King Cobra | INAROS vs MIKEY SVARRO

Avaris, Egypt.
Near the start of the sixteenth dynasty.

A circle is outlined in the sand. Men, women, and children in kind all near it edges, their voices forming a dull roar. They stand on boxes and they hold each other skyward, watching, waiting--and above them all, at the very back, the pharaoh sits.

"You know, by now, who he is." Umi's voice comes over the scene, narrating as a distinct figure pushes his way through the crowd. "...But do you wish to know who he was?"

The vantage point obscures the man's face, revealing only that he's gigantic. Stepping into the open circle, he engages a muscular but substantially shorter opponent in physical combat--throwing his enemy with ease, every maneuver eliciting a heightened pitch from the gathered masses.

"The truth is that the answer does not change. He was a warrior. He always has been. Always will be."

The titan drags the exhibition out for the pleasure of the crowd. It's not unlike the wrestling of the modern day, the assembled fanbase screaming his name when at last he stands triumphant.

"That is why I chose him.

...One of the numerous reasons why I chose him."

Inaros.

"A pugilist so beloved by the commoners, they'd have given him the throne. That was the running joke--a playful remark that contorted and mutated as it spread, as these things tend to do. It sounded more earnest, more sincere... more threatening, by the time it reached the ear of the pharaoh."

Inaros is lead in shackles to the pharaoh's chambers. He is held at the point of spears, and forced onto his knees.

"The pharaoh would not be usurped. He would not be surpassed. He would not live in another's shadow, not even in jest. He was vain, but he was not without a sense of humor himself--he made an offer to those that so loved their warrior. Inaros had the strength of at least ten men and thus, was worth ten men. If but ten willing and able men would step forward for their favorite combatant... they could receive punishment in place of Inaros. Their hero would be spared.

Not one man volunteered. Not one among the weak and cowardly took the offer. The people so eager to watch him, to bask in his glory, to live vicariously through his victories... they would not dare give their own worthless lives to save him. They refused. Inaros was betrayed by the populace he'd given so much to entertain."

It takes a literal mob, a small army of the pharaoh's guards to drag him. He fights them the entire way, kicking, punching, shouting--but his destination is unavoidable. He is brought to a chamber deep beneath the earth where, by dim candle light, both tools and ritual are prepared.

"He was accused of treason against the pharaoh, and the pharaoh was a agent of the gods. Thus, what awaited Inaros was the worst of fates, one reserved only for blasphemers--a black malediction, a curse that followed even beyond the grave. He would never truly rest. He could never truly die, only wait in agony between the folds--trapped, perpetually, between this life and the next for all eternity."

His hands are bound. He is forced into the sarcophagus. As one priest begins to read the forbidden rites, another retrieves the first of the tools to be used--a rusted device with which to remove the perpetrator's tongue.

"...Or until someone, leveraging the nature of the curse,

Las Vegas, Nevada.
Today.

She sits, alone, in the back of a limousine. She reclines on rich black leather, a glass half full of gin and Dubbonet cradled in one hand. The frantic lights of a Las Vegas highway soar past her through tinted windows, but the ride is smooth, and a placid smile rests across her lips.

Despite the air of elitism and the professional aura her surroundings exude, Umi isn't dressed for business. Well... not traditional business. She's garbed in her usual ringside attire, tan skin hardly obscured by thin white robes reminiscent of a high priestess'. Gaudy, golden jewelry weighs her down in no short supply. Her long legs are crossed tightly as she leans back... her free hand resting atop the Book of the Dead beside her.

"It seems as though we've made it, Mr. Svarro," she begins. She drags the words out somewhat, but otherwise seems to waste no time in addressing the camera. "The Crown of the King Cobra tournament finals. A position envied by many and a status few can claim, a competitor must truly prove themselves capable to reach these fabled shores. ...Though some prove themselves more than others, don't they?"

The smile heightens, and not in a manner one hopes for.

"On his journey for the Crown, Inaros battled the likes of William Neilson--a boy overflowing with untapped potential, an upstart with the drive and the unmitigated gall to make a mummy bleed. Next, Inaros subdued Andrew Jones de Morales, one of the most talented and prolific practitioners of lucha libre walking this earth. Last, but certainly not least, Inaros defeated Lisa Seldon--a woman who, if I've not miscounted, is a champion in five other promotions and may well be an undiagnosed sociopath."

