Post by Apocalypse Pro on Aug 20, 2024 0:00:15 GMT -5
[Summer 2013 - King’s Country Fairgrounds, Bangor, Maine.]
The dimly lit backstage corridor of the small arena echoed with the faint sounds of the crowd outside—rowdy, impatient, and hungry for violence. The King of the Deathmatch New England tournament had just crowned its new champion, and Johnny Apocalypse stood alone, drenched in sweat and blood, clutching the heavy trophy in his hand. His chest heaved with each breath, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. The victory should have felt sweeter, but it was tainted by an empty seat in the arena, the seat where Shadow Kuragari should have been.
[2012, the previous Summer]
Shadow Kuragari’s name had been on everyone’s lips. He was the king, the undisputed master of deathmatch wrestling in New England. His victory in the inaugural tournament had been a brutal, bloody masterpiece, earning him respect and fear in equal measure. But Kuragari had always wanted more. The deathmatch circuit was his proving ground, not his home. When the call came from Japan’s largest wrestling promotion—a contract worth more money than he had ever seen and a chance to reinvent himself—he knew what he had to do.
Kuragari stood in his modest apartment, the contract laid out on the table in front of him. The weight of his decision pressed on his shoulders. The fans, the blood, the violence—it had all been part of his identity. But he was tired of being the Shadow, lurking in the darkness of a niche wrestling world. He signed the contract, leaving the deathmatch scene behind without a second thought, abandoning the name that had made him a legend. He was Kuragari now—no shadow, just light.
In Japan, Kuragari thrived. The style was different, the opponents faster and more technical, but he adapted, shedding the last vestiges of his deathmatch persona. He no longer relied on barbed wire and light tubes to tell his story. Here, he was a wrestler, not just a brawler. But the whispers followed him across the ocean. Had he sold out? Abandoned his roots for fame and fortune? Kuragari silenced the doubts with every victory, but the questions gnawed at him in the quiet moments after the lights dimmed and the crowds dispersed. Was he running from the blood-soaked memories, or was he truly growing into something more?
[Summer 2013 - King’s Country Fairgrounds, Bangor, Maine.]
Johnny Apocalypse stared at his reflection in the grimy mirror of the locker room. The face staring back at him was bruised, battered, but resolute. He was the King now, but the crown felt heavier than he imagined. The crowd had cheered his name, but there was a hesitation in their voices, a question that hung in the air like smoke—Where is Kuragari?
The match had been a war, each opponent more savage than the last, but none of them were Kuragari. None of them had the aura of the man who had walked away from the deathmatch scene and left a void behind. Johnny had fought tooth and nail to prove himself, to show that he was the rightful heir to the throne, but the absence of his predecessor cast a long, dark shadow over his victory.
The door to the locker room creaked open, and a fellow wrestler stepped in, offering congratulations that felt more like condolences. “You did it, man. You’re the King now.”
Johnny nodded, but his eyes remained fixed on the mirror. “Yeah… but am I the best? Or just the last one standing?”
The wrestler hesitated before responding, sensing the weight of Johnny’s words. “You’re the best in New England, Johnny. That’s what matters.”
But it wasn’t enough. Not for Johnny Apocalypse. The whispers of doubt grew louder with each passing day, each article that questioned his legitimacy, each fan who wondered if he could have beaten Kuragari. The victory felt like a hollow crown, a prize tainted by the man who wasn’t there to challenge him.
[2013 - Tokyo, Japan]
Kuragari watched the highlights of the 2013 King of the Deathmatch New England tournament from his luxurious apartment in Tokyo. The violence was familiar, but distant, like a past life he had left behind. Johnny Apocalypse’s name flashed across the screen, and Kuragari felt a pang of something—regret? Nostalgia? Guilt? He wasn’t sure. The wrestling world in Japan had accepted him, celebrated him, but part of him couldn’t shake the feeling that he had unfinished business back in New England.
His phone buzzed with a message from a former colleague back in the States. “You see the new King? Johnny Apocalypse. Think you could’ve taken him?”
Kuragari smirked, a cold, calculated expression. “I guess we’ll never know,” he answered back, but as he put the phone down, the doubt lingered. Had he abandoned the deathmatch scene for growth, or was he running from a fight he wasn’t sure he could win? The name “Shadow Kuragari” was still whispered in hushed tones back home, but here in Japan, he was just Kuragari, a man without a shadow, yet somehow incomplete.
[Finally… the collision.]
The paths of Johnny Apocalypse and Kuragari seemed destined to intersect again, but under what circumstances? Johnny needed to prove he was the best, not just by default but by facing the man whose absence left a void in his victory. Kuragari, despite his success in Japan, was haunted by the shadow of his past, a shadow he could only confront by returning to the scene he had left behind.
As both men grappled with their doubts and ambitions, the wrestling world buzzed with speculation. Would Kuragari ever return to New England? Would Johnny Apocalypse seek him out in Japan? The answers were uncertain, but one thing was clear: neither man could fully escape until they faced each other...
The stage was set for a confrontation that would not only define their careers but also determine who would stand as the true King of the Deathmatch, free from the shadows that haunted them both.
