Post by alycestarchylde on Aug 4, 2017 17:56:46 GMT -5
The Central Library in LA was a bit of a wreck. Rock Lincoln strode through it with a battle axe. A young man tried to dart past him to the outside and Rock swung his axe one handed and it passed through the man’s leg like it was no more yielding than water. The man screamed and collapsed, holding his bloody stump as his lifeblood pumped out onto the Library’s marble floor.
Rock snorted and grinned. What fools these mortals be.
“One. More. Time,” Rock screamed, “if you don’t want me to kill EVERYONE in here, you better make yourself known to me!” Rock had charged into the library with the axe leading the way. A security guard near the door had drawn his gun only to lose his arm at the elbow. He currently lay bleeding in the doorway. Sooner or later the cops would try to crash this party, and the guard there would slow them down. Another guard had appeared from somewhere and Rock had cut him in half from stem to stern. He had licked the man’s blood from his axe as he had made his first demand for Alyce to show herself…because he knew she was here.
She had not responded of course and that was fine. There were at least fifteen people here beside Alyce and her two friends and Rock intended on killing or maiming every single one. Take for example the man who just lost his leg. Rock knew the man would survive…barely. He would get a prosthesis and learn to walk and fit in society as a unidexter…but he would never again truly be a MAN! He would never again feel his manhood engorged with blood, the thundering roar of lust in his blood. Losing the leg, being so quickly unmanned had taken that from him and he would never get that back. Rock could see that and he smiled. Some fates were worse than death.
He turned to see a woman hiding underneath a table. With a malicious smile he strode towards her, dragging the axe on the marble floor as he walked to where she hid. She whimpered and cried as he slowly raised the axe above his head…only to scream himself and almost drop the axe as something rammed him in the back…hard enough to pierce his skin and he felt blood flowing from his shoulder. Rock spun around and was surprised to see a ruddy faced giant. A rotund man with a big round pale face and a red moustache and beard to match the red hair that spilled from beneath his white straw cowboy hat. He wore a denim jacket over a white button up Oxford shirt with silver buttons. He had faded blue jeans and a pair of worn brown cowboy boots that looked like they had seen a ton of use. He carried a flag which had a conical device at the top which the bearded man had used like a pike, driving it deep into Rock’s shoulder and as such the flag and metal tip were covered with blood. Rock smiled. He knew exactly who this was.
“Caliban DuRoc,” he said with a smile.
Caliban drove forward with the flag once more, Rock knocked it aside with his axe, but Cal was so skilled he was able to reverse his momentum before he came in range of Rock’s weapon.
“They whisper of you,” Rock said as he offered himself as a target. Caliban took the bait charging forward and whatever Rock had planned, he was forced to dodge aside because Cal was a lot faster than he looked. “They say you could have been one of the best to raise a sword,” Rock said almost in a whisper as he lunged forward with his axe causing Cal to step aside. Rock caught the front of the flag and slammed it to the table.
“They say you could have been one of the finest Lightbearers the world has ever seen,” Rock said as he brought down his axe on the flag, removing the spike at it’s tip, ruining it as a stabbing weapon. Caliban answered by bringing up the flagpole super quick slamming it against Rock’s skull.
“They’re probably right,” Cal said with a smirk. Rock shook his head. The strike had rung his bell and blackness had begun to creep into his vision. The Minotaur within Rock’s soul rushed to the fore…and swung the axe in a deadly arc. Cal was forced to duck and Rock brought the axe down hard on the center of the flag pole shattering it into so many shards of wood and cloth.
“I will make you draw that sword,” Rock said, reasserting himself once more as he slammed the flat of the blade against Cal’s head, “and then I will make you eat it!” Cal dropped to his knees, stunned, almost unconscious, his cheek bloody. “But first I will present you with the broken body of your protégé,” Rock snarled landing a kick on Cal’s face that sent the man sprawling backwards onto the tiled floor.
“One down,” Rock called out in a lilting sing-song, “two to go…everyone else in here…I will probably kill as part of my victory dance.” And he turned once more to the table to finish what he started…only to find the girl herself was gone. Once again, the minotaur part of his soul roared out it’s challenge and he let it. The minotaur in him hated to be deprived of a chosen victim…and he agreed. He didn’t rage long, however, as the flat of an axe struck him in the face and drove him backwards into a bookshelf which toppled with a crack and sent books and paper spraying everywhere like a literary bomb blast. He rose to his feet screaming and roaring as he looked into the ice blue eyes of Thena Algood. Thena wore a gray t-shirt with the word ‘Got’ above a silhouette of a cat followed by a question mark, white paint was smeared on her face and exposed arms as she carried an axe that looked like it might be equal parts Norse and Greek.
