THRONE [VII]

The towering spire of a gothic cathedral stood tall above the ground. There were various windows broken in the tall tower, and the building looked worse for wear. Above them, despite the warmth of the humid summer in London, grey clouds swirled overhead ominously. The wooden sign over the doorway hung, one side's chain broken, the plaque facing downward to the ground. The greenery around the building had long since either died or become overgrown, vines crawling up the sides of the structure, leaves crumbled all over the ground.

A hand reached out, clenching tightly around the handle of the gate, unlocking it. It swung open with a creak, and the shuffle of reticent feet could be heard against the broken pathways of the sidewalk that used to run to the front porch. 

His hands shoved in his pockets, Dickie Watson looked up at the building with a stoic expression. He said nothing for a few purloined moments, ignoring the strange stares from the people who passed by the derelict building on their way into the inner city. Clearly, whatever this used to be, it was not a place that he held happiness for.

“There was a swing set around the bend of the house there,” he started. “But it was used as a facade. For some reason, it was an expectation that orphaned kids needed exercise and fun, and the illusion that there was the opportunity for that tended to bring people into the house, where they’d bring their woes and their sadness and hope that one of the little hedonistic brats in the building could both bring them happiness from the loss they had and the nuns who ran it a little less trouble. Kids didn’t play on the swing set. Hell, they didn’t come out of the house except for the moment of freedom they received when they were released from this shithole.”

He cocked his head to the side, sniffing in. His Cockney accent, muffled slightly by the black mask he wore, his expression blank save for his eyes. In it, you could almost breathe in the anger that rested beneath his skin. It seemed more often than the once excited and happy-go-lucky Dickie Watson, the nicest kid on this side of the planet who wouldn’t even dare to call someone a cunt and not feel bad about it, was irritated about something. Not so much pissed. Not so much chip on his shoulder, but more of determined anger. Like he wasn’t doing well enough for himself.

“I said last time we met that we all had pasts that we didn’t want people to know. Secrets to keep. Stories to tell that we’d prefer were left unspoken. Maybe this is mine. I mean, I was told that I aptly tell you guys constantly about how I’ve fought and clawed my way up out of the gutter, but this?” He gestured upwards to the house nonchalantly, waving his hand absent-mindedly. “This was the gutter. The kids here, including me, experienced more neglect and beatings at the hands of corrupt catholic bitches who decided it would be more important to beat the devil out of you than to show you any form of love and affection. Or at the minimum, show they cared.”

“Seventeen years of my life, I spent here. Elena, who you’ve met by now, emancipated herself as soon as she could, but for me? I was a little more hesitant, a little more nervous to try and stand out of the crowd. I hid behind the rest of the kids at school. I didn’t talk much. I said very little because all I could remember was being a four-year-old that was getting a fuckin’ ruler on my hands and paddle on my ass because I dared to speak in the middle of English. God forbid, too, if you were ‘returned’,” he raised his fingers, putting quotes into the air. “Satan must have lived in your soul then.”

He turned then, walking along the deadened grass, his footsteps crackling beneath him as he kept his eyes on the structure.

“Every time I’m in London, even for a minimum time, I come here. Maybe it’s masochistic, but I find that it helps me to remember who I am, and what I came from. I wasn’t the star child of my family, rising through the ranks because they pushed me to be better. I fought to be better. I wasn’t the golden student; I studied my ass off to graduate from University so I’d have a stable career. I partner up with the local youth hostels, listening to them for a few hours so they have someone they can vent to without judgment. Because yeah, I was there. And I pulled myself out of the gutter, didn’t I?”

He paused, lowered his head, and then lifted it to look at the camera. With the absence of people around him, save for the camera team, he pulled off the mask, letting it hang off of one of his ears. 

“Bloodbath came and went. Hell From Above came and went. We all came in, made our cases as strong as we could, but we all knew that it would come down to what we did in that ring. I did what I said, didn’t I?” He raised his eyebrow, a small smile sliding across his mouth as he questioned the audience. “I insisted, I argued, and I made it. MYOJIN and I, we brought Hell to one another so venomously that he carried his injuries to another company and me? I’m still fuckin’ injured, but that’s a hazard of the job. And yet...I still stand before you as the Grand Champion.”

