Awww he’s going on offense.
That was sincerely adorable. Did you practice that in front of a mirror? You really got hype for that whole Freddy thing, huh? I bet you very super amped, thinking “oh I’ve got him this time”. I bet you’re so proud of yourself, because you finally made your first shallow attempt at even the first semblance of offense.
Was it worth it?
Do you feel better now?
I hope so. I hope you feel a sense of accomplishment, Xander, because it’s the last positive thing you’re gonna feel this year. While you’re checking things off your feelings bucket list, maybe go for a nice long run, since you’re gonna lose all the feeling in your legs. Give a few firm handshakes to the boys, since you’re not gonna have the use of your arms anymore. Enjoy a nice, expensive steak dinner, since you’ll be taking all your meals through a fucking tube. It’s cute that you think you have a snowflake’s chance in hell of surviving even three rounds with me, but it’s time to get realistic.
Best case scenario for you is a loss.
That’s the best you can do.
You can hope and pray that when they raise my arm at the end of the match, it isn’t overshadowed by you being carted out on a stretcher with a defib paddle hanging precariously over your body. I don’t NEED to keep reminding people that I’ve killed two of my opponents here in HOW, but I feel like it’s important that I do. I feel it’s only fair. Because you’re talking a lot about punching me in the face, but I have physically ended two human lives. You’re talking about movie monsters like it’s supposed to scare me?
Motherfucker, I’m the real thing.
I don’t care if you’re scared. I don’t care if you fear me. I don’t even care if you believe me. I put my own father in a coma for a shot at the HOW World Championship, and he’s the human being I love most. But you’re out here talking about my son and the history of HOFC? The fuck is this, debate club? You’re planning your next half baked verbal attack while I’m planning a memorial show. I’m gonna exploit your death to sell tickets. I’m gonna market armbands with your initials on them, you dumb bitch.
You are not prepared for this.
And you called the promo “Say Less”. Fuck, I wish you had. Told me you were gonna show me ruthless, when what you meant was toothless. Not a single hard hitting barb in the bunch. Just the same old soft bullshit that has kept you circling the drain with the rest of the “bad but reliable” guys who provide enough bodies to keep the lights on at the Best Arena.
The fuck outta here.
I’m gonna give you the last word, Xander. Because this is “your story”, remember? This is the culmination of a year of buildup for you. Everything you’ve been working toward. Beat me, and you’re the new King of HOFC or whatever, I guess. So was it all for nothing? Did you come this far to fail? Do you have what it takes to take down the single greatest HOFC fighter of all time, by every available metric both real and imagined?
Or are you a bitch?
I think you’re a bitch.
I think you bit off more than you can chew, and you’ve forgotten what I feels like to step into the cage with me. What those elbows feel like, smashing into your skull. What that knee feels like, before the world goes black. But it isn’t too late, Xander. It isn’t too late to admit that you’re in over your head. It isn’t too late to get on your fucking knees and beg me for mercy. And that’s what I want you to do. I want you to humble yourself before me. Whether you believe that I’m a God or that I’m merely a man. I want you to beg me not to end your fucking existence Xander. I want you to beg me for salvation. And if you don’t? Then I’m not just gonna beat you at ICONIC. I’m gonna fucking kill you.
Choice is yours, Spooky Steve.
The floor is yours.
God damn I can’t wait to beat your ass.