“We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.”
― Oscar Wilde
― Oscar Wilde
A REQUIEM FOR A "DREAM"
CHAPTER TWO
If there is one thing for sure, Minerva knows what she must do and how to handle her business and with Grand Rampage now around the corner, it is up to Minerva to walk into that Marquee Live Event and survive 29 other wrestlers so that she can Main Event Pain For Pride.
Minerva is ready to finally make her move this season.
She has been competing, but most fleshing out her project, one that she felt was necessary to accomplish, that being the creation of ToXXXin and giving both Daniella Atlas and Selina Reyes the opportunity to ascend and become better versions of themselves, tapping into the talent that everyone knew they already had. Minerva was not going to waste any time with them, she wanted to make sure that this was brought off the ground and while they may have had a rough start in victory at Road to Redemption, they have come together to form a group that is ready to take over the brand and eventually the entire EAW.
Minerva knows about stables, she was part of arguably the greatest one of all time in the EAW, New Eden with Myles and Drake King, and even up to last season, they teamed up one more time but that spurned feuds, one that lasted most of the season for The Black Rose and ended with her empty handed and leaving without a World Heavyweight Championship. That though was not the catalyst to all of this, it was just one of many humps she had to endure until finishing the season defeating one of the greatest of all time, but her record at Pain For Pride still had one blemish, though she can say that she has never been directly defeated either.
But that was all water under the bridge heading into this season, she had a new attitude and plans, so she quietly was methodical for the first half, even starting the year, she was surprisingly giving others a chance at her that she normally wouldn’t even blank twice at. There was a method behind the madness, and why she did this. It was her opportunity and chance to test the waters of the newer breed and those on the cusp of breaking out, and of course Elitists looking to finally become World Champions, but all of their expectations had been tempered.
And now she finds herself in a similar situation, btu this is it; she has already made her call for the Grand Rampage match.
Minerva is back and it is ALL about her now.
The gorgeous orange and black-haired streaked vixen stand in black leather pants and opened toed stiletto heels, an orange cut off long sleeve fishnet top, her long straightened hair hanging down, face piercings all over in diamonds and hoop ring in her nose, nails polished a matte black with one orange accent nail. Brooding quietly in a dim lit room as Minerva’s red devilish eyes looking into the camera.
REC:
There is still that aura about “The Black Rose”, speaking very softly and cold, with hardly an expression on her beautiful face as she looks intent on sending a message to ALL of her opponents
“I refuse to waste any time and instead get right to the point, so I will start with the one person who I am done dealing with as he has become the roach that escapes when the lights come on.
Jon Kelton.
It’s almost pitiful how desperately you cling to that little story of yours. This idea that you “had me beat,” that victory was somehow within your grasp before it slipped away because of your so-called “bloodlust”.
How convenient… and pathetic.
Let me correct you, since reality seems to be something you struggle to grasp. You didn’t lose because of bloodlust, you lost because of stupidity and desperation, besides the lack of skills. As that relentless, embarrassing obsession you have with convincing the world that you belong in conversations you’ve spent years proving you cannot sustain. Wanting to believe you’re a main event talent so badly that you’ve started believing your own fiction. Repeating it, over and over, hoping that eventually it becomes truth.
But it doesn’t.
Because the difference between you and me, Jon… is that I don’t need to convince anyone of what I am. I demonstrate it consistently and decisively. When you stood across from me at King of Elite, flailing, overreaching, trying so hard to manufacture a moment that would validate your existence, I allowed you to think you were close as hope makes the fall that much more devastating.
You were never going to win.
Not because of circumstance, or anything other than you are just physically and mentally are inferior to Minerva. See, I would never allow it. That’s the part you can’t accept, isn’t it? No matter how hard you swing, badly you want it? Jon Kelton is simply always punching above his weight. This team and partner you have is a joke and the punchline. Every single time you step into a situation like that, the result is the same.
Loss.
So, keep telling your story, Jon, rewriting the narrative in a way that helps you sleep at night. But deep down, you know the truth. Jon Kelton didn’t almost beat me. He was just the next man I decided to put down and not blink twice doing it.
