Post by FPV on May 10, 2019 20:32:10 GMT -5
THE KING OF DEATH II
"Who Himself bore our sins in His own body on the tree, that we, having died to sins, might live for righteousness—by whose stripes you were healed."
1 Peter 2:24
Dallas Texas. March 28th, 2011.
My elbows quaked as they made contact with the ribcage of one John Thomas. The Hardcore Redneck, who had had the privilege of being the first ever man to face me in a WCF ring the week before, had caught me in a headlock. The elbows were enough to get me out of the headlock, and with a nice suplex I sent Thomas to the cold metal ring steps. The first man to face me, the first man to lose against me. I couldn't let down my guard. I knew he was still lurking.
A true monster among men, the creature known as Greenfever was difficult to even describe as human. Though he bore all the tell tale signs of man, his mind was a twisted horrorshow, experimented on and tampered with by the evil Dr. Heill. Though many point to men like Oblivion as the greatest monster to set foot in the Dub, I beg to differ. There is no greater threat among mortals than the Greenfever. And he was coming straight towards me.
The three of us were battling in a triple threat match for the WCF Hardcore Championship. Management had saw fit to include me in such an early title shot after my decisive victory against Thomas the week before. Not many people can say they received a title shot in only their second week with a federation, but I can. The match was just as hellacious as I expected it to be. Greenfever has already come for me near the beginning, landing me with shot after shot to put me down. Every hit reminded me of my start in this business. Going between small indy federations, jobbing out to two bit men just to make them look good. Before this night, no one knew the name FPV. They damn well knew it after, having chanted it at the top of their lungs.
From outside the ring, I could see Greenfever grab hold of a steel chair and look at me with his dead, uncaring eyes. I pointed my finger at him, and then the crowd. I wanted everyone to know that I meant business. And even with all the adrenaline flowing through my body, I could hear those three letters, loud and clear.
My elbows quaked as they made contact with the ribcage of one John Thomas. The Hardcore Redneck, who had had the privilege of being the first ever man to face me in a WCF ring the week before, had caught me in a headlock. The elbows were enough to get me out of the headlock, and with a nice suplex I sent Thomas to the cold metal ring steps. The first man to face me, the first man to lose against me. I couldn't let down my guard. I knew he was still lurking.
A true monster among men, the creature known as Greenfever was difficult to even describe as human. Though he bore all the tell tale signs of man, his mind was a twisted horrorshow, experimented on and tampered with by the evil Dr. Heill. Though many point to men like Oblivion as the greatest monster to set foot in the Dub, I beg to differ. There is no greater threat among mortals than the Greenfever. And he was coming straight towards me.
The three of us were battling in a triple threat match for the WCF Hardcore Championship. Management had saw fit to include me in such an early title shot after my decisive victory against Thomas the week before. Not many people can say they received a title shot in only their second week with a federation, but I can. The match was just as hellacious as I expected it to be. Greenfever has already come for me near the beginning, landing me with shot after shot to put me down. Every hit reminded me of my start in this business. Going between small indy federations, jobbing out to two bit men just to make them look good. Before this night, no one knew the name FPV. They damn well knew it after, having chanted it at the top of their lungs.
From outside the ring, I could see Greenfever grab hold of a steel chair and look at me with his dead, uncaring eyes. I pointed my finger at him, and then the crowd. I wanted everyone to know that I meant business. And even with all the adrenaline flowing through my body, I could hear those three letters, loud and clear.
Crowd: FPV! FPV! FPV!
From where I was standing at ringside, I could hear WCF Hall of Famer Bobby Cairo on commentary, pointing out the crowd reaction so that everyone at home knew that something magical was happening tonight.
Bobby Cairo: These fans are going wild for FPV!
After an attempted spike from the chair on Greenfever's end, I went to pin the still downed Thomas. Cairo continued to put me over like the consummate professional he was.
Bobby Cairo: He’s going for the pin! Genius!
Despite the hellacious suplex from earlier, Thomas kicked out at two. This was a match defined by it's terrifying near falls.
I give Greenfever a jumping piledriver to the bare concrete outside the ring. Kickout at two.
Greenfever hits an electric powerbomb onto Thomas. Kickout at two.
