A History Lesson

Characters: Ken Kaze & Sylo

The sinister chamber of torment was no stranger to Jolt Wrestling’s Resident Moron. Oh, he had become quite acquainted with it, constricted to a steel chair courtesy of chain-linked shackles, sitting amidst the shadows of which enveloped him entirely. Fortunately for Ken Kaze’s sake, everyday was a new challenge to overcome – a new obstacle to shoot over. And thus, sitting amongst the catacombs of which daylight feared the most, he was not as bored as you would think a person would eventually become.

Contrary to what one would assume, his settlement in solitude had not faltered his visions and goals in life: to aspire to become something greater than what he already was. His confinement in his own, personal tomb of Hell had not lead him astray from the path of life. His struggle to free himself from imprisonment only contradicted the fact that he may be ready to accept a friend in demise.

The Hero of Hardcore remained true to his epithet as the perseverance of heroism that lingered deep down within him powerfully stood out. He remained resilient as any one man could possibly be. He survived the impediments the Superbeast placed before him day in and day out.

However, today was a new day as the familiar scene of the silhouette of a broken and battered Ken Kaze was noticeable sitting atop the omnipresent steel chair. The diminutive amount of illumination was enough to illustrate the amount of damage he had suffered at the merit of the Superbeast. His head was lolled back against the back support of the chair as his chest heaved up and down. A crashing sound in the distance was enough to allow Kaze to stream into consciousness.

“Sylo,” Ken proclaimed with intensity, obviously looking to get his interrogator’s attention. “Sylo, you piece of s[BEEP!]t. Where are you? Are you even here? What about you, George? Where are you?”

There was no response with the exception of the reverberation of his own voice as it ricocheted from the walls back at him. He attempted to blow his water- and blood-drenched hair out of his face, but it was to no avail as he immediately became short of breath.

A shuffling sound from behind him allowed him to catch his breath quick enough, contrarily.

“Sylo, you f[BEEP!]king f[BEEP!]kbox. Quit jacking off to Aaron WrotC[BEEP!]Kski’s seventy-fifth edition of How to Sodomize Your Secksy Grandmother With a Hot Spoon Whilst Fornicating With Your Hawt Grandfather’s Old, Wrinkly Balls you freakin’ perv!”

The shuffling noise was now in front of him as he attempted to readjust his eyes, hoping to distinguish what exactly it was messing with his mind.

“October thirty-first. Halloween. All Hallows’ Eve. The Eve of All Saints’ Day. Whichever you prefer to refer to it as. More importantly, it was the day of Halloween Bash, Two Thousand One. You should remember that day quite well, Kaze, for it was the birth of the man you are today. It was the origin of the legacy that you maintain to this day. It was the first time you had become acquainted with your faithful companion, George the Trashcan, as well,” added Sylo before pausing momentarily. “You seem a bit bemused. Then again, you always seem bemused. Even though it’s apparent how much of a moron you truly are, I never once dared to think you were this much of a moron.

“Therefore, allow me to elaborate even more. It was New True’s first pay-per-view event, loaded with a plethora of matches. Spectacular matches. Especially the two championship title matches of which included me, if I may say so myself.”

Exhausted, Ken let out a slight groan as he listened to the history lesson brought forth to him on behalf of his captor.

“Ah. So, I see some of this actually does register with that miniscule brain of yours. Allow me to continue, if you don’t mind,” Sylo sneered, as an ominous smile crept over his face.

A second moan was emitted, which was sufficient enough for the Superbeast to persist in his seminar.

“The first match of which took place that both you and I were involved with was the Extreme Championship Trick or Treat match. Do you remember that, Kaze? Do you?!” he roared, beckoning a response from the Hero of Hardcore in hope for a chance to completely obliterate his jawbone.

The sound of knuckles being cracked resonated throughout the chamber of torment.

“I sure do, that’s for sure. I don’t remember exactly who all was involved, but I most certainly remember you were involved. For, it was you who cost me my chance to hold what rightfully belonged to me! It was you who triumphed and obtained all of the glory, and it was me who squandered and slowly faded away from the mainstream. It was you who had given me my very first loss inside the squared circle, Kaze. That’s surely something you don’t want to be remembered by.

