothing I am being told is making sense, and the old man appears to be laughing at me from behind his smile. I just want to wake up. If answers are inside the house then that is where I shall go. I stride towards the door, step carefully around the guardian who makes no move to block me, grasp the handle and twist…

* * *​

…the door swings open. A different door in a different place. The dreams have haunted my sleep ever since Sam Masters escaped from judgement, but right now I am awake and preparing to right that wrong and buy myself a few nights of shadowless sleep.

Bateman’s office is largely unchanged since I saw it last, an amusement given that it is in a different building. Vance has built a protective shell around himself that he drags with him wherever he goes; I suspect it makes him feel safer. Tonight however I do not want Vance Bateman to feel safe, so when he steps into his office in addition to seeing the familiar upholstered mahogany desk and reclining leather office chair he discovers Black Dragon sat in one with my feet upon the other.

“You.”

Vance’s powers of observation are as sharp as ever.

“Me.”

“The hell do you want?”

Vance’s voice is a low, menacing growl. Since forcing my way onto his roster I have left Bateman alone; doubtless he had hoped that this state of affairs would continue.

“There’s no need to be so unfriendly Vance; I’m here to help you.”

This is technically true, in so far as I have not broken into Vance’s office in order to violently assault him, which as far as I’m concerned is pretty damn helpful.

“How?”

“I’m here to be your champion Vance.”

Again technically true. One day I will break Vance Bateman’s neck, tear his limbs apart and cave in his face until he becomes an unrecognisable monster, but that doesn’t strictly speaking prevent me from defending the man’s honour in the meantime.

“My champion? What makes you think I want you as a champion?”

“I could not care less if I’m the champion you want Bateman; I’m the champion that you need, and more importantly I’m the champion that you’ve got. Your input on the subject is unnecessary.”

The vein on Vance Bateman’s temple is throbbing dangerously. Truth be told there is no reason for me to be antagonising or threatening him; right now we both want the same things. If I put my demands to him reasonably he would probably acquiesce, but my mind keeps travelling back to the Halfway House, the project Bateman destroyed, and I simply cannot bring myself to not torment the man.

“Remove your feet from my desk.”

People almost never change. Bateman certainly doesn’t. He will always pick a minor battle in order to deflect from a minor one.

“No, I don't think I will.”

“What. Do. You. Want.” Bateman spits through gritted teeth.

“Burna. Right now he is your problem. I would like very much for him to become my problem.”

“You want Burna? Fine. Done. Now get the fuck out of my office.”

If only it were that simple.

“Do you know how to kill a shark Vance?”

The man goggles at me

“What?”

“Do you know how to kill…”

“No I do not know how to kill a shark,” he interrupts, “what the hell have sharks got to do with anything?”

“Under the sea the shark’s power is unsurpassed. It is the king of the ocean and nothing can stand against it. Little fish flee in terror at the shark’s approach. Those that don’t flee are eaten, and those that aren’t eaten are enslaved. Each shark swims with an army of minnows who pick parasites from its skin and suck clean its teeth. These minnows make the shark even stronger.”

“Why are you telling me about sharks Dragon?”

“Nothing under the sea can stand up to a shark in a straight fight, yet a dolphin can come away from a battle victorious nine times out of ten. I’m asking if you know how.”

Bateman sighs and sags into another chair, clearly resigned to hearing me out.

“No I do not know how a dolphin defeats a shark. Please enlighten me.”

“The dolphin kills the shark my ignoring it. It doesn’t snap at the shark’s flesh or strike at its fins. Instead the dolphin drives away all the minnows that swim alongside the shark, scattering them into the ocean. Swimming alone the shark becomes weaker; its body becomes overwhelmed by parasites, its teeth rot and fall out, its skin peels, its gills clog. Without its army the shark swims slower and slower until it can no longer hunt, then one day it simply dies.”

Bateman head is resting upon his hands.

“Truly fascinating. And the point that you are getting to is?”

“You’re not going to give me Burna. Not yet. Instead you’re going to serve me one of his minnows. Chris KO to be precise.”

“Because that match was so richly entertaining the last time it happened.”

Bateman’s sarcasm is not far from the truth. Sam Masters, Chris KO, has owed me a debt for months now, and at the lottery the stage was set for him to finally pay his due. Instead the insipid leech elected to run from the ring with his tail between his legs. Well soon I will collect what I am owed, with interest.

“Give me what I want and I assure you, you won’t be worrying about entertainment value.”

“And what is it that you want Dragon?”