Three bridged german suplexes from Greenfever to me. Kickout at two.
And we exchanged these moves on one another, one thing became incredibly clear to me in this moment. I wanted that Hardcore belt. More than anything in this world, I wanted to hold that title and proclaim myself to be the baddest motherfucker on the face of the Earth. I wanted to be something that I had never been at this point in my career. A champion.
Alas, that night would not be the night for me. Greenfever had managed to hit Thomas with a jumping tombstone piledriver onto several steel chairs while I was unconscious. The loss was a disappointing one to be sure, but as I slowly regained my faculties, I could hear only one thing, one singular set of initials echo throughout the arena.
I give Greenfever a jumping piledriver to the bare concrete outside the ring. Kickout at two.
Greenfever hits an electric powerbomb onto Thomas. Kickout at two.
Three bridged german suplexes from Greenfever to me. Kickout at two.
And we exchanged these moves on one another, one thing became incredibly clear to me in this moment. I wanted that Hardcore belt. More than anything in this world, I wanted to hold that title and proclaim myself to be the baddest motherfucker on the face of the Earth. I wanted to be something that I had never been at this point in my career. A champion.
Alas, that night would not be the night for me. Greenfever had managed to hit Thomas with a jumping tombstone piledriver onto several steel chairs while I was unconscious. The loss was a disappointing one to be sure, but as I slowly regained my faculties, I could hear only one thing, one singular set of initials echo throughout the arena.
Crowd: FPV! FPV! FPV!
Despite how shot my whole body felt, I knew that this night would be the beginning of something special. No longer was I just an anonymous ham and egger. I was Frank Patrick Venable. F. P. V.
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The plane ride to New York was as smooth as can be. With the money I had at my disposal, anything could be as easy. It was a private flight, barely anyone on board except for a few crew members and myself. A glass of Chardonnay, freshly poured by the steward, was in one of my hands. I twirled it around thoughtlessly, occasionally taking a sip. In my other hand was a cell phone, I was speaking to AW's Camilla Gonzalez on speakerphone.
The plane ride to New York was as smooth as can be. With the money I had at my disposal, anything could be as easy. It was a private flight, barely anyone on board except for a few crew members and myself. A glass of Chardonnay, freshly poured by the steward, was in one of my hands. I twirled it around thoughtlessly, occasionally taking a sip. In my other hand was a cell phone, I was speaking to AW's Camilla Gonzalez on speakerphone.
Camilla Gonzalez: I assure you Mr. Venable, that no matter what it takes, we will get Roy to answer your challenge for Clash. I don't if it has to be done by satellite, it will be done.
FPV: I know you will, Ms. Gonzalez, and I appreciate that. Because the longer this week goes on, the more I begin to wonder if he's even going to appear for the last WCF show.
Camilla Gonzalez: What you two do in a WCF ring is none of my concern. My only focus is on Action Wrestling. Anything else is purely extra-curricular.
FPV: Of course, of course. I appreciate the work that's going into this, nonetheless. I'll see you on Monday.
Camilla Gonzalez: See you on Monday, Mr. Venable.
I hung up the phone and took another sip of chardonnay. A year ago I would've been downing an energy drink on a plane ride like this. Oh how times have changed.
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On the very top floor of the Four Seasons Hotel, the view of the New York was incredible. The room itself was just as immaculate, the very top of the line. Just because I was going to destroy my body in the ring didn't mean I had to lodge in a run down motel like earlier in my career. If anyone has any right to say they've "paid their dues" in this business, it was me. The glass of bourbon in my hand was getting lighter and lighter with every sip. This night would be the last time for a few days I could enjoy this type of luxury. From the morning onwards, it would be all-day training and conditioning. This would be a moment of meditation for me. I took another drink and gazed outside at the view.
FPV: Incredible. Simply incredible. I have to give it to Price, he made the right choice, having the WCF's final show here in New York.
