[#006] MANTRA.

❝ MANTRA. ❞
vs Chelsea Skye; PWE Impulse Championship Ladder Match.⠀//⠀MAGNIFICENCE II.⠀//⠀#006.

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IN CONTINUATION WITH: THE HALLOWEEN APOCALYPSE.

Patience.

He didn’t have much of it, and how could he when he could expect the worst at the whisper of an unknown voice, but he knew that there’d be a day when they’d come knocking once again. For months, he waited and he waited. It almost became an obsession at this point when it turned from just patiently waiting for the day to come to every small thing in his personal life flicking a switch in his head and telling him that it’s time.

The second that something was knocked over? It was them. The sound of someone’s whisper? It was them. A simple knock at his own front door? It was them. Paranoia had settled in well with his lifestyle and it was becoming uncontrollable very quickly. Hell, it might as well have become schizophrenia with the amount of times that he’s heard voices in the back of his mind, seeing things peeking around the corner and staring right back at him, all out of the corner of his eyes.

If he told anyone else about the way he felt, they’d tell him that he’s “not well”.

But how would they have known that he wasn’t well? Was it because of the constant abuse of drugs throughout the past eight to nine months? That constant judgement always stays with him, no matter how many times that he’s tried his best to tell the truth, no matter how many times that he’s tried to hold himself up as a lawful, respectable, and legitimate man. Yet, there was no way of breaking out of this judgement either. These few months that have gone by have broken relationships, friendships, and even marriages—seeing them break, watching them part from you, knowing that they’d never come back unless you change? It hurts more than anything else.

He missed them. He missed all of them.

Especially one person in particular.

However, he had done his best to block out that memory to his full extent. The mere thought of them made him become weak, made him become vulnerable, and that’s exactly how he felt to this day. He was weak, he was vulnerable, he was alone. Trapped in his own bubble with nowhere to go but with the words of a soothing tone, a female voice, one that almost seemed familiar but he couldn’t put it to him. His phone buzzed, vibrated in his pocket, and a message came through.

‘Dahlia’s back around, she’s coming by your place soon.’

A message from his younger brother, Nathan. To hear that name again, it brought a chill down his spine. All of the memories were coming back to him at a quick pace, hitting him all at once, and it froze him in place. Phone slipping out of his grip and hitting the kitchen counter right in front of him. His breaths were getting heavier at the thought of her showing up at his home, he wasn’t sure as to how he could prepare himself for this moment—they’ve not seen one another since the divorce.

There was no way of getting around this now, a moment he’s not prepared for.

Several minutes have gone by, at least half an hour at this rate, and yet there’s no sign of Dahlia anywhere. Not a single message has gone through, not a moment that the two have spoken to one another, but to check Twitter and see her account had been reactivated? That was enough to know it was true. No nightmare scenario conjured up in his schizophrenic mind.

After a while, there was a knock at his door. Any other day, or even a moment in time, he would’ve expected the alternate dimension to have ripped their way through this world and expected them to come and bring him back through the portal. But there was nothing worse than expecting a former loved one, someone cared about so much, to the point where you were worried for their own safety and ended everything—marriage and all—so they could be protected.

“Jason?” Her voice came from the other side of the door, it sounded just like her. “Hey, I know this is just... It’s all so sudden but Nathan said that it’d be best to come and see you- he’s said you’re not well.” His heart began to skip a few beats, pumping a whole lot faster. His hand grabbed his chest, right where his heart is, and can feel his heart almost beating right out of his chest. Was this a heart attack? A panic attack even? He couldn’t describe the feeling. “You don’t have to answer the door to me, you… You really don’t have to. But just, at least, let me know you’re okay? Please?”

How could he answer her? How could he even find the words to speak to her? In his own mind, he left her with nothing but heartbreak—thinking that she was the problem to his own abuse, his own mental health, his own sickness. It wasn’t the question of if he had the balls to speak to her again but if he had the balls to admit what was wrong with him and what caused him to go insane?

Or, in other words, to tell her the truth about everything?

Dahlia continued to knock on his door, hoping for some kind of an answer, but he just stayed there in the kitchen and watched the front hallway from there—seeing her shadow from the pane of glass that was showing her head silhouette. Soon, the silhouette moved to the right and headed right for the window of the home. Jason watched Dahlia peek right in, Dahlia looked around the living room hoping for some kind of life inside, and the two locked eyes with one another.

No words exchanged, no motions made to one another, they just looked at one another. For him, it was like a moment in time frozen. He could feel a hundred different emotions rushing right through him all at once. His heart continued to skip those few beats, it continued to beat just a little bit faster and harder, and his breaths turned to very few—a couple of times he couldn’t even capture his own breath.