“I want you to lock all of the doors. Lock all of the windows. I want Burna’s other minnows out of the building. I want a nice empty space cleared so that KO and I might have a… little chat, and I might claim from him what I am owed.”

“And what are you owed?”

I smile.

“A pound of flesh.”

“What makes you think that Chris KO would even agree to such a match?”

Casually I toss the Eurasian title onto the desk.

“He’ll accept. Pride always precedes the fall, and even little fish are proud.”

“Which leaves you with only one problem Dragon.”

“And that is?”

“Why the fuck should I book matches for you? I owe you nothing, and yet you think you can break into my office, ramble on at me about god damn fish and then have the audacity to tell me what to do.”

Vance… Vance, Vance, Vance. Of all the times you might have picked to grow a spine. This is not going to end well for you. I brought my ace in the hole with me for this very eventuality. I bring the black briefcase up and rest it alongside my belt. The case is identical to the one that bought me entry to the company, as are its contents.

“I had hoped that you might simply wish to be helpful, but since you insist on further incentive.”

I pop the lock and display the case’s contents. Bateman regards the case, but to my surprise his eyes do not display the fear that I was expecting.

“Oh yes, your little case of evidence. I had forgotten your tendency towards blackmail. But do you know what Dragon? I looked through your little case, and then I had some friends look through your little case, and do you know? It turns out that I didn’t do anything wrong.”

And with that I’m on him, throwing myself across the desk, grabbing his head and forcing it down against the desk. My palm laid flat against his skull, pressing it down hard into the woodwork. The man flounders like a fish out of water, but my grip is too strong. I bring my masked face to within an inch of his own and spit.

“No! It is just possible that you didn’t do anything illegal, but that is not the same. Perhaps we should ask some more people? Make no mistake Vance, I am not here threatening your reputation, nor am I threatening your livelihood. I’m not even threatening to increase the pressure until I hear bones crushing. None of these things are threats, they are promises. I am not your employee; I am not your grunt. I am vengeance. I am justice. I am the sword of Damocles and I hang above your head. Make no mistake Vance; I am going to hurt you for what you did. I am going to cause you pain until you beg for the sweet relief of death. You have been judged, and all that is left for you to do is delay the inevitable. You and KO have much in common Vance. I have judged you both, yet you both turn and run away from your crimes. Before the moon turns one of you will be left choking on his own blood, it’s simply up to you to decide which.”

Bateman sags to his knees as I release the pressure on his head. In a minute he’ll be standing again, bellowing with empty bravado, but ultimately Vance Bateman is still a coward. He’ll shout and scream, he’ll plot behind my back, he’ll tell himself that he’s booking the match for his own ends, but ultimately he’ll give me what I want in order to save his skin. We’re all done here but for the empty shouting of a broken man, and I don’t need to witness that. I take the title in one hand, the case in the other, and stride casually out into the night.

Masters, KO; you’ve been running for too long. You got away from me once before, but not again. Come Ascension there will be nowhere left for you to flee. You owe me a blood debt, and a blood debt can only be paid in kind. Pain for pain, blood for blood. You brought back my dreams; I shall repay you by becoming your nightmare. There will be nobody there to help you escape, nobody there to protect you, nobody there to hear your screams.

You’re mine.

 

[Kermit]

“To be or not to be? That is the question.”
-By Hamlet from William Shakespeare’s Hamlet.​

The scene opens up to the inside of a large stadium. A smoky aura sifts through the air as several stadium workers push straw brooms down isles between rows of seats. Every worker is wearing a neon green shirt with the word “STAFF” printed boldly on the back of it. The text on the shirt is matched by a pair of black slacks and dress shoes.

Below them all are dozens of men in shadowed garments; shirts and jeans, nothing too formal. They are dissembling a wrestling ring and raveling up wires that are strung across the floor. They chit chat amongst each other and enjoy one another’s company as they mask the laborious task with joy. A war had been raged inside of this arena, and these men have come along to pick up the debris. Suddenly, a familiar voice is heard over the scene.

The camera turns away from the working men and looks up at glass skybox that is tucked inside the middle section of the stadium seating. The camera zooms in and we see a curious man looking out from the inside of the transmuted sand. The shot shifts and we now see Chris K.O. close up as he looks outside the skybox and down at the ring workers.

His attire is something queer to what we usually see him wearing. Gone is the red suit coat that kept him warm on previous occasions. Gone are the tattered dark-blue faded jeans and accompanied sandals. His attire has been traded out for a black pinstriped suit. His suit coat is casually unbuttoned with a black tie hanging from his neck like a freelance pendulum. His hair is elegantly disheveled.

