Post by Michael Bishop on Feb 1, 2022 23:16:32 GMT -5
“Can you win the Ascension Championship?”
(Bo Maro’s question bounces around Michael’s mind. “Ascension”, A Ladder Match. The similarities mirror what he encountered just two years ago. A shot at a briefcase, a shot at destiny. A Michael Bishop, fresh out of the grave of near retirement put on a bloody, unbridled display that shocked the world as he absolutely decimated every single person in the ring. And yet… he lost. His own hunger and anger, which he fed into, cost him… Michael pours himself a shot).
Michael Bishop: The last time I was fighting for my shot at destiny and victory on a ladder, I lost. I won’t lie, especially myself. People rely too much on excuses and ego to get by, after all this time, I’ve realized it won’t do a goddamn thing for you besides hang you, when you’re down on that line. Rage, Anger, Aggression have always been a part of me. I was baptized out of hatred and fire, by a mad man who was wishing to make the greatest fighter… the greatest monster to ever roam the cage. And he got what he wanted… 20 years later I have taken so many souls, the reaper hunts me every single step of the way looking for his due. Adaptability, being able to move with the motions, stay ahead, stay alive… not just survive, but thrive. That is the building block of the greatest heavyweight of all time…. But I made one mistake…
(Bishop takes the shot, he turns the glass over and places it on the table. The frosted glass shamrock n’ skull on it, the symbol of the Mafia. He breathes a deep sigh… It would be regret. But he’s lived long enough to know regret does nothing but weigh someone down. He’s a creature of change, adaptation… every single scar is a lesson learned, every single failure has formed the armor of The Dreadknight. He looks to Bo).
Michael Bishop: I thought about Rebecca, waiting at home. I love her with all my fucking being… even at my lowest, even when she had every opportunity, every reason to leave me in that dark room- She didn’t. I thought about every single time she called out to me, yelled at me to get back up. I thought of how she deserved better, how I needed to do better. I thought of every single battle and war that had led up to that point… this point. The fire that burns inside of me has always burned far worse than anything that has tried to engulf me, that’s why I’ve survived. But… if you let it eat you, if you become blinded by why you fight, you’re as good as dead. That’s why I came out of that Ascension ladder match with a sea of death opponents, more red iron caking my knuckles than a blood bank… and not a god damn thing to show for it…
(Bishop looks to the glass, he twirls it in his hand for a moment, before seeing his reflection in the tint. His eyes shoot up to Bo… he continues).
Michael Bishop: I made a mistake once, I was blind, I was angry. I swore never again to be that man. I’ve made corrections for the better part, of a fifth of a decade. I’ve fought, cut, killed, and committed inumerable sins inside of this ring, other rings, to get to this point… to come face to face with championship gold. To do right by those who deserve better, who need better. You ask me… Can I win? I am a fucking war machine… I’ve stood and banged with the best in the worlds- I’ve cut more weight in water than all of the motherfucker standing across from me put together… I’ve done it all for passion, for the hunger… for those back home. I fucked up my chance at the heavens once, cast down and cursed to be the revenant. The villain of someone else’s story. No… I don’t care who I have to bury… Savannah, Jason, Alyssa, they’re all going down, they’r-.
(They’re both cut off when Bishop’s phone rings, both of them look to each other, then to the screen: JASON LONG. Bishop reaches for the cell and answers;).
Michael Bishop: Jason…What do yo-
: Wrong….Michael Bishop: Who the fuck is this?”
: Jason’s on sabbatical, Mikey. I’m taking the rains now… and the reigns, figuratively and literally”(Michael pauses for a moment, thinking… his eyes grow dark and he scowls).
Michael Bishop: Ah… ‘The Entity’
Entity: Ding Ding Ding... We have a winner. I’m just calling to tell you that the Ascension’s champion is formally resigning from the Mafia, Bishop. It’s been fun but I don’t think I really need an old Octagon Warrior weighing me down. Let’s be honest, Mike. You were always going to slip up and fall behind. The time for you to rise to your prominence was years ago… sadly, a steel chair took 20 months out of that equation. You’re a man out of time… out of your era…
Michael Bishop: Where the fuck is Jason?
Entity: Dead
Michael Bishop: Bullshit. I’ve fucked with enough demonic shitheads to know that’s a bluff. I don’t know what the fuck you’re playing at here, but you’re holding our friend hostage. We’re going to fucking collect. You know how it goes: Fuck around and-”.