“Of course, you hadn’t done it entirely by yourself, had you, Kenny? Oh, no. You had help from that f[BEEP!]king insane asylum reject Ed Novak, along with that chair he carried around he called Bob. If it wasn’t for Novak, Kaze, it would have been me who had conquered everyone involved in that battle. I would have stood exultant and proud amongst the peasants I had squashed. Alas, that was not to be.

“God must really hate you – you know that, Kaze? By Him giving you that victory, He allowed you to suffer through a world of anguish. If He had simply avoided you from becoming the champion on that very day, I probably wouldn’t be here right now. As a matter of fact, that is exactly not the reason for why I am here.”

Ken could resist no longer. The burning question engraved into the depths of his cerebrum for the past several weeks was now at the forefront. Why he had not asked this question earlier, he had not even known. He figured it would have been disregarded, ignored, and left unanswered. However, he remembered the tired cliché of, “It never hurts to try.” Only, the originator of that quote had no idea that when Sylo was involved, it always hurts to try. Nonetheless, Kaze decided to strive for an answer.

“So, why are you here? No – no, that’s not what I mean. I know it’s over some setup you were involved with in Mexico. But, why are you here in Jolt Wrestling? Why are you after me? Why’d you get yourself involved in my match at the Retort? Why didn’t you bother to kidnap Polar instead? He’s a faggot, you know. You could have captured him and killed him for all anyone cared. No one would’ve shed a single tear. More importantly, though, Sylo: Why’d you help me win?”

The questions were coming at a mile a second, which brought a pleasant, yet malevolent grin to the mug of Sylo. He was not sure where exactly to begin. Nevertheless, he began to feed information to Kaze, just as he wanted.

“It’s quite simple as to why I’m here in Jolt. It’s a matter of retribution, Kaze. I could have sworn I made this clear for two weeks straight. As you said, I was setup in Mexico. Not only that, someone attempted to take my life! My f[BEEP!]king life, Kaze!” roared Sylo, as he slammed a massive right fist into his victim’s jaw. “And thanks to my many connections and sources, I have had every reason to suspect that you were involved in this in some fashion or another!”

A second enormous right fist collided with the opposite side of Kaze’s jaw, as his head rocked to the side. Fresh blood spewed from his mouth. His only response was a small groan followed by both punches. It was one thing Sylo was attempting to break Ken down physically. It was also another thing Sylo was attempting to break him down mentally. Kaze would not allow him the satisfaction of neither, as it was plainly obvious the Superbeast was looking for both at the same time.

“That’s exactly why I’m here in Jolt. That’s exactly why I’m after you! However, don’t misconstrue the meaning of my presence. I’m not here solely after you. There was a reason as to why I decided to engage into your epic match with Polar. As I’ve been trying to drill inside your head for the past few weeks, I’m after you both. As I understand it, you both had connections with the attempted assassination. And how convenient it was that you both happened to be scheduled for a match together, eh? Naturally, I took that as my opportunity to let my existence be known.

“Now, as to why I didn’t kidnap Polar instead of your inadequate ass, that’s a good question. Honestly – and I don’t understand why I felt this way – I thought to myself, you would have the most information. After all, you and I have had a history together. You would have more reason for having the satisfaction of my death. And of course, if that was the situation, why would I help the very man who longed for my death to a victory over his adversary at a very important event?

“It’s simple, Kaze. Polar’s pride was on the line. He felt maltreated by the accusations of pilfering George. Beating you to a bloody pulp and defeating you was going to be his redemption for you soiling his name . . . and I took it from him. I . . . took that from him!”

Sylo discharged a wicked laugh as his face became present, the light illuminating him for the first time throughout his segment of sedition.

“You see, Polar attempted to take my life. Thus, I take his pride. You, as well, attempted to take my life. Therefore,” Sylo paused briefly, only to inch towards the face of Ken Kaze until their noses were literally centimeters apart, “I take your soul!”

