Valquist: A Final Measure

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Good morning and good evening all, and welcome to the official ITW website. My name is Chris McCarthy, and in the coming moments you’re about to explore the beginnings and the end of two people, two brothers, two wrestlers, that whilst on their so called path of enlightenment, forced finality upon themselves. What you’re all about to see, read, and experience is a testimony to the hardship that all professional wrestlers must endure. The lives of Valquist and Derrida, the tandem of Full Measures, will be put under the spotlight as the former prepares for his last battle.

A rematch for the Visionaries World Championship against The Orphanage’s Casanova English.

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“We Own It” by 2 Chainz and Wiz Khalifa starts playing through the Duckworth Center signifying the victory of Valquist. The bell had rung three times, stinging the ears of the Visionaries audience for the second time of the evening. Many rise to their feet as Val has his arm raised by the senior official. Ryder Blade lay below, defeated for the first time within a Visionaries ring. The referee is handed the Championship of Cool and he’s about to hand it to Valquist, as Ryder gets up to his feet.

“Here is you winner and neeeeeeewwwwwww...” Jerry Heisenberg says proudly at the top of his lungs, before being cut off by the petulance of one self-proclaiming champion.

The fallen Blade rips the Championship of Cool out of the ref’s hands and slides out of the ring with it. He starts shouting back to the ring from the aisle.

“Non-title... non-title... You’re not a contender, old dude,” Ryder insists, his youthful and naïve transparency on the outside of the ring unable to hide his compounded embarrassment.

The two men in the ring look at his tantrum in disbelief and confusion.

“Here is your winner... Valquist!!!” Jerry says out loud.

Val stood smiling, relieved to have made a successful return to the ring, but why? Why return? And where is Isis Derrida?”

The clock was ticking. Screeching with its every second. An alarming reminder of the fate that awaits. A date with literal destiny. Chris, ahead of all knew this, as he sat opposite the father of Valquist, Oria. Chris was sat in front of, and behind, two cameras on tripods. The breeze of the morning had weened its way into the sports arena, now derelict, without heating or comfort. Seating several thousand, Chris was sat at ringside in a once iconic venue dubbed the ‘Terrordome’ by the last wrestling federation that used this intimate venue as a home. With a wrestling ring just over the cold steel guardrails, inside a fully operational four-cornered ring, Oria’s son was training with an unknown wrestling partner. Valquist paid little attention to the media set up surrounding Chris, and to his father that for all comparable reasons, was a rugged version of Val.

Where the younger athlete was clean shaven with thin black hair on top of his light chocolate skin, Oria had greyed, significantly. He wore a slender and shined black suit, white shirt, and tie. In his late sixties, amongst the rather mute surroundings, Chris found it nauseating, and sat with a bad taste in his mouth knowing that he could hear Oria breathe. Heavily.

“Your son, Val. He is a man now renewed with acclaim. His first, and perhaps last, singles championship was the Visionaries World Championship. Val’s the first, and still to this day, the only wrestler, to beat Ryder Blade. He is the reason Ziu Zhong has not reappeared. At Darkest Hour, it’ll be the third straight pay-per-view main event he has headlined. Compared to his past, Val’s experiencing a genuine twilight of his career. Infinity’s own wrestling initiative, as we all know to death by now, failed with many disasters. Even before, Val and Isis found no haven in the Global Wrestling Revolution when they teamed together. Despite the hiccups that come naturally, Valquist has now been at the heart of his wrestling federation for ten months, so please tell me Oria, why on earth would we willingly wish to throw everything away, and why now?”

Oria pondered the question greatly, even turning to face his determined and masterful son in the ring. This was not the first time that Oria had met Chris, nor was this the first time Chris was flying questions in the way of Val’s father. As a budding, sprouting sports journalist, Chris had formed a very good relationship with Oria and his law firm, the Derrida & Valquist Laws and Justice Enterprise. Oria felt at complete ease, even with the presence of multiple cameras.

