Post by Kai Stevens on Jan 27, 2019 23:48:14 GMT
THE BOOK OF
KAI STEVENS
CHAPTER FIVE:
silence in the snow
“Here we all stand on this canvas of white.
Our palette holds but only one shade tonight.
Silence snows in, in her wintery chill
Let’s paint the ground red with the blood of our kill.”
Trivium
You have ventured to the official Divine Wrestling website and navigated through the tabs to finally reach the video section. One of the most recent uploads depicts the disquieting image of a steel folding chair opened and set on its own in a dimly lit room. This intrigues you and you click on the thumbnail image to load the media player that usurps your screen. After a moment of buffering, the footage appears pitch black. A moment passes before the camera focuses in on the black steel folding chair in the center of what appears to be a dirt floor, or perhaps sand? Faint footsteps reverberate through the small setting as a man struts into the frame and approaches the chair. He turns around to face the camera and takes a seat in the chair, adjusting his positioning until comfortable.
Now that he is seated, you can make out enough features to properly identify none other than the Pure Champion Kai Stevens. The Infernal Baptist sports a pair of deeply dark blue jeans, a pair of Timberland boots, and a tight black New Age Plague t-shirt, with their slogan adorning the chest as if labeled by warpaint. He leans forward in the chair, a small sphere adjourning a base clutched tightly in his hands. For a moment or two, his eyes refuse to lift from the orb, though a fire blazes behind his pools of honey for eyes.
“Y’know, the thing about snowglobes,” he hisses without looking up. “They only come alive when they’re shaken.” The Envoy of the End holds the snowglobe in his hands up higher, so as to display it more prominently in the frame, eyes glued to the dancing dots of white within. His facial expression remains stoic despite the visual fixation on the bobbing and weaving of the snowflakes that he shakes the globe to stir and swim aimlessly around the sphere. Chuckling softly, he lowers the snowglobe a bit and cocks his head to either side with a two sharp and opposite movements to crack his neck on either side, prompting him to roll both shoulders back to limber up. As he clears his throat and wets his lips, Kai snaps his eyes to the lens of the camera for the first time, glaring straight through them and into the soul of Michael Rissi. He draws a slow but purposeful breath through his nostrils before smirking arrogantly and employing a scathing tone in his continued rhetoric.
“I’ll always remember the day I made my debut,” he says, a nostalgia permeating the timbre of his voice. “Three years ago, the snowglobe? It felt… Felt alive. This industry was alive, heart pumping, fists beating on its chest. Professional wrestling was a living, breathing thing. I used to think that the WWE was the be-all, end-all, that should be my ambition, but… But now that I’ve seen both sides of the coin, I know my value... I know that that ambition wouldn’t have been all that different from a childhood dream... But nowadays, there’s no rest for the wicked, which means that I don’t have time for dreams… And now I wear the ALPHA Heavyweight Championship of the World and the Pure Championship and I travel the globe with the knowledge that I am one of the greatest performers in history-- far and away the best of my generation. When I debuted three years ago, there was life here in this business but… But after a while, just like in this snowglobe… The snowflakes settle.”
Kai holds the globe at its base with both hands gripping it tightly, holding it before his face so that he may examine its guts with the discontented scowl on his bearded visage. He swallows, grimacing as if he suffers great pain from the notion of the settling of the snowflakes in his metaphor. As the snowflakes in the globe before him cease their dancing and flutter to the floor, Kai shakes his head. He exhales sharply as he flicks his eyes back up to the camera before him. “They grow complacent,” continues the Cowboy Killer. “And they might not know it yet, they might not be able to see it for themselves, but slowly and surely they are killing professional wrestling.” Venom drips from the fangs of each syllable as his upper lip twitches in disdain. “Men like Michael Maddox... Men like Mr. Katz... Men like Michael Rissi. Their contributions to this industry are that of tarnishing it with their hubris, their unfounded pride-- the most damning of the deadly sins. In doing so, they dishonor their roots… Dishonor their families… Dishonor this business... And in the End, there will always be death before dishonor... Which means that it is time, Michael… Time for you to die.”
With the nearly guttural grunge of the last word in Stevens's threat, Kai gestures aggressively with the snowglobe, nearly striking the camera accidentally. The Prodigy of Ronin’s face reddens with the malice brewing in his veins. After his upper lip twitches in contentious rage, Kai darts his eyes back and forth. Then, after chomping down and clamping his teeth to figuratively bite his tongue, he lowers the globe almost hesitantly. Stevens wets his lips to maintain his demeanor, taking another brief moment to compose himself and formulate a more efficient way of addressing the topics he wants to cover. With an amused chuckle, Kai grins evilly and furthers his fiery diatribe.
“And this opportunity we have before us,” he offers. “It’s gotten me thinking, Michael. It’s gotten me thinking about what exactly it is that possessed you to go on this suicide mission against me. It made me wonder about why you include yourself in the exalted ranks of men like me, men like my mentor… It made me wonder why you think you can last a single fucking second in the ring with me… And it made me wonder about the company you keep. So do me the favor of telling us all... Who the fuck have you beaten? Claude Vigor? Kuttah? Mr. Katz? Miles Taylor? I’m sorry, Michael, you’ll have to forgive me but… Am I meant to give a flying fuck about any of those people? You haven’t beaten men like Aaron Arkham... Like Landon Mitchell... Like Braun Strowman... Like Kenny Omega... Like Dean Ambrose... Hell, you’ve never even beaten someone like Blaise... Which means that you for DAMN sure have never beaten Kai Stevens.”
