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Post by Osh Vaughan on Aug 25, 2021 13:13:02 GMT
Xero vs Griff Warner
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Xero
New Member
Posts: 6
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Post by Xero on Aug 26, 2021 9:47:31 GMT
"This is my life now. This is all that I have known ever since I was eleven years old. Stowed away, with no indication as to why aside from the generic 'we're doing this to protect you' from the very few people who know where this domain is. To tell you the truth, I don't even know where I am, for I was brought here the morning following the murder and told to stay here until it was deemed to be safe? Safe by whom? I am as lost as you are. All I do is wake up every morning, eat three times a day and then go back to sleep at night, as if I am a machine. I have not had contact with anyone save for those few people who visit and never for more than ten minutes per day, maybe twenty on a good day. I don't even know their names or even what they have to do with me or my mother. Until today, that is. For today, is the day that they have finally allowed me to venture out to the world and re-commence my life. A life that had been stripped away from me that night."
The man simply known as Xero sits alone within an empty room, aside from the singular steel chair that he is seated upon and a lightbulb that is rested within the ceiling, hanging precariously from a copper wire that looks as if it could fall at any given moment. The walls are barren and plastered in snow white and the floors are simply oak, though nylon can still be seen from when the previous carpeting was torn out. His expression stoic, Xero continues staring forward at the oaken door that has also been painted snow white, so as to match the rest of the room. Waiting for somebody. Anybody to walk in and tell him what the purpose of being in this room is. Of even being in this location, wherever it is.
For that, much like everything else related to Xero, has been locked away within a cabinet. Listed as "classified" and and told "need to know" every time he has even broached the subject with those who he has interacted with. Yet he knows that it is unlikely anybody will arrive and inform him of what is going to happen next, at least not right now. For the person who provided him with the information that he would be allowed to head off to England and the IIW Headquarters had come an hour ago, and left as soon as he had arrived.
"Solitude is all I have known. It is what has in a strange way, brought me peace. Yet I know that this is what must be. That if I am to become the man I promised my mother I would be. If I am to truly reclaim myself, then this is what is needed."
His words stated in a reflective tone, he begins to rise, only to feel some sort of invisible force pushing against him, Commanding him to remain in his seat until he is given an indication of just what is awaiting him. After all, this could all be a trick. A scheme by them to claim that they are letting him go free, only to entrap him and either leave him for dead or even worse, actually kill him. The fact that they were extremely vague with the details of his supposed release into society, and more specifically, the hands of the IIW.
"Yet is it what I truly want? Is this all intended to be some sort of maze, designed for me to get lost within, so that they can say they were right? So that they can affirm that I was eternally condemned to be sealed within this little box, left with nothing but my own thoughts to keep me company? Is that what they truly want, or is this all part of their plan to turn me into their own maniac? Their own little secret, stowed away until they see fit for me to be unleashed upon the world."
Xero scowls, his body tensing up at that very notion. Deep down, he knows that to many, he could be seen as nothing more than a sheep. An obedient little foot soldier, ready to spring into action at the beck and call of his masters. Something that he never wishes to be, for it would go against everything that he stands for. Everything that he has instilled in himself throughout the duration of his time within this isolation. This solitude. It is then that he notices something being slid under the tiny gap at the bottom of the door. Appearing to be a burnt umber colored manila folder with the letters ``IIW" written across the front in black marker. Gazing at it, Xero slowly makes his way up to his feet, walking over to the folder and picking it up. His eyes fixated on the lettering.
Was this the location they were sending him to? A codename for the project that had enacted his freedom? Or the wrestling company in which he would be competing? All he has to go off are these three nondescript letters and whatever the contents of this folder might be. Walking back to the chair, his eyes turn into a focused stare as he opens the folder and sees a singular picture of a male with flowing blond hair that is about shoulder length, as well as ocean blue eyes and a smile which exudes a certain amount of arrogance or self-confidence, causing a small smile to appear across the face of Xero.
Could this be his target? A man who may hold a clue as to what occurred to his mother? Or a mere innocent, who just happens to be in the way of what Xero desires? Either way, he cares not about that right now, as he casts his eyes to the name, scribbled in blue pen and revealing the person's identity to be that of Griff Warner. A name that is unfamiliar to Xero.
