Nearly a week after capturing the Empire State Championship from Johnny Napalm, The Darkspade delivered a chilling, cryptic warning aimed squarely at his next challenger, Vito Valentino. What followed was nothing short of a media firestorm. Messages and challenges erupted from every direction—Johnny Napalm demanding redemption, Vito promising retribution, and even “The Real Deal” Josh Johnson, CEO of Shoot Project, weighing in as the chaos intensified. The Darkspade had done more than win a championship—he had shifted the balance of power at the SHOOT Project. The scene fades to black and rises again: The Unholy One, the Empire State Championship draped over his shoulder, stalking the midnight streets of New York City. Neon lights flicker. The crowd parts instinctively. Whispers ripple through the night air as every set of eyes locks onto him... The Unholy One and Only.
With each deliberate step, time itself seemed to falter. The Unholy One moved through the crowd, his presence warping the air around him as onlookers froze in stunned silence. The perspective shifts—now through Darkspade’s eyes. Every passing soul became a current of ethereal residue, drifting, waiting to be consumed.
He slowly lifted his head toward a colossal LED screen mounted high against the steel and glass skyline. The footage blazed across it—highlights from the night Johnny Napalm’s empire collapsed, when the darkest hour struck three times and everything he built turned to ash.
A slow, devilish grin carved across Darkspade’s face.
In that moment—no, in that instant—he knew the prophecy had fulfilled itself.
The world was no longer resisting him. It was surrendering.
Just as he promised.
Just as he foretold.
Just as it was written when he first stepped into this realm.
The NEW Unholy Empire—the phrase that was uttered to his former and current opponent through his mind games- pulsed through the circuitry of Darkspade’s fractured mind, firing across synapses like an infectious plague of Unholy Darkness. It was no longer ambition; it was doctrine. Dynasty was the only objective for Darkspade...... dominion is the ONLY outcome.
Then— The Unholy One turned the corner.
A towering bouncer stood guard at an unmarked door- he recognized The Darkspade with a layer of intimation that he tried to hide. Without a word, he stepped aside and allowed Darkspade passage into a secluded nightclub reserved for the city’s elite.
Inside, bass thundered like a heartbeat beneath the floor. Crystal lights fractured across bodies moving in hypnotic rhythm- a rhythm that continued to taunt Spade.... in the corner yet, was a ghostly black residue which at times formed a shape of a cryptic baby- Spade did not notice. Instead, The Unholy One nodded slowly, a devilish smile stretching across his face as he surveyed the spectacle below—flesh in motion, unaware, indulgent, alive.
To him, they were not worth breathing air.... existing.
They were resources.
He inhaled deeply, savoring the energy saturating the air, imagining the harvest to come.
Without haste, Darkspade ascended a flight of illuminated glass steps, echoing like a decree. He entered the VIP lounge above, positioning himself at the edge of the balcony. From there, he overlooked the pulsing sea below—an empire of excess waiting to be claimed.
From the shadows at his side emerged a woman draped in little more than a thin black leather strap, her expression was blank- she knew who he was, and with that, knew that she might be in danger if she upset him. In her trembling hand, she offered Darkspade his favored chalice of blood wine.
The Darkspade accepted it without looking at her.
He reclined into the depths of a plush velvet sofa, the newly won Empire State Championship resting beside him like a conquered crown- still saturated with Napalm's faded empire. The gold plating caught the fractured light of the club below, glinting like a war trophy fresh from battle with his near seven foot monster of an opponent.
The woman began to turn away. Spade’s hand shot out—swift, commanding—seizing her wrist.
“No. Stay.”
It was not a request. She obeyed without resistance.
Darkspade grinned again, and lifted the championship title and motioned for her to drape it across herself. She complied, the heavy gold resting against her form, transforming her into a living pedestal for his triumph.
Darkspade took a slow sip of his wine, crimson tracing the edge of the glass before touching his lips. He licked the gold title plating, and his grin deepened—predatory, possessive. He leaned close, invading her space, asserting dominance not through chaos, but through control. Her eyes widened, uncertain, frozen between fear and survival.
Darkspade sickeningly stuck his sick tongue down her throat- downed his mouth into her own! The woman's eyes bulge- she did not know what to do- to move and get out of the way could mean that her life was at an end- and so she did nothing as Darkspade kissed her- blood was dripping from his mouth as he smiled at his handiwork.
Blood lingered at the corner of Spade's mouth as he drew back, admiring the scene he had crafted.
But- Darkspade was overtaken quite suddenly by boredom...
The thrill evaporated as quickly as it came.
With a sudden, violent motion, he ripped the title from her and hurled it across the glass coffee table. The belt clattered against crystal and steel, the impact echoing through the lounge.
His eyes ignited—ghostly white light radiating outward, pinning her in place. She sat paralyzed beneath his gaze, unable to move, unable to breathe.
He leaned forward, poised to claim what remained—
But before he could act—
Every plasma screen lining the VIP walls flickered to life.
Static. Flash. Illumination.
The screens filled with a cascade of commentary—messages from Napalm, his words splashed across the lounge in bold defiance.
The woman took this opportunity to escape as The Darkspade leaned forward with his eyes fixed on what Napalm had to say.... reflecting... A War.... a War is coming.... but it was not the promise of battle that stirred him most—it was the insult buried beneath it. Vito, slithering past him, maneuvering into a title opportunity as though Darkspade were an afterthought. The notion that Vito resembled a gutless hyena—feeding off scraps, circling stronger predators—was not far from Spade’s own conclusion.