[Saturday, August 24th]
[Exploding Barbed Wire Deathmatch]
[… Thrill of the Hunt…]
The dimly lit backstage corridor of the small arena echoed with the faint sounds of the crowd outside—rowdy, impatient, and hungry for violence. The King of the Deathmatch New England tournament had just crowned its new champion, and Johnny Apocalypse stood alone, drenched in sweat and blood, clutching the heavy trophy in his hand. His chest heaved with each breath, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. The victory should have felt sweeter, but it was tainted by an empty seat in the arena, the seat where Shadow Kuragari should have been.
[2012, the previous Summer]
Shadow Kuragari’s name had been on everyone’s lips. He was the king, the undisputed master of deathmatch wrestling in New England. His victory in the inaugural tournament had been a brutal, bloody masterpiece, earning him respect and fear in equal measure. But Kuragari had always wanted more. The deathmatch circuit was his proving ground, not his home. When the call came from Japan’s largest wrestling promotion—a contract worth more money than he had ever seen and a chance to reinvent himself—he knew what he had to do.
Kuragari stood in his modest apartment, the contract laid out on the table in front of him. The weight of his decision pressed on his shoulders. The fans, the blood, the violence—it had all been part of his identity. But he was tired of being the Shadow, lurking in the darkness of a niche wrestling world. He signed the contract, leaving the deathmatch scene behind without a second thought, abandoning the name that had made him a legend. He was Kuragari now—no shadow, just light.
In Japan, Kuragari thrived. The style was different, the opponents faster and more technical, but he adapted, shedding the last vestiges of his deathmatch persona. He no longer relied on barbed wire and light tubes to tell his story. Here, he was a wrestler, not just a brawler. But the whispers followed him across the ocean. Had he sold out? Abandoned his roots for fame and fortune? Kuragari silenced the doubts with every victory, but the questions gnawed at him in the quiet moments after the lights dimmed and the crowds dispersed. Was he running from the blood-soaked memories, or was he truly growing into something more?
[Summer 2013 - King’s Country Fairgrounds, Bangor, Maine.]
Johnny Apocalypse stared at his reflection in the grimy mirror of the locker room. The face staring back at him was bruised, battered, but resolute. He was the King now, but the crown felt heavier than he imagined. The crowd had cheered his name, but there was a hesitation in their voices, a question that hung in the air like smoke—Where is Kuragari?
The match had been a war, each opponent more savage than the last, but none of them were Kuragari. None of them had the aura of the man who had walked away from the deathmatch scene and left a void behind. Johnny had fought tooth and nail to prove himself, to show that he was the rightful heir to the throne, but the absence of his predecessor cast a long, dark shadow over his victory.
The door to the locker room creaked open, and a fellow wrestler stepped in, offering congratulations that felt more like condolences. “You did it, man. You’re the King now.”
Johnny nodded, but his eyes remained fixed on the mirror. “Yeah… but am I the best? Or just the last one standing?”
The wrestler hesitated before responding, sensing the weight of Johnny’s words. “You’re the best in New England, Johnny. That’s what matters.”
But it wasn’t enough. Not for Johnny Apocalypse. The whispers of doubt grew louder with each passing day, each article that questioned his legitimacy, each fan who wondered if he could have beaten Kuragari. The victory felt like a hollow crown, a prize tainted by the man who wasn’t there to challenge him.
[2013 - Tokyo, Japan]
Kuragari watched the highlights of the 2013 King of the Deathmatch New England tournament from his luxurious apartment in Tokyo. The violence was familiar, but distant, like a past life he had left behind. Johnny Apocalypse’s name flashed across the screen, and Kuragari felt a pang of something—regret? Nostalgia? Guilt? He wasn’t sure. The wrestling world in Japan had accepted him, celebrated him, but part of him couldn’t shake the feeling that he had unfinished business back in New England.
His phone buzzed with a message from a former colleague back in the States. “You see the new King? Johnny Apocalypse. Think you could’ve taken him?”
Kuragari smirked, a cold, calculated expression. “I guess we’ll never know,” he answered back, but as he put the phone down, the doubt lingered. Had he abandoned the deathmatch scene for growth, or was he running from a fight he wasn’t sure he could win? The name “Shadow Kuragari” was still whispered in hushed tones back home, but here in Japan, he was just Kuragari, a man without a shadow, yet somehow incomplete.
[Finally… the collision.]
The paths of Johnny Apocalypse and Kuragari seemed destined to intersect again, but under what circumstances? Johnny needed to prove he was the best, not just by default but by facing the man whose absence left a void in his victory. Kuragari, despite his success in Japan, was haunted by the shadow of his past, a shadow he could only confront by returning to the scene he had left behind.
As both men grappled with their doubts and ambitions, the wrestling world buzzed with speculation. Would Kuragari ever return to New England? Would Johnny Apocalypse seek him out in Japan? The answers were uncertain, but one thing was clear: neither man could fully escape until they faced each other...
The stage was set for a confrontation that would not only define their careers but also determine who would stand as the true King of the Deathmatch, free from the shadows that haunted them both.
[Saturday, August 24th]
[Exploding Barbed Wire Deathmatch]
[… Thrill of the Hunt…]