“I’ve never once had to come rallying or fighting out of a boxed corner for my son. Val, he and Isis have always been reliant on one another. They have both left me proud, both for different reasons. Val for his defiance, even in the face of total annihilation, and Isis for the adherence to the nobility of himself and his brother. There is not one person on this planet that can tell Isis Derrida what is acceptable, or what may be right or wrong. But today, I feel forced to come out fighting for my son. It’s ever so desperate right now between my sons, but what they’re trying to achieve is something special. Something not to be ignored in their line of work.”

Oria was overtly impassioned, but quite rustic in regards to containing such feelings. Just like his sons, Oria too lived the mantra of Full Measures. Val has always been better at hiding despair and joy, whilst his father was openly panting, uncontrolled and feral in his nature.

“Val had every right to walk away when he lost the title belt,” Oria declares as if truth. “The manner in which they treated you all, yes Chris you included, was terrible. It was when Val told me that he was always fighting a losing battle against this Casanova. It was through my meddling that Val would see Isis as a reality, and not the twisted monster from his mind.”

Chris was left stunned, piecing together the very events that would come to a head here.

“Isis believes he is saving his brother. That he is pulling him from the stem of the fire before he is consumed in what he said was the fog of war. That is why he came to you with the Glass Cube. That is why Val’s erratic realisations came to be more than just a dream. My only intention was for you all to come together, stronger and wiser, to fight the impossible dream that Val believes to be real.”

“Instead, Isis plans on ending Val. He plans on replacing him.”

“Val only wants to inspire, and it was right to believe that in this darkest hour, solidarity between my sons would have eventually seized the day, taking claim of this future of prosperity. He wants to become a mantle of his own making, to turn every Visionary into something greater. Val doesn’t believe that what it was, and what it has become, a federation ruled by the placating of mediocrity, championed by a man as foul and wicked as Casanova, will provide any sort of mantle. There is just misery, a cold wicked truth that many jump to Casanova as if he were a god. You said it yourself Chris, the allure of English is too much for some, even to the point where it blinds reality, and stings ambition. Infinity taught my son to believe in elevating others, in aspiring above the mundane, poverty stricken lives that billions are infested with. He no longer believes that his mission statement to make the world, and his federation, a better place can happen if there is genuine evil. If the world rejects him at his next match, then quite frankly there is no reason for him to stay. Others will listen, no matter the vocation, no matter the manner in which Val and Isis take their next steps on a path bearing its final steps.”

“I only had one moment to saviour the title belt from Val, before it was taken from his grasp. He cherished it, and it is only in defeat, that Val truly appreciates it. He lorded the belt as it should be presented, with honour and distinction. Studying wrestlers, and Val in particular, it’s made me understand that the golden strap and its power, it does matter. It mattered a hell of a lot to my friend, but in light of Armed and Dangerous, it has proven difficult to motivate not only myself, but Val in particular. Isis is disinterested, as he always is, I’m just scared that this rematch is going to drive him straight into that casket. I’m not willing to return home and recede to the Brooklyn nobody, and knowing Val, he feels the same about himself. He doesn’t want to go home to Infinity knowing that he didn’t give in all against a rival that he utterly detests.”

“What happened the last time your friend was down on his luck? What did he do after losing those three matches?”

“He won the big one,” Chris answers, correctly to Oria who was using the answer to feed into what he had to say next.

“Then it’s not a matter of if, it’s a matter of how. How are you going to help your friend not only win back the title, but to end the plague of Orphans that swirl round its gold?”

This time Chris had no answer. Feeling powerless to the physical strength of wrestlers, and of the intellectual capability of a millionaire such as Oria, Chris took his time to wisely answer.

“I will show him.”

Axel and Ruby’s prolonged talk was allowed because of the lengthy time it was taking to sell the eerie moment. Dried ice and smoke flowed everywhere until the ramp wasn’t recognisable or visible. Orange floodlights reflected brightly, creating the illusion of fiery-ice. Three minutes in and the noise of the smoke machines stops and instead a huge screeching is heard. The titantron turns active, focusing on the back of a translucent male with a blur on the camera. After several second the blur fades and the back of the shirt on the man’s back reads Full Measures. On que a loud outpouring of support is gathered towards the person in question. Valquist.

“Standing on the edge of actuality, with a single honourable purpose, the ends will justify the means. Fog of war no more. Full Measures or nothing.”