Umi takes a small sip of her drink. The smile fades, fast and hard.

"But what about you, Mr. Svarro? What obstacles has your road lead you toward? You commenced your little adventure with Danny Colt, a wrestler you admitted to knowing absolutely nothing about, yet still overcame with relative ease. Being generous, one could suggest that you're just that good. Being anything else, one would put the blame squarely on your hapless victim for not measuring up. You followed up by beating Kaelan Laughlin. ...A possessed or perhaps brainwashed Kaelan Laughlin, I'll admit to having trouble keeping up with that sordid affair, but you did still pin her--regardless of context, yes?

And with only a smidgen of assistance from Rachelle LeRoux.

...and a steel chair."

Umi subtly shrugs her shoulders, swirling the glass in her hand. She pauses, if only for effect.

"I can give credit for clever, Mr. Svarro. Being resourceful, doing whatever you deem necessary... that all I can appreciate. Having someone else do everything in your match, however--tsk tsk, Mr. Svarro. Were I a teacher, we'd be discussing this after class. Nonetheless, you advanced to the semi-finals and there awaited your rival of sorts, a foe familiar with your shenanigans in one Finn Whelan. ...A man who, by your admission, has mostly mediocre matches. A man who, in your own words Mr. Svarro, alternates between lengthy vacations and losing streaks, a man who took years to win a single championship. That, that was the greatest test you've faced thus far. That was your next-to-final round."

Umi takes a bolder gulp from her glass before leaning forward, her face almost pressing into the camera's lens. Her gaze narrows, the smile showing no hint of returning.

"Let me be clear, Mikey. I fear whatever outrageous luck has afforded you this success. I fear whatever contract you inked, be it with fey or the devil himself, that has granted you a spot in the finals of this tournament. I fear the possibility that the divine are playing some bewildering prank on Union Battleground, and that you are but the punchline waiting to play out. I fear a number of things, Mr. Svarro, but nowhere on my list is any facet particular to your person. I have absolutely zero concerns regarding you, only the circumstances under which you, YOU of all the pathetic creatures crawling the surface of this world, would be the last thing standing between Inaros and the prize he so rightfully deserves."

She sits back. She takes one last, lengthy drink, finishing the glass... and the limo slowly eases to a halt. Umi, with perhaps less care than one would advise, shoves her emptied container into a nearby cup holder and scoops her book into her arms.

"You're a filthy handed shyster, Mr. Svarro. You're a fly-by-night con artist with a penchant for smelling the right place and predicting the right time. You're a gambler, and like all gamblers you can only win so long as the cards hold out. I'm worried that, at worst, you may end up selling me a timeshare--but your chicanery will not, CANnot steal you a genuine victory, not this round. You pride yourself on mind games--so please. I implore you. I beg you to attempt such foolishness on Inaros. I would delight in seeing how far such an endeavor takes you. Make an effort to get beneath his rotted skin, try your damndest to get into his ancient head. Really put your back into it, Mr. Svarro, it would be the most entertaining moment of your career."

The door is opened for her. Her chauffeur is a large, fit man in a gray suit... and sporting a black silk mask, adorned with a golden Egyptian eye. Another figure accompanies him, almost identical both in attire and in physique. The two of them, with gloved hands, help Umi step gracefully from the vehicle; her high heels click against the pavement as she walks toward a massive casino... a humorously, or perhaps appropriately, 'ancient Egyptian' themed casino. Approaching a reconstruction of a pharaohs' towering tomb (easily 30 stories tall), the men that accompany her hold open the glass front doors. The camera trails just ahead as Umi enters.

"You have said one thing, however, that caught my attention--one single snippet of interest in all the self-serving feculence you've spouted these past months. Union Battleground needs a villain; that was what you told Mr. Whelan. They say that a stopped clock is right twice per day, and in that statement you did seem to stumble across your chosen hour."