“I’m right here,” she screamed, “and if you think you can face the combined might of the Greek God of War and Odin the All-Father all in one pissed off feminist package you step the hell up!” Rock couldn’t help himself. He charged forward with a roar and his axe raised high. He brought it down towards Thena’s head only to have her knock it from his hands and send it spinning into a nearby wall. He roared in her face as she slammed him in the side of the head so hard he flew once more into a wall. He collapsed to the ground, his nose bloody. Once again, the blackness threatened to claim him and he had to call upon the strength of the minotaur (and it’s associated rage) to find the strength to stand. When he did though, he felt himself…loosen. It was the only way he could describe how he felt. It was like, he was no longer quite so bound to the form of his birth. His chest swelled, his spine stretched, his skull thickened as protuberances began to grow from his forehead. His shirt ripped, his pants shredded. He screamed as his legs thickened and his feet changed…transforming into hooves. He felt strength coursing through him. He now dwarfed the once tall Thena. He reached into the wall for his axe and felt it grow to fill his grip. And then he lowered his head and charged. The protuberances had now grown into outright horns and he moved with the speed of lightning. Thena tried to leap out of the way but was caught in mid-air and tossed into a shelf full of books that splintered as she hit it. She lay in the wreckage of the broken book case, her sides bloody, her skin pale. Rock raised his snout (and yes, he was surprised to find he did, indeed, have a snout…like a bull) and screamed into the air. He wanted to say something, but his mouth was no longer conducive to the formation of words.
And then something struck him from behind. It hit him in the back of the head. He roared in anger, certainly not in pain as he turned to see Alyce Starchylde with a smile on her face. She had thrown a book at him.
“How you feeling, Rock,” she asked with a grin, “You are looking a little…bully.”
Rock lowered his head and charged…and she dodged out of the way at the last minute as he struck a wall knocking him back and almost off of his hooved feet.
“Cal said you were trained by the Morteans, but they either suck at training, or you suck at learning,” she said with a smile. Rock reoriented himself and charged forward this time swinging a massive axe. He brought it down right on top of her only to have he step aside as he almost fell forward off balance from his newfound strength.
“You see, one of the first lessons Cal taught me,” she said as she literally skipped away from him, “is never let your opponent pick the field of battle.”
Cal reoriented once more. His anger was almost a physical thing. It drove him…it fueled him…and he wanted this woman dead…dead and trampled under his feet.
“The Central Library,” Alyce said, “here in downtown LA, is a building full of Masonic imagery and since that imagery is a bastardization of Egyptian, Greek and Roman culture complete with an American mythos all of it’s own…it is literally a borderland where no one rule applies. “
Cal decided to shut her up. He charged once more and suddenly she made two black things appear in her hands. The still Rock part of his mind identified the things as pistols. She fired bullet after bullet after him and while they bounced off his skin, they stung terribly. He roared in pain.
“The pistols are enchanted,” she said, “they probably won’t kill you but they will probably cause you a lot of pain. The thing is Rock…I am a creature of the in-between and the borderland is my native country.” Rock chose to ignore the pain and charge her again. She leapt, still firing into the air and landed one foot on the back of his skull driving him face first to the floor as she sprang into the air to land behind him, firing several stinging shots into his posterior.
“The thing is, I disconnected this from reality as soon as I knew you were close…the only real people here are me , Cal and Thena. Everyone else is a spirit…because this place attracts a lot of spirits,” Thena answered with a smile.
Rock turned to her once more. He wanted to say so much. Two words and two words only fell from his lips. “Kill you,” he managed to roar.
She nimbly leapt from his path once more.
“You aren’t paying attention,” she laughed, “this is MY world and nothing dies here. Not even you.”
She pushed a button on the sides of the pistols and the spent magazines dropped to the floor. She slammed a fresh magazine into each pistol although the bullets in the magazine seemed more brightly colored than most bullets are.