Very quietly in the background a slowed down instrumental of Valquist’s theme song, We Own It by 2 Chainz and Wiz Khalifa, plays quietly, building up a quickened sense of suspense. A camera following Val from behind, tracking his movement as the former Visionaries World Champion waltzes towards the arena at a slowed pace.

“We exist on the cusp of true testimony, and definitive action. An outcome that’ll shape all those with the Infinite banner... Telling the truth to people who misunderstand you is generally promoting a falsehood, isn't it? Isn’t all I’ve done an act to greater enlighten a world beyond the reaches of the lowly Casanova? Every action has been done to spite the nature of mediocrity, and to crush the notion that your current champion is the absolute pinnacle.”

Val continues to walk past a hectic backstage area, with idle production staff frustrated that the Valiant’s segment has cut into their drinking time later on in the night. Val ignores every person around him, remaining inward as he pulls back the black curtain that separated the wrestlers from the loving fans. All Val saw in front of him was orange smoke.

 “Every relationship, be it human or not, is at some point the wearer of the face of an ultimatum. The eye of the holder, the individual running the gauntlet, rarely get where they want to be, where they want to go, or who they want to be. But what else does a man have when the option of dialogue was far removed from the table of conversation? He or she would not stand for an invasion. We would only stand for our own rationale, an inner-understanding that you know to be true and wise. I stand, my own hypocrisy, a lie to the age of enlightenment, and it is right now that I’ll concede my doubt for all things future. I see clouds before I do my feet, and at any moment, I expect to drop into the oblivion upon which Derrida came.”

Val begins to walk out into the eye of the crowd, and gets cheered loudly. These Visionaries are rarely treated to such deep and supposedly meaningful words, and despite being at an end, finds the attempt of enlightenment refreshing. As the Infinity national walks towards the ring, twenty more Valquist’s arise from the orange haze of war, with a watchful English trying to fix which one is real. The crowd cheers loudly as Val clones all look up at the current champion, tightly holding his gold.

“Welcome to your legacy, Casanova… These hallowed plains are where you have put to rest countless others, never to return. This is where you want me to be, where you want all these people to be. You prefer the isolation of celebration. You prefer the pat on the back, but never the actuality of reality. A showman at heart, but I know you. I’ve seen you a million times before. A poison that has become the cradle of civilisation for modern wrestling. A standard unbecoming of true expression, of any infinity. That’s why it’s easier to dispose of your foes, rather than elevate them to a level higher than they know. The men and women you surround yourselves with, the people that following the cult, are all drawn to you because your bar is set so slow, there is nothing that can harm the fragility of each man and woman draped in your cape.

The federation has become dictated around this cradled model of what a wrestler should be, and you’ve proven the catalyst for destructive tendencies that have scarred themselves to the very foundations of VoW. Each new recruit that looks for an example sees your twisted nature. In this instance, Valquist can only stand for a second term if it under my edict, and not performed under the old acceptance of talent. No more will there be a fog of war. There will only be a recognised equation of quality. An actual leader that is not born from the ashes of his meaningless words, told a billion times before.”

The orange fog around the most central Valquist begins to disperse, unveiling a jet black coffin. Val places his right hand on the coffin, moving the microphone to the left. Every Val clone keeps staring at Casanova, but appear passive and harmless. Once the Scottish understand what is standing before them, there is a third huge pop during the segment. Val pops the lid open and looks inside to see just the outlining fabric.

“I’m sure you’ll metamorphose these words into the poisoned flavour of your choice, and do as you always do, attempt to tarnish the very nature of my character, but in all reality, I’ve passed the brink of tolerance and acceptance. Real change must be enacted now, and if not, I’m presenting you with the chance to bury me, just like you have with those etched into your legacy. I’ll happily recede into a remnant, just another bullet point on the list of accomplishments you hold here, just in the name of everlasting change.

If we didn’t believe in our Full Measures mantra so strictly then perhaps I’d just become another one of your herd, looking for lost directions. Instead, my eyes are open, and within the depths of my Darkest Hour, my only hope is that the eyes of everyone else will open.

