Post by raze on Apr 23, 2024 16:24:34 GMT -8
OOC NOTE: Not on camera.
Jericho Cross sits in track pants and running shoes, holding a 50 kg dumbbell as he does some bicep work. The triceps have already been pushed with long sets, and now, it was time for biceps.
He had enjoyed his match with Douglas and though he lost, it ended with mutual respect and both men somehow getting out of the ring under their own steam and holding their arms up on the stage. They had beaten the shit out of each other and there had been a desire to square off again.
He had to respect the clever use of that cobra clutch finisher to turn it into an unbreakable pin, and he had used it with a grapevine against Mark Kelly. The more he thought of it, the more he wanted to face Crane again and test himself further. Could he resist the move next time? He knew how, but with Crane's strength, he knew that the longer the match goes, the harder resisting it will be. He let the possibilities run wild. Use the turnbuckle to push them back and pin Douglas that way. He could judo toss him. Turn into a hammerlock before the hold is fully applied. Use his Shut The Fuck Up to break it. Low blow was only an option if Crane used a shortcut first.
Not an option. Crane could've cheated any time in the title bout and never did. It was honour bound. Crane's skill against his own, who's better? That night, Crane was. It was pure, the kind of combat he came to love in the ring. Jericho was no angel and perfectly willing to fight dirty if the opponent does or the match calls for it.
No. If he got caught again, he'd try something and succeed or fail on merit alone, same way that Douglas faced him. Crane avoided his newest move, the Synapse Breaker, the second time. Crane would likely use pure means to escape Lucifer's Call, his gogoplata. The Grappler would use skill alone to prevent the application of other submissions, be it an ankle lock, katahajime, jujigatame, or guillotine choke, or any other one he could try.
He resolved to do better next time, to find the hold or move that would take him down, but not out of anger; out of respect for the competition, for the thrill of battle. He found a warrior to match his own methods, his own mindset. He hadn't met someone in the ring like that in over a decade. He and Leon had drifted since, but remained the friends they were.
But this generation had brought one reminiscent of that old friendly rival, that world class, multiple times world champion he had enjoyed world-shaking battles with. The memory comes up of himself being the only one who ever made that friend tap out. If he could do that... maybe he could submit this new challenge to his ability. There was but one way to find out and he'd relish the day they meet once again.
Time to change to left arm. He thought over more of the night. Brie's match against Bia likely disappointed her, but he couldn't help feel she'd come out on top next time. She'd get back up and back in it. Then, of course, his other friend. Alyssa. While proud of her escape, he couldn't help clenching his jaw at the stunt the Conglomerate pulled. He told them not to do it, he told them she was a non-combatant! He felt the anger growing within him.
Do it
No.
That's your friend. Step up!
No. Not my fight. Not my war.
Why, for fucks sake? You've done far worse for far less. End them!
His eyes widened ever so slightly and his brow tensed. He had resolved to let this war go. Wasn't his fight. The suppressed anger and traumas he endured- what he calls his devil- welled up within him, raging like the kind of fire that consumes cities. Like wildfires with a consciousness and desire to rage on until it took control of his very soul. He threw the dumbbell to the floor and strode quickly to one of his treadmills, standing beside it and gripping the bar with both hands until his knuckles whitened. This was his plan: hold onto the rail and ride it out.
Really? This again? You can't hold the bar the rest of your life. Take them down. Hard.
Not this time. No.
Oh, no? Who gives a fuck if the boys are good with you? Take out their queen and they'll go off on their own. They've claimed no true loyalty to her. End it for your friends. This isn't new to you by now, not with all the things you've done in this business. You'd rip that bitch apart and you know more than Braddock, even if he can take a beating. Benson is just a lackey. Only Cory is a real challenge for you.
Fuck off. You're just the figment of a damaged mind. A fragment.
And yet, I'm the one who fuels you, even now. I'm the reserves in that big rank you've got. I'm the hellfire keeping the engine nice and hot. Just roll with it, be the real you. You're a living engine of destruction, a merciless animal. You delighted in maiming and putting people on the shelf.
Not without reason.
Who are you trying to lie to? Me? I'm part of you, genius. Lying to me is lying to yourself. Remember Alexander Krukov?
What about him?
He made fun of you and made some threats in his promos and in his only match against you, for a hardcore title, you wrapped his neck in barbed wire and stomped it right into his throat. They threw the match out and rushed him to hospital. He'd have a scar like yours if he made it
'If'? Of course he did.