"What is it you know? What is it that you are hiding behind that smile? Those eyes? Why have you been the one that has been fed to me? Did you commit an action in a past life, or even this one, that requires you to receive your penance? To be led into my path? What could lead to somebody wishing for your entrails to be left upon the floor, free for the buzzards. The vultures to pick apart as I stand over you, smiling as your soul floats within purgatory. Waiting to be told whether you shall be allowed to wander through the gates of heaven, or dismissed to the fiery depths of hell, where you shall be left to atone for the sins you have committed."
His eyebrows furrowing, Xero flips the page, seeing that whoever slid this folder had left him with some notes. Informing him of the purpose of this folder. The IIW is indeed a wrestling promotion, as well as the company that shall be harboring him as he steps out, not just to freedom and the world, but also into the industry of wrestling. As for Griff Warner? He has been the one designated as his debut opponent. The man who he must stand across from when he enters the ring on September the 12th at an event coined as "Up in Smoke".
Scanning through the notes, the mercenary of sorts simply and calmly makes a mental note of some of the key components within. Like Griff's measurements and mannerisms. Aspects that he believes shall help him formulate an approach in which to pick Griff apart. Piece by piece and ensure that the IIW understands that to him, this is just a means to an end. A method in which to extract answers or clues as to just what happened that bitter night his mother died, and hopefully as to who was the mastermind behind it all.
"Griff. Griff Warner. You are the one who they wish to see laid to rest. The one who shall become the first of many to realize that you are nothing more than a pawn. A piece that must fall, if I am to attain my vengeance. If I am to fulfill my desire for retribution upon those who attempt to deny me what I truly seek. If I were a normal man, I would almost feel sorry for you, seeing as this isn't your fault. You weren't the one who asked to be fed to the wolves this early into what I'm sure you were hoping would be a long and productive career. One where you envisioned yourself being able to enter the hallowed pantheon of greats within the industry, only to realize that it was all brought to a sickening halt one match in."
He laughs.
"However, I don't. I feel nothing but the desire to break you. To watch the life drain from your eyes as you squirm and attempt to cry out for help. Only to realize that it is futile, for nobody shall be able to hear you. Nobody shall be able to save you from the wrath. The rage that resides deep within my soul. Knocking on the door of my heart and begging me to let it rain upon the world. Come Up in Smoke, as it is called, that is precisely what shall be occurring at your expense. For this isn't about you. This isn't a battle that you should be fighting, and deep down, I think you know that too. Underneath that self-confidence and those piercing eyes lies a man who just wishes to be set free. Unburdened from the weight that his shoulders must bear. A weight that you have put upon yourself, to become this all-time icon. To become "the truth" as you believe yourself to be."
Xero pauses, closing the folder and letting it rest on his lap as he looks back toward the door. His words hopefully strike Griff right in his mind and make him begin to wonder if this is the route he truly desires. If he wishes to be the one who is used as "exhibit A" of what shall happen if you find yourself in Xero's line of sight. Much like a person who is the subject of a hit, he is nothing more than a sitting duck in the eyes of a man who could very well be an incarnation of the famed Grim Reaper, which is a portrayal that Xero is more than happy to accept. If that is how people wish to perceive him, in order to justify themselves when they recoil and tremble within his presence, then that is their choice.
"Isn't that one of your motivations? So that people can see you as being this oracle. This bearer of truth to them, whether they are willing to accept it or not? I'd hate to be the one to burst your little bubble and deliver a dose of reality into your veins that you may see as unsolicited, but you are far from the bearer of any truth. For you are just as misguided as the lambs that surround you. As the poor, naïve children who sit in the audience, asking their parents just what do I mean? Just why am I brutally tearing down another man, without an inch of remorse or sorrow within my veins. Leaving only just a withering and lifeless body atop the canvas, ripe for the picking in my wake. Eyes shut and barely able to let out even the weakest of breaths. You see, truth is a concept. It is something made in order to ease the minds of the masses and justify their actions, when there would be no other means for them to validate what they have committed. When they need a word that suddenly absolves them of any guilt that they may have held."