Truth is, Casanova. I’m not fighting you, or my brother, or every critic and fan. I’m fighting to change wrestling itself, to build a new foundation based on endearing qualities. We’ve all had enough stale, smoky breath, to fill an infinity. You’ve the chance to bury the very nature of an infinity, but what kind of man will that make you? Beating Valquist, beating Derrida, and all we’ve ever stood for, that’ll be your new legacy. You’ll destroy Infinity, and in doing so, find out who small the world really is. Just how you’ve always wanted your reality.

You’re the next, but never the last.

Infinitesimal.”

Val lowers his mike, and watches the fog of war around him gather and breeze. What felt like just seconds, Isis had thrown the Visionaries World Championship into the casket. English had begun charging at the Infinity wrestler but to no avail. Val enters the casket and slams the lid shut. Within seconds of closing his eyes, Val is transferred to another room by means described to him by Isis Derrida as ‘magic’. Val opens his eyes in a room, isolated but for one man.

Another Valquist, identical in form.

The transported grappling artist begins breathing heavily, shocked and relieved that he escaped the burden of a fight with Casanova English. The veil of identity broke within seconds as Chris fades back into reality in front of his friend. Knees trembling from staging another identity altogether, Chris finds himself needlessly exhausted having just had the weight of expectation burdened on his shoulders. Val’s actualised form sits with his head down, palms clapped together, not giving into the form of intimidation.

“You were right about the buzz. I’ve never been so excited and terrified in one go before like that,” Chris says honestly.

Val still sat silently, head down, but Chris knew he was producing the wide smile that was keeping back the truth of Val’s thoughts. There was only disappointment emanating from the former World Champion.

“Full Measures, right?” Chris says in an attempt of a joke, his words playful and harmless.

Drawing the wrong reaction from Val, the Valiant One stands up aggressively, still with his mouth closed but before he can say anything Isis Derrida appears, signalling with his eyes to Chris that he wanted a moment alone with his brother.

“I promised you with an ultimatum, and here it is,” Isis coolly says, referring to English. “You beat him, it just won’t be him that’s gone from the title picture. You win, I leave. Chris leaves. Your world, alone. It must be you that changes the foundations of this federation. Use me in your image, but know that every time you wear my skin it won’t be done in the nature of all things good to your path of enlightenment.”

Isis turns away from Val briefly, but still had an element of resentment in voice, so decides to turn back towards the usually vocal Valquist.

“In my eyes, enough is enough. You’re better than this. Better than their subjection. The best act you can pull is if the bell rings you willingly shut yourself in the casket, just as Chris did. Don’t let them feed you to the Vultures, because that’s what we both know they’ll try to do. Don’t legitimise him, this bloodied organisation, or anything, just in the name of a rematch. Just in the name of pointless defiance. You’re only fighting to win. Lay one finger on him and you’ve declared to the world that you’re willing to stand proudly in fight of their half measures.”

Isis pulls away from Val’s eye line for just a second, but just had one last thing to say, so turns back for a third and final time to his brother.

“This is your final measure, Val. Your darkest hour. Sword to your shield, no more. Regardless of formalities. It is your end.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Here is the winner of the match and NEEEEEEWWWWWWWW WORLD VISIONARY CHAMPION!!!!” Jerry screams out with jubilance.

Three champions elect stand sharply in the ring as three referees squabble over the definitive answer to an outcome that will forever shape the Visionaries history. Milking the moment, Valquist turned his head towards Seth Iser and Casanova English, his heart pounding with fear of rage. Val saw only the cage between them and was cautious to step in front of the door just before any of his opponents had the chance to leave the ring. Seth roars just metres behind Val, whilst English stands calmly, leaning on the ring ropes with ease of a decision. Val leans his head down to see outgoing champion Ziu Zhong reeling in discomfort, remembering back to the only altercation he’s ever had with Ziu. The oriental wrestler had mocked Val for a three match losing streak on Twitter, and Val smiled on the inside knowing that he had clipped the birds wings, and yanked it from the heavens. Ziu lay splattered, an ode to enlightenment for Val. A referee stood immediately behind awaiting the final decision.

