Night falls all around with innocence in its look but terror in its cloak. The demons of night run and play here and there with one another and the unsuspecting victims who weren't lucky enough to get to cover. There are now around twenty four hours left before all hell breaks loose in WXW. All claim to be ready... only some are telling the truth. Ichabod lies dreaming awake, resting from a full day of training. As he stares at the white ceiling in his room, images dance across its surface, each melting into the last, each standing out for its own reason. The first image shows Juggernut parading his belt around.
Keep showing that thing off, Jug. Just don't get too attatched to it. I hope you are polishing it right now, looking at your reflection in its gold sheen. Sunday, that reflection is going to be a little different. Why? Two reasons.
First of all, you that gold tint will be gone, because you won't have a belt to look at yourself in anymore. You'll have to look at it from your mirror, which hell, might be broken by the time we ar finished. I plan to take this fight out of the ring, all over the back, into the parking lot, hell maybe right out into moving traffic. I'm unleashing a hellstorm on you, and I'm holding nothing back anymore. If we end up at the seven eleven across the street, so be it, a lot of drunks will get a show they didn't pay for. But one way or another, you won't have quite as much carry on when you jump a plane back to home, whereever home is for you.
Secondly, the man you see in that belt right now won't be the man you see in two nights, oh no. It will be a man broken in so many places. A face torn and hanging raggedly from the skull. A face characteristic of a king who has just been couped, haggard, lost, confused, defeated. Make no mistake about it, two of the men going into this battle won't ever come out of it... Jug the king and Ichy the contender will disappear, but Jug the broken and Ichy the champion will emerge.
The next image is one that has plagued him for a week now, the image of Dark Angel stealing his victory. Instead of getting pissed, he only laughs.
Dark Angel, you are a joke. To step where you dont' belong is like a child wandering onto an interstate. Sure, you are insignificant and dont' belong where you stepped, but sooner or later, a truck is going to come out of nowhere and seperate you from your blood vessels. Expect no less from this match... 'cause I still owe you.
Another image shows the Hardcore Belt around the waist of Adrean.
Ok I must be falling asleep, because now I know I'm dreaming. Guess what Adrean, you are biting off more than you can chew asking me to prove myself. You talk to no end about me staying focused on Angel long enough for you to steal victory from Jug. Funny, considering you have fobbed Dark Angel and myself off basically. You mention us here and there, sure, but its obvious that you are already counting us out. You are focused on Jug and your personal beef with him. Get your head out of your ass before I commence to kicking it, please, because I'd hate to see it stuck up there forever....
With that, Ichabod rolls over and goes to sleep. The same images and more dance in his dreams, but the words that come from the mouths of his dream opponents are all muffled or silent. A sleepy smile curves his lips as he snores peacefully
|
