As Vendetta returns from another lengthy commercial break, our scene is set in a location far removed from the pandemonium and chaos of the arena. Instead, we find a vast interior of intricate bone white columns rising up to greet one another in arches. The walls are adorned with exquisite tapestries of the finest materials and the windows are amalgams of glass fragments, their variety of hues depicting famous moments from the structure's lynchpin and painting the rays of the sun as they pour through and cast their radiance upon the rows of deep oak benches and marbled tiles that swirl with rose and cream. Not a soul is in sight to behold such wonderment and not a noise accompanies until the squeak of an aged and rusted hinge cries out through the church, bemoaning it's state of disrepair. The heavy clop of boots begins to rise, rhythmically pounding across the tile as they close in on the camera from behind. Where many may expect Jared Jerusalem or Rellim to come into view, it is instead a man of more dubious spirituality who emerges from the left of view, the tattered and faded black trenchcoat of the Barbarian Lord flowing behind him as he paces the path toward the grandiose podium at the helm of the altar and the cast bronze recreation of the crucifixion that oversees all, the sad eyes of the tawny gentlemen upon it seeming to cast disapproval upon the gratuitously gaudy decor. The GodKing, whose only relationship with a higher power seemed to be his moniker, takes a seat amidst the second row on the right, head raised instead of bowed per the usual tradition of the facility as he meets the steely, sorrowful gaze of the wrought rectifier with a contemptuous countenance of his own.

"How perfect a forum for a man who preaches of glory past.."

The Romanian's deep voice seems to boom thunderously as it reverberates from the recesses of the cavernous cathedral.

"Oh yes, I know what they say about me.. the whispers and musing about a man who fancies himself the greatest in the world because he had enjoyed such a distinction in an age and a land far removed from this one; who seems to carry no regards for the passage of time and torch or the changing of the seasons and the guard. A relic from an age to which XWA bears no witness or concern, who is either too stubborn or too naive to accept that his reign of dominance is not merely behind him, but so far so that it is beyond his grasp."

Vladimir allows the silence to hang as he hunkers forward, nearly disappearing from the sights of the camera behind the glossy brown plank at his posterior.

"Everything has a reason. Purpose and source are debatable and we could likely kill a day or better arguing whether things occur as a result of divinity, the whims of fate, blind luck, or pure chance, but reason is an absolute. Sometimes there are many reasons. The reason I talk in this manner is because I can. I no longer feel the need to intimidate men by playing the role of the silent, unmoving, unwavering, unstoppable juggernaut because I have learned that my actions garner more fear than my words ever could. I don't have to pretend there's anything mystical or inhuman about me, because the reality, that I'm just an egotistical fuck with some severe anger problems who grew up so enamored with this business that he's forgotten more about it than half of those stars in the back will ever learn, is quite enough. The reason I talk to you about this is because some stories of the past hold merit long after their relevance has run dry, much like the tales men and women flock to establishments like this to regale week after week. How Job watched his family suffer as a test of his faith or how David felled Goliath not with brute strength, but through one strategic shot. They hold lessons that are valuable to us all.. whether we subscribe to their divinity.. or not."

A small click echoes throughout the hallowed hall. The Czar of Scars leans back, wrapping an arm over the back of the pew, a thin stick visible between his index and middle fingers as he bellows out a column of smoke into the still air, the cloud hanging in the air, illuminated by the golden beams shining through the stained glass.

"You see, it's all a matter of cycles and repetition. We are doomed to repeat what we fail to learn from. When I first began my career, they called me lucky. They said I had a wealth of beginner's luck and that it would be short-lived. When that company was scooped up by a bigger one, they told me I was 'good for an smalltime guy', but not to expect as much now that I was in the 'major leagues'. When I kept winning, they called me overrated. When I continued to beat the LIVING SHIT.. out of every major star around, I was nothing more than foul-mouthed, brash, cocky piece of shit who wouldn't last a minute in singles competition against a decent opponent. Once I did THAT, it was that I clearly had the staff, whom I regularly abused, in my pocket. When it was determined that I wasn't 'family friendly' enough, I set out and created a federation of my own, but my legend persisted until those come to my prior stomping grounds came for me, preaching that a new age had come and I was ill-prepared for the newer talent that followed in my absence. After I beat them, I had a psychotic break and then lost my first match, so I took a bit of a hiatus. I came back to the rounds once more, with stars telling me I was a hasbeen, that my time had passed, that I had lost my edge. A few short months later, I held the biggest prize of that federation and our rival around my fucking waist... But still, time after time, they told me that I wasn't good enough, had never been, couldn't possibly prepare myself for a new style or generation or degree of brutality... Cycle. Repeat."

Strife takes a long drag of his cigarette and pollutes the air of the holy structue yet again before flicking his ashes into the offering plate provided nearby.

