Post by Dakota Smith on Jun 15, 2020 12:40:06 GMT -5
A name… A man needs one… A wrestler is defined by one. You can do everything in your power to make yourself relevant, but if the name doesn’t stick… Just who are we remembering? How many men and women have passed through Union Battleground, some successful in their attempts, and others complete failures… Names forgotten to the history books because they never really meant anything at all. They were at their very best forgettable, and at their worst not worth remembering.
So…
Is this all about a name?
“No.”
A grimacing grin followed by a bone chilling chuckle stabs through the darkness on this cool June night. From out of the shadows of an old willow tree steps Dakota Smith, the moonlight reflecting off his ragged and torn flesh - the letters “GHB” freshly scarred into his forehead. He’s shirtless, dressed in only a pair of worn blue jeans and steel tipped boots. As He emerges from the darkness the air surrounding him gets colder, more chilling - and as his grin grows wider clouds drift in front of the moon - shadowing the man’s frame to look larger than it actually is.
“This isn’t about a name, a phrase which spills from maggot lips when life fades from their eyes. I’m not competing with you, Dick… For something so small. So trivial… Do you think I actually care about who the real butcher is? Is it me? Is it you? Does it matter? Because I’ve already over shadowed you for a lifetime, my reach spans years, multiple companies, multiple fatalities. I’m the one man massacre, the living breathing homicide just waiting to happen. I’m not going into this Butcher Shop looking to take what’s yours… I’ve already done that… “
As the wind picks up heat lighting scorches through the now cloudy sky, giving glimpses of what was in the old weeping willow tree. Bodies hanging from nooses, past victims of Dakota Smith, men and women far greater than anything Dick Deveruex had faced before. All of them carved up and presented with Dakota’s mark on their foreheads - their pale flesh peeking through the draping branches of the willow.
“ Your a pathetic fucking mongrel, nipping at my ankles for relevancy - showing up only when you can burn in my light. That’s what all of this has been. It’s why you denied me the decimation of Bryan Williams, it’s why you continued to attack when my back is turned… And then? You stood right in front of me brandishing that little knife of yours wanting me to dance, You made me sacrifice Danny, for what? So you could slit your throat in front of my very eyes and prove that you could still stand?”
A breeze passes by, flowing through Dakota’s beard and matted hair as he let out a low growling chuckle - his eyes extending wider.
“ I’ll do much more than slit your throat Dick, I’ll do so much more than hit you in the back of the head with a baseball bat. You think that you want this, you point and you prod at the dragon breathing down your neck… And worst of all? You don’t even know you’re dead yet… You don’t understand that the second you forced yourself into my sight, is the moment that your career as a professional wrestler ended. I’ll leave you crippled, gasping for air underneath my boot. I’ll hoist your battered corpse above that ring and show you how to slit a throat. Hooks in your back and whimpering like the scared little bitch that you are.. Scared of the coming change, horrified that your legacy is crumbling around you while I overlap your greatest achievements in a Union Battleground Ring. “
While he’s blanketed by the shadows of the willow, Dakota’s frame grows - his feet seemingly drifting up from the ground like a poltergeist.
“ In my first appearance here I did what took you months to do… I made myself a part of this company's history just like that.”
Snapping his finger as thunder cracks through the silence of the night.
“I took your name in your own company and I’ve made it mean something, I’ve given it the weight that only I can give. And that eats away at you, it makes you jealous, makes your blood boil underneath that soon to be flayed flesh. I understand why you’ve done the things you’ve done. It’s the final few pathetic acts of a man who is about to lose everything, not only his life… But his legacy, you’ll leave nothing behind Dick… I won’t allow it, not anymore… Not after what you’ve done. I’ll erase you from those history books, I’ll erase you from this company, from this existence!”
As Dakota raises his voice to a roar another stroke of heat lighting electrifies the sky, showing that the bodies hanging from the tree have doubled, and that Dakota was now standing on a wooden stool next to his own noose. He reaches his arms up and grabs the rope, fashioning it around his neck as he stares curiously into the lens of the camera. His wide eyes twinkling with a disturbed chaos, flames flickering in the corners of his iris as he glares through all that watched.
