004
easy prey.
Without game, men prey on each other.
━━ ♠ ━━
Through the high, barren windows, moonlight danced among the kitchen that the feed introduced. A light above soon illuminated the space, giving glimpses of the farmhouse design. The glazed wooden walls, the black cedarwood, and the warm, candle-like tones of the lighting fixtures invited the viewers into the Aylas’ central kitchen. Impeccably clean and obsessively organized, it gave the impression of something undisturbed until the Excellence Champion entered the frame. Disrobing from his thick black overcoat, Damian unveiled the attention-grabbing parcel that he rested on the kitchen island. A lonely chair remained in the corner of the space, which then served as a makeshift coat rack. Under the overcoat, Damian stuck to his sophisticated style, a dark gray dress shirt, long black slacks, and disruptive, piercing dress shoes. Popping two buttons open, Damian ran his hands among his hair before going to wash his hands.
When put under the camera lens, Damian’s hands were stained with blood. The crimson washed off easily enough, and Damian seemed composed about the matter. While drying his hands, he looked over his shoulder at the camera. Once more a camera invaded his home, but he was always able to regulate where it wandered. There were secrets in the manor of the Ayla’s. Where were the children that Damian was so protective of? Where was Tara amidst this? Potentially filming her own promotional material, one could gather. There were all these attack dogs wandering the grounds, for what purpose? At the apex of it stood the Excellence Champion. He took the time to fold the lightly damp cloth and drape it back over the steel bar near the sink. Damian shook his hands, dispelling any excess water he might have missed.
“Nathaniel, do you remember one of the first things you said to me?” Damian began, rounding the island to a cabinet. Within, there were wine glasses, only three in number. He took one down and retrieved a bottle of dark red wine. He began to pour it and spoke further. “You said that you could learn something from our eventual match. So many times, I thought that Pro Wrestling Excellence would remain full of the same, incessant egoists that infest our sport. Here you were, a rookie, saying the right things. It made me excited...”
“At first.”
With one single statement, Damian Ayla recalled his entirety of frustrations towards the number one contender. What it did was to deplete him of any patience.
“Certainly, you proved yourself to be above your peers. You’re undefeated like I am if we don’t count your failure on the first Victory. TJ Alexander, Chelsea Skye, and Holly Rhodes; these were your victims. People that would then become meals for you after a good hunt. It’s admirable, really. I’d hope that you would be elected my first challenger. They say that steel sharpens steel after all.”
“I crave competition,” Damian said, taking a long drink from the glass. To his own error, a light bead of crimson rolled down his lip. He tapped his fingers against it and smiled. Its reason for existence came from the prospect of violent combat. “You saw the result of my last match. You see what happens to people who fail to measure up to my standards. That brutality and my predilection to it come from a defect in my mind. There’s a voice in my head, telling me to tear people apart when they fail to entertain me. And you want to know where it came from?”
Damian stood up, taking the camera with him, having torn it from the hands of his oddly trusted attendant. With a yelp, the camera operator chased after Damian, his footsteps interfering with the normal silence of the manor. Though, the creaking of wooden floors did accompany Damian’s loud footsteps until he reached his destination. Unlocking the door, Damian allowed the PWE audience another glimpse of his private life. As he entered the room and turned on the light, golden hues saturated the feed. Calmly, Damian traversed the small room. A single black leather recliner sat in the middle of the room with a convenient side table nearby. Like the kitchen, the room was spotless, nothing was out of place. Damian handed the camera back over to the operator, who graciously took it--his thanks audible enough for the microphone to catch.
When he lifted the camera back to his shoulder, the golden hues belonged to Damian’s championship collection. It wasn’t as expansive as Allen Chaney’s or Xaria Linette’s, but it carried a respectful pedigree. Two world championships were centered as the main attractions. Damian retrieved the Pro Wrestling Excellence Championship from its mantle. He stared at his reflection, occupied by his own cold stare. A small drop of melancholia.
