Post by Stuart Slane on Jul 10, 2016 15:51:28 GMT -5
July 3, 2016
Newark, New Jersey
Prudential Center
Moments after the end of Slam’s opening segment
“That could have gone batter,” Stuart Slane, WCF’s newly minted World Champion, confessed to the man who had worn the title before him.
Jeff Purse grinned as the pair passed through the curtain that divided the WCF Galaxy into insiders and outsiders, “In what way?”
After scanning the gorilla position for any sign of his quarry Stuart replied, “When I issued an open challenge for my championship I was expecting, ahm, more interest from parties Seth was less likely to dismiss out of hand.”
“Yeah, he didn’t look too impressed with the guys who came out to accept. Seth was right though; Severan King is a noob, Baron von Mascara is a winless noob, and Danny Anderson just resigned. None of them have the credentials to hold this,” Purse tapped the huge gold title belt draped over Stu’s shoulder.
The big man reluctantly agreed. He gave his friend and mentor a significant look, “In truth, I was hoping you would be one of the wrestlers stepping up. You certainly deserve another shot at the title.”
For a moment Jeff said nothing. Then, he dismissed the idea with a shrug, “Nah, it’s your time now, Stu. You won the WCF Classic and became champ. You’re ‘The Guy’ now. You’ve got the opportunity to take this company and move it forward after all the shit it’s been through these last couple of months. And as tempting as that position is, I’ve got some real world stuff to deal with before I’m ready to handle that load again.”
“Well, when you’re ready, and if I’m still champion, there’s no one I’d be happier losing it too,” Slane smiled before turning slightly somber, “Assuming Seth allows it of course.”
Again the ex-Scoutmaster’s attention drifted through the backstage area. When a young woman in executive attire entered to speak with one of the WCF road managers, Stuart ambled over to speak with her.
“Miss Sheppard? Where’s Seth? I want to talk about tonight’s open challenge.”
Elisse Sheppard, the executive assistant to WCF’s owner, followed the orders he had given, “Mr. Lerch said to tell you he can meet after the show in his office.”
“Fine. I’ll wait. But if you see our employer beforehand let him know I’m adamant on defending this belt before Ultimate Showdown,” Slane replied to the young brunette. With a nod Elisse departed to participate in whatever subplot Spencer Adams has planned for her. Meanwhile, Stuart went to bring temporary closure to one of his own.
“I’m meeting with Seth once Slam is over,” he told Jeff, “Hopefully he’ll be sober enough to see reason.”
“Don’t count on it,” the younger man smirked after finishing typing on his phone, “But I got faith in you, Stu; you’ll get your title defense. Even if it isn’t against me.”
Purse stuck out his hand to Stuart, who seemed surprised at the gesture, “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah. I’m heading out. Way out. Maybe alternate universe out, depending on how the WCF Galaxy resolves its continuity glitches.”
“I was told if one came up to blame Wizard Odin,” Stuart recalled in a tone that was only half serious. He took up Jeff’s hand and shook it firmly, “Best of luck, Jeff, wherever you wind up.”
After that, Jeff departed, and Stuart went to the locker room to watch the remainder of the show until it was time for his meeting with Seth. He kept mostly to himself, checking his messages, and keeping one eye out for Brent Alpine, WCF’s Television Champion and closest thing to a ‘nemesis’ Slane currently had. Even if both Circe Cicero and young Miss Esther insisted it was Percy Macro who brutally attacked him a month ago and not The Shine, Stuart didn’t trust him. For one, he still carried a grudge over losing their WCF Classic Tournament match; an acrimony exacerbated by Stu’s and Miss Esther’s burgeoning friendship. It wouldn’t have surprised Slane if the antipodean goofball confronted him over these perceived slights. Part of him secretly was hoping for it; being able to resolve a problem by punching it in the face would have been very satisfying given other, more nebulous issues he was dealing with. Though, if everything played out correctly, the source of Alpine’s irrational jealousy could help him resolve one of his concerns.
There was a knock on the door and Elisse Sheppard stuck her head in, “Mister Slane? Mister Lerch is ready for you now.”
Stuart followed the trim brunette to Lerch’s temporary lair, the Prudential Center’s media room. Seth waited on a raised dais sitting behind a long, narrow table. The only items atop the counter were a laptop, a bottle of bourbon, and two glasses. Miss Sheppard announced their arrival and then went to her own makeshift desk, where she began counting receipts. Seth eyed dourly, and then poured himself a drink.