“ Your blood will be on my hands, just like so many damn others. A portrait of the american serial killer, the image of apocalypse that I’ve created, woven in my time on this earth. You’ve bitten off more than you can chew Devereaux, you’ve thrown yourself into a battle that’s simply not winnable. My sights are on something much larger than you’ll ever be, my goals surpass this little pissing contest of who the real butcher is. You wanted me to play your game? But now… You’ll be playing mine, and unlike yours my little dicky… I play for hearts, for names, for identities… I play for the very blood that flows through your body, I am greed… And when you lose? I’m taking everything from you… I won’t leave anything behind, not even a memory. In the coming months you will fade away from these maggot’s minds, your history will vanish from the very book that you helped create. Union Battleground will come to know and remember only one Butcher, only one man. “
Taking in a deep breath, Dakota lets his eyes close as he lets the wind wash over his battered exterior, cooling down the boiling blood inside of his veins. As he exhales his eyes reopen, but not as wide as they were before - they narrow in, focusing on whats through the lens, focusing of Dick himself. The grin slowly subsides from his face as his tongue slowly presses through and over his lips.
“ The clock is about ready to go off Dick, The pots are about to boil over. I want you to cherish these last few days that you have, I want you to feed your ego… Go do what you do best, play with knives, paint your face, wear a pig mask… Do whatever you need to do to prepare yourself for the end. I accepted my fate a long time ago, I know what path I walk down, I’ll know the end of the road when I see it. But you? You’re not the end of my path… Just a crack along the concrete, a weed that needs to be tended, a tumor that needs to be removed. “
Dakota holds one foot out in front of himself, ready to step off the stool.
“ When the scorpion turned on the frog halfway down the river, the frog cried out as to why he would do so such a thing… And the scorpion replied that it was in his nature. I’ll kill us both, before I ever let you surpass me… I’ll watch us both drown before I ever allow you to use me as a stepping stone… You are the Butcher Dick. “
And with those words, he steps off, the noose tightens around his neck - causing countless veins to pop from beneath his flesh. Dakota doesn’t fight it however, he just stares into the camera - nostrils flared until he succumbs to the sweet cold embrace of suffocation. His body slowly swinging back and forth as the wind guides him like a marionette on a string. With his arms laying limply at his sides, the camera begins to move in on his face until nothing but his closed eyes take up the entire frame. And just like that they reopen, that same stare as before - those same flames licking the corner of his irises.
“ But I’m Dakota Smith.”
So…
Is this all about a name?
“No.”
A grimacing grin followed by a bone chilling chuckle stabs through the darkness on this cool June night. From out of the shadows of an old willow tree steps Dakota Smith, the moonlight reflecting off his ragged and torn flesh - the letters “GHB” freshly scarred into his forehead. He’s shirtless, dressed in only a pair of worn blue jeans and steel tipped boots. As He emerges from the darkness the air surrounding him gets colder, more chilling - and as his grin grows wider clouds drift in front of the moon - shadowing the man’s frame to look larger than it actually is.
“This isn’t about a name, a phrase which spills from maggot lips when life fades from their eyes. I’m not competing with you, Dick… For something so small. So trivial… Do you think I actually care about who the real butcher is? Is it me? Is it you? Does it matter? Because I’ve already over shadowed you for a lifetime, my reach spans years, multiple companies, multiple fatalities. I’m the one man massacre, the living breathing homicide just waiting to happen. I’m not going into this Butcher Shop looking to take what’s yours… I’ve already done that… “
As the wind picks up heat lighting scorches through the now cloudy sky, giving glimpses of what was in the old weeping willow tree. Bodies hanging from nooses, past victims of Dakota Smith, men and women far greater than anything Dick Deveruex had faced before. All of them carved up and presented with Dakota’s mark on their foreheads - their pale flesh peeking through the draping branches of the willow.
“ Your a pathetic fucking mongrel, nipping at my ankles for relevancy - showing up only when you can burn in my light. That’s what all of this has been. It’s why you denied me the decimation of Bryan Williams, it’s why you continued to attack when my back is turned… And then? You stood right in front of me brandishing that little knife of yours wanting me to dance, You made me sacrifice Danny, for what? So you could slit your throat in front of my very eyes and prove that you could still stand?”
A breeze passes by, flowing through Dakota’s beard and matted hair as he let out a low growling chuckle - his eyes extending wider.
