Post by occulo on Apr 24, 2016 10:13:54 GMT -5
Akuma sits in what looks like a dark tea hut, lit only by a few candles in front of him. He has his hands wrapped around a bowl with some frothy green tea sat inside it. He is wearing nothing on top, but wears brown trousers with bare feet. His dark hair is loose and rests behind his shoulders. We hear footsteps approach and an identically dressed man sits opposite him, and rests his own bowl on the ground.
Akuma: You're persistent
Man: You're not persistent enough
Akuma looks up from his bowl into the man's eyes
Akuma: You think I want to do this?
Man: When was the last time any of us did what we want to do?
Pause
Akuma: You don't believe he is the one do you?
The man sighs and rotates his bowl a couple of times
Man: I tasked you with this Akuma. If I don't believe in him, then I don't believe in you.
Akuma: He is the first we have found in...so long. Why do you insist on Itami tutoring him...after what happened last time?
Man: We all deserve a second chance. Itami is atoning.
Akuma: If anything happens to Occulo, this close to the rising of the-
Man: Enough.
He drinks his tea and wipes the rim of the bowl with his index fingertip and thumb, before placing the bowl back down. He gets to his feet and stands to Akuma's side.
Occulo has been stripped of his gold. Ensure he fights for more. If he is to be the Champion of the Single Cloud, he must be think and fight like a champion.
Akuma: Pathetic material gains, have you forgotten the philoso-
The man grabs Akuma and pulls him to his feet. He knees him in the stomach and holds his face above the candles, just enough for Akuma to whince as they lick his flesh.
Man: The philosophy was written to ensure our survival. This might be our last chance. It's time to ask yourself Akuma, what are
you willing to do to survive?
He slams Akuma's face down and walks off into the darkness. Akuma rolls on to his back and sits up. His burned, desperate face lit by the one surviving candle.
Akuma: So be it...champion
CUT
We open to the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the camera, which is sat on ground level overlooking a spectacular view of mountains and field in rural Japan. A thick black boot hits the ground in front of the camera, and it pans up to show Occulo sprinting up a steep mountain path. He reaches the top and throws his arms out, catching the orgasmically refreshing cold air. His clothes, like his boots, are thick and weighted down. Itami is sat on a tree stump with a sand timer in his hands. He looks at the timer and appears to be counting at an incredibly fast rate.
Itami: Surprisingly good
Occulo smiled and caught an ivory flask thrown at him by Itami. He flips the lid off with his thumb and downs a mouthful, but squints his eyes and almost spits it out.
Occulo: What the hell? Sake?
Itami: Well. Yes. As I said you did well. Good performance leads to good reward.
Occulo: Oh..well..thanks.
Itami nods and gets to his feet, before walking over to a hessian sack with two ropes looped vertically at either side, like a makeshift backpack. He lifts it with one hand and throws it to Occulo
Itami: Catch
Occulo: Okay wha-
He catches it but the sheer weight and momentum of it takes him off his feet and on to his back
What...what the hell is in this?
He opens the sack and...rocks...lots of big rocks.
Itami: Volcanic rock. Deep from within the Earth.
Occulo: Let me guess, you want me to run with this on now?
Itami: Correct. If you do it in good time, I'll reward you further.
Occulo gets to his feet and dons the back pack. He struggles to even stay on his feet.
Ready?
Occulo: Christ...yeah...where am I running to?
Itami smiles and points up a steep path to a rock with a crude image of a cloud carved in to it.
You're kidding....right...come on Occulo. Let's fucking do this.
Itami turns the timer around and signals Occulo to go. The wrestler takes a couple of steps and then a deep breath, before slowly
jogging towards the base of the steep climb. He looks up at the rock
Itami: Think of the rock like your world championship Occulo. Think of the belt resting on top of it. The rocks like your opponents. Whilst they try to weigh you down, you carry their efforts with you. When you reach the top and lift the belt you take off the backpack and you feel reborn. Go Occulo.
Occulo nods and runs as fast as he can up the hill. His shoulder muscles feel like they are being sliced open by the ropes of the pack. His back muscles contract and spasm but his legs just keep carrying him up the hill.