Entity: Oh just shut up. Just shut the fuck up. Bishop, you walk-the-octagon-chiraq-fuck. So deep-seated in your culture and creed, you can’t even see the light. Jason’s gone, Savannah is true society, and Alyssa Grace is the epitome of a new wave that is quickly gaining on you. Your time is past… you’re washed. Do your wife and child a favor, and if you survive this… walk away. From the Mafia, from the ring, from fighting…
Michael Bishop: And what the fuck are you? You’re a parasite taking up host in a King’s body, leeching off of what Jason Long made. You’re just like fucking Havoc. You say all this shit, about me being washed, me not being able to win it. If you called thinking you were going to do something, then slit your fucking wrists and finish the job Mr. Long has tried thrice now. You’re living on borrowed time, fuckface. Because after I take your goddamn title, I’m going to fucking exorcise you. How’s that for a spoiler.
(There’s a fair bit of silence… Bo takes a long drag of his cigarette, as Bishop stays on the phone. The MMA Legend’s blood boils as all he hears is a sinister chuckle from the other line, and a goading remark before the Entity hangs up).
Entity: See you soon
(Bishop drops the phone, pours himself a shot and throws it back. Bo looks to him).
Bo Maro: Is Jason actually dead?
Michael Bishop: I don’t know, but I’m going to get him back- after I get that fucking title. A lot of people have given up on Mr. Long in his life, I haven’t. I won’t
Bo Maro: And what about the Entity?
Michael Bishop: He gets the same treatment as every other boogeyman… he gets the same treatment as every other opponent in this match thinking they’re going to get an easy ride off my 20 year legacy. It’s time to go to war and feed them humility through their god damn teeth.
What is better: To be born perfect, or to overcome your flaws through learning from your failures? We live in an age where many think a loss makes a man, a loss breaks a man. In a world where egos rule and run the world, run the matches, strategic thought and killer instinct is almost god damn extinct. Having fought and thrived in three generations of fighting now, I can tell you one thing: The only motherfucker you’re in there with when the bell rings, is you. A fighter’s mind is their best weapon, if they start to doubt themselves, lie to themselves, all they’re doing is making them the best piece meal for the motherfucker across from them.
If a loss defined who we were, I wouldn’t be here. If we were to quit after a loss, no one would be here. If we were to let our deepest pitfalls define who the fuck we are then no one in this ring would be in this match now, including, and especially… the champion currently possessed in the red corner. I don’t think I have to remind you who the fuck I am… many have called the legacy of the Greatest Professional Fighter into question, but motherfuckers still seem to forget. 18 years- for the better part of two god damn decades, I have walked as a god damn boogeyman across this industry. I was here before the bell, before the ropes and canvas. I was here before fighting was cool… the trenches every single one of the motherfuckers, including the champion, claim to rule, I dug, I furnished, I built.
Humble yourselves and realize many of the greats, the role models you looked up to- I hunted, I killed, I retired. Take a step back and realise my fighting itinerary has been a straight fucking line of dead reckoning through murderer’s row after murderer’s row, leaving nothing but brimstone as I went from a young boy forced into this, into a gladiator king who has found he is all too good at this.
And that’s not from luck, or perfection- from having a demon shoved up my ass, or throwing in with a group to have them hand me a title reign. That’s the painful adaptation of a revenant dying a thousand times, and standing back up at a thousand and one. Watching pitfall after failure, after loss, after near miss- the kind of anxiety, rage, that would drive other people to become mad, insane, hollow, I have survived. I survived because my ironfuckingwill has always held strong against the world, against the threat. I thrived because out of those thousands of wars, photographic memory of every violent detail, every act, every moved, maneuver, grapple, strike stays with me in my deepest, most personal moments. The mastery of a dozen disciplines lives within my veins, the twitches of my muscles. You can’t keep a good man down, we have a saying in my homeland: Tiocfaidh ár lá… “Our day will come”.
It’s been a hard slog in Project: Honor, but even so… A strong debut in the purge, a match of the year candidate against Havoc. A shot at the Noble Championship, a violent 20 second TKO finish that will live in this company’s records forever that set me up with another shot. Another chance at destiny. A couple of short weeks and I have seen gold here more frequently than I have anywhere else. You want to know what? Because we are at the end of a very long road, and the tip of the blade I wield in there is carved by burying generations upon generations of fighters. And yet… the Ascension Championship seems to be my hardest challenge yet. Good, I wouldn’t have it any other way, even if it does seem hauntingly familiar to another pitfall.
Championship gold hanging above us, Four opponents: Three challengers, one champion, must fight their way to the top. A true war in heaven. Two years ago, I came up short during a situation like this. When I was dead set to take the scene by storm, acquire my manifest destiny just mere months after I pulled myself out of the grave… my rage and anger choked me. What is violence if not precision rage? What is victory in combat sports if not being the most violent motherfucker to walk the earth. Every single person I step in against, looks like they got hit by a fucking train- because they fucking did. You don’t win against Michael Bishop, you survive him, the warpath I’ve led thus far, the uninitiated bitch who got flatlined last week, cements that tale.