Chris: Look at them. The dogs of the trade, man. An entire ecosystem coursing through the backstage of the WZCW locker-room that will never get the recognition that they rightfully deserve.

Almost makes you sick, huh?

Chris looks over at the camera as he grows a half-smirk. He turns around from the camera as he begins walking towards a small section of seats that are facing a giant projector screen. The camera hesitates and glimpses down once more at the ring workers. We see several men folding up a banner. The Kingdom Come IV logo illuminates proudly as it disappears into the creases.

The camera man turns around and begins walking towards the direction of Chris.

Chris: Go ahead and sit a couple seats away from me. That way the camera isn’t too close.

The camera nods as its holder positions itself a couple seats away from Chris, on the front row of a small theatre setting inside of the skybox. The camera looks at Chris as he pulls out a silver remote from underneath his seat. He wiggles it in the air as he looks at the camera.

Chris: I bet the entire world is buzzing with questions right now. Wondering what to make of everything that happened tonight. I bet a lot of them want questions from me in particular.

Chris turns away from the camera and looks down at the crimson colored carpet that blankets the floor of the skybox. He licks the roof of his mouth as he collects his thoughts.

Chris: Every story has a beginning. So that’s where we need to start.

Chris raises the remote and presses the power button. The projector screen illuminates as we see an unclothed baby in a diaper. He is sitting peacefully on a blanket as he bangs a tiny rattle on the ground. Drool is escaping from his mouth and over coats his small chest. Suddenly, the screen pauses. The camera looks at Chris, who laughs quietly to himself.

Chris: Sorry, that’s a little too early.

Chris smiles off the embarrassment as he presses the “fast forward” button on the remote. The camera man turns to the screen as a scene begins to unfold.

We see Chris alongside Celeste Crimson as she is being moved by stretcher backstage on the night of the Lethal Lottery. The scene is silent as Celeste hands Chris an envelope and speaks to him. Chris chimes in as the footage plays.

Chris: You see, a lot of people were able conclude that Celeste gave me her Lethal Lottery number that night. That theory was proven right whenever I entered the match, despite not claiming victory in the EurAsian Title match that never even happened. What a lot of people don’t know, is that Celeste inserted more than just her Lottery number inside of that envelope.

The footage shows Chris inside of an empty locker-room as he opens the envelope that Celeste gave him. He pulls out the lottery number and is surprised to find it in there. He sets the lottery number down as he notices that something else is tucked inside of the envelope. He reaches inside and pulls out a piece of medical bandage tape.

Chris: Celeste used her own blood to etch down the name of her attacker on a piece of medical bandage tape.

The footage shows Chris unraveling the tape and suddenly his eyes grow wide from shock. He double takes a shot of the tape as his face slowly grows enraged. He smashes the medical tape inside of his hands and stands up in a jolt. The shot shows him exiting the room as Chris speaks up.

Chris: From then, well everyone pretty much knows that part of the story.

Footage of Chris in the Lethal Lottery is shown as he speaks over the video.

Chris: I came in as a ball of emotions. I didn’t know how I should handle everything inside of me. The best thing that probably could of happen to me was when Barbosa threw me over the top rope.

The video shows Chris being tossed over along with Dr. Alhazred.

Chris: At the time I was furious, but in reality I truly needed time to think… to plan. So, I went to the only place where I knew I would be alone. The one place that reminded me why I needed to do what I needed to do.

The video shot transitions to a parked car in a driveway. In the distance, is Chris fumbling through a set of keys as he stands at the doorway of the Apostles parsonage. The yard of the location is blistering with weeds and unknown fungi; clearly showing signs of being unkempt. The parsonage itself is as decrepit as ever. The faded grey shingles provide a top hat for the dry cobblestone that now houses cobwebs within its cracks.

Chris finally isolates a key from his bundle and he ignites the lock of the door and slowly pushes it ajar. The light from outside provides a cool shade amongst the darkness. Chris steps into the place he once called home. Each step is mocked by a creaking sound that echoes through out the empty house. He slowly makes his way down the unlit hallway as he approaches a panel of switches. He flicks a switch, but no light shines from above. At this time, Chris opts to pull out his cell phone and use the radiance of the screen as his only source of illumination.

Chris: It was a place where great minds gathered. Yes, Ty was the mastermind, but something spurred underneath him. Behind every great man in power is a strong underlining force that supports him from the bottom.