Her, on the other hand, was just different. She watched him just stand there and her heart didn’t beat faster, it didn’t skip at all, but her emotions. All she could feel at that time, seeing him inside and clearly ignoring her, was just disappointment. She was ignored, just like how she felt about that short term marriage, and there was nothing that she could do to help him anymore. Jason watched her walk right back to the door, he walked closer toward the front hallway as she heard her from the other side of the door once more.

“I understand… I’ll just go-”

“Not a fucking chance you’re leaving again,” he said to himself as he rushed to the door and hoped to whatever god there in this world that he’s got the chance to stop her before she moved on. He grabbed onto the door handle and held his breath, trying to overpower himself to open this door, trying to stop her from walking away. He was hesitant to do it, he really was, but he finally did it.

The door swung open, she wasn’t there.

Dahlia wasn’t there.

The alternate was there, however. Staring right into the eyes of Jason as he froze in fear of seeing him right in front of his very own eyes. This was nothing more than a trap, catching him when he was at his most vulnerable, catching him right when he was at his weakest and most broken. Months that he spent waiting for them to come, months that he spent waiting for them to make any kind of contact, months that he spent waiting for any kind of message to come through—and they struck with his weak point.

Jason took a step back and tried to rush away but the alternate grabbed him by the face, picking him up off of the ground with ease and hurled him down the front hallway of his own home, laughing hysterically as they had done so. Jason rolled along the wooden floor and stopped at the cabinets in his kitchen, hitting them with a hard thud as he slid across the tiling floor.

“I knew you would have been weak but this is exceptional,” the alternate muttered from under their breath from down the hall. Jason did his best to bring himself back up to his feet but the alternate simply kicked Jason down with a soccer kick right to the ribs. “I couldn’t have expected yourself to be falling for a woman you knew for three or more months, you’re too gullible. And here you are, trying to make my whole life something miserable because you chose to become a drug addict?”

Another kick to the ribs landed as he tried to get back up, the alternate stared down at him and smiled, almost chuckling at Jason, before reaching down and grabbing him by his hair to lift his head up. “Should give me one good reason I won’t fucking kill you right now.”

He had no words for them, not like he could’ve spoken any either, he was coughing up blood and spitting it out all over himself and all over on the floor as well. The alternate just threw him down onto the ground and pulled a chair over from the dining room, placing it right by the feet of Jason, taking a seat and leaning forward to watch Jason struggle to pick himself up.

“You’ve no idea how much they’ve been hiding you from me. They were doing everything in their power to make sure that I couldn’t find you at all but you know they couldn’t hide you forever, right?” Although they threw the question down, they weren’t getting a response either. The alternate sighed, shaking their head. “I wanted to try and be reasonable with you, entity. I wanted to speak with you and talk things through. But no, they kept you hiding. They blocked communications, they found ways to block entrances from dimensions, they did everything in their power to keep you away from me!”

Again, the alternate just stared down at Jason as he laid there flat on his back. They sighed. “What’s the point anymore, entity? You’re not the same man that killed me. You’re not the same man that ruined my life.”

They were right.

He wasn’t the same man that ruined lives, he wasn’t the same man that slaughtered and maimed his way into his position of power like he used to have, he wasn’t the same man that manipulated and controlled narratives of many people’s lives. He wasn’t the same man that he used to be, he was nothing more than a fraud of what he once was. The alternate got up from the chair and walked down the hallway, leading towards the door. For just a moment, they stopped and looked back at Jason. There he was, finally finding the energy to sit up and leaned against the cabinets. Very heavy breathing coming from him.

“And.. the whole world realised..” A pause. “..they were.. they were better off with me.. here.”

The cogs were turning inside of the alternate’s mind. They looked away from Jason and there was a scowling look growing along their face, the anger was building up and blood began to boil. There didn’t seem to be any movements coming from the alternate as they just stared down onto the floor. Jason grabbed onto the kitchen counter and pulled himself up onto his feet – barely being able to stand and legs shaking – but their eyes never left off of the alternate. A single blink from Jason and the alternate was looking right towards him.

Another blink. They were facing Jason.

A third blink. Fate appeared.

In their hand was a large blade, black handle with a damascus finish along the edge of the blade itself. The alternate was seething, teeth gritting against one another, breathing heavily as they ran towards Jason, pointing the blade toward him and swinging the point of the blade right for his stomach. Jason closed his eyes at this point, accepting that fate would come to this—the uncertainty of death was always something he cheated, but this was different. He knew it would come. He accepted it.

However, that’s not the case. As his eyes opened, he found himself inside of his own bedroom—laying under the bedsheets and in the dead of night, it was just about to reach quarter past nine. The date? December 16th. All of it seemed to have been a weird dream, a hallucination of sorts. None of this was real. None of it.

That would’ve meant that she wasn’t real. That’s something that he had hoped for anyway but just a quick sight of a message on his phone confirmed that it was true. ‘Yeah, so I've been speaking to Dahlia. She wants you to talk to her. Just for a moment at least. At least do that? Cheers.’

