Blue and white spotlights flood a darkened arena as the Iron-blue Intention sounds. From out the entrance way steps a figure wrapped in a voluminous blue cloak. Waves of golden-red hair are bound back on the top half of the figures head, putting on full display a pale and stony face that betrays neither judgment nor compassion, but they flow down the bottom half, over the figures shoulders and down its back. It stands atop the entrance ramp, fixing an unblinking gaze of piercing blue upon the ring. In one clawed hand, bone-white fingers stroke the leather and gold of both the cWe and DEE world title belts.
JR: Not what Ms. Helmsley wanted, I'm sure, but perhaps now we'll get some answers.
"What you fail to understand, slave," speaks the Dark One after producing a microphone from the folds of his cloak--his careless sting on the word "slave" drawing a rounded exhale from the crowd--"is that very few things in this universe are beyond dispute. And in this one, both you, and your mistress, are in over your heads."
It is difficult to tell what unnerves Stephanie more: the boldness of the words themselves, or the deliberate, almost chant-like enunciation with which they are delivered.
"Trust me, girl. And do well to listen. From all ages, a lie has never passed these lips. I am, the Guardian of Truth."
"Now: as the Guardian of Truth, I am also the Lord of Historical Exiles. Every lost treasure, every forgotten soul, every stricken moment wends its way through the aether and comes to me. Which brings me, to Last Rites.
"At Last Rites, a tournament was held to determine who would claim the crown of three organizations under the sole banner of the Darkside Wrestling Federation. And at the end night, it was the Reaver who stood victorious. But when Chris Blade presented the Reaver with a single championship belt for three unified world titles, these trophies here..."
The darkling pauses, and slowly turns his head down to view the cWe and DDE belts as he raises them up slightly. After a sufficiently lengthy pause full of crowd murmuring, he lifts his head back up to look at the woman in the ring.
"...became, historical exiles. And in that moment, they sought out their Lord. These. Are. Mine."
The power in his final words echoes through the arena as the consultant looks on, unmoved by the declaration but interested to know where this train of thought is going.
JR: Bold words from the self-declared champion.
"Now: you run back and bring a message to your champion. Tell the Reaver that his victory at Last Rites was well-fought and well-earned, and that much is beyond dispute. Tell him that he rightly calls himself the Undisputed Champion of the Darkside Wrestling Federation, and that if that is enough for him...may he go in peace. But tell him also that if he truly wishes to be a Universal Champion, he must face the music, and he must follow it...straight to the grave."
Casually, with no apparent warning, he drops the microphone on stage, letting the distorted boom of its landing pound through the speakers, making Stephanie flinch briefly. Then he spins on his heel and turns back through the curtain as his music resumes; he clearly has no more to say.
JL: "Straight to the grave"? Did we just hear that right, JR? TDR just returns out of nowhere and challenges the Undisputed Champion?
JR: I think that's one way of looking at it, King. Looking at it another way...I think TDR just dared the Undisputed Champion to challenge him!
JL: Well, either way, based on the look on that woman's face, there's a serious problem.