Casanova is the first to notice the referee points his eyes in the direction of Valquist before he whispers the dreaded words into his colleague’s ears.

“Valquist the Valiant,” Jerry roars, to the disapproval of Val’s opponents.

The officials grab the championship title and bring it in the cage and strap it around Val’s waist as he falls to his knees with the brightest smile on his face. Casanova immediately begins arguing the decision with one of the referee’s that was responsible for placing the belt around the waist of the Infinity native. Seth likewise joined in on the protest. Val’s perfect smile is compounded as he leans forward, screaming in delight. The crowd are ecstatic for the decision, Val had finally become Valiant.

A single outburst of joy was replaced with an immediate darkness that followed. Seconds elapse as the Canadian audience question whether the antics of StuFish.pif was going to escalate the situation. 

Valquist has done it! This is amazing and come on… Lights out again?” Axel Reid questions.

Omega and Frei should start paying the electric bills,” Parvati quips.

The lights return to their original state, without any sign that the prototype hacker had any influence over this moment. A large outburst of fanfare is met in the arena, following screams of realisation. Of enlightenment. A man in the same ring gear, the traditional orange, black and white of Valquist, knelt face. Of Caucasian descent the referee’s immediately retreat, but this imposing figure, bulkier and of a greater athletic build blocks the door for the five wrestlers that occupied the ring. The man in question stands up and reveals the World Visionary Championship around his waist. He lifts his head, with his standing opponents in the ring fearful of the unknown.

“What the? Is that Isis Derrida, the other half of Full Measures?” Axel questions again, more confused than the first time.

“Where on earth is Valquist?” Parvati follows up with her own question.

“That’s surely Isis Derrida in the flesh!” The ever wise Axel Reid sat behind his desk in disbelief.

The impeccable and angelic Derrida unbuckles the golden belt, hastily dropping it to the ground. Turning with blistering speed and purpose, English is the first to meet the running knees of Enlightenment. English was unable to counter the pace and the velocity of the move, and fell unfavourably back towards the ring ropes. English flops but then another surge of crowd noise happens when Seth Iser turns to face Derrida. Seth starts brawling but Derrida doesn’t sell the punishment. Isis grabs the right hand of Iser, planting his entire body face first against the canvas. Spitting blood as he bites his own tongue, remnants of the red liquid are sprayed across the Six Visions of Pain cage. Isis then turns to Ziu, still flinching after unceremoniously losing the championship in his first title defence, is brought to his feet as Isis holds his throat.

Holding the disposed champion in the air, Ziu’s struggling for life in his kicks as he cannot stop the choking sensation. Gargling on his own spit Derrida launches Zhong into the unforgiving cage with one hand. Derrida repeatedly throws Zhong against the cage, enraged at the fellow wrestler. After the seventh time of hauling human flesh into steel chain-link, Isis lets the former champ land on his knee. Zhong flops and his body crashes hard as three of the five competitors are downed with a ruthless, feral nature.

Retreating towards the centre of the ring Isis arches his back and screams in the face of the Brett Carson before the unveiled tag-partner of Valquist his low knees to Brett’s face. Isis lifts the powerhouse over his head before dropping him centrally without enacting another move. Holding his stomach as a result of being tossed high up into the rafters of this gruesome match, Isis had already peeled back against the ropes, and charged forward with another impactful Enlightenment for Casanova’s brother in arms.

“Isis Derrida has just demolished four of VOW’s finest wrestlers without breaking a sweat!” Ruby says, also stunned by Derrida’s arrival.

“This feels like fantasy. The feral rage of Isis Derrida has taken Heatstroke down a bloodied path,” Axel says with utter disbelief.

“The only one not falling victim to Isis’s wrath is Stacy, and she’s slowly crawling away from the ring!” Parvati was obviously disgusted, and equally intrigued, by Isis.

“Do you blame her? She’s probably petrified for her career!” Axel, calling his job, was getting carried away in the moment.