“I won’t bother to ask if you want some,” he told his World Champion before putting the cap back on the bottle.
Stuart said nothing. He rested the WCF title across the back of one chair before taking another and bringing it up to the platform Seth waited on. Setting it down across from the promoter, Slane eased himself into it. Then he waited.
“This is the first time we’ve talked since you won my championship,” Seth noted aloud, “Congratulations.”
Stuart ignored the man’s contention as to whom the title actually belonged to, “Thank you. I never expected to have this honor.”
“An honor you pissed on not even five minutes into your reign by giving credit to that boil on my ass Joey Flash. What the hell was that about?”
“I gave credit where credit was due,” Slane admitted, “Mister Flash orchestrated a conspiracy to motivate me, to stoke my fires. It clearly worked.”
“And now what?”
Stuart didn’t understand the question, “I beg your pardon?”
“Now that you’ve had your Scooby Doo ‘unmask the monster of the week’ moment, what happens to my most valued commodity?” Seth pointed over to where the WCF title hung, “How are you going to wear that burden?”
“Around my waist,” Slane quipped, “At least before matches. I always found that the best way to represent the belt.”
“Very funny. But you know what I meant, Stuart. You’ve won the prize. You’ve arrived. You’re at the top of the metaphorical mountain. What now?”
“Now, I look for a bigger mountain. That’s why I issued an open challenge for the belt tonight. It’s my goal to defend the belt during every Slam between now and Ultimate Showdown.”
“You made that clear with the stunt you pulled at the top of my show,” Seth said, taking a swig from his glass, “Now, explain to me how fighting no names is going to add prestige to the WCF title.”
“Two points,” Stuart retorted calmly, “First, it was an open challenge; the keyword being ‘open’. Anyone had the opportunity to come out and stake their claim to the belt. Don’t look down on the three men who bothered to express an interest, even if they aren’t household names. Which brings me to my second point; WCF’s last three champions were just that. Logan is synonymous with WCF. Oblivion and Jeff Purse are future Hall of Famers. And despite this, as notable as their past accomplishments are, none of them did the belt any favors while they held it.”
“Pretty harsh words for your buddy Purse,” Seth pointed out with a smirk.
“I’m willing to bet Jeff’s assessment of his most recent reign is even harsher than mine. He wanted to be the one to bring stability to the top of the card. It didn’t work out. Now, that task falls to me. Assuming of course you’re willing to do what’s best for business and give me what I want.”
“Which would be challengers,” Seth stated. He shrugged, “Ok, Stuart. I guess giving you a week off was enough of a rest. You’ll get your title match next week at Slam; but it isn’t going to be any of those men whose hopes you raised earlier. You’ll be fighting one of those failed champions you talked about earlier. You got Oblivion.”
It was a logical decision, Stuart supposed. Oblivion had lost the belt in part due to outside interference from Seth himself. He was likely entitled to a rematch. Plus, despite his relatively long tenure in the company, Slane and the Monster had never faced each other in the ring, making it a fresh matchup for the WCF Galaxy to watch. “IT” was as good a choice as any.
“And then who’s next?” Slane asked.
Seth laughed, “’Next’? Don’t worry about ‘next’. See if you can keep the belt next week, and stay healthy enough to enter Showdown, Stuart.”
“I’ll beat Oblivion. I want to know who I face afterward for the title.”
The owner of WCF was incredulous, “Are you kidding? You expect me to book two World Title matches back to back on free TV? That’s crazy.”
“Your earlier comments made it clear you’re concerned about me losing motivation and focus. Having me defend the belt constantly will prevent that.”
“Right, but Stuart, the title has been hot-shotted enough! We’re reaching WCW 2000 levels here!”
“The belt’s not going anywhere, Seth. Scout’s honor.”
The Master of Puppets ruminated on this. A plan began to form. He smiled unctuously at his company’s World Champion, “I’m going to need more of an assurance than that, Stu. After all, you’re not with the Scouts anymore. Heh heh. So how about this: put Oblivion on the shelf for me, and you’ll get another title defense before the Pay Per View.”
Slane was incensed at the suggestion, “No.”
“The guy deserves it. You know that, Stu. He’s a psychopath; a murderer and rapist.”
“And yet you employ him. No.”
“Look, Stuart, I only just managed to get one hyper-glandular freak off my case by letting him destroy a member of my own Family. I don’t need a rehash of the same problem,” Lerch brought up his seemingly resolved feud with Thomas Bates and the defunct faction he once was head of.