Standing up once more, Xero gives off the appearance of a preacher, delivering a sermon from atop a pulpit. Especially when combined with the loose fitting black shirt and jeans that are his current attire. His facial expression remains callous and cold throughout all this, with not even a slight smile able to peer through. Adding to the chilling effect and vibe that has arisen throughout the room. For most people, this would be enough to question whether they are making the right choice in enabling Xero to roam free and walk straight into the halls of IIW, for they may not be able to control what he will do once he arrives there. Or at the very least, it leaves them hoping. Praying that there is some sort of plan in place to ensure that he cannot run as rampant as he wishes, unfettered and unchecked.
"Oh, how innocent they and you truly are. Believing in such a concept, when it doesn't exist. It has never existed, and you would see that if you merely opened your eyes and witnessed the degradation of the world around us. A world that cares not about what you believe or what you desire, but about ensuring that you understand that you are merely a singular entity within its hands. Unable to do anything about the supposed injustices that you witness, nor do you have the capability of changing it on your own. No entity does, as much as they may claim that they do, for just like it is not in your hands what shall arise when you have no choice but to stand before me and stare deep into my eyes, they have no choice as to what awaits them when the time arrives for them to step up to the plate. Exercise the demons that fester within them."
Relishing in the squirming imaginary audience that is watching him, Xero begins pacing around the room. Attempting to manifest the precise words he desires in order to convey the message. Make sure that Griff, much like everyone else who may stand in his way, realizes that all they are doing is writing their own tombstone and digging their own grave. Awaiting Xero to bury them within it.
"For we all have demons. We all have the famed skeletons within our closet, that we would rather remain hidden. The difference comes in how one deals with them. You can choose to keep them hidden, begging and pleading with people to not expose them to the world, lest your façade be unraveled and your world brought to collapse. You can choose to let people catch a glimpse of them, yet still hope that it will be enough for them to overlook or ignore them or you can embrace them. You can let them be released to the world and care not about the consequences, even if it results in people claiming that you are a monster. A sick and depraved being that needs to be locked away and the key to your release discarded. This is the category that I fit into. The little box that if I was to be put into, would be this one. You on the other hand, give off the illusion of being part of the first category. What you fail to understand, however, is that no matter how valiantly you try. No matter how hard you push your shoulder against the door, the skeletons will always make their way to the light and will leave you with no choice but to own them. To accept that they are yours eternally. Luckily for you, I shall be relieving you of that burden. That struggle that you are facing, when we set foot inside of the ring. I will be the one who shall set you free, and you will be able to finally rest easy."
Xero sadistically chuckles.
"You will no longer have to worry about living up to your standards, nor shall you have any secrets eating away at you. And all it will take is a Merciless Resolution in order to do so. I cannot ensure that you will be able to speak or breathe normally, or be able to hug those you cherish but that is only minor in the grand scheme of things. You are merely the first Griff, and that is something you should see as an honor. A badge to wear once you arrive at your destination."
Xero holds onto his next words, a soft laugh floating underneath his previous chuckle.
"I promise you this, however. It will be worth it when all is said and done. It will be worth the helplessness that shall resonate throughout your body. It will be worth the agony that shall flow through your veins as you feel the light slip further and further away. Knowing that all struggling will do, is cause you to slip closer into the everlasting darkness and misery. Yet it is what shall liberate you."
Just as Xero finishes that remark, he hears the door slowly creaking open and a male pop his head in through the small opening that has been formed.
"You ready?"
Xero looks at the man. Curious as to why he would either interrupt the sermon, or vaguely ask if he is ready. As if there is something that he needs to be ready for at this instant.
"For what? Is there a valid reason you would see fit to interrupt my sermon?"
His voice vitriolic in nature, the man responds with a simple sigh. One that indicates that perhaps Xero is unaware.
"The car is here to take you to the airport, as promised. The flight is set to take off in three hours."