Last on the agenda, not without Isis failing to see Stacy limp on her knees, the crowd are heavily encouraging Stacy to get out of dodge, but that’s not how they react when Isis leaves the cage and passes the Visionaries in the crowd for the first time. Stacy is half way up the ramp when Isis grabs the lone female in the match by the back of her long, black hair. Jones screams in fear, her voice echoes deep into the heart of every Visionary in the locker-room. Isis turns his head to the ramp, not a single soul was objecting of this moment. All feared his presiding of the ring. All feared his darkened horizons.

Isis doesn’t take Stacy back to the cage, instead he degrades her honour by making her look puny and weak in his presence. Isis simply swings his right arm around, launching Stacy into the barricade. Without time to breathe Isis drags her to the announce table where Axel Reid and Ruby Parvati quickly abandon all stations. Isis slams her against the announcer’s table, with the lashing making the aware Jones cry out in real pain. Isis climbs the table by stepping on it before lifting Stacy to her feet. He lifts her up high, and power-slams her through the table. Collapsing under the sole weight of Derrida, the re-imagined wrestler did not sell the effects of going through the table.

Not done with Stacy, Isis dragged her to her feet, panting due to a lack of oxygen. Isis then lays her against a standing barricade by the time keeper’s area and delivers a final Enlightenment, crashing the sullied competitor through the barrier in the process. As Isis stands, finally making his way back into the ring, he is met with a mixed applause. Older fans craving the return of brutal, death-defying action, loudly applauded Derrida, whilst there was also a large chorus of boos. The most prevailing noise of all though was the sheer excitement of the moment.

Derrida kneels once more before the championship belt, picking it up, and staring into its golden reflection. Derrida then looks into the crowd and his eyes are locked in one position, at one person, as the broadcast of Heatstroke fades.

“Now is not a time for nostalgia, Chris. Sure, you can edit in all the good moments from Val’s ten month stay with the Visionaries, but where’s the grit, the dirt, and the awkwardness of defeat?”

Without an introduction necessary, Isis Derrida was now in the hot seat, surrounded by cameras. Val to his fortitude was still training in the ring, currently doing grapple holds with the nameless wrestler dressed all in black attire. Moments prior to Derrida speaking, Chris was bleeding his gums about Val’s achievements to Oria. Isis must have overheard and ushered in his line of thought without a care. Leaned forward, obviously frustrated, much unlike the composed Oria Valquist, Isis was more of a visual learner than he was a verbal one.

“Ryder Blade, Brett Carson, Cameron Behringer. All in a row. Then English, and there are a boat load of people, including members of the direct management team, that think it’ll be two strikes and out for Val next time round. Losing to these people, it doesn’t matter, right? It’s all about the spirit of competition, and improving, right? I’ve never heard so much dishonesty since the Infinity days.”

Chris favoured Isis’s tone, one which he believed was also on the barrier of breaking the fourth wall that wrestling has with its audience, and with its management. For Isis, there was no barrier, no divide between the worlds, just a singular reality.

“Let’s not just stop there, why don’t we talk about Val? He’s far from the mantle of responsibility that you may think. He’s a law unto himself every single day, and by that I mean that he beats to the sound of his drum so hard he’s lost his hearing. He knows full well that he deserved to lose to Cameron Behringer, and perhaps to Ryder Blade, but Val’s stubborn to listen when he’s assuring himself that what he’s doing is for the greater good. For goodness sake Chris, just to get his point across he carved up a wooden form of Winter Pine and destroyed it in front of his co-workers.”

“It’s not just Val that isn’t listening,” Chris cryptically alludes. “He’s only lost his way because he sees an obvious injustice. Something just didn’t click with him the night he faced English.”

“You’re right, but this is good. You know what these federations look for in wrestlers? They’re all harbingers for violent personal novellas involving gritty yet personable template characters that can just about bring to the surface of their mouths a genuine reason as to why they’re worthy of winning a wrestling match. These places such as the Visionaries of Wrestling attract creatively engaged people and designated management that hold all the power, even when they’re sometimes below the standard of its top men and women, tell everybody under the umbrella to duel to the death in a sick game of who has the shiniest, most colourful sword. The inner workings of wrestling have always been managing egos. You’ve no idea how difficult it is to manage the exact same type of person. They’re all striving, fighting ruthlessly, and betraying needlessly, for this mysterious top spot that in my obviously gracious opinion was without weight until Val and English stepped forward and made it painfully clear the requirements to reach the upper echelon.”

