Post by Claire Hawkins on Mar 31, 2024 1:41:56 GMT
FINALLY!
The Killdozer Cup has arrived and we can quit the foreplay for what you're all tuning in to bear witness to; PURE FUCKING VIOLENCE.
Now, as we all know the first half of the brackets were quite spectacular in a manner in which their collective desperate determination to succeed was displayed. Six of the sickest and most disturbed individuals went to war before Mister York and the illustrious Jess managed to emerge victorious. Truly an inspiration we should all aspire to be.
Except nobody was able to give them the blood-stained flowers they earned that night.
Instead?
Not a single person was watching as THE match of all dream matches loomed on the horizon that was set to steal the Killdozer Cup.
COREY BLACK.
HARVEY MARX.
CLAIRE HAWKINS.
THIS was what the bloodthirsty troglodytes of CULT wanted to see and Mister English was set to make one of the company's GREATEST draws from it. However, every great tale of blood and conquest has its spoilsport, and now this big money opportunity has been rendered to just ANOTHER BLOODY MATCH with the inclusion of the Third Dempshaw
A truly regrettable decision on Mister English's part as I will not be held RESPONSIBLE for the MANGLED MASS OF HUMAN FLESH that Dempshaw is now set to become.
This delusional narcissistic fuck interjected himself into MY MATCH ~OUR DREAM MATCH~ for no other reason than to stroke his fragile ego and now he shall PAY FOR IT.
The Killdozer Cup has arrived and we can quit the foreplay for what you're all tuning in to bear witness to; PURE FUCKING VIOLENCE.
Now, as we all know the first half of the brackets were quite spectacular in a manner in which their collective desperate determination to succeed was displayed. Six of the sickest and most disturbed individuals went to war before Mister York and the illustrious Jess managed to emerge victorious. Truly an inspiration we should all aspire to be.
Except nobody was able to give them the blood-stained flowers they earned that night.
Instead?
Not a single person was watching as THE match of all dream matches loomed on the horizon that was set to steal the Killdozer Cup.
COREY BLACK.
HARVEY MARX.
CLAIRE HAWKINS.
THIS was what the bloodthirsty troglodytes of CULT wanted to see and Mister English was set to make one of the company's GREATEST draws from it. However, every great tale of blood and conquest has its spoilsport, and now this big money opportunity has been rendered to just ANOTHER BLOODY MATCH with the inclusion of the Third Dempshaw
A truly regrettable decision on Mister English's part as I will not be held RESPONSIBLE for the MANGLED MASS OF HUMAN FLESH that Dempshaw is now set to become.
This delusional narcissistic fuck interjected himself into MY MATCH ~OUR DREAM MATCH~ for no other reason than to stroke his fragile ego and now he shall PAY FOR IT.
With a sickening crunch, the raven-haired wretch of CULT was slammed through the glass wall of the penthouse that overlooked the mob of buildings far below; a massive hand tightly clutching her by the neck as her bare feet dangled helplessly in the frigid Canadian air. The monster of a man who held her wore an expressionless look on his face that seemed to contrast with the custom-tailored suit he wore. Like a villain out of a comic book, the man was a seven-foot-tall creature of pure muscle that could snap her neck as easily as one breathed, and yet, it was the smaller man that emerged from behind the behemoth that bore the air of true menace. Of average build and height, the blonde man also wore a custom-tailored suit that appeared to be deliberately made to match the dark hues of his comrade's.
"Now Miss Hawkins," the blonde began with a touch of false cheer in his voice "I do hope that you do not take this personally; I can recommend a good cleaning service for the mess; but I beg you to understand that you poking your nose into business around here has been less than ideal. You have yet to disrupt anything, but it's always best to make sure any ends are tied up before they come loose, yes?"
Unable to answer due to the iron grip of the massive hand around her throat, the beaten and battered woman futilely clawed at the arm that kept her from falling to her death.
"Come now," the blonde continued as he spared a glance at the destruction he and his accomplice had wrought "There is no need for such a vulgar display; not that you have long anyway. I must say though, I find this entire situation quite sad. I was rather delighted to watch your victories over Sunshine, Beaufot, and Iruma and I was looking forward to seeing how you fare in the Killdozer Cup but I guess we can't always get what we want, eh?"
Once more, the only sounds that could be heard from the pale woman were gurgling and the occasional scratching noise that could be heard she clawed at the suited arm.
"Oh well," he continued with a half-hearted chuckle "It wasn't like you were going to best the likes of Corey Black, Harvey Marx, or Mister Demshaw. So I doubt Mister English will be too pressed with your sudden......departure. Relea-"
Before the smaller man could give could only be the final order, the gurgling sound became clear laughter. Frowning, the blonde placed a hand on his partner's shoulder.