“ I’ll do much more than slit your throat Dick, I’ll do so much more than hit you in the back of the head with a baseball bat. You think that you want this, you point and you prod at the dragon breathing down your neck… And worst of all? You don’t even know you’re dead yet… You don’t understand that the second you forced yourself into my sight, is the moment that your career as a professional wrestler ended. I’ll leave you crippled, gasping for air underneath my boot. I’ll hoist your battered corpse above that ring and show you how to slit a throat. Hooks in your back and whimpering like the scared little bitch that you are.. Scared of the coming change, horrified that your legacy is crumbling around you while I overlap your greatest achievements in a Union Battleground Ring. “
While he’s blanketed by the shadows of the willow, Dakota’s frame grows - his feet seemingly drifting up from the ground like a poltergeist.
“ In my first appearance here I did what took you months to do… I made myself a part of this company's history just like that.”
Snapping his finger as thunder cracks through the silence of the night.
“I took your name in your own company and I’ve made it mean something, I’ve given it the weight that only I can give. And that eats away at you, it makes you jealous, makes your blood boil underneath that soon to be flayed flesh. I understand why you’ve done the things you’ve done. It’s the final few pathetic acts of a man who is about to lose everything, not only his life… But his legacy, you’ll leave nothing behind Dick… I won’t allow it, not anymore… Not after what you’ve done. I’ll erase you from those history books, I’ll erase you from this company, from this existence!”
As Dakota raises his voice to a roar another stroke of heat lighting electrifies the sky, showing that the bodies hanging from the tree have doubled, and that Dakota was now standing on a wooden stool next to his own noose. He reaches his arms up and grabs the rope, fashioning it around his neck as he stares curiously into the lens of the camera. His wide eyes twinkling with a disturbed chaos, flames flickering in the corners of his iris as he glares through all that watched.
“ Your blood will be on my hands, just like so many damn others. A portrait of the american serial killer, the image of apocalypse that I’ve created, woven in my time on this earth. You’ve bitten off more than you can chew Devereaux, you’ve thrown yourself into a battle that’s simply not winnable. My sights are on something much larger than you’ll ever be, my goals surpass this little pissing contest of who the real butcher is. You wanted me to play your game? But now… You’ll be playing mine, and unlike yours my little dicky… I play for hearts, for names, for identities… I play for the very blood that flows through your body, I am greed… And when you lose? I’m taking everything from you… I won’t leave anything behind, not even a memory. In the coming months you will fade away from these maggot’s minds, your history will vanish from the very book that you helped create. Union Battleground will come to know and remember only one Butcher, only one man. “
Taking in a deep breath, Dakota lets his eyes close as he lets the wind wash over his battered exterior, cooling down the boiling blood inside of his veins. As he exhales his eyes reopen, but not as wide as they were before - they narrow in, focusing on whats through the lens, focusing of Dick himself. The grin slowly subsides from his face as his tongue slowly presses through and over his lips.
“ The clock is about ready to go off Dick, The pots are about to boil over. I want you to cherish these last few days that you have, I want you to feed your ego… Go do what you do best, play with knives, paint your face, wear a pig mask… Do whatever you need to do to prepare yourself for the end. I accepted my fate a long time ago, I know what path I walk down, I’ll know the end of the road when I see it. But you? You’re not the end of my path… Just a crack along the concrete, a weed that needs to be tended, a tumor that needs to be removed. “
Dakota holds one foot out in front of himself, ready to step off the stool.
“ When the scorpion turned on the frog halfway down the river, the frog cried out as to why he would do so such a thing… And the scorpion replied that it was in his nature. I’ll kill us both, before I ever let you surpass me… I’ll watch us both drown before I ever allow you to use me as a stepping stone… You are the Butcher Dick. “
And with those words, he steps off, the noose tightens around his neck - causing countless veins to pop from beneath his flesh. Dakota doesn’t fight it however, he just stares into the camera - nostrils flared until he succumbs to the sweet cold embrace of suffocation. His body slowly swinging back and forth as the wind guides him like a marionette on a string. With his arms laying limply at his sides, the camera begins to move in on his face until nothing but his closed eyes take up the entire frame. And just like that they reopen, that same stare as before - those same flames licking the corner of his irises.
“ But I’m Dakota Smith.”