It's just a reflection of yourself [IC Title Match]
Jun 15, 2024 16:36:26 GMT -5
Maxwell Mason Stone likes this
Post by Devlin Knight on Jun 15, 2024 16:36:26 GMT -5
The carnival was dying, and not a peaceful death... The evening had turned dark and threatening, with shadows cast by the flickering lights of the fairground. The sky, heavy with dark clouds, rumbled with thunder… The rain, a hesitant drizzle at first, now pounded relentlessly, sending families and thrill-seekers running for cover… People hurried away in groups, jackets held above heads, but the rain soaked through. Children cried, and teenagers huddled together, their bravado fading. The rides shut down one by one, their lights blinking out like the dying eyes of some monstrous forgotten god.
Amid this chaos, we moved towards the heart of the fair. The house of mirrors stood there, a shadowy form against the stormy sky, its entrance like a mouth ready to swallow the night. The final engine stopped, and the last light flickered and went out, plunging the carnival into darkness… In that moment, the only sound was the pounding rain. The house of mirrors stood silent, its secrets hidden in the darkness. And somewhere inside, something stirred, awakened by the storm and the shadows…
Inside, a faint silhouette sat hunched in front of one of the many mirrors, barely visible in the dim light. The chamber, a maze of reflections, each pane of glass echoing the figure, multiplying it into an army of shadows. The thunderstorm outside raged on, its growls and cracks piercing the walls. Each flash of lightning lit up the figure, revealing a portion of Devlin Knight's face... The reflections seemed to move on their own, shifting and distorting in the flickering light, as if something else, something unseen, lurked just beyond the glass, watching and waiting…
Amid this chaos, we moved towards the heart of the fair. The house of mirrors stood there, a shadowy form against the stormy sky, its entrance like a mouth ready to swallow the night. The final engine stopped, and the last light flickered and went out, plunging the carnival into darkness… In that moment, the only sound was the pounding rain. The house of mirrors stood silent, its secrets hidden in the darkness. And somewhere inside, something stirred, awakened by the storm and the shadows…
Inside, a faint silhouette sat hunched in front of one of the many mirrors, barely visible in the dim light. The chamber, a maze of reflections, each pane of glass echoing the figure, multiplying it into an army of shadows. The thunderstorm outside raged on, its growls and cracks piercing the walls. Each flash of lightning lit up the figure, revealing a portion of Devlin Knight's face... The reflections seemed to move on their own, shifting and distorting in the flickering light, as if something else, something unseen, lurked just beyond the glass, watching and waiting…
Devlin: ”You know, it's never too far away, that gnawing feeling of being a fraud... That creeping dread that you're just a pretender out here. They call it imposter syndrome these days, and you can bet your bottom dollar I've been wrestling with that demon a lot lately, ever since J Mont snatched the WGWF Intercontinental Title from me. Losing the belt was expected, but what followed wasn't... A match alongside Max Stone against Jenny Myst and Colossus, and wouldn't you know it, we went down… A battle lost. And then another bout against Goth and Chris Chaos, and another bitter defeat for Necessary Evil… So you see, perhaps, why I'm starting to feel like I'm just faking it... like I'm only playing the part of a contender in this grim play.
And now, the new General Manager of Monday Night Brawl, Mr. Jack Daniels has thrown me into the Lion's den again. He's booked me in a match to reclaim my WGWF Intercontinental Championship... A shot at redemption after taking three brutal shots to the skull from members of Team Mont, all before WGWF WarGames has even come up for air… But it's not just me gunning for J Mont, oh no... it's a Four-Way. My opponents? Two of my own teammates in my Tag-Team partner, Max Stone, and John Cable, both from Team Knight… It makes me wonder if Jack Daniels is really punishing J Mont, or if he's setting me up for another fall... twisting the knife a little deeper into the wound.”
Thunder continued to rumble through the house of mirrors, reverberating off the glass and metal. A faint, eerie shuffling echoed from the reflective surfaces that twisted and turned in the maze. The shadow—presumed to be Devlin—flickered through the labyrinth, a dark silhouette moving with purpose. One shadow, now standing still, catches our eye. It runs its hand over the glass, leaving a ghostly trail, as if the very mirror shuddered under its touch… Slowly an image begins to form in the mirror, Jonathan Cable.
Devlin: ”John Cable... When I first met him, he was just another obstacle in my way… My good looks and unconventional methods rubbed him the wrong way, and he didn’t like me or what I stood for. Initially, he saw me as an irritant, a disruption to his sense of order in the WGWF… But people can surprise you. John eventually saw that I have a higher purpose, a vision that goes beyond personal gain. As the WGWF decayed under Joseph Montuori and his crew, I was the lone force pushing back. In those dark times, Cable recognised my mission for what it was—a fight for the greater good, a need to cleanse our environment.
Over time, John has turned from adversary to ally. He became one of the few who stood by me when it mattered most. So, when it came time to choose the newest member of Team Knight, it was clear. John Cable was the natural choice. He’s more than just a team member; he represents the strength that stands against darkness.”