“It came from right here,” Damian said, presenting the championship to the camera. “I overcame everyone on the first episode of Victory. I told everybody why it was going to happen, and it came true. When I held up the championship, I took on a responsibility. Ophelia Knight and Charlie Jones gave me an objective. They’re one and the same. I am the man that defines excellence. I’m the benchmark. I’m the apex of everything that Zoey Madigan-Star, whoever wins the Victory Championship, and even you strive to be. Those supersede everything about my own personal mission. That’s where the voice comes from. That’s why I put Ashley Whitmore out of the company.”
“Your—no—our situation is different. You’re not at the bottom of the barrel. No, but what you are is my first challenge. The first defense is the first chapter of the book I am writing, and it has to grab the attention of everyone in attendance. I have to grab them by their throats and force them to understand the story I’m writing. So, you can’t be taken out as the latest piece of trash, no. You have to be treated with consideration, care, and a careful eye. That’s exactly what I’ve been doing since you’ve signed your name on the dotted line.”
Damian pinched the bridge of his nose, agitation beginning to bubble. He put his free hand on his hip and pointed at the large television screen. “I’ve studied you. I’ve analyzed you. I’ve treated you like the animal you are. In terms that you would know, I’ve hunted you, but in a much efficient way than the nonsense you spew out at any given turn,” he paused, catching a thought and nodding accordingly. “I think I have a better way to show you what I’m getting at.”
Taking the camera away from its operator for a second time, Damian led the crew member and the audience back into his kitchen. He wandered to the cabinet and gathered spices and seasonings, arranging them in an orderly manner. As he came back around, he took the parcel wrapped in butcher’s paper, uncoiling the twine around it. “This is you, Nathaniel, butchered and presented by Ophelia Knight and Charlie Jones,” he said, lifting it to the camera.
He let go of the parcel, which served to unveil the contents past the paper. It was a slab of meat, beef, to be precise. It was a ribeye steak, A5 quality, and treated with considerable care. “You are the most precious contender that the company can put in front of me. Your undefeated record, your dominance thus far, and how you’ve been marketed? All of it has been geared towards trying to sway the audience from the expected narrative. Damian Ayla defeats Nathaniel Cartwright, ending his streak and sending him down into obscurity.”
“Nonetheless, you continually speak on how I’m not ready for you. I won’t see you coming. Or that you will end my reign because I am in your way.” Damian began his cooking process by taking a knife from its home. Analyzing it, Damian found that the sharpness of the blade wasn’t to his specifications. Grabbing a whetstone, he quietly tolled at perfecting its keen edge. “It’s why I scoff at this hunter persona you’ve cultivated your whole existence to. It’s presumptuous of you to speak as though you are the only hunter. Especially when you aren’t the strongest.”
“That title belongs to me, and I’ve perfected what you’re still trying to grasp. The speeches you give on your craft may confuse or intimidate others but not I. It’s because I am the force that nature favors, and I have proven that with my own brand of dominance. That’s why I am the champion, and not you. You had your chance to win it and you failed. And you believe that I should bow to your whim and words because you’ve beaten people I’ve already conquered? Boy, I have already seen through your camouflage. I know your path. I have your scent and simply waited for you to come to me. I am not your prey to stalk and mutilate. This isn’t your familiar forest. I am the predator whose territory you’ve trampled into. You have come into my house and shat on the carpet.”
Damian growled lowly. The painfully idealistic sentiments that Nathaniel Cartwright presented had run their course on the champion’s patience. Amidst that, he sectioned off a large portion of the beef. The other side was placed onto a cutting board. Chopping the remaining meat into several bite-sized pieces, Damian chuckled darkly. Those other pieces were thrown behind him, where his pack of dogs made their appearance. They startled the camera operator, but the fear relented. He was familiar with the animals by now.
“For that disrespect, I’ve already decided where I’ll mount your head when it’s all said and done.”
Though his cuts were perfect, derived from years of experience, Damian’s force could be called excessive. “Call out to nature. Run into the darkness. Try to seek out the voices that you trust so dearly. They will tell you the same thing that you’ve been expecting me to say. Find the stories of poachers like Jose Monzalvez or Scott van Zyl? Recount the idiotic tragedy of Timothy Treadwell and Arnie Huguenard.”