This causes a small yet evident smile to appear across the dour man's face, as the door is now fully opened and Xero cautiously begins to make his way out of the room and into an equally barren hallway. Making sure to maintain eye contact with the man who beckoned him at all times, in case he does decide to attack. Spring the trap. Yet the man simply steps aside, allowing Xero to make his way about three feet from the door before swinging it back shut.
"It's out the front."
The man motions to a door about seven feet in front of Xero, which he makes his way toward. His eyes and body starting to relax as he now understands that this is a genuine gesture, yet the weariness maintains. Whilst this man may be acting in good faith toward him, who's to say the "driver" will do so? Or anyone else that may be within the car? Opening the front door, Xero notices the car and stares directly at the driver. A man who appears to be in his mid-thirties and is wearing a navy blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt as well as dark tinted sunglasses, concealing his eyes. Unrelenting in his stare, Xero makes his way over to the air, a jet black 2020 Model Mercedes-Benz GLA class before opening the passenger's side door and cautiously entering.
"Everything is in the trunk."
Remarking this, the driver uses his right arm to gesture behind him as Xero simply nods. Waiting for him to either start driving or state something more pertinent to the situation. Chiefly, inform him if he intends on doing anything beside simply driving Xero to the airport and dropping him off.
"I'm assuming you got the dossier?"
Xero once again nods in affirmation, knowing that he is talking about the manila folder that contained the information about the IIW and Griff Warner.
"Tell whoever sent it that Griff's blood shall be on their hands as much as it will be on mine when I am finished with him, and that there shall be more to follow, until I attain retribution. For this is what you wish."
Stern, Xero glares at the man, who simply makes a note to inform his superiors when he returns to headquarters following his duties. Beginning to reverse, the man realizes that it is likely best to allow the radio to be the only sound within the car during this drive, as he knows that if he were to initiate discourse with Xero, it would only result in the latter attempting to pry into just who he is, and more importantly, who has commissioned him. Both pieces of information he cannot give, for it would breach his non-disclosure agreement with his bosses. Either way, the car begins to pull out of sight, headed toward the airport and more importantly, meaning that Xero is inching closer to truly reclaiming his freedom. His life and unleashing a reign of terror upon the IIW.
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Post by Xander Truxell on Aug 26, 2021 21:03:53 GMT
Griff Warner, wearing charcoal pants, blue button down shirt , dark blue blazer and a royal blue tie, sits in a chair while some woman does his make up. She’s heavyset with dark blonde hair. He’s getting ready for his first promo since signing with a new company. He’s been booked against Xero, whoever that is. Must be another hack. Warner snaps back to the woman, who’s doing a terrible job - to Greatness standards. She’s wearing a nametag that reads ‘Claire’
‘Do you know what you’re doing, Blaire? Very amateur job. Is this how this company treats Greatness, a future champion?’
She points to her name tag as if to say ‘it’s Claire’
‘Yea,I know Blaire.’
Claire scoffs, leaving in a tizzy as Warner stands up, ready for his facetime in front of the camera. What’s her problem?
He heads down the hall, passing by a few IIW guys on the roster.No idea some of these hacks are in this company, there's only one man that’s elite in this company - Griff Warner. It’s certainly not Xero. And from all accounts, he is just a peon. How embarrassing. Doesn’t he know Greatness will make him tap?
The problem with a guy like Xero, is that he’s a complete nutcase. The faster you realize that this all about the money and not some ‘job you took’ you'll be better off in the long run. That and he can’t find everything you need to know about Greatness in a manila folder. Hack.
I know you’re looking for answers and The Truth.
The Truth? I’m better than you.Warner regains himself from his inner monologue and turns to find a studio setting. It’s time for Greatness to cut his first promo in front of the camera.Greatness has to face off with a nobody like Xero, the man’s first match. Don’t you know I’ll embarrass you? The Truth is ready to make it 1-0 here, peon.
Warner smirks at the camera. Then runs his hands through his blonde hair before straightening his tie and before continuing.Xero might think he wants to go toe to toe with Greatness, only to find he has no chance. That he’s scared of Griff Warner. Now, Xero thinks of himself as an ‘agent’
Griff scoffs.Please. You couldn’t be bothered to let us know where you’re from redacted? It’s all redacted, peon. What’s that like, Xero? Wait until Greatness beats you senseless.