Slane was unsympathetic, “You made your bed with Oblivion, Seth. Now deal with him.”
“Think about what happens to WCF if something happens to me,” Seth tried a different tack, “I’m the glue that holds this place together. You know that. Mexico proved it! I am the one indispensable man in this company. The WCF Galaxy dies without me.”
Stuart rose from his seat, “Tell that to Mister Lister next time you meet. Perhaps that will convince him to leave you be. I doubt it though.”
Slane gathered up the WCF Title. He made it a point to put it on around his waist. Then he explained to his employer exactly how he saw their relationship.
“Seth, I agree with you somewhat. You may be WCF’s indispensable man. You certainly aren’t the worst option to run it. That was Eric Price, and thank goodness he’s long gone. So I’m not going to waste my time fighting you or your influence on the company. I’ll leave that to others who need the rub. But I won’t make it easier for you to be a pain in the WCF Galaxy’s collective posterior. Take your lumps, Seth, and learn from the experience.”
And with that, Slane gave a parting nod to both a seething Seth and a bemused Elisse, and walked out.
July 10, 2016
Columbus, Ohio
Nationwide Arena
The WCF World Champion’s Dressing Room
Stuart Slane stood at parade rest in front of his closed locker. He was in his ring gear, a green compression tee shirt and tan carpenter shorts. The ornate WCF Title belt gleamed around his waist.
“I figured out monsters weren’t real when I was five years old. Before, I was a firm believer; thanks in no small part to my older brothers, who tormented me with garish tall tales of the supernatural. Usually it was done in response to some line of questioning from me, as they knew they could profit from my ignorance. What was the gritty gummy substance that would be in my eyes when I woke up in the morning? That was from the Sandman; he comes at night to glue sleeping people’s eyes shut and steal their belongings. Why is the mulch pile in the back of the compound smoldering? There’s a dragon under the compost; when you see the smoke that means it’s digging its way out and look for something to eat.
Slane paused and reflected on the memories of these stories, and the impression they left on his young self.
“My brothers made up these myths for the same reason older siblings harass younger ones since the days of Cain and Abel, for that rush of euphoria that comes when you bend another to your will. They obviously weren’t thinking in such psychological terms. All they knew it was fun to make their brother cry and if they could benefit from his fear in some tangible way- like an agreement where he’d give up his share of Mother’s homemade Pfeffernüsse in exchange for protection- that was just gravy. My parents, meanwhile, were no help, as they saw the hazing as mere hijinks.
“I eventually smartened up to their game, however. First, I asked questions; a lot of them. Why would an adult, he was the SandMAN after all, want the toys of a four year old child? Why don’t the guard dogs ever bark at the compost heap to warn us about the impending dragon attack? Sometimes my brothers had an answer that would satisfy me, other times not. That would compel me to dig into their stories deeper, in the case of the dragon quite literally, until I proved to them, and myself, that what they were telling me was balloon juice. There were no monsters, and there never had been.”
“It took me five years not to believe in monsters. It took considerably less time than that not to believe in Oblivion; at least as an opponent in the ring. Don’t get me wrong; I am well aware of Jacob Lister’s penchant for sadism. He earned his moniker as the “God of Hardcore” by winning the title that shares his name a record eight times. Oblivion’s held other championships as well; most recently the one I’m currently wearing. But he did won it against a foe as reliable as a two dollar umbrella and promptly lost it the following week to the man I would ultimately pin to earn this honor. For these reasons Mister Lister’s recent run does not impress me. Nothing he has done recently has. When I came back to Wrestling Championship Federation earlier this year he was the ‘ironic’ member of the Beach Crew stable, the deliberate odd duck that never was able to benefit from that faction’s cachet and transform into a title-trumpeting swan. After the group wised up and literally cast him overboard Oblivion found himself in a blood feud with Katherine Phoenix. That went about as well as expected; with him being flung headfirst into a fire pit by Miss Phoenix and a debuting wrestler named Morriganna, who claimed to be Oblivion’s daughter.”
“That could have been the end of Oblivion’s story, and on one level it would have been a fitting one. He would have at least gone out as most horror movie monsters do, in spectacular fashion at the hands of a female would-be (rather than would-be female) victim. But just like the celluloid slashers that inspire Jakob Lister’s wrestling persona he refused to stay dead, coming back to cheapen his Hall of Fame legacy some more, this time as “The God of Enlightenment”. It seems his near fatal immolation led to a psychic break, allowing Oblivion to be born anew, his sin-scarred soul cleansed in baptismal fire. The WCF Galaxy has accepted this moral transmogrification and embraced him fully.”