She slammed the magazines home and pointed the pistols at him once more. “All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe,” she said as she fired and the things that came from the gun were both metal and furry. They did not pierce the minotaur’s skin but crawled on it like worms…and then they began to burrow. Rock screamed as he felt his core, his essence violated. These things came and chewed through his soul, his flesh and were converting him to something other and something less. And his world was pain for a long time and when the pain passed there was only a dim memory of a manbull creature and a smile that those who saw it claimed was childlike.
WGWF superstar Alyce Starchylde was attacked at an LA library today by Rock Lincoln, the son of rockstar Russell ‘Nash’ Lincoln who was found murdered in his home along with his wife some years ago. Rock attempted to accost her inside the Central Library in Los Angeles but was held at bay by her friends. He was detained by security guards and arrested by police without incident.
Police who arrested him described him as docile and child-like and psychiatrists who have visited with him in jail say he seems almost catatonic. Alyce has said she would not oppose dropping the charges so he could be remaindered to a mental institution where he can get help.
“Some people just don’t know how to control themselves,” Alyce said.
You can see Alyce in a Buried Alive match against Jocelyn Camden at Summer Madness this Monday on Pay Per View.
“Lesbian Camden. I know how much you hate it when I call you that but, I don’t really care. See, here’s the thing, honey. I will admit to being a Camden fan when I was younger. If there is no Camden, there is no Alyce. You set the tone for women in this company and frankly, it’s hard to live up to. To be the best in this company takes a lot more than I ever thought it could. And I scrap and claw and push my way to that point every single day.
But here is the thing, sweetiecrunch. You seem to be laboring under the delusion that either A) it’s still your time and you aren’t as irrelevant as a buggywhip vendor in an used car lot or B) that you are some sort of Gatekeeper for the women’s division or C) all of the above. Frankly, lollipop, you are no longer needed. Your time is through. Isabelle Diesfartin’ embarrassed you and tossed your ass out of the business and there your Hall of Fame hoo-ha should have stayed. I know, you probably miss it…but you proved your point. You can hack it. More so. You proved you used to be one of the best. You absolutely earned your spot in the Hall of Fame. But rather than enjoy it, you want to drag yourself back in active competition and frankly, things have changed now. You are taking your World War II training and going into a digital war…you aren’t going to do near as well as you THINK you will.
First of all, honeypot, you should have stayed retired. I talk a lot of shit. I call you names, I call Isabelle Disgustin names, shit I once called Roxy Nova Hotbox Ova because I thought it was funny. And every one else gets that I am doing what people do. I am poking fun at the past because it’s my job to outshine it. Roxy Nova aint here. Isabelle Desjardins aint here…but Jocelyn Camden dragged her fossilized ass out of retirement because she needed to wink her vag in the public eye once more? Or is it like Candyman and if I say your name three times, you will appear like a nightmare of early menopause? Whatever the case, no one is here to destroy your legacy. I AM here to outshine it. To be mentioned in the same breath except first because I am better. I am here to be the very fucking best. In the process, I need to tear down EVERYONE that came before me so they get what I am going for. You don’t hear Chris Page jumping to punch me in the mouth, do you? However, Jocelyn Camden has gotta get her licks in.
You know what I am going to do when I am in your shoes and some bitch on the way up with more cunt than creativity tries to run me down? I am going to ignore them. Why? Because I can’t destroy your legacy. It’s impossible. You know Terry Borden? If it was possible to destroy a legacy by beating a guy, his should be toast. But if his legacy has suffered any damage, you know who caused it? Terry Borden…by not letting go when he should have. And now, kissyface, now you want to come out of retirement…you want to try and show up the new girl…and all you will do is tarnish your legacy.
Me, I don’t care. If what you want is to tear it up in the ring, get used, abused and embarrassed as I cement myself as the future and you as this place’s distant and forgettable past, it’s fine by me. After all, I wouldn’t hate the opportunity to show the world that you had it easy coming up when you did. That beating guys like the Ryans to win and defend your title were almost meaningless because those guys have never been great. That Camden translated to the modern era with Kyle Shane, John Cable and Tristan Slater gets her face pushed in on a regular basis. I am thrilled to prove that you just can’t even can any more. That you no longer have what it takes. If that destroys your legacy…oh well. If that makes people think less of you, oh well.