Hate to burst my bubble? You aren’t going to beat The Truth, trash. I’m going to burst your huge bubble. You like to think of yourself as thoughtful, that’s clear. Your mother is disappointed, We all know it. Reign of terror? Who are you again?
You’ve got no shot when I lock in that sharpshooter, The Truth will revel in hearing you scream as I lock in that ‘Tap Already’ and then tap like the hack you are.
Greatness owns you.
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Xero
New Member
Posts: 6
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Post by Xero on Aug 28, 2021 17:21:09 GMT
"Ever since walking out of the airport and feeling the fresh air truly hit my body, I find myself awash with sensations. Feelings of clarity. Of understanding that this is what it means to be free, To be able to roam without having to be confined to a singular area. Monitored as I do so, though I know they are still surveilling me. I know that they are attempting to ensure I know that no matter what, their eyes are still on me. Making sure that I know that they can take this freedom away and return me to their chambers once more, should they so choose to. Yet that doesn't phase me, for it is only secondary. It is only a minor piece of the grander picture. A picture that includes what awaits me going forth, especially within the landscape of the IIW and what they may hold."
Barren.
Decrepit.
Those two words are apt descriptions of the state of the singular room that Xero finds himself in currently, having arrived thirteen hours ago. In terms of furniture within this particular room, there is only a single seated tuxedo couch that stands out like a sore thumb when compared to the rest of the room. As if it were an artifact within ruins. It is atop that couch, that Xero sits, wearing a black shirt, jeans and black tennis shoes, simply staring out at the single window about nine feet in front of him. His eyes steely in their focus as he ponders the words the woman who drove him here had stated to him. Words to the effect of "Be cautious, for you never know who may be lurking around the corner," as if it were intended as a threat. Or a manner of informing him that no matter what. No matter how free he might appear on the outside, they will always have him right under their thumb and that there is nothing he can do about it.
It is something that he has accepted, and something that causes him to ensure that his head is on a swivel at all times. Making sure that no is always aware of any people that may be there to surveil him and report back on his status. Inform those who are in charge of his progression. Yet for now, that doesn't bother him. He shall deal with them when the time arises that he needs to. Inhaling, he continues to blankly stare out the window, pondering his first task. His first means of ensuring that IIW realizes just who he is and what he is capable of between the ropes, where he can simply hurt his opponents and force them to feel the rage. The remorseless suffering that he intends on raining down upon them, without having to worry himself about potential ramifications from the judicial system.
"A picture that includes the self-obsessed yet misguided soul of Griff Warner. A man who falsely believes that he can step between those ropes and look me into the eyes whilst holding the hopes of surviving. Of being able to tell a tale of how he was able to overcome and persevere against odds that are insurmountable and walk upon the pantheon of those who came before him victorious, when he doesn't even know the first thing about what shall become of him once it is all said and done."
A soft smile appears across Xero's lips, as he maintains his focus and continues on with his speech.
"Continuing to peddle his belief in the concept of "the truth" as well as asserting that he is some arbiter of what it holds, when it does not even exist. At least, not in the manner that he or the masses assume it to. Yet in time, he shall learn for that is not a lesson that any one person can talk about. It is not a message that is conveyed through one's statements, but it is one that you must live. That must be experienced first hand in order to truly comprehend its gravity. Up in Smoke will only be the beginning of that lesson, for it takes multiple experiences in order to grasp."
Xero simply allows those words to strike his foe in both the mind and the heart. He wishes for him to understand that this is intended to help him. Improve his grasp on the world and all that is locked within it, even if it is a lesson that he was never taught in school.
"When you do, you will understand. You will finally be able to see what has been surrounding you this entire time as you have walked this earth, yet have allowed yourself to fester. It is a lesson that I had to learn, once I was locked away in solitude. Left with only drips and scraps when it came to food and water, yet now that I comprehend it. Now that I understand it- I realize that it was the only way that it could be taught. That this was merely a means to ensure that I was solely focused on what lay before me, without being clouded by abstracts that humans have allowed themselves to buy into. Allowed to feed their own sense of ego and blinded them from their own circumstances. The reality that surrounds just what makes them. That shall break them, when their time arrives and they are left with no other alternative but to stare into the mirror and gaze into it."