Occulo: Come on...come on...
The rock gets bigger and bigger. His legs now feel as heavy as the rocks, and his entire body is trying to desperately to gravitate him. He reaches the last five metres and cries out in agony.
Itami: Yes...
He gasps as a muscle in his leg goes and he trips over his own feet. He falls flat on his face, his arms outstretched. He lies motionless for a few seconds and looks up, his left hand resting against the cold, almost metallic surface of the rock.
Occulo: Oh...thank fuck...
Itami sits on the rock and places the sand timer on the ground.
Well?
Itami: When you're done with this first level of training, you'll be able to run it twice as quick with twice as much weight. But for now, well done. Impressive. You're making good progress.
Occulo unstraps the back pack and sits up
Your ultimate goal, is to run from the village
He points to the village, which looks like a dot on the horizon.
To the very top of this mountain
He points to the top, which in his lethargic state seems just as far away.
Carrying the Cloudstone.
Occulo: The Cloudstone?
Itami: A a pyramid shaped sacred stone that is buried deep under the village. It is said to be the very peak of the mountain. If you
can carry it back to the top, the complete mountain is said to be a symbol of your all conquering strength. For you, shall stand just like the mountain and look over this land as its guardian.
Occulo: I see.
Itami: Do this, and you'll be ready to battle me.
CUT
We cut to Occulo sat at a desk with a sepia filter on the camera. The camera cuts to different angles of him writing on some paper. We hear him narrate his writing as we watch him...write.
Occulo: I write to you inspired by Caleb Ronan. His blogging about his experiences in the WCF has driven me to do the same. But not of my experiences, but instead from his point of view. I am putting myself in his shoes. I shall be, if permitted, to be more honest, and more candid. So I pen as him now.
I fuckin suck. You know people who want to write about their experiences fill a backpack, get Instagram downloaded, put just enough money in their bank accounts for it to become "a struggle" at some point and jet off. But no not me, I can't be bothered to put any form of hard work whatsoever into my chosen career so I joined the WCF and forever be an underdog with no expectations of me, so in doing this, whatever I do gives me a sense of accomplishment, and makes people think I'm actually doing well. Idiots. I'll never do well in anything I do. I'm far, far too lazy. One day I might decide to become a wrestler, but when that happens I'll just quit the WCF, go home and play WCF2K16. I'll create myself and give myself max stats, then I'll plug another controller in and select Joey Flash as player 2. I'll spend hours just hammering on an inanimate, static Joey Flash and when Mom tells me dinner is ready I'll hit him with a chair one more time and pin him for the world title. Because lets face it, actual wrestling is beneath me.
The truth is, nothing is actually beneath me. I saw a crow eating some vomit on the ground the other day and thought "at least that crow is fighting every day against competition and its place on the food chain just to survive". But fuck it. I'm sat here writing and I'm getting paid. I'm a motherfucking writer. Christine Amanpour? Beneath me. Bob Woodward? Beneath me. Louis Theroux? LOL He's so far beneath me I have so snow on my head. They wasted so much time fuckin studying this shit. Why? You know people after people kept telling me "Damn it Caleb, you want something in life at least get yourself a job first!". Oh, yeah, right, "Oh hang on Sir let me just log out of Wordpress so I can get your fries for you". I'm not serving some fat ass woman some processed meat in bread. I did her a favour by not serving her. I mean who's having heart attacks when I'm sat in my pad writing? Nobody. Who's having heart attacks when I'm stood behind a counter in a stupid hat with a bunch of lowlifes with no ambition serving up saturated fat in cardboard? Everyone. You're welcome United States. Put down your fucking spatulas and frying baskets and pick up a god damn pen.
I am winning at life. I've skipped all the mundane, boring and totally unnecessary hours and hours listening to some Professor ramble on about his failed journalism career. I'm self taught. Self-educated. Self-sustaining. Self-reliant. I'm going to carry on my life in this manner. Ducking and dodging anything that I can't be bothered to do or involves me having to degrade myself amongst the working class. Luck and Pride, those are The Really Important Things in Life. I don't even fucking care about wrestling. I'll just turn up to the ring on Sunday and let Marx and Phoenix do all the work. Why should I get punched in the face for no reason? Let them take the shots and I promise I will consider giving them a mention in the post-match write up. I'll write about how kind and graceful I was letting them think they are in the limelight.
