Manifest Destiny

ICON BATTLE ROYAL

“No matter HOW high you climb you’ll never escape the PIT.”  -- Jiles’ Journal, May 14th, 2025

I can still remember the first time I crossed paths with Cecilworth Farthington.

Vaguely.

It was many, many moons ago.

Many.

In a galaxy far, far away.

Far.

Where there was no light.

Where there was only darkness.

Where the fuel wasn’t the only thing that had “re” attached to it.

As it pertains to our first date, the two of us were thrown in with the rest of the Loser’s Club after flunking out of the first round of a welcome back tournament. We, the unsuccessful if you will, were all set to partake in a grandiose, loser-studded, 5-Star battle royal.

Whoops.

Though Cecilworth and I were adversaries on that night, we weren’t the bitter, on sight, out for blood type that we are today. In fact, I might have even tried to give him a gift prior to our encounter, yet I can’t remember what that gift might have been.

It certainly wasn’t cake.

As for my state of mind heading into our first encounter of a 97th kind, for said battle royal I competed in a tuxedo to celebrate/commemorate/dignify my tragic defeat at the always dangerous hands of Dangerous Darin Zion-Matthews.

Totally over it.

Sadly, for me and my cummerbund, the boy in the funeral-black bow tie was one of the first to be eliminated.

Womp-womp.

Fear not though, it’s not all sour grapes and early eliminations. See, while I didn’t last very long, the brevity of my appearance allowed me the chance to not only sulk my way up the ramp, but to also finish watching the rest of the match in the back. Turns out, the winner of the back then battle royal just so happens to be the very same person I’m facing for the UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP at UltraJiles.

TradeMARK pending.

UltraCancer was taken.

Screw you, Moderna.

Now, I couldn’t tell you who Cecilworth eliminated to win, or how he did it, or if the eliminated would go on to live in infamy as a cardboard cutout. I don’t even remember if at the time the ICON Championship had a white outline or not.

Trick question.

Shit, I don’t even know if we bumped elbows during the match to be honest.

Certainly not uglies like at the Culture Shock one.

I do remember being very angry afterwards, but It wasn’t because Cecilworth had won, rather I had stuck around when I could have returned the tuxedo and not been charged for an extra day.

Ha.

Forever unimpressed.

Ha.

I kid, I kid. No, I wasn’t angry at all, or unimpressed for that matter. Cecilworth was defiant; maybe even more so than I was. He did not care, much like I did not care. Plus, while he didn’t suffer like I had suffered, he still suffered nonetheless. Therefore, I was the opposite. I was infatuated. I was enamored. I was in awe.

Someone like me, who saw the abyss for what it was worth, had won.

It was possible.

It could be done.

You might say that Cecilworth walked so that I could run.

The fuck out of there and to PRIME.

Ha.

But yeah, that is what I remember about our cherry pop. I went home in bloody underwear, and he went home with the gold. I wound up watching a monitor in the back, and he wound up in the Hall of Fame. Now, I’m not trying to say I’m Cecilstien’s monster and I’m coming back after all this time to get him. I mean, I crippled Phil twice, and kicked Little C in the face at the last Turmoil.

The one 11 months ago.

However, I will say, albeit begrudgingly, that while there’s been a lot of doctor’s over the years, I know a big part of me wouldn’t be where I am, who I am, and most of all, HOW I AM, without him.

Now it’s time to pay the tab.

---

The Distressed Damsel

“I will do whatever it takes to get him back. I know he needs me now more than ever. I can’t let him down like I did last time.” -- The Valkyrie Chronicles, May 23rd, 2025

Vickie Hall.

The Fallen Valkyrie.

Vickie has had a rough go of things since breaking up with King COOL and losing her favorite fashion accessory. In the interest of dignity, let’s just say she’s been eating from below the rim of the receptacle and leave her recently duplicitous escapades at that.

Something, something, you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.

In order to turn things around and cure her moody blues, Vickie has made a solemn vow to get her beloved man back, and nothing, not even JCH’s lawyers, will get in her way. To be clear, her beloved man is Cancer Jiles and not the ghost of Adam Ellis.

Ha.

As such, Vickie, desperate for love, concocted a plan that would ensure her return to COOLYMPUS and also the good graces of the demigods. A plan so vile, so devious, it would look like Cancer Jiles himself had set the whole thing up. So, yeah, she got inside a cake and then attempted to take out Cecilworth much like Cancer had done to Phil Atken a few years prior.

However, what happened next is when things really started to get interesting.

After the failed attempt, a distraught Valkyrie fled the scene of the crime and went straight to the USS Bandit. She was hysterical. She was manic. She was terrified. Still, she easily breached the onboard open borders security system, made her way to the tippy top deck, and like a junkie pounded on the door to the Captain’s Quarters as if her next fix was waiting for her behind it.

She begged.

She pleaded.

She begged again.