“And the only person who knows just how much you never fucking will more than you and I do, Michael? Is your wife. You’re all bark and no bite. Now, they say that those who fail to study history are doomed to repeat it, Michael, and you? If you show your ugly mug in Tallahassee, you’ll have proven that statement true for the final time. So how about this-- how about I help you out? Allow me to give you a history lesson, Michael. Every single time-- every time in history? Every time this moment has arisen, Kai Stevens steps up to the plate and goes fucking yard. When this industry’s biggest moments, its brightest spotlights, its biggest pressures revealed themselves to me, Michael, I knocked it outta’ the park every fucking time… And if history is any indication, that’s exactly what I’m gonna’ do against you.”
“To quote you,” furthers the Pure Champion. “You’ve only survived the matches you’ve been in so far by the skin of your teeth... But now you’ve reached the End of the fairytale story you’ve been living, Michael… Because the skin of your teeth doesn’t mean a damn thing when I’m kicking them down the back of your fucking throat.” Kai grins arrogantly and flicks his eyes down to the snowglobe again, shaking it aggressively to spur on the snowflakes within. “You talk some pretty big shit for a guy who couldn’t back up a fucking golf cart, let alone any of his empty threats… Saying things like that you’re gonna’ make me your bitch, Michael? It’s suicide. But if I’m being honest with you, I understand… Y’see, you are nothing more than a facsimile, Michael… A facsimile of all of these guys that you just wish you could be… Some wannabe killer-- a wannabe Kai Stevens... And y’know what, Michael? I gotta say,” he chuckles. “Unlike these snowflakes, Rissi, you were born an original... A unique-- a one of a kind BOTTOM BITCH... But come the sixteenth? Come Episode Four, Michael, you're gonna' die a copy.”
Kai takes his free hand and runs it back through his hair. He runs the hand back through his hair two more times for insurance, or for a calming purpose, before leaving the open hand palm-down on the back of his head. Standing there in this pose for a moment, contemplating how to continue, how to progress his thoughts without simply exploding, the Infernal Baptist smirks. Half-clearing his throat and half-scoffing, Stevens scratches at his beard before swallowing, taking a deep breath, and continuing to spew his verbal skewer of absolute hatred and cold calculation.
“You will become just another in a long line of men who thought they were more than they were,” he laughs imperiously. “Another man whose phonetical will was broken just like his body… Another man who thinks he is better than me.” His voice trails off slightly as he titters lightly. “To me, Michael,” continues the Cowboy Killer. “You’re nothing more than just another bodybag. And so, y’see… While the rest of you snowflakes settling and going about your lives ignorant of the damage you're doing to this business? Kai Stevens is nonplussed. Kai Stevens is pissed off. I came into this business to get shit done, Michael. Not to settle like the rest of you. I joined this industry to make a point. I wanted to deliver a message, to act as a cure for the cancer to this company, to this business that 'men' like you are, Michael... And y'know what?” Stevens shakes the snowglobe without removing his hateful glare from the lens of the camera, foregoing watching the dancing snowflakes inside. “I’m not here just to shake things up,” he stabs. “I’m here to give shitstains like you their dishonorable discharge... I’m here to be World fuckin’ Champion.”
Kai drops his eyes to the softly fading movements of the snowflakes, watching as the last few settle to the bottom. Once there is no longer any life within the snowglobe, Stevens shoots his eyes up to the camera and curls the corner of his mouth into a malicious smirk. Radiating his resent, the Revenant rises to his feet with jarring speed. A grin overtakes his bearded face as his eyes drift from the snowglobe to the camera once more and he continues with his disgusted tirade.
“And as long as there are guys like you in this business, Michael,” contends Kai. “There will be me here to put you down. You wanted to be the topic of conversation, motherfucker, well now’s your chance… I’m gonna’ put your name on the tongues of each and every person watching because they will never be able to forget, never be able to unsee what I’m gonna’ do to you… Just like they’ve never been able to palate what I’ve done to each and every dumb-as-shit motherfucker like you that’s stepped in my way.” Kai lifts the snowglobe, shaking it one final time as he looks into it and continues. “Believe me when I say it, Michael… That in sending your teeth clean through the back of your scalp… In putting an end to the most unimpressive undefeated streak in the history of this business… In putting you down, Michael? It isn’t fucking wrestling that’s coming to get you… It’s the Inevitable. And when I’m finished with you? I’m gonna’ pay your wife a visit and show her what an honor it is to be with a real man... Something among many other things you could never give her. And y’know what I’m gonna’ give you? A funeral that’s come way too early, just like your father must have to have been stuck with a disappointment as humiliating as you are.”
“They say that snowglobes only come alive when shaken,” repeats Stevens with contempt building with every passing syllable. A moment passes before he looks down at the sphere and absolutely launches it to the floor, shattering it into thousands of pieces as it explodes around his feet. “But when you fucking break them, all they can do is die... And when I break you, Michael, that’s all you’ll do either… For all of your bullshit... For your undefeated streak… For your marriage... For your career, Michael? The End is Nigh.”
With this, Stevens turns on his heels and stomps through the broken shards of glass beneath the treads of his Timberland boots, disappearing off into the distance. You watch as your screen fades to black, leaving only the reflection of your face in your screen to haunt you as Kai’s threats might haunt Michael Rissi. It’s a good thing it doesn’t snow very often in Florida.
fin.
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