When ReVival comes back to life, Youngblood is gone. He didn’t bother to celebrate. He did wish Jiles luck against Phil and Julian.
It was not well received.
Bobby Dean still lays among the debris of the broken table. Dooze is now out from the back and checking in on his fellow Bandit in crime.
Jiles is pacing around the ringside area, not really sure of what to do next.
Eventually, Richard Parker and Nick Stuart work their way out from the mess. They head back up the ramp, doing their best to avoid Jiles. Well, Nick does his best. Richard waves goodbye, and then has to hastily rush up the ramp to avoid his wrath.
The fans, who just LIVE for this type of meltdown, really start to boo the beleaguered COOLympian, hoping to pop his top if you will. Their plan works, and it drives Jiles into the ring with a live microphone.
Cancer Jiles: I HOPE YOU’RE ALL REAAALLLLL HAPPY. YOU PIECES OF SHIT. EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU.
A “we are happy” chant breaks out which causes Jiles’ hair and personality to go radioactive.
Cancer Jiles: Make sure to take a selfie so you can go back and remember what it feels like then, because it’s not going to last. I PROMISE. In two weeks time I’m going to win at UltraViolence. I’m going to become the UNIVERSAL Champion because I’m the MAIN EVENT and no one else is. Not Phil. Not Julian. Not that bald crumb who I hope gets a cold sore just like Hayes did so I can ask them if they kissed. JUST. ME.
A serenade of boo’s brings a smile to Jiles face.
Cancer Jiles: Yeah, good. Get it out. Release, because after I win and take the beating heart of PRIME in my grasp, I’m going to drive a stake through it by leaving. That’s right. Good. Bye. Mr. PWA sends his regards, but the answer is no. Please tell Jillybean, Braindung, the Glue Guy and everyone else for that matter that they’ll never see me or my precious little title again. And I mean it this time!
Jiles shrugs like he doesn’t care about repercussions. He is melting down so most of everything he is saying should be taken with a grain of salt. In other words he definitely means it. However, before he can spike the microphone one last time, out from the back the Champion of both PRIME and Glue comes walking out. He calmly makes his way down to the ring; the Universal Championship fastened around his waist. No Hank, though. He’s probably out swimming with Farthington.
Phil walks up the steps, enters the ring between the top and second rope, looks at Jiles and before he can say or do anything…
…Julian Bathory, not wanting to be left out of the theatrics, steps through the curtain and stalks down the aisle. Before joining both of them in the ring, he stops to check in with the MESSIAH fan who had a rough main event, and offers him some punch. No Violence Jack. He’s probably out caroling.
Cancer Jiles: WELL GOOD. I’m glad you both are out here. Nothing like a Jiles meltdown to end the show, right? You fucking scabs. Detestable. Fuck you Phil for robbing me of my honor! I was supposed to be the one! ME! Not you. But no. You just had to eat a stick of glue. Now it’s ruined. The whole goddamn thing. RUINED. And you–
Before Jiles can cut down Bathory, the director of MESSIAH attacks.
Surprisingly, it’s not Jiles who he attacks.
He blindsides Phil, knocking him down.
Jiles can’t believe his eyes. No one can. The whole joint is hush as Bathory mounts Atken and rains fists down upon him. Cancer lifts the microphone to speak, opens his mouth, and nothing comes out. One of the first things to still the tongue of the most myopic prick in PRIME is the head of MESSIAH brutally raining down elbows on a prone Phil Atken, wordless all the while and completely disregarding the dumbstruck Greek God of Cool.
Bathory relinquishes his assault and stands, glowering down at the bloody-faced champion, leaking from a gash above his left eye. With one boot he rolls Atken over, planting more heavy stomps into his back and head, and hastily reaches down to tear the title belt from his waist. He casts the gold aside and pulls the barely conscious champ to his feet. Taking a position behind Atken, arms gripped to open him to attack, the Carpathian Devil finally fixes his eyes on Jiles. Cancer doesn’t move. The microphone dangles at his side. The moment draws out, surreal.
After a few stretched out and awkward seconds, Bathory releases the Proprietor to slump to the mat. He shoots toward Jiles and…
Grabs the mic.
Julian Bathory: If you’re done being a petulant little fuck, pull your big boy pants back up and do what has to be done.
He drops the mic and yanks Phil back to his feet, returning to the same stance as before. His gaze settles back on Jiles and he waits.
The lightbulb pops in the COOLympian’s head. Expediency. Common ground. He rushes forward and unloads a barrage of closed fists to Atken’s face, opening the cut deeper, spattering crimson across his own hands.
Julian Bathory pushes the champion into the side ropes, slipping his arms into a position where he’s again open and defenseless. The MESSIAH director slides out of the ring, leaving the keystone of the eGG Bandits to release his frustrations on Atken. Cancer shouts and roars in between measured shots to the head and kidneys.
Cancer Jiles: You took it away! It was my right! Mine!
Bathory pauses a moment, watching Jiles as he further vents his hate. Pushing ringside personnel aside, he grabs a metal chair and returns to the ring.
Jiles has nearly exhausted himself. The Humble Proprietor of the Glue Factory is a mess, and his head hangs listlessly. His eyes flutter and close. Through the haze of blood everything is tinted red. Bathory unties Atken and positions him middle of the ring; it’s a minor miracle and testament to his will that Atken somehow can stand after the punishment he’s endured from his villainous colleagues. It also leads to what happens next, his undoing.
Jiles takes a step back, snarls, and blasts the champion with Terminal Cancer flush on the jaw. Atken stiffens like a board, turns slightly before toppling over.
Bathory strikes with an equally violent chair shot to the skull before Phil hits the mat. The sound is sickening, reverberates through the MGM, and there are audible gasps from the audience. Bathory examines the chair before dropping it to his side. It sports a deep and bloody dent, the metal warped beyond repair. Atken doesn’t move any more than the broken steel does.
It’s pandemonium. Ringside personnel are scrambling, yelling into headsets, angling to enter the ring only to balk at the still-imminent threat of an unhinged Cancer Jiles and a baleful Julian Bathory. The two stare at each other from across the ring, each competitor sporting droplets and smears of Phil Atken’s blood.
The Enemigos, Wade, and Dam have finally assembled at the curtain. Better late than never. Strength in numbers established, they muscle their way to the scene of the crime with EMTs in tow to extract the unconscious champion.
The Cool One is the first to pry his eyes away from his foe. He spies the unattended Universal title belt and lifts it by one end, knuckles tight over the leather. Bathory snatches the other side, reciprocating, and the duo glare at one another with near-perfect symmetry of stance, prize suspended between them. There is no agreement here, no treaty or accord. Only common grievances and ruthless ambition.
Security arrives and encircles the pair, leaving the medical crew to tend to the champ’s injuries. He still hasn’t moved; for all of the enmity Atken has attracted in his short tenure in the promotion, legitimate worry furrows a lot of brows. Cancer Jiles and Julian Bathory have nearly sparked a riot and they may ultimately have achieved the only thing they wanted.
At UltraViolence, this can only end one way. Regardless of the winner, all of PRIME will suffer.