“Trust me Isis, I’ve learnt that hard way,” Chris says, having being engaged with Val’s federation for just as long as Val, he has come up against the grain on one than more occasion.

“We’re more akin to Spartans, Val and I. We honour the class of competition, and we salute the warriors that perish. We take pride in defeat, but only when justified. Only when fair. Casanova, he doesn't deserve our unruly attention, he is but a fly on the wall, conjoined by billions more. That’s what drew me back, the instability of Val given his defeat. It is difficult to see him dragged into the mud, without warrant or cause. There’s someone spiking the punch, for sure. Why lie when it clear their judgement is poor? They cannot comprehend the impossible, any Infinity, or the unimaginable because some people are just...simply minded. To Val, to you, to all those under our impervious shelter. They may very well appreciate him, but they do not understand him. I’d rather walk onto the un-turning road and embrace the chaos that is the Glass Cube. Infinitely difficult, painfully rewarding. If throwing down repeated F bombs in an attempt to pop the crowds is legitimately deemed a good enough aid to win the Visionaries World Championship, and to do as so many before have done, denouncing Infinity with such profanity laden malice, then I’m left with just one thought. It is embarrassing. Truly.”

Chris sits in a moment of silence, realising that Isis was never going to nurse a wound, he was going to crawl at it under it bleeds and then bleeds some more.

“You’ve these cameras for testimony, and this ring for sentiment. This path was not build on either factor, it was built on the belief that we could enlighten the business for good. Any such sentiment rests alone, however, as the purge of good barely trickles down the ladder. English, I easily bore by tales of his familial woe, and refuse to stomach the sick once his putrid mouth opens. Where is the grandeur, the good grace, the actual in-ring ability? He’s been skating by, and rewarded greatly, for living up to the meagre expectations of shooting by the hip with vile regurgitations that he calls home to a promo. I have never attested to being a judge, but in times such as these Chris, we must act as executioners to stop this, for Val’s sake and our own. I don’t even know why he bothers with these people.”

“Val doesn’t do it for people like English. He does it because he sees great potential in Stacy Jones, Ryder, Tyler Storm, and even Tyron Bickerton. Val’s going to build a future around giving these people an opportunity. What he’s not going to do is stand on ceremony, parading the severed heads of those fallen to a bitterly generic regime.”

“At this point in the tale, I’m sure Val will calmly imply that success lies in being the first and last you, but given that there has been a severance of trust, especially from our camp of interest, do you believe that I have acted outside of my boundaries to keep Val true?”

“Truthfully, you’ve no right to intervene, even if your actions have been to either elevate Val, or remove him entirely. Nothing but your grand full measures.”

“If by truth you mean Val’s worsening manifestations, and his crippling relationship with friends and family, then you have won the jackpot Chris McCarthy. If you mean his startling need for co-dependency and his reluctance to speak an ounce of valid truth about how he absolutely cannot stand the manner in which he lost the title, then yes, you’re also right.”

“I am not your enemy,” Chris says, realigning topic of conversation. “Do you want him to win the World Championship?”

“No,” Isis says defiantly. “The Visionaries will never change. They will scratch and claw until there is nothing left to pick on but Val’s stained bones. Enlightenment begins with Val taking responsibility for a future that he has in his control. He’s an idiot if he feeds into any one of fifty egos. He should not justify their intolerance. He should shed its skin and be done with it.”

“Just like before, with GWR? With Infinity? The best policy is to run, and never finish the fight? Is this not the place Val can usher in an era of in-ring aptitude?”

“Live long enough in this world, Chris, the fight finishes you. None are without exception.”

“Valquist rolls out of the way evading the English Lesson! He turns around and kick to the stomach... hooking the arms. Existential Existence?” Axel was pumped, fearing a finish to this tremendous clash for the World Championship.

“English has him up,” Ruby Parvati describes as Valquist’s reign as champion hangs in the balance.

“No!!!” Reid yells. “Valquist flips over and lands on his feet. English turns around... WHIRLWIND connects!!! Both men collapse. Huey Davis to make the count.”