Isn’t that the message for young Javier, to have a hope that things will work his way? Well, Javier, the only message Minerva has for you sweetheart is don’t follow these fools that I am facing on Voltage.
Oh TLA.
There it is… that cadence, defiance, the refusal to remain buried no matter how much blood is siphoned from your veins. Speaking of vengeance like it is a certainty, like it is something owed to you by the mere fact that your heart continues to beat. I will grant you this much, amigo, it is impressive that it still does. When I opened you up at Bloodsport, painting that canvas with your “sangre”, when I forced the world to witness just how far you could be pushed before your body began to tremble under its own limitations, I did not simply test you, TLA. That is too easy.
I studied and learned who you were from the very beginning, out first interaction back on Voltage in 2020. Dissecting every ounce of resilience, you pride yourself on, and I came to a conclusion that has not changed since that night:
You are extraordinarily difficult to kill…
…but not impossible.
That is the distinction you continue to ignore.
You wear survival like a badge of honor, as though enduring me somehow places you on equal footing. Take solace in knowing the fact that you walked away, bleeding, staggering, barely intact, means you escaped.
You didn’t escape, TLA, you were spared. Not out of mercy… but out of timing.
Because unlike you, I do not act on impulse or emotion, instead I do so when the outcome is absolute, the conclusion is inescapable, when there is no room left for defiance to masquerade the true notion of fear that exists against Minerva. And now you stand here, speaking of “venganza.” … unfinished business and repayment. It’s almost fitting, really, how you convince yourself that this is a debt I owe you, rather than a fate you’ve willingly walked back into.
Saying I made a mistake leaving you alive.
No.
The mistake would be yours, believing that survival granted you the power to defeat me. You never evolve TLA, read like a book, and still driven by fire, instinct, and that relentless refusal to stay down, while that makes you admirable. It also makes you predictable. Charging forward, swinging harder, and digging deeper. I will meet you there, step for step, escalation for escalation, until that fire you cling to so desperately begins to flicker and I will extinguish it.
Not with haste or chaos. Instead with a deviously delicious precision. For that is where you and I diverge, TLA, like a storm, so loud, unrelenting, impossible to ignore. While Minerva is the void that remains when the storm passes. Silent. Inevitable. Absolute. Speaking of alliances, of Eris Morti, of unfinished wars and second attempts of correcting what went wrong the last time, yet you fail to understand something fundamental, there is no “retry” with me. There is no alternate outcome waiting to be unlocked through this constant persistence of trying to best Minerva when there is only the same conclusion, reached in a different way and if you truly believe that this time will be different, standing where you previously fell due to some making a wish for young, little Javier and the clout chasing for his terrible disease that will be cured and it will not be because of you, that this time your story ends in triumph rather than tribulations, then you are not fueled by anything other than lies. But make no mistake, TLA…
I do not dismiss you the way I do the others. Refusing to reduce you to nothing. Because you are not nothing. A problem, a persistent and dangerous one. Which require finality. So, come.
Bring your “venganza” and that same unbreakable spirit that kept you breathing when lesser men would have faded into memory. I will meet you with something far more terrifying than violence, closure. Because this time, when I carve my mark into you, when I drag you back into that same abyss you barely crawled out of before, there will be no resurgence. No second wind to carry you forward. Instead, the suffocating realization. That surviving me once? Only guaranteed that the next time…
… I finish what I started.”
As The Black Rose pauses for a second, she slowly tilts her head and brandishes a small smirk, her pierced lips being licked by the tip of her tongue in an almost seductive and mannered tone, she turns to the camera once again and speaks with her red eyes narrowing.
“This is the beauty of this match, so many people to talk about and yet so little time. I guess I should follow suit with this one.
Then there is Ashlynn Quinn.
It never ceases to amaze me how the most insignificant voices so often carry the loudest echoes. You speak with this misplaced confidence, this faux sense of relevance, as though inserting yourself into my orbit somehow elevates your standing. But let me make something abundantly clear, your presence does not command attention… it interrupts it. You are not a threat or a rival. Not even a necessary inconvenience.
You are a waste of time.
