001
a cautionary tale.
A WEEK BEFORE THE FIRST VICTORY
LOCATION: [REDACTED AS PER ROBIN MORROW’S REQUEST]
When I first started competing, I was a part of an organization known as the Church of Oleska. Established in early 2012, the Church of Oleska is a new religious organization that spread the doctrine of its leader, the All-Mother, Robin Morrow. She believed that one day her goddess of violence, Oleska, would bring down a meteor to destroy Earth. The only way to contact her was to create as much chaos and violence as possible. As such, Robin spoke to her congregations to convince them to fall deeper into their vices. Her messages tend to include elements of anarchism, apocalypticism, and complete freedom. Though her claim of complete freedom turned her numerous compounds into mixtures of frat parties, death arenas, and devil summonings. Though only Robin’s longest followers listened and believed in her religion, Robin continued to move forward with her organization.
I was in the center of it as the First Son, the man who would stand by Robin’s side and bring more people in. While I developed my capacity for violence amidst like-minded people, I used wrestling as a litmus test for my downright heinous plans. I tortured a man’s mind to the point of breaking down his heroic character, his morals, and then his career. The ramifications of my actions led to my victim, Zakk Morris, going off the radar. All the while I had Robin and her followers cheering on my every atrocity.
I was never sure at that point if I was doing it because I wanted to or because of Robin’s influence. I was a machine made by her and she gave me a directive. Even if it was just in my subconscious. When I was a part of the Church, I was disillusioned, intoxicated with what she was giving me. As diminutive as she was, Robin carried the weight and mind-shattering presence of an Eldritch God. Every word that came out of her brightly-painted lips came out honeyed, but attached were little barbs. She ripped into your psyche and made you into her slave. In the end, I was one of them, the one she put on a pedestal. That was until I met Tara, who merely took my hand and brought me out of what Robin had designed for me.
I expected her to try to keep me entangled. So her apathetic reaction shocked me.
Rather, the statement provided came from a woman that seemed amused, not agitated. I tilted my head at her as she sank into the comfortable sheepskin seat. She replied with a thin smile, where I can see the tips of her teeth. “What did you expect me to cry over you leaving? You want to be free, dog? Then go. Shoo,” she waved her hand at me. “Just know that you’re going from one leash to another.”
Her callous nature didn’t bother me at this point. Robin sighed and grabbed a hold of her churchwarden pipe. After packing it with marijuana, Robin let the haughty veil down. With her pastel pink hair and generally bubbly energy, one may forget she was the leader of a violent cult. On the other end, some of her own members forgot that she was a woman who truly wanted the end of the world. My removal from her group didn’t mean too much to her because she was nihilistic in the end anyways.
“Just remember, my son, that you should still live by one mantra,” she began, taking a long hit from the stem. “Before I tell what that mantra is, I want you to also look in the mirror and reassess who you are.”
“Because you’re not the kind of person that’s going to change when you leave here,” Robin laughed to herself, finding humor in the reality she presented. “When you do that, I want you to take your wife, who is just as bad as you, and tell yourself this.”
The next words she said are what I imprinted in my mind. It’s what I decided to carry with me into Pro Wrestling Excellence.
REACH HEAVEN THROUGH VIOLENCE
Robin didn’t provide context to what Heaven was. Clearly, I could draw a conclusion that it wasn’t the usual definition. Robin Morrow wanted a violent, bloodthirsty goddess to send a meteor to destroy every life on Earth including hers. Searching for what she meant was akin to going down a winding path that led to a cliffside. Regardless, I think it was her intention for me to create my own definition for what the statement meant.
And what I found is what everyone in Pro Wrestling Excellence was going to have to deal with.
Through Violence, I found serenity once before.
Through Violence, I will find it again.
Through Violence, I will reach my Heaven.
And get rid of the infestation trying to pollute it.
━━ ♠ ━━
Dear Ophelia Knight,
I must thank you for signing Tara and I to your company. I cannot disclose the exact reasons why we have come to your company. They’re deeply personal, but nonetheless, we will see to upholding your desires. We heard you say that you want to bring wrestling back to its roots. You’re hoping that this first Victory will give you the perfect champion, one that will paint what exactly PWE is all about. I assure you that I will do my part in aiding you, especially if I win that championship.