1...

2...

3???

3!!!

The chiming of the bells brings to an end the fiercely fought contest, but a seed of doubt hangs in the air. Valquist the Valiant has ushered in tens of thousands of people cheering on one arena, but there was a sense of hollowness. The crowd cheers in excitement nonetheless.

Valquist did it! He retains!” Reid declares.

Huey Lewis discusses with Jerry Heisenberg and they nod together, conspiring about what they believed to be the finish of the title bout.

“The winner of this match by pin-fall and NEEEWWWW World Visionary Champion... CASANOVA ENGLISH!!!” Jerry finalises, much to the surprise of all in attendance.

The crowd reaction splits, and is worsening by the second as English rises to his feet.

“What? How?” Reid questions.

“It appears after the Whirlwind connected English’s arm landed on top of Val before Val’s arm covered English. And that was the pin fall that was counted,” Parvati clarifies.

“Valquist was robbed,” Axel finishes.

“Real Solution No.9” plays around arena as Huey Davis lays the World title across English’s waist and the feed fades into the Visionaries logo.

“Isis, is solidarity not the best measure in the darkest hour?” Chris says, timed back in after the video package. “Full Measures or nothing.”

Chris had come to realise that he was being faced with an identical crossroads that Val once encountered with Isis. Both were asked by Oria and Donald Osman to be the new faces of Infinity. Val accepted, but Derrida refused. That was the last of Derrida in the flesh until the aftermath of Armed and Dangerous.

“I am nothing more than the reaper he demanded, the end of his suffering,” Isis says, with Chris increasingly nervous as he continues to dig deeper into Isis’s motive. “Chris, it was Oria that first told me of Val’s downfall, but it was the man himself that insisted of this final measure.”

“A final measure,” Chris says, not as a question, but a slight thought of hand. "I get it."

“A hero is more than a person, a hero is a belief. A belief that, against impossible odds, the world can be saved - and that the world is still worth saving. Heroes inspire that belief in us. They renew our faith and give us that most precious of all gifts - hope. The world needs heroes. That's why, when a true hero arrives, the world will honour him.”

Chris turns to his left, noticing that there was only one person in the ring, and that man was not Valquist. It was the unidentified wrestler, clad in black. Val was finally gone, without ever saying a word.

“Val is finally the hero.”

“Where has Val gone?” Chris demands to know.

“Vanquished,” Derrida declares.

“Are you sure he’s not just gone to the bathroom?”

“Find out for yourself,” Isis replies. “Soon enough we’ll all know if the Visionaries of Wrestling has the stones to end Val, or whether they’ve the guts to stand by his defining, superior image. But not every story has a happy ending, life just sometimes ends. At least my flesh and blood is ending it under his own accord, never to be sullied.”

Chris slides into the ring, picking up the only remnant in the ring. Derrida’s Diary. He flicks through the pages, all whilst this unknown entity of a wrestler watches over Chris. Flicking through, there is only one final entry, on the very last page. Chris turns back to Isis, saddened and silent by the final page. The unidentified wrestler kneels before Chris, keeping his hood up and away from the sight of Chris. Isis joins Chris in the ring and stares intently at a very concerned American.

“Stories just don't end, Derrida,” Chris states as truth.

“There was nothing left for him to say,” Isis says. “You’ve always wanted it more, now it’s time to prove it. Our final measure.”

Chris peers back down at the book, and drops it to the ring mat. Derrida cracks his knuckles, flexes his muscles, and twitches his neck at an ever concerned Chris McCarthy. Staring back at the monster in his direction, Chris knew that just like Valquist, he would have to overcome his own personal nightmare. Derrida.

_______________________________________________

Courageousness will lead us to victory. Courageous people carry integrity, respect, and humbleness, know their strengths and weaknesses, and keep to their vows. For me, the biggest attribution of courage is the ability to speak truthfully and know that all it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.

Full Measures is a measure of our own worth. Come the Darkest Hour when our worth and value is tested, there is nothing, no odds that will overcome us. No greater value that will topple us. No force strong enough to dethrone us. No gods who can contain us.

My name was Valquist.

His name is Derrida.

Full Measures.

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