Until finally, the door opened, and Vickie immediately fell into the Captain's cool embrace. Tears froze as they ran down her cheeks. Her breath was visible, but finally caught. Over and over, she kept repeating, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry...”

The Captain remained stoic, and as silent as a mouse. He did not budge. He did not flinch. He did not blink.

“He... he touched me.”

A sheepish Vickie continued to tell her Captain what had happened. She told him that Phil Atken was walking again, and that he had put his hands on her. She told him that Cecilworth Farthington had done the same, and that he threatened her.

“He told me to tell you he wants Avalon, my love.”

“It’s okay,” the Captain assured her, running his hand through her hair. “You’re safe now.”

Vickie’s voluptuous smile reappeared for the first time in months. She squeezed her man tight, swearing to him right then and there that she would never let him go, and that she would do anything for him that he asked. Then, she whispered into his ear, “I’m yours, my love, and together we will conquer the UNIVERSE.”

The door closed behind them, and the unholy consecration of the make-up was on.

However, questions still remained.

How did Vickie get into that cake all by herself?

Did she really want to take Cecilworth out to prove her undying loyalty to her man, or is she in the process of going full on Gone Girl to exact vengeance upon the one who cast her out? Granted, I’m sure an eye on a silver platter would have gotten her through the door a little faster.

Just saying.

Most importantly, are Vickie’s intentions her own, and do align with her Captain’s?

Or is she compromised?

Regardless, those questions will have to wait at the very least 6 to 7 long, moaning, groaning, arduous, steamy hours from now to be answered.

---

The Captain's Quarters

“The only stipulation I care about is if the Universal Title is on the line. That’s it. That is all. That is what matters. The Captain is not the Captain unless he has the right belt to hold up his track pants. Suspenders be damned.” -- Jiles’ Journal, June 3rd, 2025

.

“Do you think he will come?”

Her question rang out like a fire alarm.

“Of course he will. I texted him. He knows he owes me. I let him off the ship, and I allowed him to go live a good life. He’ll come. He has no choice but to come, lest he wishes to be dragged back into the Bandit life by his massive forehead.”

Vickie, naked and under the cover of various fruits, pressed me again.

“Are you sure? A lot has changed.”

I removed my shades and looked at her with my bare eyes. She got the stop being an insubordinate hint, instantly. Still, I felt the need to explain.

“Coral is an eGG Bandit. Period. He knows the rules. He knows he owes me more than a sit down interview. If Cecilworth wants to invite a wolf into the hen house, then so be it. I’ll even open up the door for him.”

Poor Vickie, she didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t know how to rationalize the thought that there was someone else in my life that was more important than her.

Little does she know there’s a whole carton I hold in higher regard.

Bros before hoes.

---

The Ivory Tower

“They won the war. We won the hunt. It’s high time we settle this thing once and for all.” -- Jiles’ Journal, June 4th, 2025

.

There we are.

PRIME’s IT couple.

The Convoy of COOL.

Back in the saddle again.

Just me and my girlfriend doing 95 as we ride...

My Valkyrie proudly stands on my one side, while my lovely fern stands by my other.

I’m poised for the kill atop my electric-blue throne.

As per the norm, my slicked hair is all salt and no pepper, my shades are fit to the T, and the collar on my modified huntsman vest stays popped. For my Valkyrie, she is also dressed for the kill; funeral-blacks from head to toe and her very own pair of salt shoes.

Hunting SZN.

Also of note, Vickie has a brace on her wrist. The same wrist Phil grabbed out of thin air during the attempted eye assassination. In case you’re wondering, yes I know. I know about the hit. I know she tried to take Cecilworth out. I knew it when I ran my hand through her hair and it had cake in it. I am a pro after all, and I did write the book on such bits.

True.

I was flattered by the gesture, and that takes a lot.

I was also frustrated she would act out of turn like she did, and that doesn’t.

So, I took my frustrations out on her for 6-7 hours. I told her over and over and over again that she needs to let me do the scheming, and she can stick to the... well, you know.

Ha.

Needless to say it was a dry slog at first, but we hammered things out.

Ha.

Anyway, let’s put the peep away and get on with the show, shall we?

Lights.

Cancer.

ACTION~!

“Little C.”

I smile, the pearlies on full display.

I smile, as if right now is my only purpose in life, and I’m fulfilling it.

I smile, as if this moment in time, this chance, this reckoning, this flash point, was why Zeus descended from Olympus.

“My ICON.”

Still smiling.

Confidently. Unabashedly. Undeterred. Brazenly.

“The Ghost Whisperer.”

And there goes my smile, and yes that last one does indeed have to do with what Cecilworth said to me a couple of shows back.

I’ll never tell.

“The Glasscow Smileburglar. Oh wait. That’s Phil.”

Ha.

Vickie rubs at the brace around her wrist, as if just hearing Phil’s name mentioned aloud is enough cause for it to throb. My blood chills due to her unease, but the time to lose my composure and threaten Phil’s life is not now.

“Crumbworth Crumbington.”