Slane gave a shrug.
“I don’t see it. Far be it from me to cast doubt on one’s conversion from dark to light, having just gone through one myself, but to me Mister Lister doesn’t seem much different than the man he was. Or the monster he purports to be. Oblivion has the same shtick. He yells. He has a following of nubile young women to stroke his, uh, masculine ego. He makes a lot of threats. The only difference is now he’s threatening Seth Lerch, who, without the Family or personal Riot Squad to protect him, is the definition of a soft target.”
His expression hardened as he spoke next.
“And that’s the way it should be. Let Oblivion get his revenge on Seth; though, if he truly was enlightened as his new appellation claims, he’d realize the futility in that. Just as he should realize how hopeless his cause to try and take the World Championship from me. Oblivion might have been a threat once. He might have inspired fear. But now, to me, he’s as scary as those figments of my brother’s imagination invented thirty five years ago to try and break me. Oblivion is just not a wrestler that makes me worry about becoming another Jay Price or Waylon Cash; men who couldn’t hold wrestling’s greatest prize for even two weeks; especially when he failed to hold the belt even that long. Yes, Mister Lister’s strength, his surprising agility and speed, and his desire to inflict pain are all factors that will make sure this match won’t be one-sided, but I will win. Since WCF reinvented itself back in May I’ve been one of its most consistent and successful competitors. I have used my own power and size to dominate my opposition. Against a foe of Oblivion’s carriage that will be more difficult, though not impossible. Expect a true battle of the big men tonight, with two of WCF’s strongest fighting it out for the right to wear the sport’s greatest accolade.”
Stuart looked down at the gold plated title strapped to his midsection.
“Tonight, I will successfully defend the WCF World Title against Oblivion, and will continue do so any chance I am given against any opponent willing to step up and try for it. This is just the first step in the legacy I hope to build, one that will take me to Ultimate Showdown and beyond. It’s time for the WCF Galaxy to stop believing in monsters… at least when they have the misfortune of facing me.”
Newark, New Jersey
Prudential Center
Moments after the end of Slam’s opening segment
“That could have gone batter,” Stuart Slane, WCF’s newly minted World Champion, confessed to the man who had worn the title before him.
Jeff Purse grinned as the pair passed through the curtain that divided the WCF Galaxy into insiders and outsiders, “In what way?”
After scanning the gorilla position for any sign of his quarry Stuart replied, “When I issued an open challenge for my championship I was expecting, ahm, more interest from parties Seth was less likely to dismiss out of hand.”
“Yeah, he didn’t look too impressed with the guys who came out to accept. Seth was right though; Severan King is a noob, Baron von Mascara is a winless noob, and Danny Anderson just resigned. None of them have the credentials to hold this,” Purse tapped the huge gold title belt draped over Stu’s shoulder.
The big man reluctantly agreed. He gave his friend and mentor a significant look, “In truth, I was hoping you would be one of the wrestlers stepping up. You certainly deserve another shot at the title.”
For a moment Jeff said nothing. Then, he dismissed the idea with a shrug, “Nah, it’s your time now, Stu. You won the WCF Classic and became champ. You’re ‘The Guy’ now. You’ve got the opportunity to take this company and move it forward after all the shit it’s been through these last couple of months. And as tempting as that position is, I’ve got some real world stuff to deal with before I’m ready to handle that load again.”
“Well, when you’re ready, and if I’m still champion, there’s no one I’d be happier losing it too,” Slane smiled before turning slightly somber, “Assuming Seth allows it of course.”
Again the ex-Scoutmaster’s attention drifted through the backstage area. When a young woman in executive attire entered to speak with one of the WCF road managers, Stuart ambled over to speak with her.
“Miss Sheppard? Where’s Seth? I want to talk about tonight’s open challenge.”
Elisse Sheppard, the executive assistant to WCF’s owner, followed the orders he had given, “Mr. Lerch said to tell you he can meet after the show in his office.”
“Fine. I’ll wait. But if you see our employer beforehand let him know I’m adamant on defending this belt before Ultimate Showdown,” Slane replied to the young brunette. With a nod Elisse departed to participate in whatever subplot Spencer Adams has planned for her. Meanwhile, Stuart went to bring temporary closure to one of his own.