I'll get right to the point. On Saturday, I'm walking into a veritable battleground. Five other men will try their best to maim me and make sure I never walk into a wrestling ring again, all for the right to be called the final WCF Hardcore Champion in history. If you ask me, that's a pretty damn good reason to want me dead. The Hardcore Title is no mere tertiary title in the grand scheme of things. It's always been a highlight of the Dub, perhaps not lately but in the past it definitely was. The wars fought over that belt are legendary. But this weekend, at WCF Endgame, there will be the War to End All Wars. A New York City Street fight. One last dance for gold.
I know everyone's focus will be on the main event. I know everyone is going to want to see Teo Blaze finally capture that World Title, believe you me, I'm in his corner all the way. But there's only one main event for me on that night. Every match before the streetfight will build the anticipation, will get the crowd into a rousing crescendo before the climax of violence and gore that is the semi-main event. If you want my honest opinion? That match will steal the entire show. We all want the WCF to go out with a bang. I know I do.
The same, however, can't be said for some of my competitors. Either they've made piss poor attempts at building hype for this encounter, such as Odin Balfore, or haven't shown their faces at all, like Roy Speede. To you people, I have no anger. No malice. No disappointment. So many in the IWC do, trust me, I've seen r/squaredcircle and twitter. You're absence has been heavily noted and mocked to no end by fans across the net. But not by me though. You all may be surprised to hear this, but I'm a zen state when it comes to you lot. I don't HAVE to deride you all verbally and trash you in front of the WCF Galaxy. Because I'm in a position of absolute power over you. I can punish you in the most physical way possible. With tables, chairs, kendo sticks, barbed wire and 2 X 4s. Punishment of that magnitude makes a verbal trouncing seem much less appealing, doesn't it.
Of the five of you though, one has managed to poke his head out among the rest of the pack. One of you have tried your best to hype this match as the important spectacle it's meant to be, and in the process you've run your mouth off about what you THINK you know about me. To this one person, and you already know who you are, you've actually made me quite angry. But tonight is not the night to talk about you. No, tonight is a night of rest, of peace, of the calm before the storm. I'll save what I have to say on you for tomorrow.
So to everyone in the match, get some rest. You're gonna need it on Saturday.
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"For dogs have surrounded Me;
The congregation of the wicked has enclosed Me.
They pierced My hands and My feet;"
Psalm 22:16
In terms of blood feuds I've had over the years, none will stick in my memory quite like my rivalry with Nathan von Liebert. In the midst of my time in Genesis, my old friend the Polar Phantasm had engaged in a rivalry with NvL that was simple to describe in words but increasingly became more complex. NvL kidnapped Polar's wife, Polar stole his pet rat, and from there, the two engaged in a war unlike anything else. And because I was Polar's friend, I took notice. When I had the chance to face Nathan at that years Hellimination, I put in a few cheapshots to him. Just to be sure.
On the road to One, I interrupted NvL talking in the ring to run him down, as I had done with many people before. At the time I thought nothing of it. I did what I did to everyone, I called NvL a bitch and thought he'd just sit there and take it. I was dead wrong. He had nothing in his sights except for me, and he would make sure I paid the price.
I was young, and I was stupid. I'd never in a million years think that my actions would lead to a man's death, and yet they did. On the Slam before One, NvL kidnapped Johnny Nova, and on live television, I watched the man who stuck with me through out our early careers die in my arms. This was no longer just a simple match. This was personal in a way no other match at One could be personal.
The match was set. A crucifixion match, the only one of it's kind to ever be attempted in the industry. I walked out onto that ramp with one goal in mind. End Nathan Von Liebert's life and make him pay for his sins.
It was not to be.
My vision after the match was hazy. Everything was going dim, and the only feeling was an intense pain in my wrists. They felt...hollow. My head was also aching, and try as I might to keep my faculties in check, the pain was enough to put me into a coma for two months. When I awoke and fully realized what had happened, I made a promise to never fail at that magnitude ever again. For Johnny.
I still the scars from that encounter. I see them every day as I wash my hands. Two circular scars where NvL nailed me to the cross. I still feel the pain, sometimes. The feeling of metal driving through my flesh. It is pain I am almost positive Michael X has never had to face in his life.
On the road to One, I interrupted NvL talking in the ring to run him down, as I had done with many people before. At the time I thought nothing of it. I did what I did to everyone, I called NvL a bitch and thought he'd just sit there and take it. I was dead wrong. He had nothing in his sights except for me, and he would make sure I paid the price.