Though, that’s not the purpose of me writing this letter.
I send you this letter to politely give you context for the atrocities that I will commit while this company is alive. I take it with people such as myself, Kayla Richards, and some of the more experienced competitors, you’re aware that there will be horrible things done under your leadership. You know wrestlers have no limit to the extremes they’ll go to prove that they’re the best. As such, you will have to exact punishments, arrangements, and circumstances for your employees that may make you think about your career choice.
I cannot speak directly for my wife, so I will skew my words to talk about myself. The video at Strategic Assault didn’t give you the full vision of who I am and what I am going to do.
I hate professional wrestling. This must be strange coming from an eight year veteran, but I do. That statement alone should ignite your imaginations about who I am or what I do. However, I think it needs some explanation. Why does Damian Ayla hate the sport that you love so much?
To start, I’ll say that for a while, I was the juggernaut.
For two years, I stayed undefeated. I won a World Championship. I tormented men and women. I was the leader of a cult. I dragged one of my siblings into the darkness. In two years, I lived the life that so many young wrestlers wanted to. Yet, I stayed to the independent scene. The PWA and Legacy Wrestling were small corporations that catered to a specialized audience. I thought my apathy towards competition came from the small pond I was thriving in. I was a shark and ate all the koi fish that couldn’t run from me anymore. But when I tried my hand at the higher echelon of competition, I found it lacking.
Most companies were drunk off name value. You could tear through an entire company but if you didn’t have the fame behind you, then you were tossed to the side. It made the fresh joy of a new company sour upon first taste. Why bother when the administration was looking for the immediate success, not the long term. Seeking thrills or enjoyment became a chore. You, however, said something that resonated with me. You established how you weren’t going to pander to try to measure up to the companies that have been around for ages. You’re going to let things grow organically. It’s commendable when you couple it with your want for natural violence and competition, not just spectacle. I respect you and your plights. Thank you for making a place that I can believe in. It has been so long.
Unfortunately, I cannot say the same about those that I share a locker room with. As you can tell by my video at Strategic Assault, my wife, Tara, is perhaps the only person that I hold in any consideration. The roster makes it easy to hate them. The same exact event gave me incentive to. Betsy Granger and Kayla Richards vomited conceit and blind arrogance. Just because they have some accolades, they think that this event will be easy. Whereas someone like Klayton Kross couldn’t make up his mind if he was honorable or respectful or if he was simply genetically superior. Even Zoey and Xaria couldn’t resist the urge for self-adulation.
Or you get an idiot like Tank or a cat.
Regardless, I apologize for not being able to relate to them. It means that I can’t empathize with them. I listened to their stories and motivations for competing. I wish I had the capacity to recognize their plights. I could tell that these individuals, even the people who didn’t send a video in, want nothing more than to make it to the finals. You can see the fire, the desire, in their eyes. I’m envious of them. That fire used to be so beautiful until it became downright…pathetic.
Surely, they’ll have that fire in their eyes when they’re forced to watch me leave with the Excellence Championship. They’ll try to set me ablaze with that fire because the villain in their minds. The dispassionate, conniving bastard that stole their dream away from them. And they’ll take that hate and their precious motivations and come at me with all their might.
And they will fail. It will be gruesome. It will be upsetting. But most of all, it will be tragic. It’s wonderful theatre for the audience, as you will find out. And they might blame you for it, even though it’s not your fault, Ms. Knight. All you did was dangle a new championship on a lure and told every fish in the pond to jump for it. It’s just unfortunate that you let a shark free in the waters. That’s exactly what happened when you signed me to the roster. Worst of all, none of those idiots can come after me because I’m some monster to overcome. I’m just the best wrestler in the company.
I promise you that I’m not some sadist—I don’t derive any joy from hurting people.
When I tear a shoulder out of its socket, it’s to make sure that someone like Driscoll can’t throw a punch anymore. When I rip apart someone’s ACL, it’s to make sure someone like Alexander can’t run from me. My actions are to make my life easier. Unlike Richards, violence isn’t my drug. I’m not Jace and see violence as some sort of science. I hurt people because hurting people is my most basic operation. It comes as easily to me as does breathing or eating.