“I’m meeting with Seth once Slam is over,” he told Jeff, “Hopefully he’ll be sober enough to see reason.”
“Don’t count on it,” the younger man smirked after finishing typing on his phone, “But I got faith in you, Stu; you’ll get your title defense. Even if it isn’t against me.”
Purse stuck out his hand to Stuart, who seemed surprised at the gesture, “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah. I’m heading out. Way out. Maybe alternate universe out, depending on how the WCF Galaxy resolves its continuity glitches.”
“I was told if one came up to blame Wizard Odin,” Stuart recalled in a tone that was only half serious. He took up Jeff’s hand and shook it firmly, “Best of luck, Jeff, wherever you wind up.”
After that, Jeff departed, and Stuart went to the locker room to watch the remainder of the show until it was time for his meeting with Seth. He kept mostly to himself, checking his messages, and keeping one eye out for Brent Alpine, WCF’s Television Champion and closest thing to a ‘nemesis’ Slane currently had. Even if both Circe Cicero and young Miss Esther insisted it was Percy Macro who brutally attacked him a month ago and not The Shine, Stuart didn’t trust him. For one, he still carried a grudge over losing their WCF Classic Tournament match; an acrimony exacerbated by Stu’s and Miss Esther’s burgeoning friendship. It wouldn’t have surprised Slane if the antipodean goofball confronted him over these perceived slights. Part of him secretly was hoping for it; being able to resolve a problem by punching it in the face would have been very satisfying given other, more nebulous issues he was dealing with. Though, if everything played out correctly, the source of Alpine’s irrational jealousy could help him resolve one of his concerns.
There was a knock on the door and Elisse Sheppard stuck her head in, “Mister Slane? Mister Lerch is ready for you now.”
Stuart followed the trim brunette to Lerch’s temporary lair, the Prudential Center’s media room. Seth waited on a raised dais sitting behind a long, narrow table. The only items atop the counter were a laptop, a bottle of bourbon, and two glasses. Miss Sheppard announced their arrival and then went to her own makeshift desk, where she began counting receipts. Seth eyed dourly, and then poured himself a drink.
“I won’t bother to ask if you want some,” he told his World Champion before putting the cap back on the bottle.
Stuart said nothing. He rested the WCF title across the back of one chair before taking another and bringing it up to the platform Seth waited on. Setting it down across from the promoter, Slane eased himself into it. Then he waited.
“This is the first time we’ve talked since you won my championship,” Seth noted aloud, “Congratulations.”
Stuart ignored the man’s contention as to whom the title actually belonged to, “Thank you. I never expected to have this honor.”
“An honor you pissed on not even five minutes into your reign by giving credit to that boil on my ass Joey Flash. What the hell was that about?”
“I gave credit where credit was due,” Slane admitted, “Mister Flash orchestrated a conspiracy to motivate me, to stoke my fires. It clearly worked.”
“And now what?”
Stuart didn’t understand the question, “I beg your pardon?”
“Now that you’ve had your Scooby Doo ‘unmask the monster of the week’ moment, what happens to my most valued commodity?” Seth pointed over to where the WCF title hung, “How are you going to wear that burden?”
“Around my waist,” Slane quipped, “At least before matches. I always found that the best way to represent the belt.”
“Very funny. But you know what I meant, Stuart. You’ve won the prize. You’ve arrived. You’re at the top of the metaphorical mountain. What now?”
“Now, I look for a bigger mountain. That’s why I issued an open challenge for the belt tonight. It’s my goal to defend the belt during every Slam between now and Ultimate Showdown.”
“You made that clear with the stunt you pulled at the top of my show,” Seth said, taking a swig from his glass, “Now, explain to me how fighting no names is going to add prestige to the WCF title.”
“Two points,” Stuart retorted calmly, “First, it was an open challenge; the keyword being ‘open’. Anyone had the opportunity to come out and stake their claim to the belt. Don’t look down on the three men who bothered to express an interest, even if they aren’t household names. Which brings me to my second point; WCF’s last three champions were just that. Logan is synonymous with WCF. Oblivion and Jeff Purse are future Hall of Famers. And despite this, as notable as their past accomplishments are, none of them did the belt any favors while they held it.”
“Pretty harsh words for your buddy Purse,” Seth pointed out with a smirk.