The shadows shifted, flickering through the glass maze like apparitions. They slid along the surfaces, bending light in strange ways, while the central figure stood unnervingly still. A faint chuckle echoed, barely audible but undeniably there… As the view shifted from one mirror to another, Devlin Knight’s silhouette appeared, shadowy and elusive. He seemed to be walking away. His form danced through the reflections, a phantom moving through the chamber, disappearing deeper into the maze where the reflective illusion merged with reality…
Devlin: ”But John, I hope you know that what happens on Brawl next Monday night, is purely business and I'm sorry that this is coming to a head before WarGames but best to get it out of the way, right? You pledge your allegiance to helping me get rid of Joe Montuori and TFO and I promise you, we will do that together… But surely you did not think that I was just going to allow him to steal my WGWF Intercontinental belt and let it slide?! And I don't care who I've got to take down right now for it, Joseph Montuori isn't leaving Madison Square Garden with the belt!
So we can go into this match all business, John and then once that belt is out of J Monts hands, we can unite once more to finish off the rest of those who're forming a human centipede behind Joseph, when we take out Team Mont, at WarGames… We, as far as I'm concerned have already for lack of a better phrase, worked our shit out… So this match on Monday is a mere formality before WarGames comes into play and a match we can take as a training ground before the real big fight. Taking the Intercontinental belt from Joseph will just be a bonus, just remember that making sure I'm the one leaving with it, is a priority I'm as serious as a heart attack about…”
The images in the glass twist and distort, shadows swirling in an unsettling silence. Devlin steps toward us from another mirror pane, his figure warping with each movement, like a man trapped in a bad dream… When he touches the glass, it shimmers as if alive, and for a brief moment, we see the bunny—here one second, gone the next. Then the mirrors come alive, showing ghostly echoes of Maxwell Mason Stone, his figure flickering through the maze in a strange, jerky motion. The air grows thick, and the mirrored labyrinth turns into a kaleidoscope of historic Stone moments…
Devlin: ”Maxwell Mason Stone… A man who is not dissimilar to Devlin Knight at all these days and someone who I am humbly warmed on the insides, to call a close friend, genuinely… But there was a time Maxwell, when you had been a source of amusement to me... I'm sorry, I'm not proud of it in hindsight but it's true… Watching you was almost endearing, how you could get so tangled up and flustered whenever my name was mentioned… However I didn't care if you respected me, admired me or thought you could beat me… But now? Now I do Max, because I've changed and so have you and just like John this match is about beating the ever living piss out of J Mont and as woeful as it would be if he wasn't at WarGames one hundred percent, I'll take great pleasure in knowing finally he got what's his…
I've never been one to worry about convoluted thoughts or get into futile speculation about matches though, Max and this Monday, is no different... My aim is pretty direct… I'm stepping into the match to take out J Mont, benefit our team going into WarGames, picking up MY Intercontinental Title, collecting my cheque from Jack Daniels and going home… The rest is just insignificant white noise. You remember The Stone Age Max? I certainly do, it took me a while to gather all the necessary information but I think I finally figured it out, figured you out… And about time too, given as we've been spending a lot of time - quite literally - together, for a while now.”
The thunderstorm, once roaring outside like a vengeful god, had faded to a distant murmur, a low growl retreating into the night. The rain, which had battered the roof of the house of mirrors, now dripped sporadically, as if the sky itself was exhausted... The carnival lay in an uneasy silence, gates locked, promising no more visitors and no escape. - Inside the mirrored labyrinth, Devlin Knight's smirk flickered faintly in the reflections, lit by the weak, flickering lights. His smile was shadowy, curling like smoke. The sound of the carousel outside in the distance, creaking to life again broke the dead quiet, its eerie tune sending a chill through the air…
Devlin: ”Do you remember the time Max, when you did this whole pantomime show mocking me? Mocking Mecca…? At the time I was so pissed off with you but now I get it, I truly understand and I can laugh and I mean truly laugh not just chuckle or snicker… I mean truly laugh, at the shit you said about Joseph and how you made him look. Because I didn't see who actually gave a shit about me back then, I was blinded by the lights, the cameras, the feeling of that buzz you get when people are verbally abusing you, yes you heard that correctly. I mean I've been doing this gig for some time now so picking up on these cues becomes less and less frequent and sometimes you get lost in the system…
You taught me a lot Max and I bet you didn't even realise it, eh? Hell I didn't even realise it until very recently but you did man… You showed me the way through a lot of darkness and that's the very reason that you were the one I chose to come and make amends with… Not Dark Angel, my estranged wife… Not Tyler or Mercedes, my children… Not Riley Andrews or Mike Arches, my two best friends in the entire known Universe… You, Maxwell Mason Stone. And it's for that very reason that I won't be letting things go so easily when we're all in the ring together, Monday night… I need to show you in my own way what you mean to me, as an athlete, as a man and as a friend. To me Max, you're the true IIW United Kingdom Champion. To me Max, you're the true TPW American Champion. But unfortunately Max, to me you don't come close to being the true WGWF Intercontinental Champion…”
The glass panes warble and shimmer as the images of Maxwell Mason Stone begin to dissipate and the shadow of Devlin Knight begins to sit down again. He places his hands on the reflective surface and then slowly begins to pound the glass with his closed fists… Devlin rests his forehead on the glass and that too, he proceeds to bash against the glass, over and over again but it doesn't crackle, nor does it trickle into specs of shattering… It just bubbles and blends into the shape of Devlin's head…
Devlin: ”And speaking of people who are not true WGWF Intercontinental Champions… YOU Joseph Montuori, are definitely not the true WGWF Intercontinental Champion! Yes you may very well be holding MY belt… It may, for how FORTUNATE you are, have your name inscribed on the plate and that'll be something I'll never be able to erase! But you are not the true and just, Champion… You know what you are though little Joey?! You're nothing more than a coward! You're little more than a self-centered insufferable man child! You're so lethargic and lacklustre when it comes to actually battling in the ring you wear your opponents down WITH TIRESOME TRICKSTER PRANKS! You can't match up to John Cable, Joseph… You can't match up to Maxwell, that much we already know. And you certainly can't match up to me!