“You will be mauled. You will be humbled. The only evidence to you ever competing in this match will be because people will remember how much you screamed!” Damian then stabbed the knife into the cutting board, to which he let out a long, laborious breath. His anger began to dampen, allowing him to effortlessly douse the larger cut of meat with sea salt and pepper. Once he finished, he wiped his hands off. “A fine meal, yes. An expensive meal, even more so. But at the end of the day, Nathaniel, you are still a piece of meat, waiting to be devoured. I will be the one carrying the knife, waiting to cut into the richness of your flesh. And gorge on its flavor.”
“Because I’m taking you out of your element, Nathaniel. There isn’t a hunt. You may have a strategy to take me down, but it falls to piece before your eyes. I have done your song and dance before. I used to hunt and gave myself to the woods, but then I grew smarter. I found more efficient ways in killing my prey. You haven’t had the time to do that yet because you have sectioned yourself off to what you only know.”
“I’m a wise carnivore now, Nathaniel, and you should have been careful. You always beware an old man in a profession where men die young,” Damian said, doubling back to his assortment of cooking oils. He pondered on it until he recalled that wagyu beef fat will melt well enough to sear the meat in. “You didn’t, which goes to prove something about you that you always believed I would say. There’s the first tweet you made when the Annihilation card went up. I would call you upstart, immature, arrogant, or any other collection of labels.”
“I don’t have to call you that because you display those traits yourself. The fact that you said anything about it has only served to draw attention to yourself.”
Damian laughed subtly, trying his best not to erupt at the humor of his opinion. There was something appealing about cooking to the Excellence Champion, something that expelled the stoniness away. He turned on his stove and waited for the heat to come forth. Staring back over to his Excellence Championship, Damian sighed. There was a part of him that despised what he was going to have to do to Nathaniel. It was always a shame to have to dispose of a potential rival early. Nevertheless, he would go on.
“Immaturity and arrogance? They are what hampered your ability to see your mistakes. Anyone with experience would know better than to navigate our business the way that you do. Your inability to see the potential outcomes have led you to the disadvantageous position you are in now,” the champion proceeded to sear the large chunk of meat. “Your solitude was the consequence of your own inaction, your disregard for what people told you. Now you walk into our match, thinking you have a shot at winning when you have so many damaged parts. It’s typical of someone of your nature.”
“A wounded animal isn’t dangerous. They’re easy prey, and that’s what you are starting to become, Nathaniel. I expected a struggle. I expected to peel the layers behind the façade you’re still displaying. You cannot fool me because I am the only person above you, and I see you for what you are.”
“You are Nathaniel Cartwright, a competitor with talent and potential beyond your years. In any other place, such as our affiliates, you may become a champion. Those grounds are worthy to be your hunt. But in Pro Wrestling Excellence, there’s no place for you,” Damian proceeded to take the steak and carve for himself. He walked out of the kitchen in his dining room, where he sat alone. He poured another glass of wine and readied himself to feast. “Because I have always seen you, no matter how hard you tried to hide in the dark.”
“But worry not,” Damian said, taking a piece of the meat onto his fork, “I will make a spectacle out of me preparing you."
“And you will be delicious.”
The Excellence Champion sank his teeth into the meat and sighed contently. As he did, the camera operator opted to turn off the device, leaving the champion to his privacy.
━━ ♠ ━━
Dear—
Dear Father,
This is hard to write. For so long, I’ve hated you. The things, the abuse you exacted on myself and our family should have gotten you imprisoned. You framed it as training, but the screams in my head always told me otherwise. Though, I can tell you now that I’ve...forgiven you. That’s because I’ve lived with the memories of those training sessions for decades now. Your reasonings for the beatings came to fruition as of late. I’m a world champion again, making it hard to argue with your means to an end. Your brutality created results in your children.
Back when I was young, when I was naïve, I didn’t understand why you were so harsh. The bruises and scars on my body were normally reminders of your disdain for me. I would pick at the marred skin to try to get rid of the physical and emotional memory. It took a few times of me trying to do that before I decided it was best to run away from home. I didn’t realize how selfish an action it was. While I was out in the world, I found people that I thought were the people I needed to grow strong. They held me down, I came to realize. Each year that I grew older, the more that the wounds you left on me began to make sense. You never struck me for the purpose of your self-gratification. You did it to teach me how to survive. You made me cold so that the silly aspects of humankind wouldn’t reach me.