Nathan’s message was met with the simple reaction of pure disgust, a deep sigh as he fell right back into bed, head hitting the pillow. The thought of this all being real was killing him, he’d rather have the knife to the gut be feeling real right now than just being a fucked up nightmare playing in his head.

Jason continued to lay there, just staring up at the ceiling and blankly thinking to himself about that message on his phone, it felt like it was picking at him to do something about it. But why should he? He’s got his whole life set. A wonderful girlfriend that’s supportive, his wrestling career finding resurgence after a rocky start to the year, and above all else, he’s found himself. He’s finally found himself after all of this time.

At least, he thinks he has. But that message continued to pick at him—it wouldn’t leave him alone. Then, another notification came through. Nathan, once again.

‘Bastard, don’t fucking leave me on read. Just do it and you won’t have to worry about her again.’

“Fine,” he muttered under his breath.

If there was anyone who knew how to make Jason do something, it was his younger brother. They might not have seen eye to eye as much as Jason or Nathan would’ve liked but they were inseparable for the most part. Nathan knew what he was doing, messaging him at this hour of the night. Nathan knew he couldn’t resist the thought of even speaking to her.

So he went, he searched, the twitter account went active once again. He followed. She followed back. And he began to type. ‘So, you wanted to speak with me?’

This would either turn out to be a massive mistake or just finally putting the past behind him.

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“Pathetic.”

I’m sure you remember when those words were said to you recently, right? November 15th, I muttered that exact word right towards you after that tag match. A lot of people have come up to me since that night and asked me why I said that to you. They asked me if I had some kind of an issue with you, was it because I took great offence of something you said, was it out of anger from losing the match when it could’ve easily been won if the pin was broken up in time? And all of those questions made me wonder to myself why I had said such a thing to you, Chelsea. I haven’t looked back at that match since, I never planned to, I never should’ve either.

But you know what I did recently? I went back ahead and looked at that match. I had a good look, surveyed it over and over again, watched it on repeat over and over again. The one mistake that I made throughout that whole match was what?

Tagging you in.

From there, you had no control of the match whatsoever and I couldn’t help you either—not like I would’ve wanted to either to begin with—but to think that I made such a mistake knowing just how much of a weak, little, spoilt cunt you are and expecting the biggest of things to come your way? I should’ve known better. If anything, I knew from the moment that tag match was announced? I was fucked. I was well and truly fucked from the beginning– I could’ve said the same thing to Ophelia or Charlie that night or even weeks in advance to that show but I didn’t because I was taught to not judge things by it’s cover—or lack thereof when it comes to you.

See, my anger with you didn’t start with the moment I knew the match had you and I teaming with one another. At first, I questioned why someone like you was getting a shot at this championship considering that you had just lost a match against the former champion recently and didn’t come out on top there. I wondered why you were being given a second chance like the change in champion would have mattered. I realised very quickly how needy you are for chances to really prove yourself inside of the ring. I realised very quickly how much begging you do to get something, to show you have learned something in the past year since you signed the initial contract, to show you’re more than just someone that fought a literal fucking cat inside of a wrestling ring.

I heard you.

I heard what you had to say about myself as well when we teamed up in that match and that’s what really, really, really set me the fuck off about you. See, when people team with someone like myself? They feel proud to be on a team with someone that’s got so much experience in the tag team style, they see the reigns that I’ve had as a Tag Team Champion in many places and they think to themselves that he’s a really good partner to have. Or, in general, they just fucking respect me for who I am, Chelsea.

You, on the other hand, just decide that you’ve never heard of me at all and you’ve been living under a fucking rock for the past couple of years of your life. You said something that really got under my skin, and really fucking pissed me off more as I looked back on that match that we teamed up in.

“Jason? Just don’t fuck things up for our team and we won’t have a problem!”

How fucking dare you.

How fucking dare you even begin to question my legitimacy inside of the ring when you’ve done fuck all for your own career outside of becoming a metal band member and also a porn star on the side because you’re that desperate for… god knows fucking what, but I can’t even begin to fathom a person who’d pick such a thing to do with their lives. I’d say you’re almost as pathetic of a person as Joe Monteroi is but that would be disrespectful to him. Not saying that he deserves the respect because he’s clearly a deadbeat father just waiting to hop, skip, and jump out of that child’s life and into a new relationship he found with a hooker at a strip club—god forbid, it could be fucking you, Chelsea.

Have you shame for yourself at all? I respect a person who does things for their lives—I respect sex workers because that’s something that they’ve got to do with their lives but you’re a professional wrestler, you’re a musician, and then you’re someone that’s posting four-way lesbian porn on the hub. Are you so desperate with your life that you switch day jobs one after the other depending on what could get you the most money for the week? Would it fucking kill you to stick with one and hoping to god that you get good at it? Hell, you might become more memorable in wrestling if you just kept your fucking head down and stopped doing other shit.