Furthermore…I get to bury you alive. I get to very publicly put you in the ground. I get to very publicly show EVERYONE that I am today and you have at least a foot, if not a whole lot more, in the grave. The winner of this match is going to wear the other one out and frankly, you just don’t have what it takes, Grandma Camden. This is my WGWF, this is MY time and when it is all said and done, you will be the one in the dirt while I will be the winner. So I hope you like it dark because it gets real dark in the earth. Welcome to Wonderland, Jocelyn…it gets a hell of a lot darker from here!”
Rock snorted and grinned. What fools these mortals be.
“One. More. Time,” Rock screamed, “if you don’t want me to kill EVERYONE in here, you better make yourself known to me!” Rock had charged into the library with the axe leading the way. A security guard near the door had drawn his gun only to lose his arm at the elbow. He currently lay bleeding in the doorway. Sooner or later the cops would try to crash this party, and the guard there would slow them down. Another guard had appeared from somewhere and Rock had cut him in half from stem to stern. He had licked the man’s blood from his axe as he had made his first demand for Alyce to show herself…because he knew she was here.
She had not responded of course and that was fine. There were at least fifteen people here beside Alyce and her two friends and Rock intended on killing or maiming every single one. Take for example the man who just lost his leg. Rock knew the man would survive…barely. He would get a prosthesis and learn to walk and fit in society as a unidexter…but he would never again truly be a MAN! He would never again feel his manhood engorged with blood, the thundering roar of lust in his blood. Losing the leg, being so quickly unmanned had taken that from him and he would never get that back. Rock could see that and he smiled. Some fates were worse than death.
He turned to see a woman hiding underneath a table. With a malicious smile he strode towards her, dragging the axe on the marble floor as he walked to where she hid. She whimpered and cried as he slowly raised the axe above his head…only to scream himself and almost drop the axe as something rammed him in the back…hard enough to pierce his skin and he felt blood flowing from his shoulder. Rock spun around and was surprised to see a ruddy faced giant. A rotund man with a big round pale face and a red moustache and beard to match the red hair that spilled from beneath his white straw cowboy hat. He wore a denim jacket over a white button up Oxford shirt with silver buttons. He had faded blue jeans and a pair of worn brown cowboy boots that looked like they had seen a ton of use. He carried a flag which had a conical device at the top which the bearded man had used like a pike, driving it deep into Rock’s shoulder and as such the flag and metal tip were covered with blood. Rock smiled. He knew exactly who this was.
“Caliban DuRoc,” he said with a smile.
Caliban drove forward with the flag once more, Rock knocked it aside with his axe, but Cal was so skilled he was able to reverse his momentum before he came in range of Rock’s weapon.
“They whisper of you,” Rock said as he offered himself as a target. Caliban took the bait charging forward and whatever Rock had planned, he was forced to dodge aside because Cal was a lot faster than he looked. “They say you could have been one of the best to raise a sword,” Rock said almost in a whisper as he lunged forward with his axe causing Cal to step aside. Rock caught the front of the flag and slammed it to the table.
“They say you could have been one of the finest Lightbearers the world has ever seen,” Rock said as he brought down his axe on the flag, removing the spike at it’s tip, ruining it as a stabbing weapon. Caliban answered by bringing up the flagpole super quick slamming it against Rock’s skull.
“They’re probably right,” Cal said with a smirk. Rock shook his head. The strike had rung his bell and blackness had begun to creep into his vision. The Minotaur within Rock’s soul rushed to the fore…and swung the axe in a deadly arc. Cal was forced to duck and Rock brought the axe down hard on the center of the flag pole shattering it into so many shards of wood and cloth.
“I will make you draw that sword,” Rock said, reasserting himself once more as he slammed the flat of the blade against Cal’s head, “and then I will make you eat it!” Cal dropped to his knees, stunned, almost unconscious, his cheek bloody. “But first I will present you with the broken body of your protégé,” Rock snarled landing a kick on Cal’s face that sent the man sprawling backwards onto the tiled floor.
“One down,” Rock called out in a lilting sing-song, “two to go…everyone else in here…I will probably kill as part of my victory dance.” And he turned once more to the table to finish what he started…only to find the girl herself was gone. Once again, the minotaur part of his soul roared out it’s challenge and he let it. The minotaur in him hated to be deprived of a chosen victim…and he agreed. He didn’t rage long, however, as the flat of an axe struck him in the face and drove him backwards into a bookshelf which toppled with a crack and sent books and paper spraying everywhere like a literary bomb blast. He rose to his feet screaming and roaring as he looked into the ice blue eyes of Thena Algood. Thena wore a gray t-shirt with the word ‘Got’ above a silhouette of a cat followed by a question mark, white paint was smeared on her face and exposed arms as she carried an axe that looked like it might be equal parts Norse and Greek.