In this case, I’m going to leave some lasting damage on everybody in this company—even my wife—only because I need the Excellence Championship and people won’t listen if I tell them to step aside. They’ll fight and fight because no one knows when to give up. It’s as commendable as it is frustrating. And the only other reason that I can try to come up with is that I have this headache right now. It’s akin to the one you get when you don’t drink enough water. It’s your body and mind screaming to give it what it needs. Violence is one of my body’s needs and this event will give my fill. Tara and I recognize violence as our love language. It’s what wakes me up. It’s what puts me to sleep. It’s what paints my dreams and fosters my nightmares.
Violence is my God and I know it’s how I will reach Heaven. So how could I ever bastardize the concept and abuse it like any other common person? But I understand if my words may worry you. You don’t need to, though, Ms. Knight. I cannot hurt the roster members more than I have to. If there’s no one left to fight, then who is left for me to sustain my need off of?
Once again, Ms. Knight, this letter is a formal advisory for my particular brand of ultraviolence. I would implore you to hold onto this for future reference.
Oh, and if I lose?
I’m not boring enough to give away every surprise.
Yours Truly,
Damian Ayla
━━ ♠ ━━
TWO DAYS BEFORE THE FIRST VICTORYLOCATION: [REDACTED], YUKON, CANADA
Tara. Odette. Orson. Sylas.
They were Cameron Lutece’s reasons for living.
A nocturnal creature by nature, Cameron wandered his immense manor. Partly, it was to patrol the grounds and give anything off-kitler attention. His pack of guard dogs trotted behind him, demanding his affection with every step he took. Massive dogs that could tear out a person’s jugular with ease routinely competed for their caretaker’s gaze, as if they were school girls. Those actions were committed in the effort to lull his body into wanting to sleep. As he entered his home and locked the door behind him, he decided to check on the children.
The walls of the twins’ room granted anyone a glimpse into a personal galaxy. Little glowing stars sparkled on a dark painted wall, which carried magnificent nebulas throughout. It took Cameron two months to finish what he considered a masterpiece. The only motivation he needed was for Odette to say that she wanted to touch the moon and the stars. Cameron promised her that she would. Orson wanted to see the sun every night because he was scared of shadows. Over Orson’s bed, there was a tiny sun, guiding him into a gentle slumber each night.
Over time, Tara and Cameron decided to get rid of Orson’s bed. He was tethered to his sister, following closely behind her in awe of her bravery. She guarded him from nightmares, which reminded Cameron of his bygone relationship with his eldest sister, Asher. Sitting down by the bedside, Cameron pushed away a strand of his hair, preventing it from somehow disturbing his eye. His emotional reprieve was infiltrated by a course of sadness. Soon enough, both Tara and himself would be travelling to Las Vegas and then other places during their tenure in PWE.
The family’s togetherness hadn’t been tampered with in three years when Cameron went to compete in OCW. Tara was still home and Cameron was able to come home quite a lot, so it wasn’t a problem. Fortunately, the small community around their manor weren’t scared of the Luteces, even more so they found him charming. An elderly couple, the Rudolfs, volunteered to take the children, citing that they were excited to have some noise in the house again. It was a nice image when coupled with Mrs. Rudolf’s eyepatch—her eye taken from a war, she says.
Cameron had entered the room to reinforce a thought in his head. As he watched his children sleep, not bothered by their father’s presence, Cameron wondered if he was leaving for their sake. Ross Hanson was competing for his son, if Cameron remembered correctly. It wasn’t the first time he heard anything like that in wrestling. Some people had to throw themselves into bloodbaths to provide for their kin. It was honorable, but Cameron wanted to test for himself if Odette, Orson, and Sylas were his driving force.
They couldn’t be, he told himself. Allowing his family to be his key motivation would make him weak. If someone disrespected his children, he would stop at nothing to end their pitiful existence. However, to present it outright made low-hanging fruit for the filth that made up Pro Wrestling Excellence. To ensure his success, he had to make himself as impervious as he could. Especially since he already had a weakness outlined brightly for everyone to see.