I was young, and I was stupid. I'd never in a million years think that my actions would lead to a man's death, and yet they did. On the Slam before One, NvL kidnapped Johnny Nova, and on live television, I watched the man who stuck with me through out our early careers die in my arms. This was no longer just a simple match. This was personal in a way no other match at One could be personal.
The match was set. A crucifixion match, the only one of it's kind to ever be attempted in the industry. I walked out onto that ramp with one goal in mind. End Nathan Von Liebert's life and make him pay for his sins.
It was not to be.
My vision after the match was hazy. Everything was going dim, and the only feeling was an intense pain in my wrists. They felt...hollow. My head was also aching, and try as I might to keep my faculties in check, the pain was enough to put me into a coma for two months. When I awoke and fully realized what had happened, I made a promise to never fail at that magnitude ever again. For Johnny.
I still the scars from that encounter. I see them every day as I wash my hands. Two circular scars where NvL nailed me to the cross. I still feel the pain, sometimes. The feeling of metal driving through my flesh. It is pain I am almost positive Michael X has never had to face in his life.
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FPV: Hello Mikey. I want to have a chat.
Gone was the classy suit. Gone was the booze. Gone was the expensive Rollex. I stood in the middle of the ring, alone. Surrounding me, were weapons. As many weapons as your imagination can think of. This weekend, the arena here in New York City would become a mecca of wrestling fans come to pay their final respects to the greatest wrestling company to ever exist. But tonight, the arena was empty. Only I stood in the ring, dressed in my wrestling gear. I was ready for the final battle.
FPV: Mikey, you seem to have a lot of preconceived notions about what kind of competitor I am. You seem to have it in you mind that I'm somehow not worthy of the title of WCF Hardcore Champion because, in your own words, "the lifestyle doesn't fit me." Ha. Ha fucking HA! How much more obvious can you make it that you've never done your homework on me. Did you need me to show you just how hardcore I really am? I could run down my hardcore accolades and shame you for your damned fucking IGNORANCE.
My SECOND match in the WCF was a Triple Threat for the Hardcore title. My SECOND match. Who did you face in your second WCF match, Mikey? Adam fucking Young. You fucking fool.
My feud with Roy Speede was all about no DQ. Our Falls Count Anywhere match for the United States title brought us all the way to Citizens Bank Park. The fucking ARENA could not contain our propensity for violence. After that? I took it to a whole other level. I brought back a match, so deadly, so controversial, so reviled that it had not been done in years. The Euthanasia Chamber. A vile, hellish structure, and I hated Roy so much that I specifically ASKED for this structure. And within it, I put Roy Speede on the goddamned SHELF. I wrecked him and made him humble, just like I will on Saturday, and just like I'll make YOU humble, Michael.
The Clockwork Orange House of Fun match? The signature match of one Jayson Price? I've been in it before, specifically because I wanted the Hardcore title that was up for grabs within it. And I won the match. It's the only House of Fun match I've been in, but damn did I make my shot count. Tis a shame I walked out with the United States title and not the Hardcore title like I planed, but you take what you can.
When I ran my own stable, Genesis, we stepped into the Hellimination match against The Church of Dark Saints, a forgettable team run by the Monster Guardian of the Who-Gives-a-Fuck Oblivion, and Pantheon, often said to be one of the greatest stables in professional wrestling history. These three teams went to war inside HELLLLLLLLLLL...in a CELL! And you know what Genesis did? We won. We beat the Church, and we beat Pantheon. All because we wanted the victory more then they did, and we were willing to do ANYTHING to get it.
I made an utter BAFFOON out of David Sanchez in a hellacious ladder match to snatch his Final Destination briefcase out from under his grasp. You know how I was able to do that, Mikey? Because Sanchez did exactly what you're doing to me. He underestimated me. He thought that I wasn't cut out for the lifestyle as you put it. He didn't do his homework on me, just like you didn't. And you know what he got for his trouble? A busted ankle and no briefcase. You? You're going to get a whole lot worse, trust me.