... but before anything else happened-
Vito slowly fades next as a response... immediately, Darkspade picked up his cellphone from his black leather coat which was placed on the sofa's arm beside him so that he could in fact stop him since the details were off... but unfortunately this was a pre-recording-- with a sigh-- The Unholy One endured the desperate cries and shots fired at him missing at every single ignition..... Vito had already undone any chance at intimidating him with delusions that what Darkspade was.... was fake- a typical tactic that helps those trying desperately to humanize Darkspade... almost bring him to their level so that they can live in denial of a dangerous truth... that the Darkspade IS a dangerous, evil, unmerciful, bastard- that can and will destroy....... but Spade was laughing at each syllable that rolled from out of Vito's mouth- jokes and more jokes- Still, none of that mattered, now did it?
The Unholy One's eyes rolled back- desiring more blood red wine.... he took a long gulp- everything was fine- until Vito splats out
"... you don’t fuckin’ deserve to be a champion. ESPECIALLY not the SHOOT Project Empire State Champion.... I AM gonna try my absolute damnedest to stand atop this meanderin’ mound of dirt called The Darkspade and plant the almighty flag of SHOOT Project’s Singularity right where it fuckin’ belong"
Spade spat out much of the wine back at the LED screen on the wall- not out of shock- but out of a failed mockery. Assertions meant to chip away at legend.... Darkspade did not know what to do- not about how to respond but hoping that he had this weekend off! It was even a three day weekend for crying out fucking loud!!! Then, as if all of this was wrecking up his vibe, the "Real Deal" pops up on the TV and asserts a false sense of control with his own organization.... Darkspade chuckled... however this WAR proceeded- whatever happens- eventually- the three assholes: Napalm, Vito, and The Darkspade will collide at Reckoning Day...
The attempts were pathetic—transparent, predictable, beneath him.
And yet—A sharp vibration pulsed from the cellphone in his hand. Darkspade’s eyes lowered to the screen. A notification flashed across it: bandwidth activity on his personal domain had surged—an abrupt spike of 45.7GB within the last ten minutes. Traffic was climbing rapidly. Visitors flooding in. Interest. Attention. Obsession. But one IP address dominated the logs. Repeated access. Persistent pings. Aggressive refresh cycles. OBSESSION to know who Darkspade was apparently.
Perplexed, The Unholy One opened his regional IP tracker, fingers gliding with clinical precision across the display. The lookup processed. Coordinates rendered. Ownership details populated the screen....... and it was..... almost there.... yes... loaded... it was....
Name on file:
Vito Valentino???
For a moment, silence. Then Darkspade’s head slowly tilted back, eyes rolling into the recesses of his skull in exaggerated disbelief. A laugh—low, venomous—escaped his throat. So this was his strategy? Mock the myth in public… while privately monitoring the legend’s every move like an ex-girlfriend.... Darkspade knew he was hot... but dang... The hyena howled for attention on-screen, yet lurked in the shadows of Darkspade’s domain, refreshing pages like a desperate spectator. Obsession disguised as defiance. Darkspade’s grin widened. War was one thing. But envy?
Envy was far more revealing.
Finally, sweet finally the SHOOT Project info segment fades to a commercial.... The Darkspade stands up and turns off the television with his mind.... but flicks his finger with a sly smile causing the camera in the lounge to auto focus on him.... a recording to his fellows....
"I listened and endured the shots fired- again and again you miss. First: Napalm.... I agree. Your pet hyena should have been handled when you had the chance. Mercy was your mistake. Discipline was your responsibility. And now? Now the leash is slipping, and you’re pretending it was strategy all along. Second: Vito. Listen. I know I am sexy hot... you do not have to coward at home, like an obsessed fan, open up a laptop, and frantically search up everything about me. While I appreciate the gesture- you're not my type- so sorry, you cannot be my Valentine. If you desired to get to know me- all you had to do was reach out to me... or rather, I can come to you.... invade your mind.... your soul, just like my poor defenseless boy good ol' Ricky... he learned the hard way. Vito, If you truly wanted my attention, you could have stepped forward like a man instead of lurking like a scavenger- at Zenith, your words are not going to save you nor your web searches. Camera- zoom in on my face- and listen to me very carefully gentlemen..."
The Darkspade raises the Empire State Championship.... with his eyes aglow with a deathly white aura.....
".... BRING YOUR FUCKING WAR.... YOU WILL NEED IT.... ALL OF IT.... YOU TWO BUFFOONS AND YOUR FEEBLE PATHETIC ATTEMPTS IS WHAT IT IS.... PATHETIC..... I am YOUR Unholy Emperor..... you fuckers are already bowing down and praying.... JUST ACCEPT my Final Guidance- accept the reality that NONE OF YOU FOOLS ARE EVER GOING TO HOLD THIS BELT!! Zenith... or be it Reckoning Day.... it does not matter to me.... especially to you "Real Deal".... The SHOOT Project does not belong to you. It belongs to me. Every locker room whisper Every headline. Every main event. Mine..... and you are all of my subjects..... the only hope anyone has now is to ALLOW THE UNPURITY OF DARKSPADE TO GUIDE YOU.... heh......." That's right.