010
revival.
The familiar pain of someone’s weight crashing into his body sent Damian Ayla into a daze. Vhodka’s body had collided directly into his solar plexus, uprooting old war wounds and recent aches. They all congealed together and left him unable to lift his shoulder off the mat. In those last three seconds, the world slowed to a crawl. It furthered his torment as his mind and body argued with one another. Despite every inclination to lift himself, to continue fighting, Damian’s body couldn’t take any more punishment. It gave up the fight, and thus the Excellence Championship left his possession. The crowd noise stole Damian from his stupor, where he was welcomed into the new reality. He wasn’t the champion anymore, and he had to watch Vhodka Black parade around with his most prized possession.
Numerous questions raked his brain as he stood up from the mat. Tara had come to his side, giving him a faint, sympathetic smile. At the end of everything, she was the most important thing. It was the reason why he came back to wrestling. Nearly a decade of dominance on his end, and none of it mattered. As long as he had his most trusted companion, the love of his life, there wasn’t anything that professional wrestling could offer. In the nights after, Damian recalled what other role that Tara served in his life.
It came in the form of a positive pregnancy test.
His reaction was the obvious one. Though blessed with three children already, he wasn’t shying away from having more. Though, he did feel some melancholy flutter in his soul over the revelation. Tara had won the Pro Wrestling Excellence Impulse Championship, the first championship of her career. Where he had stumbled, she had succeeded. In a way, it made the wound of losing vanish entirely, for her success meant he had done what was required. He had trained Tara from the infancy of her career and supported her in every endeavor. Pro Wrestling Excellence was never his company, no. He was merely her soldier, given the task of seizing the throne while she readied herself.
If it was not for her now carrying his child, she would have elevated the championship beyond its horrid beginnings, and even beyond his reign as the Excellence Champion. By his design, it would even be his vengeance towards Vhodka for defeating him. Tara had beaten her prior, and through that, he could find solace. No matter what the tattooed banshee did, Tara would always have the advantage over her. Damian could seat himself in the shadows of their throne while Tara shined brightly in gold and gore. He had crushed those dreams and used them as kindling. Those flames born from them would conquer any competitive sphere they found. His children would be better than he, their mother, and their family.
So, why was his name back on the active roster? Why did he turn a poignant truth, his retirement, into a common lie?
The answer wasn’t complex.
But it was unknown to him.
━━━ ♠ ━━━
Damian Ayla’s mornings were structured and followed to the finest detail. He got up every morning at 5:30 AM. He never ventured from his room until he took a shower. He felt as the hot water purified him. Academically, he tended to his skin and hair, a minor twinge of vanity. Yet, sitting upon an installed wooden bar, he would set an alarm. Old-fashioned as he was, he kept to a digital alarm so that there weren’t any possibility of mishaps. Once thirty minutes had gone by, he was out of the bathroom. At 6:00 AM, it was time to tend to the animals.
One of the few things Damian retained from his father’s instructions was towards his animals. They shouldn’t ever be fed anything lesser than what he feeds himself or his family. An exnorable amount of money went towards maintaining their diet. A secret factoid about Damian was his pursuit in academia. Rested above his championships, he placed his Doctorate in Veterinary Medicine. He found seminars on animal care and nutrition. As such, he spent the earlier portions of his morning making sure that none of his animals were not taken care of that day. He considered this to be his most exhausting task. The reward, however, was just as invigorating. Loyal, powerful dogs that were several times better than any personal bodyguard. It helped that they were also adorable amidst their dangerous exterior.
At 7:00 AM, it was time to wake up the family. He didn’t barge into rooms, recalling the ingrained fear he garnered from his father’s exploits. Instead, he went into the kitchen, put on an apron, and cooked breakfast. He opted for healthier meals, things to sustain the day. He favored English one-pan breakfasts, yet he refused to serve blood sausage to anyone. Not even his animals. The smells ventured throughout the house, tickling the noises of those within it. Soon, basic instincts would take over and the family would come their wary way into the dining room.
However, the morning of August 17th, 2022, two days removed from Victory XII, his peace was disturbed. Sauntering into the kitchen with an off-key song on his breath, Damian’s younger brother interfered with Damian’s proceedings. Reveille Vandyne, or Gage to many more, was the black sheep of the family in no shorter terms. Despite his clear intelligence beyond his siblings and peers, Gage’s ventures didn’t heed that trait. When he did wrestle, he selected deathmatches as his forte. He said it let him experiment. Despite that motivation, he lost interest in the sport and left it behind. Being the first to break away from the family’s accursed tradition, Gage’s personality often…clashed with his eldest brother.
While Damian tried to hustle over plates of food, Gage snatched a strip of thick-cut bacon off his brother’s plate. “So, Dam,” his nickname was rejected, but any pleas towards not using were then subsequently rejected, “you’re wrestling again?”