This time, Father can’t fight for you. Your mother’s already there.
Cameron stood up and left silently, enough so that not a single peep came from the twins. As he stood outside of their room, he let out a fatigued sigh and headed down the hallway. The first creak of the floorboards invited his hounds to come up to him. Starved of their fatherly caretaker’s attention, they jumped on him. Cameron ordered two of them, Bacchus and Stolas, to stay by the door. Odette would get up sometimes to get her brother water, and the dogs made sure that she was safe from anything, including herself. Good boys.
The only light still on in the entire building drew Cameron in. As he entered Sylas’s nursery, the gentle sounds of the ocean tide greeted him. For their youngest, Tara and Cameron discovered that the sounds of the ocean calmed him down. Though, Sylas was a quiet infant, reminding Tara of herself. His wife cradled her youngest son, putting him down for the night. She turned to Cameron, her cherished husband, and smiled.
She had not spoken in months, reverting back to ESL to communicate. Fortunately, Cameron mastered the language in his effort to bond with her. She left the room, leaving Sylas to sleep comfortably. When she closed the door, it didn’t take long for her to fall into Cameron’s arms.
“Do you think they’ll be okay?”
Cameron nodded. “Of course. They’re our children. I believe they understand what we do.”
Tara’s smile lessened a little, losing its feeling. “Do you think we’ll be okay?”
The question made Cameron pause as he eyed Tara. He knew already she didn’t ask that out of worry for their relationship. When they decided to join PWE, they already knew that there was a possibility of facing another. Searching deeper in her words, Cameron found the meaning. It had been a long time since the two had been in a wrestling company. More importantly, that gap in time led to them becoming reclusive. Outside of their interactions with their neighbors, who were just as withdrawn as they were, the Luteces had not encountered anyone from the realm that brought them together. With it came new adversity and a need to return to form.
The peace of the Lutece family was going to break apart. With painstaking patience, Tara and Cameron painted their new sense of normalcy. The only time that they catered to their past was when they sparred with one another, just to keep themselves sharp. As the time drew closer to the first Victory, Cameron felt a sense of dread in his stomach. Someone like Kayla Richards could boast about how violent she was, but she knew not the deeper reaches of the mentality. Surface level ideology was a bygone aspect of the Luteces. Pro Wrestling Excellence was going to yank Tara and Cameron back into their old selves.
It’s easy to play the monster, but it’s much harder to be the monster.
And it’s hardest to take yourself from that lifestyle—when you enjoy it so goddamn much.
━━ ♠ ━━
[
The first thing I need you to do is to scan this QR code. It will take you to an unlisted YouTube video. If you don’t have any way to watch this video, then find your local library or someone with modern technology and look up the link provided on the slip of paper below. If you don’t want to watch this video, then that’s on you. This will be posted in so many places that you won’t be able to avoid it. Although, it will be published online after the first Victory. Which means that if you don’t watch it now, then it will serve as a possible reminder of your failure. It’s entirely up to you. ]
The opening fifteen seconds of video footage were fashioned after a VCR tape. A stark blue screen lingered for ten seconds before static and white noise chased after. As the image stabilized, it revealed Damian Ayla working on something not in camera view. Despite his eyes not being focused on the nearby camera, he began to speak.
“Before I go on, let me exclude Ollie from this conversation. He’s a cat. He’s a predator. He’s crafty. He’s probably the smartest creature on our roster. It’s unimportant to speak to him,” Damian’s usually stoic demeanor allowed a hint of annoyance to trickle in. He gave the camera a full glance before shrugging. “What? Ollie doesn’t understand what I’m saying. At least there’s a language barrier between us, not egotism like the other four.”
Returning back to his handiwork, Damian calibrated back onto his prior train of thought. “I’m speaking directly to you four because there’s no reason to waste my breath on people I might not even fight. It’s you people that I can influence directly. With my own hands.”
Damian lifted them, inspecting the stains on them from whatever he was working on. He clenched one of them into his fist, doing so hard enough to pop a knuckle. “If everything plays out the way that I want, I will face a total of six people and a cat in one night. If everything works out the way that I want, then I will face my wife in the finals. Don’t worry, she and I already know how this will go. In this ring, my wife and I can beat one another bloody and still wake up to one another in the morning. It’s the kind of people we are; the kind of CREATURES we are.”
