MONKEY’S PAW

Wherever PRIME’s camera has taken us, the only thing that can be seen apart from some fog (Dusk, is that you?) is the darkness of a corridor. Beyond what little light there is, one can only see a vague silhouette.

Voice: Cecilworth Farthington.

Fans in PetCo Park recognize the voice, and recognize him more as he steps forward. While the shadows of the lightning still cast him in darkness, the face of the 5-Star Champion is unmistakable. It’s the forehead. I know. Shocking.

The Crownless King, wearing his entrance cloak, stands there stoically.

Coral Avalon: I remember what you said to me after I got by Sage Pontiff. You were glad it was me. Couldn’t have been more excited as you gave me all of the reasons why you preferred to face me over Pontiff tonight. I remember that jaunty tone in your voice as you lured me into your trap, keeping my attention on you so I could be stabbed in the back by the man I wanted to be my successor. For you, it was a plan that came together flawlessly.

He takes a step closer. Half of his face is shrouded in shadow from the lightning.

Coral Avalon: And yet, I can’t help but think of a story. You might know this one, too, since it comes from a fellow countryman. The parable of the monkey’s paw. A father, believing he has nearly everything he wants in his life, wishes for two hundred pounds of silver upon the paw. His son dies the next day in an industrial accident, and as a way to make good to the family, the company gifts them… two hundred pounds. There’s a meaning to the story. It’s very obvious. 

He smiles darkly. The other side of his face can’t be seen, but there’s something off about it. Something different.

Coral Avalon: “You should be careful of what you wish for.”

He pauses for effect, before he continues.

Coral Avalon: You wanted me here on the biggest stage possible. Why? To see me wilt under the pressure? To cast such a big light on a small-time nobody like me that I wouldn’t know how to handle it? To take a prize from me?

He laughs, a brief chortle that seems as dismissive as Cecilworth’s own attitude towards Avalon.

Coral Avalon: Do you think I’m new to this, Cecilworth? Do you think that twenty years away from a pay-per-view main event has dulled me? Did you forget that the last time I had a one-on-one match on a PRIME pay-per-view, I sent my opponent running in fear from ever competing in a PRIME ring again? Do I seem that soft to you? 

Avalon shows teeth when he smiles, turning to his left and looking up at the ceiling.

Coral Avalon: Because I’m not. Because I’m here for war.

The right side of his face is finally shown clearly. There’s war paint. Red, covering half of Coral Avalon’s face in intricate design, as though blood is dripping from that side of his face.

Coral Avalon: Tonight, you’ve chosen a ruin of your own making. You’ve chosen to make this personal with me. You’ve chosen war with the Crownless King. You’ve chosen a future where, no matter what happens in that ring tonight, you will pay your debt to the Kingdom. You’ve chosen hell. These are all choices you and your Glueminati have all made. 

Coral takes a step backwards, back into the darkness.

Coral Avalon: So, congratulations. You got your wish. And the monkey’s paw curls. 

Then he turns, and disappears into darkness and smoke machines.

Coral Avalon: Thy kingdom come.

And Tropical Turmoil moves on.