Finally, to solidify everything that's already been said, I entered the 2017 King of the Deathmatch tournament, and in doing so, turned more heads then I could count. Why is Frank in this tournament? He's not hardcore enough? Someone like Crow McMorris or Jaice Wilds are more brutal, they should be in this thing. And yet what did I do? What did I FUCKING do Mikey? I won. I conquered the tournament, and then I conquered the original king, Corey fucking Black. Why? Because I AM, and forever will be, EXTREME. In fact, in all of those match I've rattled off, it's become clear to me that I'm more hardcore than you, Mr. eXtreme. How sad. How pathetic. How LAUGHABLE.
But I've left one last piece of evidence for you, Mikey. I'm surprised you haven't brought it up earlier, I mean it's quite an obvious thing, really. They're on my person at all times, right on my wrists.
I held up my wrists to show my circular scars in full, gory details.
FPV: I was nailed to a fucking CROSS in the name of the WCF, Mikey. Tell me what the fuck have YOU done for this company? Crucify it metaphorically? Bitch please, I've been crucified literally. Kiss the scars and acknowledge my dominance, you wretch.
I put my wrists down and began to to survey the weapons at hand. I've always been a fan of the kendo stick. Simple, easy to wield, and stings like a bitch. I picked one up and surveyed it, laughing.
FPV: God, how I want to smack you with this so hard, Mikey. Alas, I have to wait a few days to get that chance. I look at you and see nothing but a fraud. What man calls himself the king of eXtreme, the king of America, the king of Darkness, and yet have you earned any of those titles, Mikey? No, you haven't. They are all self-titles that are mere nicknames, nothing more. Do you know why I always call myself the King of the Deathmatch? Because I earned that title. I fought for an entire week in the trenches to earn the right to call myself that. And to cap it all off, I solidified it with my victory over Black. Now no one can deny it, not even Black himself.
And what was your response to my title? You brushed it off. You brushed it off and said that the only reason I was King was because you didn't feel like beating me that particular day. How weak of you, Mikey. Every word you speak damns you harder than the next. I didn't see you throw your name into the ring that year. And yet you boast a near-victory over Corey Black in that tournament as a career highlight? Fuck you, he beat you to win the tournament, then a year later I did what you fucking couldn't and beat him myself. You have no right to bash true kings, you abandoned that right when you abandoned the tournament.
But that's what you always do, don't you? You abandoned a life time opportunity by coming out last at WAR, laid out for me, then walked out like a little bitch. In 2012 I was put at number fucking ONE in the WAR match. To make matters worse, I had JUST gone through a full match against Jonny Fly and Waylon Cash for the World Title, and you know what? Despite how beat up I was, despite my body telling me over and over again that it didn't want to continue, you know what I did? I pushed through the pain, and I TRIED! I gave it my all, even though I lasted mere minutes. The odds were stacked so hard against me, and yet I gave it the old college try. That's more than I can say for you, you bitch.
With a wordless pause, I slapped the canvas of the ring with the kendo stick, to give my statement a little more oomph. The force was enough to snap the stick completely. I laughed and threw the stick down to the ground.
FPV: You know, it's funny. Despite everything I've just said, people still think that I have no business being in this match. A little bit after this Endgame card was announced, I had a little chat with a friend. He told me "why are you in this match, Frank? You could do so much better than a Hardcore clusterfuck for your last WCF match." I couldn't help but laugh at him. Even he didn't realize just how much I wanted this title. I have wanted this title for EIGHT. YEARS. Since I walked into the doors of this company that belt always been in my sights but never in my hands. I achieved so many things in this federation. World Champion. Hellimination Winner. Final Destination. Television Champion of the motherfucking YEAR. And yet I could never achieve that stupid, pesky Hardcore Belt. Well that eight year chase ends this Saturday. I'm going to rise above these five other, less deserving men and carve my final place in WCF history. And Michael, you'll get the worst of it. You've disrespected me, and for that you will be punished. I am going to inflict pain on you like you've never experienced. I'm going to make you beg for mercy, I am going to make you scream "ELI, ELI, LAMA SABACHTHANI?!" "MY GOD, MY GOD, WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?!"
Thus says the final WCF Hardcore Champion. For all of time.
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"I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me."
Galations 2:20
Galations 2:20
