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Post by The Age of Fall on Feb 6, 2024 15:47:23 GMT -6
-Segment: Viktor Kall speaks on his Rumble win and makes his decision on which Championship to challenge for at StarrCade.-
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Post by Victor Kall on Feb 15, 2024 17:05:09 GMT -6
OOC: I've tried coding this twice now, and both times my webpage froze and shut down. Y'all going to have to deal with the vanilla version
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The lights in the ECWF arena abruptly go out. There are typical cheers and shouts and screams, with some 'brave' people yelling out obscenities as cell phone lights gradually provide some illumination. The big screen in the arena comes to life with static that audibly blasts through for just a few seconds before falling silent again. The static on the screen is replaced by a shot of one of the arena's backstage corridors. It's an empty and dark section, the only telling feature being the ECWF logo stamped on a few large, black production boxes that the camera passes. Restless sounds rise out from the crowd once again as the camera winds its way, eventually settling on an unmarked, brownish door. An unseen hand opens the door.
Inside is a small locker room, dimly lit and dirty, forgotten long ago by any denizens that might occupy the arena. There was a row of lockers along the left side of the wall that jut out into the center of the room, like an upside-down L that separate the rest of the room. As the camera ventures inside, we can see garbage strewn along underneath the long, wooden bench that is situated in front of the lockers. The light in here blinks and hums, engulfing the interior in split second sessions of darkness. Further inside, against one of the lockers near the back, sits a black duffel bag with a role of athletic tape on top of it.
Plink
The camera's attention snaps up when hearing the sound permeate throughout the otherwise silent room. It's source is behind the center wall of lockers. Moving around slowly, we see a shower area on the other side with four stalls and a row of sinks. The tiles here are chipped or missing in some areas, and one of the mirrors along the back wall has a diagonal crack with spider-webbing covering the bottom right portion. To the left of this sink stands a man clad in black pants with a black cowl covering his torso and shoulders. He's bent down, shoulders hunched, face turned slightly to his right arm. If not for a flickering fluorescent tube light above the sink, we wouldn't be able to determine that it's Victor Kall. But it catches his side profile just enough.
"They've sent you to find me, I see. That's fine. They knew that I wouldn't just march myself down to the ring and give an interview. They should've known better. Like I'm going to prostrate myself for an entire arena of people and just speak. My actions have always spoke louder than my words."
Victor's shoulders rest, as he stops whatever he was doing. The camera moves in just a little further and starts to pick up an occasional dripping sound. With his head now forward and center, we can see his reflection in the mirror. He already has his face painted, his eyelids heavy.
"I have a match with Robert Saints later tonight. I've talked about that. I don't know much about him, but I know that he thinks he's somebody. John Blade thought it was somebody, with his adorable little rhymes about me. The Age of the Fall thinks they're a bunch of somebodies, as do the brothers Frenzy. What I was shown in the WarTime Rumble though…"
A weary sigh is heaved from Victor's lips.
"I haven't met a man in ECWF who is willing to do what's necessary to inflict the appropriate amount of pain and suffering. There were five of them at one point. Five of them and one of me. They threw people out left and right, but enjoyed beating on me it seemed. And yet, I still rose every time. I still stood back up, and when they tried to get rid of me, they couldn't. Like Icarus, these groups fly too close to the sun, and their wings burn, and they plummet back to Earth. I'm just a man, after all. A man who took thirty-nine steps forward to StarrCade. A man who holds the destiny of ECWF in his hands."
Victor stares at the mirror for a moment, then suddenly smashes his forehead against the glass. The sound isn't as loud as you'd expect from movies, but rather a quick and dull thud, a spiral crack and blood now appearing where his head was just a moment ago. The dripping persists. Drip. Drip. Drip.
"They shouldn't have put me in that match! What were they thinking?! Giving someone like me the untenable position of deciding the future of the company? Deciding what belt that I want to fight for? I work best as a blunt object. You swing me at whatever you want broken, you don't like the instrument decide what it wants to break. And yet, you have."
Blood begins to trickle down the bridge of his nose. His hands are firmly placed on the edges of the sink. Drip. Drip. Drip.
"The ECWF World Heavyweight Title. It would be the obvious choice, right? Held by a man named Kevin Hunter, a man who professes to be a demon. I'm not the one to be fooled by a false dark prophet. Kevin Hunter looks good in a suit. He's a nice face to have for the company when you're trying to get sponsorships. Can you imagine what it would look like if Victor Kall was the face that was broadcast in association with ECWF? StarrCade is at Madison Square Garden. It doesn't get any bigger than that. And Victor Kall will be in the last match."
He starts to chuckle as the slow dripping continues. Drip. Drip. Drip.
"They don't know what they've done. They've given a weapon the sentience to choose its target. And so I have. It didn't take long to figure it out. The ECWF World Heavyweight Championship. The prestige, the lineage, the pomp and circumstance that accompanies it. StarrCade ends with a World Champion standing tall, holding a belt high for the world to cheer or boo, but it perfectly wraps up a season of wrestling, doesn't it? Well, it used to, at least. Not this year. If you haven't figured out just a part of me yet, then you haven't been paying attention. I'll make the ECWF, the fans, anyone who watches, pay attention. Because Kevin Hunter, or whomever might be the World Champion at StarrCade; they can keep their title. I've decided that StarrCade needs to go out with a bang this year. The last thing that fans will see that night in New York City, will be carnage and chaos!"
Victor Kall quickly turns around, shrugging the cowl off his shoulders and spreading his arms out to the side. His upper body is exposed, a sickly, almost glistening pale hue against the grungy backdrop of the long-forgotten locker room. The camera does a quick zoom on the first thing that catches its attention. The jagged, sharp lines that have been carved into both of Victor's arms, the crimson that was the source of the drip heard previously. A quick pan to confirm that Victor had carved out the words HORROR into his right arm and CORE into his left. A warped, grin plays across his lips as he looks at each arm, a proud artist appraising his work.
"What people like Dan Anderson and the Age of the Fall don't seem to understand is, that I have no desire to be anyone's savior. The ECWF can't be saved, not while I'm here. That is why I want the night to end in violence. Magnificent violence, that the prospect of a Horror-Core title match can promise to deliver. I expect Jay Reynolds to fight as best as he can, I expect the Age of the Fall to get involved and play the numbers game. I expect to be beaten, I expect to be bloodied, and I expect to leave StarrCade as a different breed of animal altogether. Reynolds, Age of the Fall…what is it that you expect to happen? You've got forty-two days to figure that out. I'll be waiting."
Victor lowers his arms, his head hanging down now, turning back to the sink. He turned the handle and water struggled to flow from the faucet, resulting in sporadic droplets. Drip. Drip. Drip.
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