Yet here you are, trying to fit in, attempting to wedge yourself into a conversation that exists on a level you have neither earned nor could possibly comprehend. It’s almost fascinating, really, watching someone so profoundly unequipped try to articulate themselves as though they belong among apex predators.
You don’t and never have, nor ever will. You parade around with this thinly veiled bravado, mistaking volume for substance, presence for importance. But I see through it, Ashlynn. I see the cracks beneath the surface, the desperation, the inadequacy, the frantic need to be acknowledged in a world that has given you no reason to be. A true follower. There isn’t a single Elitist alive that is overlooking Ashlynn Quinn. You are appropriately placed.
Exactly where you belong.
Far beneath me… hell, everyone.
You speak as though stepping into the same ring as me is some inevitability, a moment of validation for your existence. But the truth is far less poetic and far more humiliating. If you ever found yourself standing across from me, it would not be a clash or an epic contest that would be talked about for years to come. It would be an execution so swift and decisive that it would strip away whatever illusion you’ve built around yourself and leave you with nothing but the harsh reality you’ve spent your entire career avoiding.
The lack of capacity.
Not just physically, though that much is painfully obvious, but mentally. Spiritually. Existentially. You do not think, operate or exist on my level. That is where your greatest flaw lies, not in ambition, but in your audacity to believe that ambition alone entitles you to stand where I stand.
It doesn’t.
Where I stand is not for hopefuls or a proving ground for the mediocre to test themselves against something greater. This is a domain carved out by those willing to transcend limitation and Ashlynn, are defined by yours. This attempt to speak with conviction, to project this image of someone ready to ascend, or disrupt, by clearly trying and failing to understand. But all you are doing, showing those true colors. Every word you utter is another reminder of the gap between us. This declaration is another example of how little you truly grasp, with every attempt to involve yourself in my affairs only reinforces the one truth you cannot escape, not belonging here in my presence, ring, or in my world.
So, speak, if you must. Continue to posture and pretend that your voice carries weight in a conversation that has already outgrown you. But understand this, Ashlynn Quinn, you are not breaking the glass ceiling, if anything you will always be remembered for your looks, and even that fades in time.
You are standing at the bottom, shouting upward… hoping someone, anyone, might mistake your existence for importance. I won’t.
Because I do not entertain irrelevance.
I erase it.
Auburn and Damon Lazarus.…
How endearing.
There is something almost charming about the way you speak, this wide-eyed reverence, ta careful balance between confidence and admiration, as if you’re standing on the edge of something monumental and you’re afraid that one wrong step might shatter the illusion you’ve built around yourself add the typical infatuation of the boy that is three times your age, cute.
Yet Auburn, you call it respect.
I call it hesitation and that my dear champion is a disease.
Speaking of taking your role seriously, of embracing the chaotic nature of our sport, welcoming the challenge that stands before you and yet, laced within every word is the unmistakable undertone of someone still seeking permission. Still looking outward while measuring herself against the expectations of others, the audience, and this idea of what a “champion” is supposed to be. I’m sure you would agree, right Damon? Anything for a nice fat ass like mine.
Tell me something, Auburn, when did you decide that your path needed to be validated by anyone other than yourself? Was it the moment they started cheering for you? When training and they said you were “ready”? Maybe it was convincing yourself that this admiration you’re showing me now was a substitute for authority? Because that is what I hear when you speak.
Not strength or dominance.
But deference.
You call facing me a dream, an incredible opportunity. Speaking the name of Minerva like it’s something to aspire to, measure your progress against, learn from and that is precisely why you are not, yet what you believe yourself to be. A champion does not look across the ring and see a dream. A champion does not stand in the presence of greatness and feel grateful. A champion looks at everything in front of them whether they be legends, Hall of Famers, main eventers and understands one simple, immutable truth: They are obstacles. Nothing more. Nothing less.
You are not stepping into Voltage this week to “test yourself,” Auburn. You are walking into Minerva’s domain. The fact that you can stand there, holding a championship, speaking about me with this tone, this almost reverential curiosity only defines to tell me everything I need to know about where you truly stand. Because you have not yet learned the most important lesson of all.
The fans?