“I’m right here,” she screamed, “and if you think you can face the combined might of the Greek God of War and Odin the All-Father all in one pissed off feminist package you step the hell up!” Rock couldn’t help himself. He charged forward with a roar and his axe raised high. He brought it down towards Thena’s head only to have her knock it from his hands and send it spinning into a nearby wall. He roared in her face as she slammed him in the side of the head so hard he flew once more into a wall. He collapsed to the ground, his nose bloody. Once again, the blackness threatened to claim him and he had to call upon the strength of the minotaur (and it’s associated rage) to find the strength to stand. When he did though, he felt himself…loosen. It was the only way he could describe how he felt. It was like, he was no longer quite so bound to the form of his birth. His chest swelled, his spine stretched, his skull thickened as protuberances began to grow from his forehead. His shirt ripped, his pants shredded. He screamed as his legs thickened and his feet changed…transforming into hooves. He felt strength coursing through him. He now dwarfed the once tall Thena. He reached into the wall for his axe and felt it grow to fill his grip. And then he lowered his head and charged. The protuberances had now grown into outright horns and he moved with the speed of lightning. Thena tried to leap out of the way but was caught in mid-air and tossed into a shelf full of books that splintered as she hit it. She lay in the wreckage of the broken book case, her sides bloody, her skin pale. Rock raised his snout (and yes, he was surprised to find he did, indeed, have a snout…like a bull) and screamed into the air. He wanted to say something, but his mouth was no longer conducive to the formation of words.
And then something struck him from behind. It hit him in the back of the head. He roared in anger, certainly not in pain as he turned to see Alyce Starchylde with a smile on her face. She had thrown a book at him.
“How you feeling, Rock,” she asked with a grin, “You are looking a little…bully.”
Rock lowered his head and charged…and she dodged out of the way at the last minute as he struck a wall knocking him back and almost off of his hooved feet.
“Cal said you were trained by the Morteans, but they either suck at training, or you suck at learning,” she said with a smile. Rock reoriented himself and charged forward this time swinging a massive axe. He brought it down right on top of her only to have he step aside as he almost fell forward off balance from his newfound strength.
“You see, one of the first lessons Cal taught me,” she said as she literally skipped away from him, “is never let your opponent pick the field of battle.”
Cal reoriented once more. His anger was almost a physical thing. It drove him…it fueled him…and he wanted this woman dead…dead and trampled under his feet.
“The Central Library,” Alyce said, “here in downtown LA, is a building full of Masonic imagery and since that imagery is a bastardization of Egyptian, Greek and Roman culture complete with an American mythos all of it’s own…it is literally a borderland where no one rule applies. “
Cal decided to shut her up. He charged once more and suddenly she made two black things appear in her hands. The still Rock part of his mind identified the things as pistols. She fired bullet after bullet after him and while they bounced off his skin, they stung terribly. He roared in pain.
“The pistols are enchanted,” she said, “they probably won’t kill you but they will probably cause you a lot of pain. The thing is Rock…I am a creature of the in-between and the borderland is my native country.” Rock chose to ignore the pain and charge her again. She leapt, still firing into the air and landed one foot on the back of his skull driving him face first to the floor as she sprang into the air to land behind him, firing several stinging shots into his posterior.
“The thing is, I disconnected this from reality as soon as I knew you were close…the only real people here are me , Cal and Thena. Everyone else is a spirit…because this place attracts a lot of spirits,” Thena answered with a smile.
Rock turned to her once more. He wanted to say so much. Two words and two words only fell from his lips. “Kill you,” he managed to roar.
She nimbly leapt from his path once more.
“You aren’t paying attention,” she laughed, “this is MY world and nothing dies here. Not even you.”
She pushed a button on the sides of the pistols and the spent magazines dropped to the floor. She slammed a fresh magazine into each pistol although the bullets in the magazine seemed more brightly colored than most bullets are.
She slammed the magazines home and pointed the pistols at him once more. “All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe,” she said as she fired and the things that came from the gun were both metal and furry. They did not pierce the minotaur’s skin but crawled on it like worms…and then they began to burrow. Rock screamed as he felt his core, his essence violated. These things came and chewed through his soul, his flesh and were converting him to something other and something less. And his world was pain for a long time and when the pain passed there was only a dim memory of a manbull creature and a smile that those who saw it claimed was childlike.
