Luck

[Cory]

“Tear you apart, rip out your heart, maybe then you’ll know you’re fucking with the wolf…”

The blistering fast riffs of “To The Wolves” by Stitched Up Heart blasted out of the speakers and Damian Priest casually strolled out in his wrestling gear with a black leather duster on. The black duster had a red dripping blood design - an homage to his favorite wrestler Scott Hall. The EBWF Gateway Championship was clasped around his waist. He slowly made his way down to the ring, stepping up onto the apron and stepping over the top rope to get in. Damian Priest stood in the center of the ring under the glow of purple and red lights, unhooking the Gateway Championship and slinging it casually over his shoulder. The crowd cheered as Priest raised a mic to his lips, a sly grin spreading across his face.

Damian Priest: Bear with me a minute. I'm used to these things being pretaped most of the time, it's been a while since I cut a live promo.

Damian cleared his throat, the sound picking up on his mic.

Damian Priest: James Storm... the Cowboy.

Damian smirked and nodded to himself.

Damian Priest: Cool, cool. A man who spent his career drinking beers, smashing them on people's heads, cracking jokes, and talking about how tough he was. And you know what, Storm? I got it. You're proud of what you did. Proud of the fights you fought, the wars you’d been through. You've never fought a war with me. You've never been in the ring with me.

Priest tapped the Gateway Championship, drawing attention to the title.

Damian Priest: This right here? The Gateway Championship? I hold this for a reason. Not because of "my damn luck", not because of some tired gimmick that resembles Temu Stone Cold, but because I'm simply better dawg. And when we step in that ring, James, I'll show you why Damian Priest isn't just a man — I'm the man. You're coming into my world, Cowboy, and here’s the thing: you don't belong here.

Damian lowered the title and stepped closer to the ropes, staring directly into the turnbuckle camera.

Damian Priest: I gotta ask, my man. Is this some kind of farewell tour? You outta cash or somethin'? Do you seriously think you are still that same Storm from years ago? Nah, dude. Deep down, you know the truth: your best days are way, way, way behind you. You aren't a Cowboy anymore; you're just a man holding on to the past. And while you're out here looking for one last ride, one last shot at glory, I'm too busy carving out my immortality. And my legacy is going to live forever.

Priest paused, a calm but sinister tone settling into his voice.

Damian Priest: So come on down to this ring, Cowboy. Bring your boots, bring the beer, and bring all the tough guy bravado you have left in the tank. You're gonna need that and all the damn luck you can find in Omaha to have a damn chance.

Priest tossed the mic to the mat as his music hit, the camera focusing on the smug satisfaction on his face as he held up the Gateway Championship.