The footage shows Chris walking past the study room. Chris shines his light in as we see the book cases covered in cobwebs. Chris stares at the desk and chair that lies underneath a blanket of dust within the center of the room. We see a ghastly image of Chris reading “The Death of Salesman,” but it quickly evaporates into the onyx rim of the room.

Chris pauses for a moment, but presses on. We see him slowly ascend the flight of stairs within the house. His arm slowly slides up the railing as dust collects underneath his palm. As he walks up the stairs, he passes through another vapor image of Chris, as he sits sulking on top of the stairs, staring down into the living room. The impact from the actual Chris causes the image to vanish.

Chris: Memories are not simply revisited in one’s mind.

We see Chris stop at a door in the upstairs hallway. He turns the door knob and opens it. The room is a mess, but the gadgets and gizmos that are strung across the room suggest that it belonged to Mister Alhazred, formerly known as Dr. Alhazred.

Chris: Alhazred didn’t have much reason to stick around the house after I started bumming it out in hotel rooms. He thought his van might be a better place of residence. I hadn’t talked to him much since James left. Speaking of which…

The video shows Chris leaving Alhazred’s old room and stepping up to another door. The door itself is ajar, as Chris pushes it fully open. The room seems fairly normal as the bed is made and several trinkets decorate the wall. Clothes hang inside an open closet on other side of the room as Chris examines the internal structure via his cell phone light. An accumulation of dust and cobwebs seem to be the only addition since Chris last saw the room.

Chris: He never came back for his stuff after Ty deemed unworthy. Alhazred is a cool guy and all, but James and I really connected. Hell, we started this whole thing before Ty decided to stick his brand label on it. *Chris laughs to himself inside of the skybox*

We transition to a shot from the camera man as we look at Chris in his seat. Chris looks over at the camera.

Chris: But, If I had to be honest. I didn’t come back to see the parsonage itself. Don’t get me wrong. The thought of James and Alhazred really fueled me up, but ultimately their stories were none of my concern. What I really came to see was this. *Chris points at the screen as the camera turns to look*

The video footage is now showing Chris as he descends down a flight of stone steps. An aura of light surrounds his presence as he slowly makes his way down the cemented stairs. He finally reaches the bottom as he extends his hand out for something on the wall.

*flick*

Auburn lights begin to capture the room as the area is revealed as the parsonage’s catacomb. Dozens of stone tombs fill the open crypt that Chris and James used before their tag-team match at Unscripted. “How ironic that the lights worked amongst the dead,” thought Chris.

He begins to greet each stone tomb by the tips of his fingers, slowly creating pure lines of grey as he wipes away the enrapturing dust that coats the stone structures. He strolls amongst the dead as he walks aloof in the quiet catacomb. Until he finally spots what he is looking for. He slowly positioned himself in between two stone tombs on the far end of the room. He looks down at one of the two graves as he slowly raises his fingers to his lips. A gentle breeze comes from his mouth as he expells the dust from his finger tips. With an echoing slam, his palm lands firmly atop of the stone basin. With one faint swoop, he smears away a collection of dust and reveals a familiar white chalk. The name “Everest” remained atop of the casket from all those months ago. Chris’ face slowly begins to show signs of remorse as he smears away the rest of the dust around the name. It was himself who had gifted the casket to Everest’s name. Chris begins to speak out loud inside of the catacombs.

Chris: What a childish fool I was. A “legend killer” who flopped after a month of being under Ty’s leash.

Chris bares a faint smile as he turns to the other tomb. He uses his other hand to wipe away the dust and reveals “Brad Bomb” on top of the casket.

Chris: James and I set forth to bury those two men, but yet they still walk amongst us. What did we accomplish? What were we trying to even accomplish? I know it must of have been meaningless if I can’t even remember it now. I-

The sound of footsteps immediately stop Chris in his speech as he turns toward the figure that now descends the stairs. He is somewhat relieved whenever he sees that is Ian Crawford.

Chris: Ian.

Ian finally makes his way to the bottom of the steps as he walks towards the center of the catacomb.

Ian: Chris.

Chris steps forward as the two of them meet in the middle, with a lone tomb separating them both. They stand on opposite sides as they look at each other with a silent stare.

Ian: I am sorry for your loss Christopher.

Ian pushes up his glasses on his nose as he looks on at Chris, who casually scratches the back of his head.

Chris: Thanks, Ian, but if it is all the same to you, I prefer that my father be omitted from future conversations.

Ian: Understood.

Chris: Are you here on business?