And there goes the charcoal flavored lunger. I know it lands on the tile floor a few feet away from me, but in my head I can see it soaring through the air, unfettered, and landing directly on top of ole Crumbington’s bum boot.

Again.

“Friend. Of. Mine.”

Confident, I ease back in my throne, knowing deep down in my heart of hearts that no moment is too big for me.

Not even this one.

Not even against him.

“First things first, Crumbo. I know you’re never going to believe me so I’m not even going to waste my time trying to prove otherwise-- so yes, I was the one who put Vickie inside the cake and I take full responsibility for her actions.”

Sure, I just lied, but Vickie did a hell of a job setting me up so why waste it?

“No, I’m not at all sorry about it.”

A shrug.

I have no problem taking the credit.

“We’re at the end of the line, you and I. This is for all the glue and all the yolk. Frankly, I’d be a little disappointed if you weren’t alert and on top of your game.”

Ha.

Vickie picks at her teeth with her sharpened fang. It’s kind of unnerving.

No, it is unnerving.

“Well, I suppose I’m glad Phil is anyway, right? Nice to know he can still get around in a pinch. I’ll have to remember to say hello the next time I see him.”

Ominous? You bet.

Threat? You bet.

Happy, informative accident? You bet.

“As for your pointed request, consider it granted. Coral and I will see you onboard the USS Bandit. Bring Phil if you want. We have ramps. Not like he needs one though, right?”

I wink, not that you’d be able to tell.

Then the game continues.

“Hardy-har-har. Har-har.”

Though it might seem like it, I am not amused.

“I digress.”

Ha.

Ha.

“Let us put a pin in the jokes for a second, because believe it or not I actually have something near and dear I want to say that I can’t convey over an email.”

It’s true.

I know how well sentimentality scores.

“It might fall on deaf ears, or it might even sound a little weird coming out of my mouth, but I’m going to throw caution to the wind and say it anyway.”

I clear my throat.

Frog free.

“I’m proud of you, Cecilworth.”

I nod.

“I mean it. I am. We’ve been from Bilbo to Baggins, me and you. From a first time chance encounter, to knuckle up, about to go there and back and again.”

I have watched him grow, much like he has me.

“And even after I pseudocrippled Phil twice and then jizzed on your pants so badly that PRIME had to abandon a whole pay per view because of it... you never gave up. You persevered and conquered all. You picked up your jolf pants from down around your ankles, and pulled them up around your waist.”

Truth be told, the only way to describe the look on my face right now, and this isn’t really doing it justice, would be condescending, one of one, world’s finest jerk off.

A total dick.

A flagrant foul.

“You even became the first person to win the Universal Championship on night one.”

HA.

HA.

HA.

Speculative of course.

“That’s diligence, Little C. That's never giving up. That’s being kicked again and again, I guess technically in the face since it was by me, and still finding the resolve and wherewithal to get back up.”

I applaud my fellow dweller, and all that he stands for.

Ha.

Well, just the hard work part.

“And look at you now, the UNIVERSAL CHAMPION.”

A beat.

“The same UNIVERSAL CHAMPION that Phil was... back when I took him behind the shed and put him down for the count.”

A pause.

Poignancy is key.

“The same UNIVERSAL CHAMPION that I became when I beat Julian Bitchtoy to a bloody pulp in my FIRST ULTRAVIOLENCE MAIN EVENT.”

Then a beat followed by a pause.

“The same UNIVERSAL CHAMPION I lost to in my SECOND ULTRAVIOLENCE MAIN EVENT.”

Once more a beat and a pause, but the tone of this one is lacking the shining, golden aura of the prior.

That bastard.

“The same UNIVERSAL CHAMPION I will be dethroning in my THIRD ULTRAVIOLENCE MAIN EVENT.”

Here’s to hoping the third time, like the first time, is a charm.

My posture straightens.

“That’s right, buddy. You heard correctly, OCW ICON. You are on my turf, M. This is my show. This is my MAIN EVENT. This is my time. You might be the Champion, but I hunted my way through PRIME -- through you -- to get back and I will not be denied.”

My head shakes no. It’s fairly convincing.

“Not by Fish and Game. Not by Lady Troy. Not by Coral Avalon. Not by Glue.”

My focus further intensifies; it’s as if I can see my potential bracket for the Almasy.

“Not. By. You.”

I snort.

“My will is too great, and my yolk is too thick. Try as you might, but you will not break me.”

Or crack for that matter.

“This is my destiny, Cecilworth, and it manifests at your expense. Enjoy the smell of the glue while it lasts, because your high is about to come crashing down with a violent end.”

Vickie gives me a tap on the shoulder, as if to remind me of something.

Duh.

“Oh, and one last thing. Do me a favor in case Phil gets seasick. Whisper in his ear that if he ever lays a finger on my girl again I’ll chop his fucking hand off at the wrist.”

A hearty thumbs up.

“See ya soon, Champ.”

Pucker.

Kiss.

Goodbye.