Police who arrested him described him as docile and child-like and psychiatrists who have visited with him in jail say he seems almost catatonic. Alyce has said she would not oppose dropping the charges so he could be remaindered to a mental institution where he can get help.
“Some people just don’t know how to control themselves,” Alyce said.
You can see Alyce in a Buried Alive match against Jocelyn Camden at Summer Madness this Monday on Pay Per View.
Welcome to Wonderland
Alyce stands with a shovel across her shoulders and her back to the screen. She spins around, smiles and begins to speak.“Lesbian Camden. I know how much you hate it when I call you that but, I don’t really care. See, here’s the thing, honey. I will admit to being a Camden fan when I was younger. If there is no Camden, there is no Alyce. You set the tone for women in this company and frankly, it’s hard to live up to. To be the best in this company takes a lot more than I ever thought it could. And I scrap and claw and push my way to that point every single day.
But here is the thing, sweetiecrunch. You seem to be laboring under the delusion that either A) it’s still your time and you aren’t as irrelevant as a buggywhip vendor in an used car lot or B) that you are some sort of Gatekeeper for the women’s division or C) all of the above. Frankly, lollipop, you are no longer needed. Your time is through. Isabelle Diesfartin’ embarrassed you and tossed your ass out of the business and there your Hall of Fame hoo-ha should have stayed. I know, you probably miss it…but you proved your point. You can hack it. More so. You proved you used to be one of the best. You absolutely earned your spot in the Hall of Fame. But rather than enjoy it, you want to drag yourself back in active competition and frankly, things have changed now. You are taking your World War II training and going into a digital war…you aren’t going to do near as well as you THINK you will.
First of all, honeypot, you should have stayed retired. I talk a lot of shit. I call you names, I call Isabelle Disgustin names, shit I once called Roxy Nova Hotbox Ova because I thought it was funny. And every one else gets that I am doing what people do. I am poking fun at the past because it’s my job to outshine it. Roxy Nova aint here. Isabelle Desjardins aint here…but Jocelyn Camden dragged her fossilized ass out of retirement because she needed to wink her vag in the public eye once more? Or is it like Candyman and if I say your name three times, you will appear like a nightmare of early menopause? Whatever the case, no one is here to destroy your legacy. I AM here to outshine it. To be mentioned in the same breath except first because I am better. I am here to be the very fucking best. In the process, I need to tear down EVERYONE that came before me so they get what I am going for. You don’t hear Chris Page jumping to punch me in the mouth, do you? However, Jocelyn Camden has gotta get her licks in.
You know what I am going to do when I am in your shoes and some bitch on the way up with more cunt than creativity tries to run me down? I am going to ignore them. Why? Because I can’t destroy your legacy. It’s impossible. You know Terry Borden? If it was possible to destroy a legacy by beating a guy, his should be toast. But if his legacy has suffered any damage, you know who caused it? Terry Borden…by not letting go when he should have. And now, kissyface, now you want to come out of retirement…you want to try and show up the new girl…and all you will do is tarnish your legacy.
Me, I don’t care. If what you want is to tear it up in the ring, get used, abused and embarrassed as I cement myself as the future and you as this place’s distant and forgettable past, it’s fine by me. After all, I wouldn’t hate the opportunity to show the world that you had it easy coming up when you did. That beating guys like the Ryans to win and defend your title were almost meaningless because those guys have never been great. That Camden translated to the modern era with Kyle Shane, John Cable and Tristan Slater gets her face pushed in on a regular basis. I am thrilled to prove that you just can’t even can any more. That you no longer have what it takes. If that destroys your legacy…oh well. If that makes people think less of you, oh well.
Furthermore…I get to bury you alive. I get to very publicly put you in the ground. I get to very publicly show EVERYONE that I am today and you have at least a foot, if not a whole lot more, in the grave. The winner of this match is going to wear the other one out and frankly, you just don’t have what it takes, Grandma Camden. This is my WGWF, this is MY time and when it is all said and done, you will be the one in the dirt while I will be the winner. So I hope you like it dark because it gets real dark in the earth. Welcome to Wonderland, Jocelyn…it gets a hell of a lot darker from here!”