Damian refused to answer as it was obvious. He made a promise to Allen Chaney that if he won the Excellence Championship, Damian would return to settle their score. The clearness of that failed to shut Gage up. “Isn’t that, like, 85% of your problem? I thought the whole ‘there’s nothing wrong with my wife’ business came from wrestling.”
Damian took the prattling as an opportunity to take his bacon back. He placed it back in its three-line cluster and sorted out the rest of the family’s food. Gage peered over and grimaced. “What? I don’t get a plate?”
“You’re a grown man. Fix your own food,” Damian said as he went back to the stove.
“Vee got a plate,” Gage quickly retorted, in reference to his wife.
Damian gave his brother a pleading glance. “She’s a nursing mother. It’s rude to dismiss her.”
Gage nodded his head, conceding the point. He did so only to round back to his former one. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”
“No, Tara’s…predicament had nothing to do with wrestling.”
“It did intensify it, though. You remember how she broke Melissa’s arm? Have you spoken to her at all since Tara broke her arm?” Gage fished through the cutlery. “Or did you stop talking to her after you bludgeoned her ex-boyfriend?”
“Which one was that?” Damian asked. He was serious but Gage found humor in that. He began to laugh uproariously with a steak knife in hand.
When he stabilized, Gage twirled the knife around his hand. “Nah, but I thought you were done. You went back because Tara wanted to improve. Well, she did, so why are you making your way back again? I thought you dropped the whole bloodthirsty part.”
Damian poured glasses of apple juice, orange juice, and milk in the order of preference. For Orson, he swirled in chocolate syrup and a dash of honey. Gage had commandeered the apple juice jug and took a swig. Damian swiftly and angrily snatched the bottle back. “Now I can’t have apple juice?” Gage asked, to which his brother glared.
The patriarch let out a sigh. “If I answer your questions, will you go and try to be productive?”
“By productive, you mean–”
Damian’s tone hardened. “Will you get out of the way?”
“Sure, bro, whatever you want,” Gage said, taking a healthy step back. “You know, you were a lot more fun a decade ago. Then again, that was like a millennium ago. A century?”
“Gage.”
“What? Just reminiscing over when you weren’t so…” Gage waved his hands around Damian’s form, “this.”
Damian stopped, turned to Gage, and crossed his arms. “Oh, you mean when I was hyped up on drugs, violence, and trying to kill myself at every turn?”
Gage didn’t respond. He gave his older brother a long look. “Um.”
Then he snapped his fingers and his face lit up with exhilaration. “Yeah! That was peak Cameron, oops, I mean Damian! The era of Damian With The Good Hair! Ahhhhhh, those were good times. What happened to that guy? Why didn’t he get into wrestling? I mean, not saying that The King of Darkness isn’t cool, but just saying. I bet people wouldn’t try to disrespect you if you were more like how you used to be. You still could be, realistically. All you had to do is let the hair grow out, take one drug, and then bam! You’re back to the races! Allen Chaney? He wouldn’t stand a chance against that!”
Damian had opted to let his brother ramble on. It was good background noise until the family filled the room. He put down forks, knives, and spoons. He pulled the table cloth around to make sure no edges were going to rip up. The children weren’t as fast to come down the stairs. It was as though fate wanted Gage to frustrate Damian exclusively. He couldn’t help but look over his shoulder, hoping that Tara would quietly enter the room. Alas, it was not meant to be.
Yet, one statement did capture Damian’s attention.
“You’re not going to beat him like you are now.”
Damian’s focus zeroed in on his brother. “Excuse me?”
“All I’m saying, dear brother, is that you’re too stiff like this. Tara’s not out there anymore. That was your chief motivation!” Gage pulled a piece of scrambled egg off the hot pan. “Honestly, that’s why I asked what you were doing coming back to the sport. I get the whole ‘honoring your obligations’ bit, but I never thought that you would sign up just to get your ass kicked.”
Damian cleared his throat, bringing Gage back down to earth. The younger brother looked over towards the entryway to see Tara toddling into the room. “Don’t stop at my behest,” she mumbled before yawning. Damian pulled her chair out, and she took the seat with a nod.
Gage gave the air a second before he took it to speak again. “Just be honest with yourself, Damian, or else you’re going to end up regretting it.”
Damian didn’t respond, opting to head close to the entryway. He was curious about where his children were. He saw Vee making her way across the hallway upstairs. Perhaps she was helping the morning efforts, tending to the baby Sylas. Gage brushed past him in a hurry, having caught a glimpse of his wife. “Vee!” he yelled out as he scrambled up the stairs. Damian let another sigh leave him as he turned back to see Odette settling in her seat. He moved over, relieved that at least one of his children respected his schedule.