His smile turning back into a stoic expression, Xero turns his head over to the right hand side corner of the room and the only other decorative feature. It's a shimmering silver stature of a man, who appears to be dressed in some sort of attire from the Mesolithic period. About four feet in size, it is something that appears to have been placed there for a reason. Though what that is, is unknown. Even to Xero. Yet nonetheless, he stares at it, as if he can hear it wishing to talk to him before returning his stare to the window. Having supposedly heard what it had for him.
"When you do, you shall realize that your faux security within yourself, was merely denial. A false sense of hope, that enticed you into walking right into your own destruction. Your own body, wishing for its end to arrive so that it need not have to pretend any more. Your mind, deceiving you and enabling the belief that I am nothing more than a name. A face, sent to fuel you as you rise to the heights you believe you belong at, when that was never the case."
His stare enough to kill an entire army, each word cuts through the air as if they were sharpened daggers inflicting wounds upon Griff's body. Hitting him in all of his vital organs.
"For you are the one that is the pawn in this game. A peon, who has been placed into the guillotine and is now merely awaiting for the blade to drop and sever your head from your body. Condemned to be known as the man who was the first. The one that became the example for those who wish to stand between me and vengeance. Sacrificed to satiate the bloodlust that was called upon. At least temporarily, unless you hold more answers than you have shown. For if you do, then it may save you from death- though it will lead you to a fate worse than it, until those answers are extracted."
His words delivered in a chilling fashion, he inhales as he slowly makes his way to his feet before exhaling. Whilst he does not believe Griff would hold those answers, he is at least somewhat hopeful that maybe there is a clue. A hint that he has, and wishes to extract that. Otherwise, this is nothing more than a mere statement. A means for the IIW to obtain a peer inside of how merciless he is when he steps between the ropes.
"I hope it is not needed, for it is not something that should be wished for or desired. You should merely be content with being left on the mat. Eyes shut and your mind churning as it attempts to find a way out. An escape from the maze that it has found itself in. One where danger and turmoil waits around every corner, waiting for you to make the foolish decision to confront it. Whether it be the visions of your worst nightmares, manifested into life or the hounds of misery biting at your ankles, forcing you to continue running deeper and deeper into the void, you shall realize your resistance. Any hope you had of being able to see the light that you believe is on the other side of this maze, is a futile exercise. A fleeting wish to be saved from what shall come forth."
Xero thinks back to the last sermon he delivered. The one back within the confines of the compound that he had called home, where he had told Griff about the skeletons within the closet and how everyone has them. How a person is truly defined by the manner in which they deal with them, a lesson that Griff has seemed to ignore if his mannerisms following it are of any indication. Yet it is how he expected Griff to act, for he understands people are traditionally adverse to concepts. Secrets that are foreign to them, even if they are what they needed to hear, or needed to know about themselves. Xero himself was the same way at one point in time. Resistant whenever his mother would attempt to sit him down and teach him how life truly worked, beyond the scope of what he had been learning from school. He would constantly question her and deny the lessons until the moment it all hit him in the face and showed him that she had been right, all along.
That she had merely been trying to prepare him for moments like this. Trying to ensure that he didn't just become another lost being, trapped within the maze. Within the prison of his own darkest thoughts, much as Griff is currently. That is why Xero commenced the sermon he did at the compound. That is why he is continuing it at this very moment, for it is his way of passing the message along. Of ensuring that Griff understands that he does not need to continue roaming the path that he is, for it will only lead to his destruction and horrors beyond his own comprehension.