Oh? Because you'd have been the first to know, right? Joking aside, you did almost kill him, and for much less than what's happening right now. Do you still deny what you are? Oh, Mr Crane would be so very disappointed.
I changed. I made the effort.
And now you're back, chasing battles and have only won a single time you've been out there. But I present my next exhibit. You blew up a petrol station in Japan. People initially thought it was a terrorist attack and all because you tried to light another title match challenger on fire. You'd have burned him alive. No one would've been able to save him. If he didn't move at the last moment... well, that was another one you tried to kill.
He got out the way, didn't he? Hadn't he tried to do the same thing? Turnabout is fair play.
Aha! That's another point to me. You never did care about those. And then there's the blood thing, the acid attack, another near killing, the match against Seth Raide, where you did kind of try to kill him too, massive sabotage, the numerous bombings of people's cars, and betraying your friends. Just admit it, you have no defense here.
That was a breakdown, I didn't know what I was doing!
Interesting. You only plead to the betrayal. Ok, I'll concede that, but I have you dead to rights on all the rest. You are Abaddon, the destroyer. You're practically demonic, face it! Multiple attempted murders of opponents, kidnapping, arson, vampirism, terrorism, sadism. Come on. I have you beat and you know it! A month ago, you injured a promising young talent because she caused you to miss a match you wanted for fun. And you enjoyed that too.]/I]
It was a last person standing match. She had it coming. We both knew the risks.
Do it. Tap into that and end the war, for the sake of your friend and student. I'm sure she'd be glad you did.
For your enjoyment, you mean. Fuck off. It's not my war. This is how I change. I control you now, I direct you, according to my will.
For now. But you know I'm right, and I'll always be here, fuelling your lust for battle. But go on, I'll let you get back to your set. We'll talk again soon.
His arms ached from the squeezing of the steel railing. His jaw hurts from the grinding of his teeth, his furrowed brow and clenched jaw together had brought on a headache, big one this time. But he felt himself start to loosen, start to let his muscles soften. He'd finish the set and have a drink or a couple of aspirin. Possibly both. Maybe some guitar work would keep the devil quiet. That sounded good. Finish the set, painkillers, eat, shred, shower,.sleep.
Nightcap tonight. It always helped a little in times like this. The temptations would come and go. In the meantime, he had a bicep curl set to finish.
He had enjoyed his match with Douglas and though he lost, it ended with mutual respect and both men somehow getting out of the ring under their own steam and holding their arms up on the stage. They had beaten the shit out of each other and there had been a desire to square off again.
He had to respect the clever use of that cobra clutch finisher to turn it into an unbreakable pin, and he had used it with a grapevine against Mark Kelly. The more he thought of it, the more he wanted to face Crane again and test himself further. Could he resist the move next time? He knew how, but with Crane's strength, he knew that the longer the match goes, the harder resisting it will be. He let the possibilities run wild. Use the turnbuckle to push them back and pin Douglas that way. He could judo toss him. Turn into a hammerlock before the hold is fully applied. Use his Shut The Fuck Up to break it. Low blow was only an option if Crane used a shortcut first.
Not an option. Crane could've cheated any time in the title bout and never did. It was honour bound. Crane's skill against his own, who's better? That night, Crane was. It was pure, the kind of combat he came to love in the ring. Jericho was no angel and perfectly willing to fight dirty if the opponent does or the match calls for it.
No. If he got caught again, he'd try something and succeed or fail on merit alone, same way that Douglas faced him. Crane avoided his newest move, the Synapse Breaker, the second time. Crane would likely use pure means to escape Lucifer's Call, his gogoplata. The Grappler would use skill alone to prevent the application of other submissions, be it an ankle lock, katahajime, jujigatame, or guillotine choke, or any other one he could try.
He resolved to do better next time, to find the hold or move that would take him down, but not out of anger; out of respect for the competition, for the thrill of battle. He found a warrior to match his own methods, his own mindset. He hadn't met someone in the ring like that in over a decade. He and Leon had drifted since, but remained the friends they were.
But this generation had brought one reminiscent of that old friendly rival, that world class, multiple times world champion he had enjoyed world-shaking battles with. The memory comes up of himself being the only one who ever made that friend tap out. If he could do that... maybe he could submit this new challenge to his ability. There was but one way to find out and he'd relish the day they meet once again.