"What are you laughing at, my dear? This isn't a laughing matter."
However, there would be no answer nor ethereal laughter as the woman who looked as if she were beaten within an inch of her life burst into a mass of black feathers and harsh frantic caws; a murder for the one they had planned to murder. In a feathered flurry, the murder of crows flew off into the night sky, leaving the men alone without their job done.
Now, as much as I would love to tear into the stupidity of this unwelcome addition to the match the reality is that I cannot afford to do so. For the two behemoths that I have been yearning to battle are before me and if would truly be lackadaisical of me to ignore them in favor of some British scrub who; at the time of this recording; hasn't even bothered to OFFICIALLY have his profile added to the CULT website. Perhaps that's a management oversite, but I feel that if he were serious about being a part of this tournament he would have gotten things figured out.
OH WELL.
We're here for the REAL MONSTERS and not CLOUT CHASERS.
Although, Harvey, one could argue that's exactly how you have made your name over the last year or two. You might have displayed a decent showing during your time playing in those Trials, but your in-ring prowess has otherwise seemed lacking. Now, you've made it clear several times over that you would prefer to "promote" and "sell" the plethora of star-studded events or promote the ever-increasing talent level this unforgiving industry has to offer but I have found myself often wondering why you haven't given the same care to the promotion of yourself that you have given to others. I understand that running an entertainment enterprise might now allow a regular schedule but, by your own standards, I feel like you would be a massive success. Instead of being an oversized portly promoter, you could be SO MUCH MORE.
The physical gifts.
The shark-like mind.
That violent predatory look in your eyes you try to hide.
You, my dear, are the sleeping giant that even grizzled and battle-worn men such as Corey Black FEARS will awaken. Then again, maybe that is why you have chosen to participate in the Killdozer Cup; to let loose the restraints and finally give in to the beast within. However, whether that is the case or not matters little for there is not a thing you bring to the ring that I haven't faced before. Your size, while impressive, is nothing new as my ENTIRE CAREER has been marred with instances where I'm forced to put down men far larger than I could ever dream of being; of true slaying TRUE MONSTERS with these Silver Bullets of mine.
Play your games.
Build your confidence.
Either way, our encounter in the Killdozer Cup will be a MEMORABLE ONE.
Even if it KILLS US.
Then again, maybe this is all mere delusion on my part; maybe I received a nasty concussion from Keads's diving stomp and simply haven't recovered, but right now I simply feel nothing except child-like excitement at the thought of standing across the ring from such a decorated MASTER OF PAIN; of facing what so many, including yourself, think spells the end for me.
We've never truly spoken nor have we ever had the pleasure of competing against one another but, Corey, I CANNOT allow you to think that you're going to be able to do what you have done to so many companies thus far and simply allow you to take this company by the balls. Granted, I'm sure that there are a great many people who would enjoy watching you do so; Baccus, Leary, and Hope for example; but I have seen what happens when you do. I've witnessed the cutting swathe of human waste that you leave in your wake and I fear, especially with all its faults, that this fledgling company of violence will not survive. I may have been named a "Guardian" at one point, but I've never had allusions of being a hero and what I'm fighting for is nothing short of selfishness.
But then again, what is it that I'm fighting for?
OH WELL.
We're here for the REAL MONSTERS and not CLOUT CHASERS.
Although, Harvey, one could argue that's exactly how you have made your name over the last year or two. You might have displayed a decent showing during your time playing in those Trials, but your in-ring prowess has otherwise seemed lacking. Now, you've made it clear several times over that you would prefer to "promote" and "sell" the plethora of star-studded events or promote the ever-increasing talent level this unforgiving industry has to offer but I have found myself often wondering why you haven't given the same care to the promotion of yourself that you have given to others. I understand that running an entertainment enterprise might now allow a regular schedule but, by your own standards, I feel like you would be a massive success. Instead of being an oversized portly promoter, you could be SO MUCH MORE.
The physical gifts.
The shark-like mind.
That violent predatory look in your eyes you try to hide.
You, my dear, are the sleeping giant that even grizzled and battle-worn men such as Corey Black FEARS will awaken. Then again, maybe that is why you have chosen to participate in the Killdozer Cup; to let loose the restraints and finally give in to the beast within. However, whether that is the case or not matters little for there is not a thing you bring to the ring that I haven't faced before. Your size, while impressive, is nothing new as my ENTIRE CAREER has been marred with instances where I'm forced to put down men far larger than I could ever dream of being; of true slaying TRUE MONSTERS with these Silver Bullets of mine.
Play your games.
Build your confidence.
Either way, our encounter in the Killdozer Cup will be a MEMORABLE ONE.