"Yet nobody, not even yourself, can truly save you. This isn't a fairytale. This isn't a story where a knight in shining armor arrives and rescues the captured princess, or prince in this case and then rides off into the sunset. This isn't a movie where you know there will be some sense of normalcy at the end of the day, and that the hero of the tale will prevail, no matter how bleak it may appear. This is reality, and in reality, the situation is more dire than you could ever envision. It is darker and more devoid of life than the blackened nighttime sky. I tell you this not as a means to scare you, or an attempt to try and make you run. For that is not what I desire. I tell you this as a means to ensure that you accept that this is not a mere construct. That this isn't one of those abstract constructs you thrive upon using as a means to deflect from the terrors which lurk within the shadows. This is the reality that you hear oh so many people preach about. This is the bona fide truth of the circumstances that you find yourself in, when the spotlight is on you and you have no option but to look dead into my eyes at Up in Smoke. When the only means of escape available, is the one where you die."
His words continue to strike the air surrounding him, a sinister chuckle leaves his lips. He isn't one for sugarcoating the situation or attempting to offer any solace to those who stand in his way, for he was never given any solace. No matter how much he desired it.
"An eternal slumber, called upon by those who hold the world within their hands. For it is what has been destined from the start. From the moment you were the one assigned to me. The one who's name was upon the sheet of paper that listed the first victim. I do not need to know everything about you, Griff. I do not need you to weave yourself a David Copperfield tale in a desperate attempt to drum up sympathy and attempt to subvert the course that you were designed to wander down. All I needed was to know the best means to ensure that your fate is delivered. The best way to drain life from your body, as your blood flows from your flesh. A dagger jutting out from your most vital organs and the air unable to enter your lungs. It is inevitable. Unavoidable, and it will all be what needs to be."
Beginning to walk toward the back wall of the room, which is painted midnight black just like the other walls, the harbinger of demise as people might wish to call him feels a burning fire begin to rise within him. One that fuels his unrelenting anger and harnesses the rage, so that it can be brought upon those seen as worthy of him. Or those who have been called upon to provide the outlet for said rage. Reaching the wall, he turns around before stepping back so that his back is pressed firmly against it.
"Once it is done, I'm sure there will be condolences. Commiserations sent to your family and loved ones, expressing remorse and sorrow for their loss. Yet they will not be coming from me, as I will not feel anything but a numbing sense of satisfaction as I let your carcass fall to the mat. As I stare down and ask you the same question that awaits them all when their time comes. "was it worth it?". Was it worth being meek and powerless as you were delivered the Merciless Resolution that had your name inscribed upon it? Was it worth it, to squirm helplessly as I wrapped my arm around your throat and squeezed the air out of it? Was it worth it to desire to be the hero, only to realize that you were nothing more than a false prophet?"
Another smile peers out from behind the cold exterior of the man, this one the epitome of pure evil. Or a man who has no other intention but to be as malicious and vicious as a human can possibly be. If he is even a true human, that is. For he does not even know what he is at this point in time. To him, it is as if he is a machine, designed with the sole function of inflicting as much suffering upon the poor, misguided souls of the IIW, even beyond what would be seen as humane. Suffering that would contravene the Geneva Convention if it were done on the battlefield of war. Thankfully for him, wrestling is not considered as war and as such, does not require him to adhere to the Convention.
"That is something that only you will be able to answer, Griff. One that they will be eagerly awaiting the response to. Don't let them down. Don't make them wait any longer than they absolutely need to, for if you do- then it will fall upon you when they deny you entrance into the pearly gates of heaven, and instead send you plummeting to the depths of hell itself, where the flames will encase you within their fire. They will imprison you within their walls and leave you to incinerate. Unless that is what you truly desire."
Extending his arms out as if he is on a crucifix, Xero provides a demonstration of what Griff's life will be like, should he be confined within the despair. The depths of hell itself.
"You were condemned the moment you walked through those doors, Griff. You never even stood a chance of being able to claim victory in this battle, for it was written in stone. So, you have only yourself to blame for this. It is you that caused this all to arise and I am merely the one who shall ensure that it is delivered. At Up in Smoke, it will all come to light."
With that, Xero begins to make his way across the room. Cold and emotionless as he heads toward his bedroom, his words stated and the sermon completed. Now, the wait begins as the clock continues to tick away. Second by second before it stops and Up in Smoke commences. Before that though, he must acclimatize himself with his new surroundings. He must conjure up what his next move shall be, lest they call upon him.
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