“I’m willing to bet Jeff’s assessment of his most recent reign is even harsher than mine. He wanted to be the one to bring stability to the top of the card. It didn’t work out. Now, that task falls to me. Assuming of course you’re willing to do what’s best for business and give me what I want.”
“Which would be challengers,” Seth stated. He shrugged, “Ok, Stuart. I guess giving you a week off was enough of a rest. You’ll get your title match next week at Slam; but it isn’t going to be any of those men whose hopes you raised earlier. You’ll be fighting one of those failed champions you talked about earlier. You got Oblivion.”
It was a logical decision, Stuart supposed. Oblivion had lost the belt in part due to outside interference from Seth himself. He was likely entitled to a rematch. Plus, despite his relatively long tenure in the company, Slane and the Monster had never faced each other in the ring, making it a fresh matchup for the WCF Galaxy to watch. “IT” was as good a choice as any.
“And then who’s next?” Slane asked.
Seth laughed, “’Next’? Don’t worry about ‘next’. See if you can keep the belt next week, and stay healthy enough to enter Showdown, Stuart.”
“I’ll beat Oblivion. I want to know who I face afterward for the title.”
The owner of WCF was incredulous, “Are you kidding? You expect me to book two World Title matches back to back on free TV? That’s crazy.”
“Your earlier comments made it clear you’re concerned about me losing motivation and focus. Having me defend the belt constantly will prevent that.”
“Right, but Stuart, the title has been hot-shotted enough! We’re reaching WCW 2000 levels here!”
“The belt’s not going anywhere, Seth. Scout’s honor.”
The Master of Puppets ruminated on this. A plan began to form. He smiled unctuously at his company’s World Champion, “I’m going to need more of an assurance than that, Stu. After all, you’re not with the Scouts anymore. Heh heh. So how about this: put Oblivion on the shelf for me, and you’ll get another title defense before the Pay Per View.”
Slane was incensed at the suggestion, “No.”
“The guy deserves it. You know that, Stu. He’s a psychopath; a murderer and rapist.”
“And yet you employ him. No.”
“Look, Stuart, I only just managed to get one hyper-glandular freak off my case by letting him destroy a member of my own Family. I don’t need a rehash of the same problem,” Lerch brought up his seemingly resolved feud with Thomas Bates and the defunct faction he once was head of.
Slane was unsympathetic, “You made your bed with Oblivion, Seth. Now deal with him.”
“Think about what happens to WCF if something happens to me,” Seth tried a different tack, “I’m the glue that holds this place together. You know that. Mexico proved it! I am the one indispensable man in this company. The WCF Galaxy dies without me.”
Stuart rose from his seat, “Tell that to Mister Lister next time you meet. Perhaps that will convince him to leave you be. I doubt it though.”
Slane gathered up the WCF Title. He made it a point to put it on around his waist. Then he explained to his employer exactly how he saw their relationship.
“Seth, I agree with you somewhat. You may be WCF’s indispensable man. You certainly aren’t the worst option to run it. That was Eric Price, and thank goodness he’s long gone. So I’m not going to waste my time fighting you or your influence on the company. I’ll leave that to others who need the rub. But I won’t make it easier for you to be a pain in the WCF Galaxy’s collective posterior. Take your lumps, Seth, and learn from the experience.”
And with that, Slane gave a parting nod to both a seething Seth and a bemused Elisse, and walked out.
July 10, 2016
Columbus, Ohio
Nationwide Arena
The WCF World Champion’s Dressing Room
Stuart Slane stood at parade rest in front of his closed locker. He was in his ring gear, a green compression tee shirt and tan carpenter shorts. The ornate WCF Title belt gleamed around his waist.
“I figured out monsters weren’t real when I was five years old. Before, I was a firm believer; thanks in no small part to my older brothers, who tormented me with garish tall tales of the supernatural. Usually it was done in response to some line of questioning from me, as they knew they could profit from my ignorance. What was the gritty gummy substance that would be in my eyes when I woke up in the morning? That was from the Sandman; he comes at night to glue sleeping people’s eyes shut and steal their belongings. Why is the mulch pile in the back of the compound smoldering? There’s a dragon under the compost; when you see the smoke that means it’s digging its way out and look for something to eat.
Slane paused and reflected on the memories of these stories, and the impression they left on his young self.