Even if it KILLS US.
Then again, maybe this is all mere delusion on my part; maybe I received a nasty concussion from Keads's diving stomp and simply haven't recovered, but right now I simply feel nothing except child-like excitement at the thought of standing across the ring from such a decorated MASTER OF PAIN; of facing what so many, including yourself, think spells the end for me.
We've never truly spoken nor have we ever had the pleasure of competing against one another but, Corey, I CANNOT allow you to think that you're going to be able to do what you have done to so many companies thus far and simply allow you to take this company by the balls. Granted, I'm sure that there are a great many people who would enjoy watching you do so; Baccus, Leary, and Hope for example; but I have seen what happens when you do. I've witnessed the cutting swathe of human waste that you leave in your wake and I fear, especially with all its faults, that this fledgling company of violence will not survive. I may have been named a "Guardian" at one point, but I've never had allusions of being a hero and what I'm fighting for is nothing short of selfishness.
But then again, what is it that I'm fighting for?
Somewhere deep in the night, the mass of crows converged in feathery mayhem and the wounded form of Claire Hawkins fell to the frozen ground with a dull thud. Breathing heavily and her body aching with molten fire in her muscles, she forced herself into a sitting position and stared back in the direction from whence she had come.
'Well, that was almost a disaster.' chirped a familiar raspy voice in the back of her head.
"Tell me about it." Claire responded breathlessly as she scanned the darkness around her for any sign of pursuers.
'Get anything useful out of this little charade or have you simply developed a perverse kink recently?'
"Listen, smart-ass voice in my head," she hissed back in annoyance "Acting as bait wasn't something I looked forward to doing and we're lucky I got anything from it."
'You got something out of getting the shit kicked out of you? I'm not sure if I should be impressed or concerned.'
"Ha-HA," she barked hoarsely "Since you're so funny how about you leave me and start your stand-up career?"
'Would love to, but I'm kind of permanently attached to you and what you would call a ghost. Not enough with the back talk. What did you gain from that little.......episode?'
"That," Claire began as she forced herself to her feet "People have a dangerous habit of underestimating of who I am and what it is I can do."
'That doesn't explain anything.....'
"It wasn't meant to."
Brushing snow from her blood-stained tattered nightgown, the crimson-eyed wench began the winter-ridden march back to the city; wounds slowly closing up as she healed like a certain adamantium-laced comic book hero. It might not seem like it, but that blonde twat had clued her in that whatever group she was chasing was indeed related to CULT in some fashion. Whether it be directly or simply as a fan she wasn't sure, but in the end, what was there to be sure about?
Other than her Killdozer Cup match?
Fortune?
Fame for doing what only few can in DEZTHRONING A KING?
No, nothing so grandiose. For me, this match is as I have stated so frequently over the last two CULT:TV's. It's a dream match in which I FINALLY get the chance to test my limits against individuals who are just as perpetually hungry as I am. It's the OPPORTUNITY for me to showcase the potential as a professional wrestler that I have within me; an opportunity for me to see whether or not I qualify to be HERE in this industry or whether I should simply allow the ashes of my career to take to the wind.
This may be just another venture for you, Marx, and Dempshaw....
But THIS match means MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE and you can be damn sure that the fight I am going to bring is not going to one of a woman-child unsure of herself. No. What I'm bringing to this four-man brawl is the unbridled determination to MAKE PEOPLE ACKNOWLEDGE that the EXISTENCE of Phantom Queen isn't that of JUST ANOTHER alternative Metal girl, but that of a WOMAN WHO WILL NOT BE DENIED.
I will FIGHT.
I will BLEED.
Yet, above all, I will emerge VICTORIOUS.
Fame for doing what only few can in DEZTHRONING A KING?
No, nothing so grandiose. For me, this match is as I have stated so frequently over the last two CULT:TV's. It's a dream match in which I FINALLY get the chance to test my limits against individuals who are just as perpetually hungry as I am. It's the OPPORTUNITY for me to showcase the potential as a professional wrestler that I have within me; an opportunity for me to see whether or not I qualify to be HERE in this industry or whether I should simply allow the ashes of my career to take to the wind.
This may be just another venture for you, Marx, and Dempshaw....
But THIS match means MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE and you can be damn sure that the fight I am going to bring is not going to one of a woman-child unsure of herself. No. What I'm bringing to this four-man brawl is the unbridled determination to MAKE PEOPLE ACKNOWLEDGE that the EXISTENCE of Phantom Queen isn't that of JUST ANOTHER alternative Metal girl, but that of a WOMAN WHO WILL NOT BE DENIED.
I will FIGHT.
I will BLEED.
Yet, above all, I will emerge VICTORIOUS.
