The Shadows of my Footsteps

{The screen fades in and we find ourselves in the well appointed Katsushika, Tokyo home of the man himself, the "Anti-Hero" that is Devon Slayton as he sits looking over the Naka River and the rest of Tokyo beyond with his ice blue eyes taking in everything as he regards his city for a few more long minutes before turning to regard the camera}

Devon: You know ever since Mister Trainor revealed me to be the newest member of the Ghost Organization, I've had a lot of people put forward why I would join such a group and before I delve any further, I just want to put a few of those and the reason to rest.

You see, Mister Trainor didn't try to appeal to my ego because that wouldn't have done any good since I've had that ripped from me in perhaps the most brutal fashion that you can't duplicate physically. Nor did he try to appeal for a lust for gold, money, or fame because I am a member of the Slayton Dynasty and such things are commonplace in my family and common enough that he understood the depths.

He didn't try to appeal for a need for revenge on Fumiko or anyone else because he also understands that as a Slayton, we are very...*VERY* patient in that particular regard.

One of the things that he did was come at me with the one thing that nobody else in this company had even dared to think of using;

Respect.

You see that was one of the very first lessons my father taught me about this industry was that respect buys you a lot more in this industry than just championships or money. *Respect* opens doors that are otherwise closed to you even if you have all the championships or the money.

But when he quoted my own father's lessons at me, pointed out that I was a Slayton and I was due the *fucking* respect that I was honestly giving out to everyone but yet nobody would return to me in kind?

{Devon allows himself a moment to laugh very bitterly}

Devon: I could've gone anywhere else but when Reno was forced into retirement, by the old regime of this very company might I add and while *HELPING* the World's Finest, he asked me to take his place in World's Finest to help them and since Reno and I have been friends than most of the World's Finest had been *ACTIVE WRESTLERS*...I agreed without hesitation.

But in the end, they just went on without my help and then just broke up...basically not only slapping me in the face with that level of disrespect but one of their own in Reno as well.

So, I got cast aside and then when...*she*...pulled her fucking stunt and I needed the support of people who called themselves my friends in the back, what did they all do?

They left me to wallow in the darkness and I fucking cracked harder than an egg dropped from the top of the Empire State Building.

But it took my real friends and my freaking kid brother to slap some sense into me and bring the real Devon Slayton back to the front, all the way up to the point that some punk shithead dropped me on the top of my dome and instead of Wrestleworld firing his ass for using an internationally banned move...they rewarded him by giving him a match with Arata at Destino.

{Devon shakes his head for a moment as he turns to face the camera fully now, the twenty year veteran leans forward and give the camera a rather bemused look}

Devon: That's part of the reason why I joined Mister Trainor and the Ghost Organization, they understand that there is just some measures that can't be fixed by waving a hand over it and then tossing a title to you, respect given is fucking respect *earned* and at Destino, I'm going to take back that respect that's been fucked owed to me ever since I joined this fucking company.

Not because I'm a veteran, not because I'm a Slayton...but because I've fucking *earned* it.

And at Destino, a lot of you are going to learn what respect truly is and I think that I'll be starting with you, Landerson. I'm going to make taking your mask a priority...right 'bout the same time that your little family learns what a real *man* and *provider* looks like as I hold your mask, ripped clean from your fucking head, high over my head before I leave with your family...you in the fucking dust.

And why, why would I want to do such a thing to you, Landerson? How about you check your phone and all of those messages that you constantly send to my uncle, the man who owns Pro Wrestling Nova, and your petty ass demands that he *gives* you worthy opponents to fight for, you Fake Ass Luchadore! The only reason why he hasn't kicked you out of the door is because he knows that you need the money and my uncle is many things, but cold hearted *bastard* isn't one of them...

{Devon smiles for the briefest of moments}

Devon: No, my father is the cold hearted *bastard* of our family and if he was running Pro Wrestling Nova...well, he'd have some suggestions for you that I think a broke ass lucha like yourself should be taking.

Speaking of suggestions that people should be taking...let's move on to you, Jake Raab. I've seen you wrestle and to be quite honest, you're nothing like your cousins and that's because your cousins know how to actually wrestle as opposed to you which the moment I lock in any of the dozens of submission holds that I know on your scrawny pencil-necked ass, will snap you in two without a moment's hesitation and you know this, you can see my intention to do just that when you look into this cold blue eyes of mine, Jake. You can try your MMA bullshit on me all the way until I make the blood pour from your ears and I rip that mask from your head to claim it alongside Landerson's.