You were breaking me out of my chrysalis, trying to help me achieve my strongest form. I kept hiding away in the comfort of its warmness, where weak voices tried to teach me to be weak. It wasn’t until I met someone like you that I began to understand what you were doing. Even then, I resisted. I came to your doorstep with my accolades to prove myself your equal, when I was still just a naïve boy, begging for his father’s attention. When in actuality, you had already given it to me, and I threw it away.
Now that I’m older, I see my past from a realistic point of view. I have children that I must rear correctly. I have a wife that I need to protect. I have an established legacy that grows more each day. I stand in my field unopposed. I am undefeated. I am undeniable. I was unchallenged until a hunter stepped into my parlor. I…I see so much of my younger self in Nathaniel Cartwright, Father. If I had the chance to find him myself, in the tranquil garden he calls his forest, I would have been able to do him a tremendous service. I could have brought him to you. You…no, we, could have made him something beyond what he thinks he is.
He even has Melissa by his side—well, he used to anyways. You remember Melissa, don’t you? She used to come around the house to terrorize our family. Especially you and Artemisia.
His arrival in my life has made me ponder on how I looked to you when I was throwing my childish tantrums. When I was lashing out, trying to rebel, did I look like you did when you were younger? Maybe it’s fatherhood that has me seeing things differently. I don’t want to end this poor boy’s story so early. This company, Pro Wrestling Excellence? It’s his first outing into the world of professional wrestling. It’s charming to see. He has the talent, but he also bears the markings of someone so young…and naïve.
He thinks that he’s going to beat me.
He has the audacity to say that he’s going to take me down--because I won’t see him coming.
It’s enough to make me laugh, genuinely laugh. I don’t mean it in the sense to deride him. No, it’s so comical because it’s like how I was. He speaks like I did when I first started. It was the same thing. I thought I was unstoppable. I thought that no one was my equal. I thought that the upbringing I had coupled with my experiences would propel me beyond anybody else. Oftentimes, it did. It’s why I conquered the first company I stepped into. PWA was under my heel because no one else was ready. Nathaniel thinks the same thing.
Father, I write this letter to you, to ask a single question.
What do I do with him?
Should I put him down, like the reckless, little dog he is? He’s disrespecting me as if he’s my superior.
Should I humble him and let him dwell on that?
Should I even let him win and take it all away from later?
I can’t decide. Perhaps it’s best that I just show him the differences in our lives. He’s fueled by his tenacity, his ambition, and even vengeance.
Oh, you wouldn’t know why he’s seeking revenge.
Tara broke Melissa’s arm.
You predicted this at some point, didn’t you?
Ha.
I want to nurture him. Show him what’s beyond his limited scope. He can’t see the forest for the trees. It’s not because he’s young. It’s not because he’s inexperienced. It’s because his hunt is all he knows. He doesn’t know what lies beyond.
…I’m going to educate him. I’m going to drag him by his unruly mane and force him to see what I see on a daily basis.
They put us into a deathmatch, an old favorite of yours. There are no laws. There are only the limitations of what our imaginations can do. He doesn’t understand my language. I—I have to teach him each word with each blow. I will etch it into his mind with a spike if I have to! As long as he leaves that night a wiser man, then I have done my job correctly. Isn’t that right, Father?
It will be an arduous task. He’ll resist, thinking that he’s going to beat me. With his raw talent, he has the capacity to beat anyone. Given a few years, his fangs may reach me yet. However, he has to learn that everything doesn’t go his way. His experiences in the woods don’t amount to anything.
He’s not the only hunter in the land. He’s not even the only hunter here in PWE.
Oh…
You shouldn’t worry, Father, I will be okay. What are a few bite marks if I can achieve my goal?
I’ve told Pro Wrestling Excellence time and time again that I will reach Heaven through violence. At Annihilation, I’m going to do just that finally. And I’m going to drag Nathaniel Cartwright up with me.
Kicking and screaming.
And possibly lifeless if I have to.
It’ll be for his own good.
I promise.
Come home,
Cameron