They do not define you.
Their cheers are fleeting.
Their approval is conditional.
And the moment you falter, the second you show even a hint of weakness, of doubt, of humanity, they will turn on you faster than you can comprehend. Yet you let them shape you and in turn they soften Auburn Ware. Letting them convince you that being admirable is the same as being dangerous. No, oh no my dear, it is not. If you continue down this path, allowing their voices to guide your decisions, to influence your mindset, to dictate how you present yourself in moments like this, you will not lose because you were outmatched. You will lose because you were unprepared to be ruthless and this budding relationship with Damon isn’t going to evolve you overnight.
Do you know what I see when I look at you, Auburn?
Potential.
Raw, untapped, almost wasted potential. And still that word without any sort of conviction is nothing more than a liability waiting to be exposed. You speak of ToXXXin and my creation, the mentorship of what I have done for Daniella Atlas and Selina Reyes, as if what I offer is guidance.
No.
What I offer is transformation.
I do not teach people how to succeed. I strip them of everything that makes them weak and rebuild them into something the world cannot control, the fans cannot influence, nor does it ask to belong. But takes its place by force. And you? You are still asking, hoping, believing that standing across from me is some kind of milestone rather than a warning. So, let me educate you, Auburn. Giving you far more valuable meaning than admiration.
A little clairvoyance.
When you step into that ring with me, I am not there to validate, “see how far you’ve come.”, that Is too easy. I am there to expose how far you still have to go. Show you what happens when divinity meets cruelty, becoming indifferent when a champion who still seeks approval collides with someone who has long since transcended the need for it.
And Eris Morti?
Whether she listens or not is irrelevant, for when I decide that something will function, it does. When Minerva plans for a team to succeed, it does. That is the difference between influence and control. You are stepping into a situation that you think you understand.
But you don’t. Not yet.
So, hold onto your championship, that pride, optimism, and the belief that this is all part of your journey. For like the other five including Damon Lazarus who supposedly is still looking for my coming out party, both f you are going to learn very quickly that journeys end.
And the ones who survive them?
Are not the ones who dreamed, but who stopped caring about anything other than winning. So, if you intend to remain champion, Auburn, my advice is unconsolidated, grow a backbone. Sever the strings. Shut out the sounds and for the first time in your career PLEASE top asking whether you belong. Because if you walk into my presence with that same wide-eyed admiration, I won’t just beat you. I will unmake everything that means Auburn Ware.
And the fans you’ve been so eager to please?
They’ll watch it happen and cheer all the same.”
As Minerva turns, she slowly reaches over and grabs her rose, twirling it around some, brushing her hair back, thinking of her opponents as it brings amusement to her just as she turns back to the camera to speak, and while she has really nothing more to say about anyone else, except for one person. She looks into the camera and whispers her name.
“Saori…
How fascinating it is to watch someone speak at such length, with such theatrical conviction, only to say so very little of substance. You drape yourself in philosophy, in hollow introspection, in this faux-intellectual drivel about hierarchy and discomfort as if dressing your inadequacy in eloquence somehow makes it formidable. But all I see is a woman attempting to romanticize irrelevance. You speak of hubris and accuse me of spiraling. By attempting… ATTEMPTING mind you to dissect my psyche as though you possess the faculties to comprehend it.
And yet… your entire existence in this company can be summarized in a far simpler manner:
You talk.
And then you lose.
Case in point, your humiliating collapse at the hands of Candice Blair.
Knocked out.
Not outwrestled. Not outmaneuvered.
UNCONSCIOUS.
To of all people, one of the biggest failures in the history of EAW, Candice Blair. Laid flat, devoid of resistance, stripped of dignity in a manner so profoundly embarrassing that it transcends mere defeat and enters the realm of spectacle. A cautionary exhibit. A true living example of what happens when delusion meets reality. And still… you stand here, attempting to lecture me?
How quaint.
Daring to speak of my “past struggles” which in anyone’s else standard would be a career year which says it all, as though they are indictments when in truth, they are evidence of my constant evolution. I have faced a “lull” period to Minerva, sure… but unlike you, I did not remain there. I did not stagnate. I did not allow failure to become my identity.