Of course, he didn’t have his belt at this time. Maybe it was better not to carry it around with him in the derelict districts of London, but for now, his word was as good as seeing it. 

“I retained, for the second time. I defended and retained, and I should feel ecstatic about this. That I know. And I do. Don’t get me wrong, every day that I stand in front of you all, every day that I look at that title, I realize that I’m the face of the company. I’m the man to beat and save for a shitty tag match, I haven’t been beaten. Not one-on-one. Not when the stakes were so high. If anyone thinks that for a second that I’d be willing to part with the championship that I fought for and earned, then they haven’t been paying attention and probably need to watch closely.”

He tapped his foot into the ground, toe first as he waved his arms, wincing as he did so. Clearly, he was still injured, and that was probably going to last up until the Proving Ground 8. Still.

“Main event, again. We all sit and look at the stars and how they wane, but then you’ve got champions who refuse to defend or champions who’ve proven themselves and should be double champions. Every day, it seems like we’re getting new talent. You would have thought after the last time we met here, Callum over there would have given me someone who would have earned this spot, but I’m guessing that they just want to see something entertaining to end the show with.”

“Ace Sky. A wholly unoriginal name, but that’s neither here nor there for me to place.” He shrugged his shoulders. “He’s appeared once for the company, falling in his debut match to Daniel Horror.”

He raised his hazel eyes, narrowing them slightly as if to say, “Yeah, I know”. 

“I mean, Proving Ground Three, I was twelve steps ahead of Horror in a match, so if I really wanted to argue it, I could honestly say that I could have this in the bag. Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. For all I know, he could come at me and it’d be a huge upset. But let’s remember -- I’m heading into this match, not one-hundred-percent, but ready and willing. The match at Bloodbath bruised the shit out of my ribs, and though my cuts are healed in the top layer of my skin, they’re still healing beneath it. Still.”

A pause. 

“Still, I would be remiss if I sat there and assumed I’d come out of this unscathed. But for a zero-one record with only one appearance in our company? Yeah. I’m slightly disappointed. Nevertheless, I’ll go out there. I’ll do what the Grand Champion should be doing. And honestly? There is absolutely no problem with me doing that. For the longest time, I’ve sat there and thought that maybe I shouldn’t be putting myself forward, but you know what? That ends tonight. That ends every night. From here on out, I am fighting every match as if I could lose my title. I am pushing myself to be better and better. I have to if I’m going to retain every time that I meet someone for this title. I have no intention to lose this championship, this place in the company. I am the face, the man you want to fuckin’ beat, and up until now? None ya have caught me up that wasn’t a match against numbers. I do not intend to lose. Not now. And I will fucking mow you down if I have to in order to keep it.”

He turned his head once more, looking back up at the building.

“I told you. This is now The Era of the Calamity. It’s not just a catchy line that I thought would sound cool at the end of my last video. It’s a legitimate threat. I will destroy you. Every time I step into that ring, it will be a tumultuous affair, one that will be a fucking disaster for you. Every time, I will continue to build and build upon my THRONE.”

“So.” He nodded towards the camera, that smirk rising upon his face once more. “Ace. Are you ready for this? Are you truly ready to contend with me? It may be non-title, but you better not come in there and half-ass yourself simply because you think I’m injured, or that you don’t deserve this spot. Don’t get me wrong. You don’t, but that’s not my choice, now is it?”

Dickie shoved his hands in his pockets once more, tilting his head to the side. “I’ll see you in the desert, man. Nevada...well, they’ve probably seen this wrestling gig once or twice, but I promise you...you’re in for the ride of your life. Good luck. And honestly…” He ran a hand through his hair, scratching softly at the back of his head, though wincing as his arm rose above his rib cage. 

“Don’t disappoint me.”