Time to change to left arm. He thought over more of the night. Brie's match against Bia likely disappointed her, but he couldn't help feel she'd come out on top next time. She'd get back up and back in it. Then, of course, his other friend. Alyssa. While proud of her escape, he couldn't help clenching his jaw at the stunt the Conglomerate pulled. He told them not to do it, he told them she was a non-combatant! He felt the anger growing within him.
Do it
No.
That's your friend. Step up!
No. Not my fight. Not my war.
Why, for fucks sake? You've done far worse for far less. End them!
His eyes widened ever so slightly and his brow tensed. He had resolved to let this war go. Wasn't his fight. The suppressed anger and traumas he endured- what he calls his devil- welled up within him, raging like the kind of fire that consumes cities. Like wildfires with a consciousness and desire to rage on until it took control of his very soul. He threw the dumbbell to the floor and strode quickly to one of his treadmills, standing beside it and gripping the bar with both hands until his knuckles whitened. This was his plan: hold onto the rail and ride it out.
Really? This again? You can't hold the bar the rest of your life. Take them down. Hard.
Not this time. No.
Oh, no? Who gives a fuck if the boys are good with you? Take out their queen and they'll go off on their own. They've claimed no true loyalty to her. End it for your friends. This isn't new to you by now, not with all the things you've done in this business. You'd rip that bitch apart and you know more than Braddock, even if he can take a beating. Benson is just a lackey. Only Cory is a real challenge for you.
Fuck off. You're just the figment of a damaged mind. A fragment.
And yet, I'm the one who fuels you, even now. I'm the reserves in that big rank you've got. I'm the hellfire keeping the engine nice and hot. Just roll with it, be the real you. You're a living engine of destruction, a merciless animal. You delighted in maiming and putting people on the shelf.
Not without reason.
Who are you trying to lie to? Me? I'm part of you, genius. Lying to me is lying to yourself. Remember Alexander Krukov?
What about him?
He made fun of you and made some threats in his promos and in his only match against you, for a hardcore title, you wrapped his neck in barbed wire and stomped it right into his throat. They threw the match out and rushed him to hospital. He'd have a scar like yours if he made it
'If'? Of course he did.
Oh? Because you'd have been the first to know, right? Joking aside, you did almost kill him, and for much less than what's happening right now. Do you still deny what you are? Oh, Mr Crane would be so very disappointed.
I changed. I made the effort.
And now you're back, chasing battles and have only won a single time you've been out there. But I present my next exhibit. You blew up a petrol station in Japan. People initially thought it was a terrorist attack and all because you tried to light another title match challenger on fire. You'd have burned him alive. No one would've been able to save him. If he didn't move at the last moment... well, that was another one you tried to kill.
He got out the way, didn't he? Hadn't he tried to do the same thing? Turnabout is fair play.
Aha! That's another point to me. You never did care about those. And then there's the blood thing, the acid attack, another near killing, the match against Seth Raide, where you did kind of try to kill him too, massive sabotage, the numerous bombings of people's cars, and betraying your friends. Just admit it, you have no defense here.
That was a breakdown, I didn't know what I was doing!
Interesting. You only plead to the betrayal. Ok, I'll concede that, but I have you dead to rights on all the rest. You are Abaddon, the destroyer. You're practically demonic, face it! Multiple attempted murders of opponents, kidnapping, arson, vampirism, terrorism, sadism. Come on. I have you beat and you know it! A month ago, you injured a promising young talent because she caused you to miss a match you wanted for fun. And you enjoyed that too.]/I]
It was a last person standing match. She had it coming. We both knew the risks.
Do it. Tap into that and end the war, for the sake of your friend and student. I'm sure she'd be glad you did.
For your enjoyment, you mean. Fuck off. It's not my war. This is how I change. I control you now, I direct you, according to my will.
For now. But you know I'm right, and I'll always be here, fuelling your lust for battle. But go on, I'll let you get back to your set. We'll talk again soon.
His arms ached from the squeezing of the steel railing. His jaw hurts from the grinding of his teeth, his furrowed brow and clenched jaw together had brought on a headache, big one this time. But he felt himself start to loosen, start to let his muscles soften. He'd finish the set and have a drink or a couple of aspirin. Possibly both. Maybe some guitar work would keep the devil quiet. That sounded good. Finish the set, painkillers, eat, shred, shower,.sleep.
Nightcap tonight. It always helped a little in times like this. The temptations would come and go. In the meantime, he had a bicep curl set to finish.