You, however?
You have made a home out of it. Claiming to have escaped my grasp. No, Saori, you were never worth holding onto. Saori Aizen is not some elusive prize that slipped through my fingers, you were and will always be an afterthought. A fleeting inconvenience that did not warrant the expenditure of effort required to permanently dispose of you. Do not confuse absence of action with inability. Because if you and I were to stand across from one another… truly, unequivocally, without distraction or interference, one on one the outcome would not be some grand philosophical debate about worth or stature.
It would be simple.
Clinical.
I would pin you. Just as so many have before me and just as so many will continue to do after. Because that is your function and consistency. Definitely not the disruption you believe yourself to be, instead the constant. The predictable variable in an equation that always yields the same result: never coming through. You liken yourself to something unseen, dangerous, and underestimated. But let me correct you with precision befitting your delusions. You are not an unseen force or a hidden threat.
You are a grain in a pile of salt.
Indistinguishable. Inconsequential. Easily discarded without anyone noticing your absence. Yet you speak as though you are the hand that tips the scales. Tell me, Saori, how does it feel to exist in a perpetual state of contradiction? To believe yourself profound, while your actions betray you as painfully mediocre? Attempting foolishly may I add, to diminish what I have built and command reducing it to ego and dependency. You speak of Selina Reyes and Daniella Atlas of trust, or lack thereof, as though you possess any authority to critique bonds forged in blood and sustained through conquest, two women that became CHAMPIONS under my mentorship.
But you misunderstand something fundamental.
I never needed anyone, I chose them. They stand beside me because they wanted to be better and accepted.. A concept you would not understand, given that no one has ever chosen you when it truly mattered and so you project. Weaving this narrative where I am destined to collapse, where history will repeat itself, where my so-called arrogance will be my undoing. First off, when did I ever fall? See, history only repeats for those incapable of rewriting it. I am not bound by cautionary tales, I write them.
And you?
You are merely a footnote within mine. Speaking of making others uncomfortable… of humbling those who believe themselves superior. Yet every time you are given the stage to prove such declarations?
You falter.
Crumble.
Becoming exactly what you accuse others of being… exposed. So, allow me to offer you something you so desperately lack: Clarity.
At Grand Rampage, in that four-way dance you seem so fixated on, you will not be the disruptor or the revelation. You will not be the force that reshapes anything, and instead what you have always been, an expendable piece, removed when it is no longer useful. And if, by some cosmic oversight, fate were to grant you another moment in my presence? I would not indulge your rhetoric, nor entertain your illusions. I would simply do what the rest of this company has done time and time again… put you down.
Decisively.
Effortlessly.
And without a second thought.
So, continue speaking, Saori. Crafting your fragile little anecdotes. Keep on convincing yourself that you are something more than what your record and your repeated failures so clearly define. Because in the end… All your words amount to nothing more than noise and I have never struggled to silence the noise. But I will allow you to do one thing, watch as Minerva stands as the LAST Elitist in the Grand Rampage toward Main Eventing Pain For Pride and you piddle to find something relevant to do.
Listen very closely. When the dust settles on Voltage…
And chaos has run its course and the fickle lie of control you all cling to is ripped violently from your grasp… there will be six bodies scattered across that ring, each one a testament to what happens when you stand in defiance of something far beyond your comprehension. This is no longer about order, or rules, or the flawed systems you hide behind to justify your place in this world, because I am done playing by them. I am done waiting, done entertaining the delusion that any of you belong in the same breath as me.
The Grand Rampage is not a possibility… it is an inevitability.
It will be mine, just as everything else eventually becomes mine with ToXXXin. And when you finally understand the magnitude of what stands before you… when the last ounce of hope is abandoned, stripped from your soul, all will realize far too late that you were never competing, you were being condemned through crucifixion
When My Heaven Becomes Your Hell.
For I Am The Way.
Sar le khelimaske soldatura von SA peren tele.”
As she slowly stands up, Minerva glares into the camera with her red eyes, there is this devilish aura about her as she looks for the first time this season ready to take back what is hers.
The World.
FADE TO BLACK
/REC
