Ty: What does it matter? These losses that people claim to hold some worth? They are nothing to me. There is nothing on the line other then their own pride. I have losses, I have lost the World Title through my grasp twice. I have lost the Eurasian and Mayhem Titles as well. Those are the only losses that are worthwhile contemplating further on. In the end I still own WZCW. I still run this company, and they still answer to me whether they want to carry on with a small smirk on their face, or if they wish to play up the fact they were victorious over me.
What does it matter? Nothing. I am still here. And now, a shot at the WZCW World Heavyweight Title. Why do I deserve such an opportunity? Because I damn well said so. I don't need to go up the ladder. I don't need to prove myself anymore that I deserve one more opportunity at the title. There is nothing left for me to prove. There is nothing left. There is nothing. What purpose do I serve now? To be the scapegoat for everyone's problems? Do I stand before you a man willing to be whipped not for my indiscretions, but for the foolish and pathetic acts of others? I am the catalyst. I am the one that makes everything here go around. It has not changed since the get go. Everything happens for a reason and I am that reason. Do you know why that is? Why I am the one who must always introduce yet another shocking revelation? I am a soothsayer, a prophet, no, a harbinger. I am the one that has brought Chaos to the masses. I am the one that has my finger on the pulse of WZCW. Those that cannot stand against the rushing tide are to be swept away, though we will forever hear their complaints echoing throughout the miasma. I am the one they point fingers towards when their own efforts aren't good enough. Am I to blame for your suffering? Am I the one to save you from your own despair? I am not a messiah. I bring ruination upon those that act as such. Respect is difficult to earn from me, and only a few have been afforded such a reward.
Did I have any real reason to put Barbosa and I in the Cell last week? Did I have an extra motivation for such a match? There was no reason to put myself in that predicament because I did it anyway. Do you want to know why? Because no matter the outcome, Barbosa was the perfect candidate to become my punching bag. Someone to beat the holy hell out of that can fight back. I took out my frustration and rage out on him in the Cell. It matters not that due to Chris' interference that I lost the match. The fact remains that I was able to cut loose, able to inflict punishment as I have always held so near and dear to my heart. You call me a sadist, I consider it nothing more then desire. A victory means nothing to me, another notch in the win column. A loss only furthers Barbosa's confusion in his direction. Have I held him swaying in the wind absentmindedly? Absolutely I have, and I will continue to do so as long as I can. Nothing more then toys, toys that are meant to be played with, broken beyond recognition, and discarded. Every single person in WZCW bows at my feet. They whisper their hatred for their ruler with his back turned, only to beg for piety and mercy when my gaze travels across them. So it is, to be loved falsely and truly hated. A balance that seems even, yet is tilted to one side. This will continue so long as my success angers them all. I do not care. I do not care that their eyes turn green with envy, it only gives me more reason to decimate them so I no longer have to stare into their beady eyes, their hatred pouring from their irises. I have done much in WZCW to afford such hatred, but what of those that have no contact with me? Do they hate me as such also? Does it matter? They call me out by name, vainly hoping to hear a response. To maybe be validated and seen as legitimate, they yell my name. Yet their words fall on deaf ears, deaf ears upon a man who is only focused inside his own dimension, no, his own realm of mind. What has caused a man to retract himself into such a realm, to feel that all who turn their eyes upon him have become enemies? Was it the falsifying of friends, the lost innocence of a man who once claimed enjoyment from activities many see as a desire to place far more importance on, or was it merely the cascade of voices, surrounding him at every moment calling out for his attention? It no longer matters. What matters is what happens when that man finally snaps, to finally speak his peace towards those that have afflicted him, to those that have attempted to pierce through his heart and leave him lying in blood. Only no words come, the sound of his voice no longer capable of carrying the tone of sympathy or anger. The fists become quill pens, inscribing upon the face of his enemies like a rolled up parchment, signifying each and every word his voice could not produce. It will continue as such until there are no more words, just silence, a silence that has been come far too late. For even in silence there is no peace in this man's mind, only the continuing violence dancing across his eyes, the taste of blood and tears upon his tongue.
Nothing else matters, nothing else matters to him but to further gorge himself upon such adrenaline. He seeks more, more people to join the cadence of those that wish for his destruction. A man who once believed himself to be loved, has now lost the ability to feel such warmth, his heart iced over and perhaps no longer beating. He becomes the machination that he truly detested, walking through the rest of his days in a coma he can never escape from. He becomes more vile, more detested as each day passes, until he becomes the very essence of evil with no chance of redemption. Isn't this correct Christopher? More and more I become erratic, my attacks becoming more personal yet with each assault, becomes more justifiable. Merely defeating enemies isn't enough. No longer is it worth my time in claiming victory, no, I must shed their blood. I must soak the ground in blood, so that their sins and their unabashed hatred becomes the very thing that chokes and drowns them, the very irony playing in their minds only amidst their last breath.
They will drown in their sea of sin, just as you will Christopher. There will be no celebrations, there will be no more penthouse suites for you, nothing but a cold box to lie in, your hands trembling and your soul forever scarred. You will beg me to end you Christopher, you will beg me to drag you from that overflowing river of blood and ask that I put the stake through your heart, to end what has become fraudulent. You will that anguish Christopher, and you will feel that desire for it to come to an end. After all, there is nothing left. There is nothing. Nothing for you to say or prove that will help you become the hero you so desperately wish to be seen as. It will all end, a failed hero falling to the machination you now have helped create.
But not before you watch on, hoping in vain against the inevitable, as I dissect one of the few men worthy of my respect. They do not understand the work and dedication that has gone into what we've accomplished Showtime. They do not understand just what we have gone through, not only against one another but amongst those that turn their envy towards us. You are no different from I, your thirst for blood hasn't been quenched, and I will provide you that Showtime. The World Title, a mere object that stands between us yet still defines us to this day. There is nothing left for us Showtime. We have nearly destroyed one another. We have destroyed those who were once considered allies just to get at one another. Do you not feel those that wish us to kill each other off? They know full well with us still around they cannot take our positions at the top. They cannot thieve and steal from us without us being there Showtime. No matter the outcome, we will still be considered elite amongst the masses, their disdain for those with riches growing with each passing moment. Even if I were to pass on to whatever may be ahead for me, they will merely turn their hatred for me towards you, not because you deserve the hatred that I receive, but because you are the only target left. You are the only one that they know in their minds they simply cannot beat. We are the two dragons, forever entangled in a war neither of us can win. Yet the fools try to slay us, bring us down to their level, only for them to find out that there is nothing stopping us. Another chapter in a never ending war, another epic to be penned in dark ink across the parchment. History once again repeating itself, the two greatest anointed warriors battling for supremacy yet again, the thoughts of the final showdown spinning in their minds, only to find out it is but an end to a chapter, the parable never coming to fruition, no lesson to be learned other then the fact that two men can indeed try to destroy each other physically, mentally, and emotionally no matter the situation that comes up between them. They will watch in anticipation Showtime, they will watch as they believe us to expose each of our flaws to the other, yet there is nothing they can do to exploit that. The winner goes on to carry the title of Champion, to carry the essence of a warrior to greater heights that both of us have ascended to. And when it is over, we will rest, and it will become so yet again, another fierce battle, a victory that is worthy of being claimed. It will not stop David, even with Big Dave doing what is right I know you will not make it easy. The World Title will be mine however David, it must become true. It must because it will be the final blow, the final blow for the chorus surrounding my soul to begin their sorrowful wallowing at my brilliance yet again. And then, one after another, I will snap their necks, finally allowing me the silence that I should have earned so long ago.