“My brothers made up these myths for the same reason older siblings harass younger ones since the days of Cain and Abel, for that rush of euphoria that comes when you bend another to your will. They obviously weren’t thinking in such psychological terms. All they knew it was fun to make their brother cry and if they could benefit from his fear in some tangible way- like an agreement where he’d give up his share of Mother’s homemade Pfeffernüsse in exchange for protection- that was just gravy. My parents, meanwhile, were no help, as they saw the hazing as mere hijinks.
“I eventually smartened up to their game, however. First, I asked questions; a lot of them. Why would an adult, he was the SandMAN after all, want the toys of a four year old child? Why don’t the guard dogs ever bark at the compost heap to warn us about the impending dragon attack? Sometimes my brothers had an answer that would satisfy me, other times not. That would compel me to dig into their stories deeper, in the case of the dragon quite literally, until I proved to them, and myself, that what they were telling me was balloon juice. There were no monsters, and there never had been.”
“It took me five years not to believe in monsters. It took considerably less time than that not to believe in Oblivion; at least as an opponent in the ring. Don’t get me wrong; I am well aware of Jacob Lister’s penchant for sadism. He earned his moniker as the “God of Hardcore” by winning the title that shares his name a record eight times. Oblivion’s held other championships as well; most recently the one I’m currently wearing. But he did won it against a foe as reliable as a two dollar umbrella and promptly lost it the following week to the man I would ultimately pin to earn this honor. For these reasons Mister Lister’s recent run does not impress me. Nothing he has done recently has. When I came back to Wrestling Championship Federation earlier this year he was the ‘ironic’ member of the Beach Crew stable, the deliberate odd duck that never was able to benefit from that faction’s cachet and transform into a title-trumpeting swan. After the group wised up and literally cast him overboard Oblivion found himself in a blood feud with Katherine Phoenix. That went about as well as expected; with him being flung headfirst into a fire pit by Miss Phoenix and a debuting wrestler named Morriganna, who claimed to be Oblivion’s daughter.”
“That could have been the end of Oblivion’s story, and on one level it would have been a fitting one. He would have at least gone out as most horror movie monsters do, in spectacular fashion at the hands of a female would-be (rather than would-be female) victim. But just like the celluloid slashers that inspire Jakob Lister’s wrestling persona he refused to stay dead, coming back to cheapen his Hall of Fame legacy some more, this time as “The God of Enlightenment”. It seems his near fatal immolation led to a psychic break, allowing Oblivion to be born anew, his sin-scarred soul cleansed in baptismal fire. The WCF Galaxy has accepted this moral transmogrification and embraced him fully.”
Slane gave a shrug.
“I don’t see it. Far be it from me to cast doubt on one’s conversion from dark to light, having just gone through one myself, but to me Mister Lister doesn’t seem much different than the man he was. Or the monster he purports to be. Oblivion has the same shtick. He yells. He has a following of nubile young women to stroke his, uh, masculine ego. He makes a lot of threats. The only difference is now he’s threatening Seth Lerch, who, without the Family or personal Riot Squad to protect him, is the definition of a soft target.”
His expression hardened as he spoke next.
“And that’s the way it should be. Let Oblivion get his revenge on Seth; though, if he truly was enlightened as his new appellation claims, he’d realize the futility in that. Just as he should realize how hopeless his cause to try and take the World Championship from me. Oblivion might have been a threat once. He might have inspired fear. But now, to me, he’s as scary as those figments of my brother’s imagination invented thirty five years ago to try and break me. Oblivion is just not a wrestler that makes me worry about becoming another Jay Price or Waylon Cash; men who couldn’t hold wrestling’s greatest prize for even two weeks; especially when he failed to hold the belt even that long. Yes, Mister Lister’s strength, his surprising agility and speed, and his desire to inflict pain are all factors that will make sure this match won’t be one-sided, but I will win. Since WCF reinvented itself back in May I’ve been one of its most consistent and successful competitors. I have used my own power and size to dominate my opposition. Against a foe of Oblivion’s carriage that will be more difficult, though not impossible. Expect a true battle of the big men tonight, with two of WCF’s strongest fighting it out for the right to wear the sport’s greatest accolade.”
Stuart looked down at the gold plated title strapped to his midsection.
“Tonight, I will successfully defend the WCF World Title against Oblivion, and will continue do so any chance I am given against any opponent willing to step up and try for it. This is just the first step in the legacy I hope to build, one that will take me to Ultimate Showdown and beyond. It’s time for the WCF Galaxy to stop believing in monsters… at least when they have the misfortune of facing me.”
