Post by Cyrus Daniels on Mar 25, 2016 17:35:12 GMT
Are you enjoying yourself as Champ, mate?
I want you to. I need you to. I want you to hold on to just how good it feels to be Jayson Matthews right now, I want you to cherish every single precious moment of absolute superiority that you feel as the reigning Invictus Champion. I want you to live every single day you have left on the clock as if it is your last.
Savour every last wonderful moment of invincibility, because at High Stakes, in the Roulette, all bets are off.
That means when your number is up and you come through that curtain looking for another short cut to glory, your arse is mine.
In short, your time is almost up, Cinderella.
It's almost time to put away the glass slippers and see the wild horses for what they really are - mice among men.
Enjoy the irony of realising your dreams whilst I slept, Jayson. Go on, laugh it up, tell all your buddies about how you got one over on me whilst you still have the teeth for it.
As far as I'm concerned, you have just as much of a target on your back as that other little Infamous prick Rob Diamond, only difference is I don't need as much of an incentive to beat the piss out of you in this match or any other. You made it your business to realise your dreams whilst I was sleeping, so it seems only fair that I realise mine by putting you and anybody else who gets in my way to sleep.
Turnabout being fair play and all.
All the Gods, Legends, Kings and men in this match won't be able to put you back together again Matthews, because I personally will make sure that none of you get your fairytale ending.
This story belongs to the giant.
A giant who is done sleeping.
A giant who smells blood of not only Englishmen, but of the Irish, of the Americans and the Scottish too.
It doesn't matter if it's fresh, old or even sacred, all blood is equal when it is spilled.
And make no mistake, I have every intention of doing that, because this isn't just about disposing bodies to me.
That's far too easy, much too quick, painless even, and that's just not how I do things, because I'm not in the habit of being quite so boring or predictable. I've never had an easy ride in my life, so why should any of you?
This is America.
Land of the free. Home of the brave. A glorious beacon of opportunity.
My opportunity.
An opportunity to see how brave each of you really are.
I'm willing to bet that the Roulette will be a far more interesting fight now that I won't have already done half of your work for you by taking a nap in the back. So come on, come at me. Come one, come all.
Hit me.
Give me your best shot.
Because I promise you mates, you'll only get one.
It had been just that easy...
Cyrus smiled as leather struck leather and the punching bag tried to rock away from him, compelled by the force of each of his alternating blows.
One, two, three, four, five, six....
Each precision blow was physically calculated and mentally tallied the moment it landed.
A black eye, a broken nose, a swollen lip...
Time had a wonderful way of focusing the mind, and ten years locked away had sharpened his. Strengthened his imagination in which he first saw Jayson Matthews face, but then saw his mother's tears.
"You always hurt the ones you love most son, your mother just needed reminding of that..."
Cyrus Daniels lost count and then control. He became more machine than man in that moment as he unleashed blow after blow. Harder, faster. Each one a piston, fuelled by hate, driven by desire, and motivated by pain.
He let out a primal scream, a growl, and then his breathing slowed and became more deliberate as he gradually came to a stop, and stared at the punching bag until he no longer saw Jayson Matthews or his mother and no longer heard his father justifying the one thing in his life that was so fundamentally unjustifiable.
I want you to. I need you to. I want you to hold on to just how good it feels to be Jayson Matthews right now, I want you to cherish every single precious moment of absolute superiority that you feel as the reigning Invictus Champion. I want you to live every single day you have left on the clock as if it is your last.
Savour every last wonderful moment of invincibility, because at High Stakes, in the Roulette, all bets are off.
That means when your number is up and you come through that curtain looking for another short cut to glory, your arse is mine.
In short, your time is almost up, Cinderella.
It's almost time to put away the glass slippers and see the wild horses for what they really are - mice among men.
Enjoy the irony of realising your dreams whilst I slept, Jayson. Go on, laugh it up, tell all your buddies about how you got one over on me whilst you still have the teeth for it.
As far as I'm concerned, you have just as much of a target on your back as that other little Infamous prick Rob Diamond, only difference is I don't need as much of an incentive to beat the piss out of you in this match or any other. You made it your business to realise your dreams whilst I was sleeping, so it seems only fair that I realise mine by putting you and anybody else who gets in my way to sleep.
Turnabout being fair play and all.
All the Gods, Legends, Kings and men in this match won't be able to put you back together again Matthews, because I personally will make sure that none of you get your fairytale ending.
This story belongs to the giant.
A giant who is done sleeping.
A giant who smells blood of not only Englishmen, but of the Irish, of the Americans and the Scottish too.
It doesn't matter if it's fresh, old or even sacred, all blood is equal when it is spilled.
And make no mistake, I have every intention of doing that, because this isn't just about disposing bodies to me.
That's far too easy, much too quick, painless even, and that's just not how I do things, because I'm not in the habit of being quite so boring or predictable. I've never had an easy ride in my life, so why should any of you?
This is America.
Land of the free. Home of the brave. A glorious beacon of opportunity.
My opportunity.
An opportunity to see how brave each of you really are.
I'm willing to bet that the Roulette will be a far more interesting fight now that I won't have already done half of your work for you by taking a nap in the back. So come on, come at me. Come one, come all.
Hit me.
Give me your best shot.
Because I promise you mates, you'll only get one.
It had been just that easy...
Cyrus smiled as leather struck leather and the punching bag tried to rock away from him, compelled by the force of each of his alternating blows.
One, two, three, four, five, six....
Each precision blow was physically calculated and mentally tallied the moment it landed.
A black eye, a broken nose, a swollen lip...
Time had a wonderful way of focusing the mind, and ten years locked away had sharpened his. Strengthened his imagination in which he first saw Jayson Matthews face, but then saw his mother's tears.
"You always hurt the ones you love most son, your mother just needed reminding of that..."
Cyrus Daniels lost count and then control. He became more machine than man in that moment as he unleashed blow after blow. Harder, faster. Each one a piston, fuelled by hate, driven by desire, and motivated by pain.
He let out a primal scream, a growl, and then his breathing slowed and became more deliberate as he gradually came to a stop, and stared at the punching bag until he no longer saw Jayson Matthews or his mother and no longer heard his father justifying the one thing in his life that was so fundamentally unjustifiable.
Well howdy there pardner.