A dull thud resounded as Sylo had struck Ken in the face with another gigantic Fist of Stone blow. Kaze’s head collapsed into oblivion as his chin met his chest, blood streaming from his mouth downward onto his exposed chest. Apparently, Sylo was displeased with this as he grasped a handful of his sufferer’s hair, lifting his head up until Sylo could stare into his rolled-back eyes.

SMACK!

An open palm strike seemed to bring Kaze back into reality as his eyes adjusted to normal. He glanced around the room a little bit, obviously confused by his recent departure from awareness, and was finally able to speak.

“I… I wanna… wanna f… fight you, Sylo. I want to fight . . . you,” he managed to stutter, with every ounce of effort left in his nearly comatose body.

Sylo snickered in response.

“You wanna fight me? After the way I have broken you down these past couple of weeks? The way I have humiliated you in front of your audience in the Jolt Wrestling faithful. You still want to fight me? Especially after the way I completely destroyed both you and Polar inside the ring together, at the same time. You want to fight me? You truthfully are an idiot, Kaze. You truly are.”

“I… I wanna f[BEEP!]k your world up. Matter of fact, I… I’m going to f[BEEP!]k your world up. Be prepared, Sylo. You can’t hold me hostage forever.”

“Oh, but I can, Kenny boy. I can. That’s what you don’t understand about this all. Your life is merely in the palm of my hands. You could be dead, if I wanted you to be. You could be floating in the ocean, the earth being purged from your rotten excuse of a corpse as the sharks devour your lifeless form. However, if it’s a fight you want . . . it’s a fight you’ll get.

“April twenty-fourth. One Night In: Winnipeg. I’ll be there. I’ll make sure your good pal Polar will be there as well. That way, both of you could once more have the chance to rip each other into nothing more than forgotten remnants of the past. And since I’ll be there, both of you could also seek a little vengeance on the very beast that dared to interrupt your previous encounter . . . if you dared, of course. Oh, that’s assuming you’ll be there. You’ll be there, won’t you, Kaze?”

“No s[BEEP!]t, Jetson. I’ll be there.”

Sylo clasped his hands together before rubbing them together feverously.

“Oh, and Kaze, I have a little present for you . . .”

The Superbeast turned around, lurking into the darkness before returning with a black, silk bag. By the shape of the bag, it was obvious there were some type of contents inside. He opened up the bag before reaching inside, pulling out whatever substances that may have been inside.

It was in the form of a championship belt. His mammoth hands buckled the belt together inside out. Approaching the Hero of Hardcore, Sylo raised the belt into the air, above his prey’s head. He appropriately draped the inside out buckled belt around his neck, in the case that the gold plate was facing Kaze’s face. Sylo circled around the steel chair of which occupied Kaze, before kneeling down to the ground, retrieving his victim’s hands. In an instant, a metal clink was heard as the chain-linked shackles, which formerly had placed Ken in a bind, hit the concrete floor.

Was this real? Kaze surely thought. He attempted to remove himself from his seated position, but it was to no avail. He was too weak. He looked rather pathetic as he attempted to lift his arms up onto his lap. He could not even perform that simple task. Sylo’s weeks of solitude and torment had worked accordingly, and consequently he was satisfied. He now rounded onto the front of Kaze to where he could inspect the injured party from a much better suited position.

“Know what that is, Kaze? That’s the very championship belt I spoke of earlier. New True’s Extreme Championship. The very belt you saw for the first time in four years weeks ago at the Retort. Of course, by now, you might’ve guessed it was me who had planted it there. And, obviously, I decided to make a second stop by your locker room to pick it back up. I thought I’d save it for a very special occasion such as this one. Where I could hand you the very title you defeated me for myself. And here I am, congratulating you on your victory from four years ago.”

Immediately, Sylo reared back with his right arm before delivering the ultimate devastating blow to the face of Ken Kaze.

CRACK!

Sylo’s fist had connected with the inside out belt, which caused the gold plate to smash into Kaze’s face. The force of the impact was so great, it sent the steel chair backwards to the floor, allowing Ken to flip backwards as well into a lifeless heap on the floor, laying face first.

All’s well that ends well, except in the case of Ken Kaze. Sylo’s massive frame disappeared from view; however, his iniquitous cackle rang out in the background.

“You wanna fight? You’ll get a fight.”