Just like that, in the blink of an eye, glory had shifted from one man’s hands to the others. It would be Leyenda de Ocho, The Legend of Eight, that would reach the heavens and pluck down God’s favor to face the Intergalactic champion. Meanwhile it would be The SuperBeast, a legend in many ways, who would fall toward the gaping maw of hell and watch glory slip away. The strange thing was at that point in time it wasn’t hatred or jealousy the Human Natural Disaster felt, no, it was respect. Ocho had overcome everyone in the ring and had earned his right.
But that day wasn’t a day when good triumphed evil. Evil still existed in a much different form. Ocho would fall to the champion; the hero would fall to the villain, and Sylo would fall to a self entitled moronic oaf that needed help to get his SECOND chance at the champion. Evil would face Evil with no ying to balance the yang. Now it would be heroes facing one another. Maybe their morals and tactics were different but to the people they both stood as heroes. Where did things go from here? The world needs balance.
Sylo would sit in the middle of an octagon, yes; you read right, an octagon. His passion for wrestling had moved him into the world of Mixed Martial Arts as well. The years he had devoted to training in the various arts of fighting, of war, would prove to pay off inside the ring as well. Undefeated inside an octagon but not inside a ring, a ring where he had started, and that thought alone ate at him just a tiny bit. To be honest it was more than just a tiny bit, it ate at him to the point of insanity at times. It was like having a festering zit, boiling over with puss; just ready to explode yet it was just out of reach no matter what angle of attack you chose. To be honest the whole IGC infrastructure ate at Sylo.
The Beast would raise his head, teeth bared and gnashing as his snake-like pupils glowed like ice blue flames. Sylo had lost control. His anger had reached a point that not even he could control and at that point all that was left was the SuperBeast.
“Leyenda…de…Ocho,” Sylo pronounced his name emphasizing as he spoke his name. “If the IGC had their way this would be the part where I told you why I chose to come to the ring, why I chose to distract your opponent and why I chose to help you win but the honest truth is everything I do is for a reason. I respect you, Ocho, and that’s why I won’t sit here and bad mouth you, it’s why I won’t roar like some mentally dysfunctional roid tard, and it’s why I won’t talk about the danger you face because Ocho, you know the danger but I’ll get to you in a moment.” Sylo growled a little rolling his neck before standing up.
He paced around the inside of the octagon, in his gear, but he didn’t resemble a man in an octagon training. He resembled an enraged bull trapped in a pen ready to be unleashed. He ran both hands through his long black hair with the matching blue streak on each side before running both hands down his face.
“When Magnus had his little gimp hold my legs down and laid his fat ass down on top of me for three seconds I asked myself: really? Did I really lose to Magnus? Did he really deserve to take my crown of being THE monster that I had worked so many years to earn? Magnus really had everything to gain and nothing to lose didn’t he? I wonder why that is but then again I’m not a mindless moron. Leyenda, I want you to listen to what I’m about to say because it rings true for you my masked friend.” Sylo stopped dead in his tracks and stood perfectly still.
“The IGC wants to put asses in the seats or so they claim yet the biggest match they’ll ever have will be Leyenda and Sylo one on one but who’s had two title shots? You came within a cunt hair of winning that title Leyenda and I had Magnus dead to rights yet where was the IGC Committee when you were fucked over? Where were they when I was fucked over? I can tell you where they were…they were backstage just waiting to get those two men’s cocks so far down their throats they could practically taste the pre-cum like an over ambitious street walker. “Sylo spit to the side before glaring back with that same rage.
“You’re one win away from taking on Magnus, Leyenda. The problem is you have to get past me and I don’t just hand out wins. I know enough about you, as well, to know you don’t take hand outs so you’ll either learn to beat Magnus through me or you’ll die trying. I will put you through every layer of hell conceivable and if you walk out of that hell with your hand held high at that point you’ll be ready.”
“Leyenda, what I want, no, what I need you to understand is that you live in a world of video games where somehow, even through tragedy, the good guy prevails and now it’s my job to bring you back to the real world. You and I are bigger than the IGC, this match is bigger than the IGC, because at the end of it you’ll either walk out of hell and give Magnus the beating of his life or you’ll have, yet again, fallen short because you didn’t go to that place inside that’s filled with darkness and destruction. To put an animal down you must first understand the animal. You first must understand the fact that Magnus couldn’t beat me without help but if you, one on one, beat me you’ll have everything you need.”
Sylo balled up his fists, staring at them for a moment as the veins pressed against the skin. When he opened his hands drops of blood trickled from his palms where he dug his fingers into his own hands. Slowly, he turned, holding both palms up.
“Blood demands blood, Leyenda. It’s either you or me but one of us must collect the blood debt that Magnus owes. If you fall to me then I’ll take my payment from him match or not. I’ll collect on that blood debt but if it’s you, Leyenda, I expect you to come calling for what is owed not only to you, not only to me, but to everyone that has supported us in this hell hole while backstage politics ran ramped and they were fucked out of what they deserved.”
Sylo turned his back to the camera, staring at the palms of his hands, watching blood pool in both.
“Either beat me Leyenda or I’ll break you. Either way, in this game that we’ve become tangled up in, there are no extra lives and you can’t just restart.”
With that Sylo kicked the octagon door open and marched away. The camera panned down showing a trail of blood, Sylo’s blood, left behind as he disappeared from view.