Ian: Sort of. You would be delighted to know that you will be facing Black Dragon at the upcoming Ascension. Ty was initially very angry with your no-show at the Lethal Lottery. However, his mood changed after winning the Lottery match itself and opted to place you in a rematch with the EurAsian title once again being up for grabs. Losing is not an option this time around.

Chris: Black Dragon…

Chris turns away from Ian as he walks over to the stone walls of the catacomb. A stone knight is etched onto the wall with a shield in hand.

Chris: Yes… Two times now, isn’t it? Not counting the no-show at the Lethal Lottery of course. I’ve lost to this man twice in one-on-one combat. The first as someone who fights for good, and the second as someone who fights for evil. Now, I don’t know really what I am fighting for.

Chris extends his hand out as he rubs the engraved creases of the shield.

Chris: Why a dragon? Is there some significance there or does it pertain to some hidden lore that is tucked into his youth. A dragon has the most intimidating roar of any creature, but yet this man doesn’t speak a word to the public ear. Why choose such a mythical being as one‘s symbol?

Chris pulls his hand away from the shield as he rubs his chin.

Chris: I have come to respect his work in the ring, but I can’t help but feel that something is strange about his methods. Yes, he did best Blade, beguile Beckford, and wreak havoc on Hammond, but what is his purpose? Can he truly fulfill that without even muttering a word? Or is there some selfish gain that is kept hidden?

Not only that, but I find it hard to believe that Bateman would allow such a match on Ascension. Surely, he would want to refrain from giving the Apostles any type of chance at WZCW gold. This can only mean that Dragon insisted on it.

Ian: Was your first match not with Black Dragon?

Chris: Yes, and he got the best of me. His mask provided a healthy cover for his maturity in the ring. Funny to think that we are now the only two men from our recruiting class. No more large elephants or creepy dads with bats. Just a dragon and a man. He seems to be more enamored with our conjoined fate than I do with him.

Chris turns to face Ian, as he begins to step back to the center tomb.

Chris: You know, dragons are fierce creatures. They cannot be slain by a simple sword, or deflected by chain mail or a shield. Medieval lore often portray them as supernatural beasts that defile many attempts at their head.

Chris stops as he reaches the tomb that he was at before. Ian looks at him.

Ian: So, how does one beat a dragon?

Chris: I don’t know.

Ian is taken back at this response.

Chris: The last few fights that I have been in have been failures for me. I claimed to know how to best my opponent, but I learned that pride got me no where.

Chris leans over the tomb as he smirks with his head down.

Chris: What happens whenever a man faces a dragon? Can he even win? Two times prior say no and I don’t have a lot of momentum going for me, but I’ll be damned if that’s going to stop me.

This is a trial.

A test.

Because beyond the dragon is even fowler beast.

But If I can’t slay a dragon, then how can I ever slay the one beyond him?

Ian: What are you talking about Chris?

Chris smiles as he looks up from his hunched over position.

Chris: Can you keep a secret Ian?

Ian doesn’t respond, but Chris reaches into his pocket anyway. Ian watches him as Chris unravels what appears to be medical tape.

Chris: On this bandage, is the name of the man I plan to ultimately destroy. Everything I do from here on out, is all to prepare for him.

Ian: Chri-

Chris slams down the bandage on the tomb and smoothes out the creases. The name “Ty Burna” is written in blood on the bandage as Ian steps back.

Ian: I work directly for Ty, Chris. He trust me with everything he owns. What makes you think that I won’t turn this in to him?

Chris turns away from Ian.

Chris: Then why are you here?

Ian’s mouth opens to respond, but no words come out.

Chris: I need your help Ian. A random in-ring assault won’t do anything. No, Ty has to be taken down internally. The beast must be killed from within.

Ian still can’t speak as his mouth remains ajar.

Chris: I plan on remaining under his hand until I feel the time is right.

Chris turns back around to look at Ian.

Chris: I’m going to win the EurAsian championship on Ascension. Not because I have some blood feud with Black Dragon or because I am seeking the EurAsian championship. I’m sorry, but I cannot create dispute where it does not lie in my heart. No, I’m going to win simply because it gets me one step closer to my goal.

One step closer to slaying the beast.

I need to know, are you with me?

Chris extends his hand over the tomb. The bandage with “Ty Burna” written on it lies directly below the hand gesture. We see Ian, with sweat forming on his brow. The man who is usually extremely professional is now perspiring a storm. We get a shot of Chris’ extended hand as the footage pauses.

The camera man sitting inside of the skybox jerks towards Chris as he holds the remote in his hand.

Chris: Sorry, bathroom break!

Chris gives a cheesy smile as the camera nods and then goes black.