So what do you do, Mont? How do you get one up on your opposition? You saturate the show you appear on, as well as the ones you don't, with the most mundane, the most energy sapping, the most cringe worthy waste of Television time I've ever seen and you pretty much bore me to tears and into submission! You and I both know that if you were to have your seconds banned from ringside and the same was done for me… If you were man enough to remove any weapon from within your grasp and were to take on Devlin Knight one-on-one… You wouldn't survive. You wouldn't make it past ten minutes let alone twenty or thirty or freaking TV TIME REMAINING!”
Devlin sways gently, back and forth, his ankles intertwined, his hands clamping over his knees. His head lolls back, mouth curling into a silent, almost feral grin, and laughter—raw and unsettling—trickles out like those first drops of rain from the earlier storm. He sucks in a deep breath, his chest heaving, then snaps his head down with a sudden intensity, his eyes locking onto the mirror. The reflection stares back, a shadowy spectre, its form dissolving into the darkness…
Devlin: ”Joseph, you are what is called a covert narcissist… You have this need for unrestrained admiration from your peers, you surround yourself with superficial relationships with people dumber than you, to make yourself look, but more importantly feel, better, bigger in some way… You take advantage of others for your own personal gain, it has always been your way and I'm still so pissed at myself that it took me so long to figure it out… But you know what Joe? I, unlike the rest of them, did figure it out and do you know why that was? Because I am not inferior to you, Joe, I am not dumber. In fact I am so much more superior and so much smarter. It's unreal! I think some people would look at you and look at TFO and Team Mont and they would see you or think you see yourself, as Lord Voldemort and TFO are your followers with Clyde Newton over there specifically, as your Nagini… But in reality Clyde is just some random Death Eater in the background and you? You're Peter freaking Pettigrew, you're Wormtail… You're Scabbers…
I don't know what I'm going to get from you leading into this match, Joseph… But I can definitely guess hoss. You'll crack some childish, low-brow joke about Devlin Knight or “Fred Debonair”, you'll act like you still don't understand the reason for the name change and you'll whinge and moan about missing him… Despite knowing he hasn't existed for a long time. You'll crack wise about John and Max too… You won't make much sense, in fact you'll come across like an alcoholic crack addict stumbling across a clown at a kids birthday party… You'll do your very best to try and justify yourself and your lack of self awareness but in the end you'll just, not for the first time, expose yourself for the embarrassment you are…”
The lights flicker again in the House of Mirrors, casting eerie shadows which bounce everywhere... Devlin, his breath shallow and tense, shuffles back until he touches the cold surface of a mirror behind him. Slowly, he begins to rise, his gaze locked on the figure on the other side of the glass. The reflection, a haunting echo of himself, stares back with eyes that seem to pierce through the veil of reality…
Devlin: ”You keep thinking this is fun and games, Joseph. You continue to make jokes, rib and bait… Because believe me overall Team Knight will have the last laugh, me in particular. When I'm done with you Joseph, you're going to wish you had never met me, in IIW… You're going to wish I'd never made an appearance here in the WGWF, you're going to wish you didn't have the MISFORTUNE of ever setting eyes on me…
My first thought was, he lied in every word,
That hoary cripple, with malicious eye
Askance to watch the working of his lie
On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford
Suppression of the glee, that purs’d and scor’d
Its edge, at one more victim gain’d thereby …
Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came by Robert Browning… That's one of my favourite poems Joseph, do you know why? Because it underpins the conquest of despair without any real allegorical meaning. In essence it just is… Much like either of us, much like Maxwell Mason Stone and Jonathan Cable. Much like those who blindly follow you and much like the outcome of our match, which I've already seen…”
Devlin turns, his reflections turn, he walks towards the exit, they walk toward theirs… And as he opens the door to the house of Mirrors the early morning sky breaks through, cursing his eyes with daylight. And it's only when he shuts the door behind him we hear the gentle tapping that becomes slightly more agitated as it goes on… And the voice with it.
Voice: ”No… Wait, please don't just go…. Hello?! Come back man!”
=-FADE TO BLACK.-=