"Cycle. Vladimir Strife becomes this unstoppable force, storied for his sheer brutality and hailed as the Barbarian Lord. Repeat. Maddox Paine becomes this immovable object, his toughness so fabled that they call him the Toughest of the Tough. Cycle. Someone doubts the legitimacy of man's claim and challenges him, looking to make a name for himself. Maddox stomps him out. Repeat. Maddox pins them 1-2-3. Repeat. Maddox stands tall above the rest. Cycle. Vladimir Strife wins again. Repeat. Vladimir snuffs out a promising young career. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. And then suddenly..."

The GodKing stamps out his cigarette butt with a thunderous stomp and the twist of his boot.

"Repeat... Everything has a reason. And beyond all odds, these cycles clash. I say beyond all odds because I shouldn't be here.. Not just HERE in a place of worship based around a myth I've never believed and a code of morals I abandoned long ago, but here in any sense of the matter. Why is Vladimir Strife in XWA? I had my own company that was so huge that we ended up absorbing our own rival. Not even a year ago and I took a hiatus and then one of my two co-owners suddenly passed away and the cogs seized up and the great organization I'd helped build from the ground up shut down. When I made a decision that I needed to get back into this ring, there was no home waiting for me. Of all the companies that were out there, I came to XWA because it came to me.. when I found myself on work release instead of behind bars, where any man who'd done the things I've done SHOULD have ended up... I got the call for the opportunity to fulfill my duties in XWA. Not here because I should be dead and I did died once, only to be revived. Repeat. I died. And do you want to know what I saw? I saw Heaven.. it was on fire and it was glorious. Cycle. A new threat. Danger. I survive. Repeat."

"But now we have this situation. Two cycles have come full circle and Vladimir Strife and Maddox Paine pose new threats to one another. Two universes that never should have been introduced to one another have been and now clash because only one can come out on top now."

"Repeat. Vladimir Strife is washed up, he's old and overestimates his own ability. Cycle. Vladimir Strife is written off and underestimated. This isn't some ominous threat.. It's a warning. Maddox, you've got this head full of steam, telling me that you're going to smash my face into the dirt, but you've got the wrong mindframe. Men like you.. I would chew them up left and right... because your fight starts with your fist.. in the ring. But this is war.. and war starts in the mind, Maddox. You aren't fighting Vladimir Strife at Revolutionary Wars... you're fighting your thoughts, your emotions, your deepest fears, your greatest weaknesses. Be worried about what I will do to your body.. but be afraid of what I will do to your psyche.. your soul."

Another click of the lighter calls over the newly found silence, igniting the tip of the cigarette pressed between the Behemoth's lips. He blows the dirty haze out over the Catholic colliseum before putting it back up to his mouth. He cycles and repeats the action, then repeats this combination yet again as the nicotine eases his racing mind.

"Repeat. EVERYTHING has a reason. Maddox, I didn't come knocking on your door because I picked it at random... and Spyro didn't JUST happen to be next door. I didn't bash your fucking skull in simply because you're a former champion or because you're feared around here. I did it because you... remind me... of me. Mind you, a very wayward version of me.. a much younger, naive version of me. But if I'm to prove that Vladimir Strife ISN'T just an old man clinging to the glory of his youth, then how better to do so than by dismantling the man I was? A man who had, cycle, repeat, has more strength and endurance than any man can outright compete with, but no fucking clue what real power is! A man who was, cycle, repeat, is ready to smash through the glass ceiling but fails to grasp how much further he could go!"

"CYCLE! I stood there, that little title on my shoulder, thinking that this was it: I was at the top of the game and had reached the peak of the mountain. I was on top of the fucking world. I had the biggest fucking target on my back the world had ever seen though, kid. I had my knee shattered and worked on so many times that they said screw it and put an artificial one in. I lost one of my nipples to a weedwhacker. I got taken out and put on the shelf by one of my best friends, who was so close to me that I abandoned my decree to never count on another man in a match in order to take the tag team titles with him. I've been hit with flourescent tubes, sickles, knives, baseball bats, shit covered in barbed wire, shit covered in thumbtack, shit that was set on fire. I lost so much blood fighting that sick FUCK, Nicholas Carson, that my heart stopped and I had to be resuscitated. I've had meat hooks skewered through my arms. I had motherfucking cancer... and despite EVERYTHING.. I'm still here."

Vladimir rises from the pew and the hefty clopping of his boots begins to echo throughout the church as he makes his way back into the aisle and toward the camera at last.

"Repeat, Cycle. How much can your body take, Maddox? If I throw you off of a ladder into a wheelbarrow of thumbtacks, will you fight on? If I break your leg, will you set it and get back in the ring? If I shed so much of your blood that you can barely stand, will you use that fading strength to take a swing at me? Ask yourself what you can do to stop me, Maddox, because I've been through a hell of a lot, I've learned a hell of a lot, and I've repeated this cycle 82 times."

The GodKing closes in on the camera, his thick brows furrowed over his piercing, rage-filled gaze.

I already told you my views in the PM.   

Wow. This was incredible. The dialogue was well thought out, and emotion could be felt through it.

Can't wait to see your matches, guys!