Against the casino's backdrop of fake palm trees and plastic sphinxes, Umi doesn't stand out all that much--indeed, her usually anachronistic garb blends in perfectly with the faux Egyptian aesthetic. Nonetheless, she and her masked guards seem to catch the attention of the resident staff. Security, waitresses, and table games dealers alike cast her a nervous glance, watching intently as she passes through the building. She has to practically shout to be heard over the ringing of slot machines, but she manages to maintain a calm demeanor even when raising her voice.

"You may very well, somehow, have a point Mr. Svarro. Union Battleground does need more than simply... a role model, or a hero to aspire to. This tournament has brought out the competitive spirit of some of the greatest wrestlers in the world. The allure of the Crown of the King Cobra has drawn combatants from all walks of life like a moth to the flame, and having watched them... I've judged their best is simply inadequate."

Umi reaches another set of doors, toward the back of the facility. One of her accompanying servants takes out a badge, swiping it by a nearby card reader. They open the doors for Umi, and the three step into a quieter, back-of-house hallway. They continue through the inner workings of the casino.

"All the desire, all the passion in the world could not elevate these mortal men to the level of Inaros. No. They need more than a figurehead to guide them, they need an adversary to push them. They need an impassible mountain, that they may have the chance to climb impossible heights. This business needs a weight beneath which all will rise, stronger and taller than ever before... or be crushed beneath. Those with potential, those with the heart of a fighter will ascend, challengers to something greater. Those without will perish in the sun."

Umi turns, and the guards that flank her push open a last set of large double doors. She makes her way into what looks like a boardroom--a lengthy table positioned down its center, a massive screen at its far end. Umi waits, patiently, as one of her assistants lies flat upon the carpeted floor. The other joins him, sinking to his hands and knees. Umi, high heels and all, walks up their bodies as though they were a staircase for her benefit... using them to nonchalantly climb up onto the long table. Her pace slows, a grin steadily creeping across her face as she walks its length.

"I don't mean you, of course. Union Battleground requires someone more noble, more impressive. You're the wrestling equivalent of a raccoon, combing through the trash under the cover of darkness. No, what this world demands is someone powerful, someone unstoppable, a seven foot tall force of nature unaffected by greed, or ego, or other paltry afflictions of the living mind. Union Battleground is in desperate need of an entity pure, untarnished by petty grudges or soap opera dramatics. The world of wrestling needs, NEEDS someone mythical, a wrestler god-like both in stature and in deed... and a wrestler with someone brilliant in his corner. A manager that knows leadership. A manager with vision. A manager with both authority and vast resources at her disposal."

Umi stops, standing in the dead center of the elongated table. As the camera pans backward, it reveals that the room is packed--executives and pitbosses and shareholders and all other manner of men in collared shirts and neckties... each and every one of them wearing the black mask and the golden eye. They stand up straight, facing her, entranced by her every word. Umi's light smile escalates, twisting into something viler, something sinister.

"How does one afford repeated expeditions to Egypt? How does an individual pay for a crew with which to unearth an ancient tome, and how does she manage to obtain an entire, fully intact and very specific mummy? How does a young woman without so much as a public last name get a relatively unknown wrestler booked in a tournament as prestigious and in demand as the Crown of the King Cobra? Why, she'd need to be a multi-millionaire, at minimum--perhaps a looming silhouette secretly pulling the strings of a major entertainment company. ...If one feels obligated to speculate."

Umi hoists the Book of the Dead high.

Every masked figure in the room, in complete sync, takes a knee.

"Do you understand, Mr. Svarro? You're a huckster, a gambler, and your poker face is commendable... but this particular deck was stacked from the beginning. You lost this tournament the moment I signed Inaros' name to Union Battleground. The house wins, eventually--it always does, and at this juncture... I am the house. On February 24th, for an audience of ten thousand people live and countless more watching at home... your last hand will be dealt, Mr. Svarro, and it will be dealt by Inaros.

My Inaros.

What once was can be again."

With identical cadence and perfect timing, at least a dozen voices all throughout the room repeat her in an echoing monotone.

What once was can be again.

Umi lowers the book, her eyes staring deep into the viewer.

"It shall. You are not the antagonist this company so badly seeks, Mr. Svarro.