“Each video on Strategic Assault bore this connecting thread,” Damian said, bringing up what he was working on from the table. It was an unfinished leather bound book, where its contents needed to be sown in still. “I wish it was just arrogance, but of course it wasn’t.”
“I should say that it was this sickening and baseless certainty that each person had. If I had to summarize it in one statement: it would be something about how PWE is going to be theirs. Little do they realize that they’re showing off one of the reasons they are going to lose. No king, no conqueror, or no champion has to say that they’re the best or that they’re going to win. They don’t have to say that they will prove it. They just go out there and keep doing what they’re pathologically wired to do.”
“But for me, it was the impatience that unsettled me. When my video aired, there wasn’t a part in there that said that I was going to be the champion at the end of the night. That isn’t because I don’t believe I’m going to win. It’s because to take over the entire company, I know that I have to make the necessary steps to do so. It doesn’t just happen when I take the PWE Excellence Championship,” Damian paused, flexing his jaw while he placed the leather bound book underneath a magnifying glass. In a way, it mirrored his words.
“No, winning everything on the first Victory only gives me the tools needed to break everyone down bit-by-bit like I said. Though, it’s understandable why Pinkston, Marr, and Kross don’t get that. This is their first real outing. They’ve never been in the position to be at the top of a company before. They’re children in my eyes, getting their first taste of real life,” Damian shook his head at the thought. It was something that a father would do while mumbling about “those damn kids.”
“Pinkston’s first win in OCW gave him the illusion that this is going to be easy. Marr’s entire career will live or die based on what she does in the moment. When she fails, she’ll have to come up with some way to retain her viewership. And Kross, in his duplicitous mind, needs to win so that people will pay attention to him on Twitter.”
Damian bit on the thread, breaking off with a sigh. He stopped for a moment, having no need to speak on the four opponents that he had lumped together. Tirelessly scouring through the archives had come up with nothing about those four. Pinkston had just begun his career, getting a sloppy win in OCW with a very amateur moonsault. Seeing the show gave Damian fond memories of his time in the company.
Taylor Marr and Klayton Kross’s search results were less than fulfilling. Taylor Marr brought up her infamous video that got her recruited, but there were more seedy links to her more explicit content. Perhaps Rose McCarthy should work on clearing out the subreddit stealing Marr’s OnlyFans material. Kross, on the other hand, had many links going to his Twitter, where he lived out a very drab life for the world to see. Yet, Damian’s pause came as a result of the other person in the match.
“Chaney, what steps did you take to prevent your show from going under? What did you do to ensure that you didn’t become a statistic in X’s world over in BWF? 56 days as their champion and I ask you what did you do to stop the inevitable from happening? Absolutely nothing,” the Godslaying Beast let out a scoff as he continued stitching in the pages. “And the impatience is coming through. You covered it with ego, saying that you were going to be the reason why PWE thrives, but I know that you’re failing to see that you’re setting yourself up to fail big again.”
“Just like RWX in the Gauntlet of Gold match, you’ll get thrown out and lose out on another World Championship. So, it shouldn’t be anything new for you, Chaney,” Damian spoke as if he was there on that June night back in 2012. “Nearly ten years you have spent digging yourself into your own grave. Let me just help you out just a little bit more.”
Damian’s work was done. He pulled his fresh creation from the press. Strikingly black, the book in Damian’s hand bore a title. Emboldened with a stiff, unwavering font, the book was now known as the SAVAGE GOSPEL. He placed it over his chest and offered the camera a calming gaze. “While you four, the cat, and everyone else sprint to the finish, I will take my time because I know lies at the end.”
“For me, it’s the PWE Excellence Championship,” Damian gave the camera a delicate smile and squeezed the Savage Gospel closer to his chest. “but for the rest of you, it’s just the cliffside that will send you into obscurity.”
The image began to distort before the video tape ran out of working footage. First came static and white noise before the screen shifted to bright, familiar blue.
And finally, black.