I'm Caleb Ronan, and I'm shit at everything I do, but I can't be bothered to do anything about. Because..it's...it's just beneath me.
The scene cuts out and we see Occulo sat on the turnbuckle in the Aftermath arena.
Occulo: Finally a guy with a bit of intrigue. A bit of substance and character. CJ Phoenix...a fucking cunt. Yeah you see you're one of those guys we see in this company whose dark persona is for some reason crafted into an excuse for your barbaric behaviour. You've pretty much ended Andrew Marx's career. It wasn't enough that you made the guy tap out in agony, no, you had to cripple the guy. You had to destroy his back. Break his spine. So is that how you roll CJ? If someone has something you don't have you go out and destroy it? What a man you are. I hope Marx just hops off the apron when the bell rings on Sunday night and disappears up the ramp and leaves you and Caleb to be picked apart by my team. It's nothing less than you two deserve. You know when I saw the card I thought "fuck it, this'll be a good wrestling test against three guys I've yet to test myself against in the ring", but now I see your name and I see a target. I see a target that I wanna fire an arrow of revenge in to. I don't care if Marx was a guy who did some questionable things but nobody deserves to have their career ended in such a brutal fashion like that. You're going fucking down. I'm going to brutalise you. Take you down and throw you to the ground like trash. Why did you attack him CJ? What inner frustrations dwell inside you? Are you upset about how completely sterile and static your career is? Are you upset that nobody cares about the name CJ Phoenix? Have you not attracted anywhere near as much attention as you'd have wanted? Are you fighting some inner demons? Well fuck you. I've seen far more mentally unstable and darker people do far less than you. Do you know why? Because as deranged as they are, they are at least able to channel it in the right way. You wanna show how dangerous you are CJ? Try doing what you did to someone like Oblivion. You throw him out the ring and break his back, he'll get up smiling and beg for more. You're nothing Phoenix. Phoenix isn't even the right word. I'd call you CJ Starling. Just some pathetic little ball of feathers that waits for the big guns to fly away before you quickly rush in and get what you can, pretending in your delusional mind that it was you that killed this animal. You've succeeded in one thing CJ, you've angered me. And because of that you're going to get what's coming to you. The Phoenix will be batted down and stamped on before it ever got chance to rise. See you Sunday.
Marx, what can I say? You're being thrown in to a fight against your will, against your physical capabilities and most disturbingly against any medical advice. My advice to you Marx, and I'm not saying this for an easier fight (because to be honest it'd be easier without you there) is don't fight us on Sunday night. Forget it. You wanna know what I would do if I was in your position Marx?
He hops down and grabs a steel chair, which he throws in to the ring and sets up, before taking a seat
I'd tell the ref to hold off ringing the bell to start the match, I'd sit here, look at CJ Phoenix and tell him that you'd rather be sat there with a broken back unable to physically compete than be so utterly mentally bankrupt like he is. I'd tell him that even though it was him that broke your back, I can at least live a life with a sane and clear mind. I'd tell Phoenix just how utterly pathetic and tiny a man he is. How he attacked you like a screaming child throwing his toys out the pram. How he attacked you like a hormonal teenage girl because your skirt is an inch shorter than yours. I'd tell him that although your career has ended in such a short space of time, Phoenix will achieve just as much even if his career lasts another 30 years. I'd then get off my chair, flip him the finger and make your way up the ramp to live your life. I'd then take that chair and wrap it around CJ's skull, and you would love it. You've done some things in your life Marx that you're not proud of. You've done some terrible things and perhaps all of these things have finally caught up with you and bang this is what has happened. You're a damaged man Marx, and perhaps now those sleepless nights in the pain will let you reflect on everything you've done. But as your body heals, then hopefully so will your mind, and then your soul. Good luck Andrew Marx, I can do nothing but wish you all the best.