I stand here, on the cusp of the Stairway to heaven match… absolutely ready for the task ahead. I leave no questions unanswered, no horrors unseen- to witness one of the wars I put on is to see a bloodletting of old; a conquering gladiator in his fucking prime. No more rage to stifle my advance, no more conspiratorial groups to hinder me, no more doubts about what I need to do. In order to thrive, in order to succeed, in order to bring this gold home to those who need it… I am going to have to break every single goddamn soul in this ring. I’ve always had the stones to step in against anyone, no matter the odds, no matter the challenge… that’s why I have no qualms or fears about facing Alyssa Grace.
I’ve fought with her before, she’s one of the best in the world for a god damn reason. On the same page, I’ve fought against her. Alyssa I remember your words very well… “I am going to simply beat Michael Bishop, that’s it”. A very simple and precise answer echoing every single young buck and prodigy, such as yourself, that has squared up to the Dreadknight and claimed to have cracked the code. We both came up short, but one thing was for certain: Your absolute victory was god damn far away from where you boasted it would be. You’re an animal, Alyssa. You’re a beast. But unlike what has been perceived I am still very much your god damn equal. I’m not going to stand here and act like you’re some unknowing student squaring up to the old guard. You’re the pride of Ireland, the Omega Heavyweight Champion for a reason. You move like lightning, you strike harder than anyone with your build and weight- I should know, you took one good crack at my jaw.
On the same tempo- You didn’t even fucking rock me. You are not novice, but I am not some broken down veteran at the end of his rope. For the past 12 months I have heard nothing but “Gatekeeper”, “Past his prime”, and every single mouth that has uttered those words ate their irony through a feeding tube when I knocked them out, choked them out, and rendered them a fucking vegetable before they could even taste the salt of their loss. I have thrived in this sport for 20 years, for a reason. I am hailed as the greatest heavyweight of all time, for a reason. I am the Revenant, The Outlaw King, The American Heavyweight Champion, for a god damn reason. Don’t get it twisted grace, I respect your skill, your ability. You’re like me… there’s no talent, just raw concentration formed into a killing machine.
We stand here, two of the best in the world at our prime… so let’s dance, let’s throw bombs. I want you to put every single card on the table because I know from first hand experience, I’ll have to put every single one of mine. Let’s show the world what a war to end all wars looks like, and let’s fight for that goddamn strap, leave nothing behind… so that way when I defeat you… definitely, there will be no doubts left.
Doubts… I don’t doubt people’s ability, a ruthless calculus in my head formed from assessing fighters and breaking them down for years and years will do that to you. To those that know me… truly know me, they know I haven’t always been the best person. A moment of darkness years ago almost consumed me entirely, and led to the darkest 700 days of my life. I didn’t have anyone but myself to blame, and I didn’t have anyone but myself to have my back as I clawed my way out of that shit… inch by agonizing inch. Doubt is for the mothafucker that lies to themselves, Doubt… I don’t play into that anymore.
I don’t doubt my own ability, to persevere in this world. I don’t doubt opponents, it only takes on. One strike, one choke- or one Shining Wizard as I learned several years ago. From Savannah Sunshine. Surprised? I’m a grown fucking man, and unlike half the motherfuckers lining the rosters, I’ve got the god damn balls to admit when I was beat. And that even now, even with everything I’ve accomplished, I still need to be careful. I wasn’t before, consumed with rage, hatred, and it cost me. A lot of people doubt you, Savannah. This sport is a cruel bitch, she will chew you up, spit you out, and mangle you so badly if you let her. You can either crack under pressure, be that person defined by one loss… or you can push on.
You’ve been carrying on for a while; Demonic possession, betrayal, and a serious shitstorm that people have thrown your way that you really never earned. Jason’s gone, Savannah, so I’ll be real…. Joining up with True Society was a fuckin' stupid decision, and you just sold your soul to a god damn bald devil. But I understand why you did it. You felt abandoned by the world, you felt betrayed by those closest to you… You thought every single person on this planet, including those closest to you lost faith. But you forgot one little detail: I never did.
Being a husband, a coach… and coming to terms with the fact of becoming a father has given me perspective, that and that darkest hour I told you about. We humans are fickle things. We fall, we fuck up, and we believe we’ve lost our way. But we are not irredeemable. We can come back from failure, from poor decisions. Take it from me, Savannah, probably the only single goddamn person who genuinely believes in you… you need to rethink this course you’re on. You might think the rush is great, the adrenaline of spilling blood in the name of True Society is sweet, you might think Billy Bennett, that fucking lunatic, is your friend.