But here, here is the moment that I give you a moment's due before the Devil himself in that I have every confidence that you'll last a whole *minute* *LONGER* than Landerson...you'll fall like the scrawny piece of shit that you are, but you'll fall all the same....

Now we come to you, Jeremy. Out of all the wrestlers that I've come across in my long and well traveled career that have gone the whole "one word name route" in their careers...not one of them simply went by just "Jeremy".

Are you trying to say that you're the living incarnation of the old Pearl Jam song? Are you saying that you really wish for your career to mimic that one song in particular because I'm all for turning you into a mess and then leaving you alone and broken in the middle of the room.

You are about as interesting as gum on the ground and about as popular as well, because you're left on the ground looking up at the sky all the same.

Needless to say the less about someone who'll probably outlast Landerson by *negative* six minutes better...and yes, I'm saying that I'll be collecting your mask before you can even get into the match, kiddo.

Now we come to you Dax Staley, the self proclaimed "Heart Collector"...the "Deviant Dredge"...

{Devon's expression changes to one of utter annoyance before he closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly, nothing more is said for several long seconds other then the sounds of complete and total annoyance}

Devon: A freaking Darkane *RIP OFF*.

Does anyone know if the Graveworm gets any royalties for all the times that someone out there copies *HIS* look, let alone his *GIMMICK*??

Seriously though Dax, aside from almost stealing the look and style of a much more established wrestler known in these parts...what exactly have you done around here to warrant you a spot on such an august pay per view?

No stop, don't answer that. It was a rhetorical question that I already know the answer to and that answer is you've not done a damned thing in this company other than get a really good tan from looking up at the spotlights each and every time that you're on the card.

{The expression on Devon's face changes ever so slightly to one of serious amusement as he nods slowly}

Devon: And of course now that we come to perhaps the only man who might be able to give me a run for my money at Destino.

Christian King.

I caught your match at the last chapter kid and I won't deny that you've got some skills...but to be utterly honest because you got picked for the last match that you should even remotely try to make an impact in, Christian. Because at Destino, I'm walking in a man on the most righteous of missions, the kind of mission that you might find yourself on in the far future...provided that you make it that far.

But then again, I did some digging into your past and you're exactly like me once not too long ago in that you felt that all of the wrestlers prior to your emergence on the scene was nothing more than some outdated, weak ass fucking series of unfortunate events after another and that you, only *you* can make this sport again because you have everything that it takes to survive this sport.

But Christian, I want you to fully understand and grasp who it is you are stepping into the same ring with at Destino and I want you to fully comprehend exactly the kind of sixteen flavors of hell that I will craft for you if you do *not* do the *right* thing and properly fucking *SUBMIT* at the very first chance that you are given to me...and that is I will utterly introduce that little crown that you bear atop of that head of your's down your throat in the most unpleasant way possible.

You see, I may not *LIKE* my father because he has given all of the children that he has had *since* me every great avenue into this sport as both human and inhumanly possible while I've been granted the oft used nom-de-guerre of "The Forgotten Son" or the "Reaver's Bastard" in the past...but that does not mean that I don't *respect* him for the levels of sadism and championship carnage that he's laid in his wake. He has trashed those who claimed to be his superiors that are still around nowadays on the wrestling scene as mere hollow shells of their once great existences before they crossed the Reaver and were shown the Jagged Edge of their true existence.

And it will be the same for you and everyone else at Destino from bell to bell, at which point I will simply walk out with my head held high and my fists dripping with the blood of those who I will beat the respect out of, Christian.

{Devon gives the camera a rather dark smile before he holds up both of his hands and takes a good long look at them}

Devon: With these very two hands, I will carve myself a new King's Road...one that will end with me introducing a particular set of people that the fucking respect that I was due the moment I stepped foot here in Wrestleworld will now be given...and yes, it will be given over their broken and bloodied bodies, ladies and gentlemen..

{Devon then slowly curls both of his hands into tight fists as his smile disappears as a cold, hard look replaces it and when he speaks next, he does so quickly and with no emotion in his voice whatsoever}

Devon: Soshite Arata, anata no zōge no gyokuza ni anjū suru na yo, itsuwari no kamiyo, watashi wa sugu ni anata no kichōna bakufu o otozuremasu... Sore o kuso* jimen* ni yakiharau tame ni! Kanpai, kuso ttare, anata wa watashi no risuto no ichiban-jō ni suwatte imasu.

{What appears to be a smile slowly appears on Devon's face at this point, but it is not a real smile as the corners of the smile do not reach his eyes}

Devon: Be seeing all of you at Destino.

{The screen fades to black}