Besides, who the fuck wants to see you nude to begin with? Balding 40 year old men hoping their lesbian fantasies are fulfilled are the only ones who’d pay to see your content along with your friends. That’s your worth, Chelsea? That’s your fucking worth in this world right now? All that I can see is a young woman, around my age, selling her body online for fuck all cash that she gets and trying to become a professional wrestler. I don’t even know what you’d spend your cash on but if you used it to do some actual lessons, you’d might get somewhere.

And let’s not begin with that short-ass shit you said on the previous show as well.

“You know what I’m thankful for? This damn company finally recognized me as one of the best young talents on the roster and not just the girl who wrestled a cat once!”

“I’m one of the original PWE Roster members and it’s about fucking time that “The Nightmare Angel” Chelsea Skye won her first title in this company!”

You’re only thankful because you haven’t the fainest of clues as to who the fuck I am. That, in itself, is your first mistake. This company hasn’t recognised you for shit other than just a nice first defence for my championship because they knew that they’d have to feed me the weak first before I get some serious contenders to the title. That, in itself, is your second mistake. The only reason why you’re an original here was because I was minding my business holding honour elsewhere and they kept you around because they sought after a good joke since they couldn’t bring Lil Petey here. That, in itself, is your third mistake. And the thought of you thinking that it’s your time, your moment, your own destiny to become a champion for the first time here? Thinking that my reign wouldn’t last as long as anyone else’s reign? It wouldn’t last long at all because you’re the one who’s going to dethrone me?

Fourth and final mistake.

You should be thankful for the fact you haven’t been released from your contract yet – and the fact that you’re wasting away a wonderful roster space when it could very easily be filled in by someone much better than you – is speaking volumes at the kind of “talent” that Pro Wrestling Excellence allows here.

After all, if someone is more memorable for a match that they had with a cat? I wouldn’t take them seriously as a “talent” of mine. I wouldn’t even let someone like that fucking near my company, I wouldn’t even let them get a glimpse of my company. But, I digress. Because this is all about you, this is all about your moment, your time to shine. Your moment to reach for the stars. Like you’ve said, the sky’s the limit for you.

And then you woke the fuck up after being stomped out.

If I have to be the reason that you finally come to your senses that you have no place near me, near this championship, or near this fucking company at all—then I shall gladly have fun in doing so. I will gladly have fun making an example out of you. A lot of people are not backing you on winning this and I’m sure you know that all too well. You’re probably wondering why because, again, you might’ve never heard of me until you found out you’re in an Impulse Championship match with me. Lemme give you the simple run down, yeah?

A seven-time World Champion, held twenty-five different championships, a total of thirty-three championship reigns and all of them in five and a half years. People with twenty or thirty years of experience become fucking jealous of me. I’ve got a Hall of Fame ring at the age of twenty-five. I’ve got multiple tournament wins under my belt and I’m sure I can add a few more to it in the future as well. I’m a history maker, whether it’s the first to hold a belt twice or become your first ever Triple Crown champion. I have match of the year candidates and I have the fucking awards to go with them as well.

You see, companies are dying to fucking have me as their champion because they know I can bring in the viewers, the audience, the talent, the fucking popularity that’s needed for a company to thrive and survive. You know how many times that companies have died with me as their final champion?

Three times.

And you know the reason why this has happened three times throughout my career? Throughout the past five and a half years? Because they couldn’t find anyone who’d be willing and able to take the championship away from me. I have fought through hell and back to defend championships, that’s how much I mean to companies. And if the day comes that this company does come to an end and closes up shop? You can already assure of the fact that I would be the final champion because this place doesn’t have anyone that would fucking put me down. And I can also assure you that the one person that will not be the one who dethrones me is Chelsea Skye.

No matter how much you can push her, she will always be nothing. No matter how much you attempt to make her a formidable opponent, she will always show just how lacklustre of an opponent she proves to be. And no matter how much you can try, she will always be the nobody who could barely get the fuck off the ground in any company she goes to.

You’re a joke.

You’re pathetic.

You are nothing and you should be thanking me for even making your name memorable before the year’s almost over—because they’ll remember you for being the stepping stone, for being the one I walked all over to defend this championship a few weeks into my reign, for being the one who tried her best to become someone but when someone with legitimacy showed up? They were put down for good.

And I will climb that ladder, watch you as you lay there fucked up beyond all repair, and find myself at the top of the ladder—looking around at the many cheering me on and praying that I just end the suffering caused onto you soon. And so I shall, pulling the championship down and ending your miserable fucking career. Leaving it dead and in the fucking dirt.

Just like your brother, Justin.

You’ll go six feet under the ground with him and his mangled up body.

And maybe then you'd have found a place that you truly fucking belong.

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