As he sat down, he waited for Orson to follow suit. His son eventually did, hurrying in with a frantic look on his face. He was probably working on some Lego construction earlier and let time escape him. Thankfully, it was more charming than pressing. Damian looked over to his wife, who let out a fatigued noise. The third trimester had snuck up on her and all the woes with it.
“Did you sleep okay?” Damian asked, to which Tara offered him a disgruntled expression. She reached out and patted his stomach. Damian’s eyebrow rose in confusion.
“You carry him,” Tara said, giving life to Damian’s face. She was mostly serious.
Damian took up his fork and struck it into a strip of well-earned bacon. When he looked back up, Tara was looking longingly into space. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you not hungry?”
Tara shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s what I heard Gage say.”
“About me getting beaten?” Damian went on, “you think I’ll lose?”
“Hm,” Tara vocalized, “I agree with your brother.”
Tara’s dark eyes locked with her husband’s while she scooped up scrambled eggs on a spoon. The innocuous action came with a cold statement.
“You should be more honest with yourself, my love. Allen will eat you alive if you’re not.”
━━━ ♠ ━━━
“Good evening, Joe–”
Damian stifled a small chuckle.
“No, I’m sorry, your Majesty, I tend to get the two of you confused. And I apologize for taking the low-hanging fruit,” he said, placing a hand over his heart. “It’s just that when this card was announced, I saw the name Montuori and thought I had the chance to avenge my dear Tara. You see, she had to vacate the championship to fulfill her motherly duties, a honorable reason. However, in the aftermath of that, your brother put his disgusting hands all over her championship. Therefore, I thought I could brutalize him for that sin alone.”
The former Excellence Champion stoked the flames before him. He was within an unfamiliar, summer home; it wasn’t his prior engagements. He turned over a piece of firewood before he settled there. His dark eyes provided the fire a canvas to dance about while he continued. “Alas, I was given you, the self-proclaimed King. Sadly, you’re just another one of the thousands that infest this sport. Every man wants to be a king, and every woman wants to be a queen. Yet, no one seems to understand the inevitability of a monarchy. The people that they grind beneath their heels eventually reach up and drag them down by their ankles. Once they have them in their grip, they tend to lob their heads off and mount them on pikes. The end of every dynasty comes by way of bloodshed. It’s no different in our sport, and it’s not a fate that you can escape either.”
“The fate you face of me putting you down is one that you created yourself. You did so even before we met one another,” Damian said, leaning back away from the flames. “From where I’m standing, as a former world champion, I see a child screaming for attention. Is it because your brother has eclipsed you in every fashion of the word. I’m the eldest brother of my family and I’ve seen it happen so many times before. Matter of fact, I can think of one pint-sized God of Anger that would shudder at the comparison. Nevertheless, I understand that the younger siblings are forced to measure up to those who came before them.”
Flatly, the Godslaying Beast spoke. “It’s just pathetic coming from you.”
“Just look back at your performance in the first show back. Certainly, disposing of the riff-raff was par for the course. I did the same thing when I became the Excellence Champion in the Season One premiere,” Damian stood up from his position, heading away from the fire. “But when you ran into real competition, in the form of Wraith, you faltered. Your brother didn’t. He walked away with gold.”
“When it came time to compete with your brother, that same itch to upstage your brother came forward. Peach and Mia weren’t ready for you two. But when your brother tried to keep the team cohesion, you threw what was akin to a toddler’s temper tantrum. You tagged yourself in, stole the glory, and paraded around like you did something worthwhile. All while the credit didn’t even go to you. Your wife did the most important part.”
“Then we cap off your efforts here with the triple threat. You put down El Landerson and Estrella Luiz,” Damian clapped his hands in the midst of whatever else he was doing. The genuineness of the action was left to others to determine. “No, I won’t rebuke what you have done here. It’s not my style, as they would say. You risked everything to make it here and to try to make yourself into a household name. And now you have the chance of a lifetime.”
“You defeat me? And you become one of the few people throughout my decade-long career to have beaten me. You know how many have done that?” Damian lifted two of his fingers, wiggling them about in a somewhat playful manner. “One of those being your friend, Vhodka, and I’m sure you want to be like her. Not like it’s an uncommon thing. I’m sure that everyone in FIGHT: NY, Next Level Wrestling, XWF, and any of our other affiliates wanted to be her. She just beat Damian Ayla, the undefeated, unrivaled champion. So, even there, you’re not special.”
“Really, that’s the culmination of a lot of your efforts here in my company. It’s nothing incredible. It’s not groundbreaking like Issak Otto’s and Kanna Verger’s exploits,” Damian stopped again and shrugged. “You’re not as special as you think. But it’s only because you’re facing me, not the other way around. I requested a warm-up match. Those were my words exactly. Unfortunately, I think your brother, Wraith, Ellie Quinn, Lachlan Kane, Issak Otto, Kanna Verger–”
The ex-champion lifted his hands apologetically. “You get the point. Everyone else was busy, and you’re one of the better people on our roster. You’re ranked…what, seventh? That’s still the top ten. That’s worth something, right?”