They’re god damn using you. Just as they did every single pawn they’ve thrown under the bus, just as they will when they believe your usefulness has run out. That’s the problem with these groups… they convince, they use. You’re walking into a war you are nowhere near prepared for, and you’re going to earn yourself a spot in a canvas if you are not careful. Here’s your only god damn warning, Savannah: Change your course now. As your friend, I am telling you to rethink this shit you’re on because if you go charging into the Stairway to heaven match screaming for the true society- you are going to get fastpassed into the bedrock faster and harder than I send little miss bitch just last week.
You taught me a lesson once, Savannah, and important one: Arrogance and Ignorance are poison, and they can kill the best of fighters if they’re not careful. So let me teach you one… Do not sell your soul to the devil, or you will be called upon to wield his sword. He will throw you into every pit of fire, every battle, until you are beaten, broken, and bloody. Arik Holt sends you into this to fight as a sacrificial lamb in a vain attempt to capture the Ascension Championship. And I’m warning you… I am not the same motherfucker I was years ago. In fact when we last squared off not too long ago, I choked the goddamn life out of you just as I have many others. I’ve crawled into the guards of black belts and choked them out, I’ve wrapped up world class grapplers like it wasn’t shit. I started stacking bodies at the old age of 17, and god dammit Sav’, I haven’t stopped ever since.
I’ve given you a warning, everyone gets one. Whether you choose to follow it or not is your own god damn decision. If you Tread on the Dread you will end up Dead. Do not fuck with me, do not fuck with my family, do not fuck with the food on my plate, or the championship gold I target to get it. If you stand against me in this title match, I will fucking bury you. If you try to cut me down in the name of whatever cult you’re apart of, you will join every single god damn heavyweight I buried underneath that canvas for the last 7 years. I don’t want to bury you… but I won’t give a shit when that bell goes off, and I can always find another Godmother. You’ve been warned, Savannah.
And speaking of warnings…. Entity, you son of a bitch, I know you’re here. Look me in the eyes, motherfucker, see the god damn fire that has consumed souls much fiercer and hungrier than you for fucking eons. In a haunting similarity to Havoc, you’ve taken up roost in the body of a man in his darkest moment… and boy do you feel alive. Behind the wheel of a 24yo wrestling king, a championship on your shoulder, and nothing to stop you… almost nothing. Listen here, motherfucker, you’ve taken up shop in Jason’s mind so you know exactly who the fuck I am. Don’t play coy, don’t play dumb, and most certainly don’t ignore every single god damn time I have bricked the Ascension champion during the prime of his god damn run or you will be the three in three times now the former maverick has gotten stacked by the Dreadknight.
I am just a man, with only my scars, my skills, and my wits to lead me through. But the experience I have garnered, and the absolute wrath I have wrought onto every single person I have squared up to does no discriminate, and it knows no bounds. No god, no tyrant, no demon, no man, has squared up to me and gotten any ground. Many of your kind thought that smoke and mirrors would shake me… a man so grounded in harsh reality, that the cruelty of the octagon has made me unprepared. And every single time a demon tries, a demon dies, after they look like they got tired to a board and ran through a fucking woodchipper.
You think you’re on top of the world, in control, and you think you’re king. Dead wrong. Here’s a fucking spoiler: I’m going to cement my place in Project Honor by taking your Ascension’s championship. I’m going to separate your vertebrae and make you watch as I ascend to the heavens, rung by rung, taking that championship gold via storm after I gatecrash through your skull. You’ve possessed my friend, taken my shield brother, and now hold that championship gold that I have been fighting for high whilst goading, and making threats at my family, my wife, my daughter? Guess what, you fucked around- time to find out. You’re going to learn why the one known as the Outlaw King has always been kryptonite for every single god powered son of a bitch on this fucked up earth, and it’s going to come for you at muzzle velocity. And when I rip you out of Jason Long’s vessel of a body… it won’t be with holy water, prayers, or happy thoughts… it’ll be as it has for every war I’ve one: with my goddamn hands.
We’re all playing a high-stakes game, aren’t we? A demonic champion, a true society true believer, a Scarlett opponent- and a fucking worldbeater in the blue corner. The Ascension Championship to me, is the end of a long road towards championship gold. From the first shot of war I fired during the purge, to every single bone-shattering punch I’ve thrown while on contract, has led to this point. I am going to take heaven by storm, I am going to take that championship by storm, and I am going to raise it high as I pay back every single ounce of blood, sweat, and agony that each of you are owed. You are owed a good beating, you are owed a harsh defeat, and daring to stand in the way of my championship gains means you are owed a fucking burial here in this god damn ring.
No gods, No masters, No prodigies, No True Society.
Just the last gunslinger of his era, preparing to give it all he’s got to take his place in Heaven.
See you soon.