“To you, I’m the biggest stepping stone you’ll ever see. Despite losing to Vhodka, I’m still the most successful member of the Pro Wrestling Excellence roster. I defeat you and you become another statistic. You beat me and you’re jumping the line to the Excellence Championship. Hell, if you beat me, I’ll give you my chance at Allen Chaney. But when I beat you? I’ll have to thank you in my celebration speech after I beat Allen. But I can see you salivating at the chance because it’s through this match that you can try to realize your dreams. You beat me, you beat Allen, and you’re finally ahead of your brother in something!”
Damian opened a door to a lower facility. As he entered, there were the sounds of people fighting. In the time that Damian spent away, he had organized his own fighting league. It served as a breeding ground for people like him. Several members of the local glanced at him and bowed. Soon enough, the entire room had turned their attention to him. The former world champion turned, tucking his arms behind his back. “So, it’s up to me to shatter those dreams.”
“Because frankly, Paul Montuori, I think you’ve replaced LCP in many senses. You are now the most cancerous thing to taint this sport that I hold so dear. It’s not because of your predilections involving your brother. It’s not your statements that have already bludgeoned a horse to death. No, the crux of my problem with you lies in what motivated me to leave PWE to start with. You see, I had every intention of enacting my rematch clause to face Vhodka Black again. I didn’t shy away from the challenge of fighting someone who bested me. I don’t run or hide from my failures.”
“And if you think that one night, one victory, makes Vhodka Black the best there is? Better than me? You think that since your friend put me down that you’re going to be the next person to do it?”
Correcting the stance of a young prospect, Damian took the time to adhere to the proper way to go for a single leg takedown. He continued on, leading the young man to follow instructions. It was an admirable effort.
“Since you’ve never held the top belt, then let me break it down for you. What makes someone the best is walking down that ramp, putting your championship, your legacy, your very soul, on the line night after night. It’s holding that championship high in the air and forcing people to recognize what greatness is. That’s why Vhodka Black came to Pro Wrestling Excellence. That’s why so many people came, just for the chance to have a sample of what I have. It’s why Allen Chaney is waiting for me, not waiting for you. And you will never understand that because you’re so caught up in your miserable, dark fantasies to try to.”
“And you’re walking into this match, underestimating me, because of that very ideology. I don’t underestimate people, no. That’s the downfall of many great champions. You floundered in those key matches like how you did against Dickie Watson, but it doesn’t make you any less driven. You want to make those lies the truth. But you’re never going to make it past me. I’ll beat you down and leave you a shell of what you think you’re meant to be.”
“Paul, you wear a fake crown in a glass kingdom on a throne of lies. You’ve surrounded yourself with sycophants who will abandon you when it all falls around you. Furthermore, you’ve attached yourself to a false queen that supports that pathetic mindset. And the worst part is that she’s just as much of a failure as you are. Just in the last show, she lost to a rookie. What does that do for your dynasty?”
“It sets a standard of disappointment for your children and the rest of your family,” Damian said as he entered his office. It wasn’t a hole in the wall. Instead, it was a massive room, where people could seat themselves to watch films. At the time, people were watching the latest installment of the WOLF Combat League. Damian reached another door that led into a more private venue. In there, he had moved his accolades, cleansing his house of all otherworldly desires. He made his way to his large, yet comforting seat. Made out of a black cotton blend, it hardly made noise as Damian sat.
“It’s that point that creates my disdain for you. You’ve let your obsessions rule out what’s important to you,” as he spoke, the ex-champion reached and retrieved a picture. It was of him and his family in a rather typical gothic arrangement. “I, on the other hand, have never lost what was truly important. There has never been a moment where my family has lost their meaning to this business. In fact, it’s them that has made me the force of nature that’s going to rip you to pieces. If there’s something that I hate, it’s not the vainglorious braggards. It’s not the foolish people. It’s the reckless fools that don’t understand what they have to lose.”
“In the same way that PWE’s most talented rookie, Kanna Verger, disposed of your broken wife, I will do the same to you,” Damian balled his fists together, “You see, I can tolerate the existence of a monarchy in my company. To me, it’s just court jesters playing a role, but that patience doesn’t extend to you or your family.”
“This is no longer a warm-up match for me, Paul Montuori. Instead, it’s me making an example out of you. The people out there don’t know why I’m back or what shape I am in. However, it’s through me, beating you for each misdeed you’ve committed that they will understand. And if I can have my way for one night, I’ll make your children orphans.”
“So then? I can bring them into a family that will actually care for them.”
