Oh, Keelan, this is only the beginning and by the end of it, I’m sure you’re going to be quite sick of listening to my voice.

I’m sure this horse will be beaten into the ground sooner rather than later so allow me to bury it now; quite frankly I couldn’t give a fuck if you weren’t at your best. I don’t buy it simply because I’ve heard it countless times before and the odds are certainly not in your favour in that regard. Whether you want to listen to me or be a blind, delusional fool who thinks he knows better is entirely up to you; they both lead to the same result at Road to Redemption but one is going to more than likely make me believe you’re a muppet than someone to be heralded as the future. So let me get this straight, you took it easy to make me believe that it was the best that Keelan Cetinich had to offer so that I would underestimate you in the chamber? Bah gawd, that’s a masterpiece of a plan! So cunning! So methodical! On the grand scale of “Dumb Cunt” plans, that’s certainly right up there and that, again, shows a lack of respect. Do you truly believe I would walk into this chamber thinking you would be as easy as you were on Voltage? Sure, it’s one experience but I don’t rest on a single experience, hell truth be told I don’t rest on anything; more I show up and deal with whatever is thrown at me in the moment. When my championship is on the line, in any big match I’ve ever participated in, all that matters is how many times I need to knee a cunt in the skull before he stays down. Strategy is nothing more than bullshit and strategy is hardly going to save your arse when my knee fractures your cheekbone. Strategy isn’t going to provide any benefit when your best shot hits and barely leaves a scratch; go back to the King of Elite finals to see someone who took the absolute best not just two men, but three had to offer and watch that man still walk away on his accord - defeated, but still walking after that beating. See your grand scheme is ultimately null because I expect more. I expect a championship match to bring out more and more from an individual. I’ve been here for nearly three and all but 5 months of that has been spent at this level. A legitimate question, do you take me to be a fucking fool? Do you think I’m some fucking dropkick who can’t see bullshit like this being pulled constantly? Your “plan” is about as poor as every No campaign video published; it’s laughable to anyone with more than a single braincell. Your “plan” won’t fail this weekend, it failed two, three weeks ago or whenever you thought it was a good idea to begin with. I’m well aware that failure this weekend won’t impact you much; few have ever won their debut chamber, it’s your first World Championship contest, it’s just the way the wind blows around this part no matter how hard someone fights.

You’ve come to learn that failure is always going to remain no matter how hard someone tries to fight against it but all men sink to lows inevitably because of defeat. When you believe you’ve learnt from your last encounter, what happens if you fail again? Again and again, the losses stack up and you constantly find yourself a step behind your opponent; does Cetinich crack and crumble beneath the weight of the growing pile? No matter our bravado, no matter how much we convince ourselves we’re excluded from such pain, in the end we all taste it. I’ve gone through it; the legends, the men you likely hold so highly have endured it. A constant taste of bitterness forever on your tongue, a chip on your shoulder that even when you succeed once more, surpass the men you despised, that chip still remains. The shaping and moulding of men has shared similarities and as rare as those winning their debut chambers, only a miniscule amount of men ever become great, remain great consistently without defeat, without that grand lull in their careers. But to fall into it, you must first have something to lose. A favourable aspect of the position you hold Keelan is that you have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Willing to sacrifice everything you have, every bone in your body to ensure victory; at any cost, without regard. Allow me to put an end to another dumb cunt plan before it grows, watch any match of mine - ever - and you will quickly learn my demeanor outside the ring doesn’t carry inside of it. Inside of it I’m as methodical as they come; cool, calm and collected, far more than so many could ever be. I’m systematic in everything that I do and I don’t need a strategy, a plan to do so. If it were a weakness, I would have been beaten since January. I would have tasted defeat and yet here I stand, untouched for so long. I implore my opponents to find a weakness, Keelan. I’m willing to put all my cards on the table, show every fatal flaw, show every way a man could beat me; I never leave anything close to my chest, I reveal all to ensure no man walks away with an excuse as to why they couldn’t beat me. No, my weaknesses more string from fear of losing it all, a God complex that seems to run deeper than I’m willing to admit. My weakness is a constant loathing of others I deem subpar; I detest the idea that one hit wonders are hailed as legends, as equal to someone like me. But more importantly, my greatest weakness is a constant drive to be up there among the greats. An obsession, a desire that I will throw everything away to obtain. Family, friends, lovers; everything that I hold dear isn’t protected by this cancerous drive. And all of that, can be summed up in a fear of what I told TLA; I’m not as good as I think I am. So now you have my weaknesses, my fatal flaws and I ask for you to exploit them. Rip those wounds open and dig your claws into them; it’s been awhile since I’ve had my back up against the wall, Keelan, and I do surely miss that rush of adrenaline when someone touches on a sensitive topic.

And yet, all of that is why I’m just a touch ahead of you all. You all run from your fears, your flaws. You dare not to address them and in your quiet moments you pray that nobody else will exploit the mental weaknesses that exist. Will I have and always will embrace mine. Put them on show as I sit and laugh at lowly dogs bear their teeth...and their bites are pathetically weak. It’s all about how you deal with your weaknesses in the moment. Your weakness is truly what makes you “special” or so you believe makes you “special”. So alrighty, Hannibal Lecter, let's see if you can walk away from the chamber after I drop you face first onto the steel surrounding the ring. I’m sure you’re going to want to kill yourself when you look like Rocky fucking Dennis for the rest of your life. Lets see if I can put you through enough pain and suffering inside my domain to make you crack and incapable of walking away on your own strength.

Five men this week are going to tell me a thousand lies. Five men are going to parade themselves around as the true, ultimate threat.

But five men are going to be severely disappointed and I swear, to fucking God, if you keep up with this “plan”, you’re going to be the first disappointed cunt out there. I don’t have the time nor the interest to listen to your rhetoricals, Keelan. They’re about as entertaining as Lars Grier or Johnny Ventura reading through a dictionary. You, like so many, try your darndest to articulate yourself to jump into the minds of your opponents but here, once again, you’re against a man who has been through it all before. Had every “wise man” try to make him believe in some fantasy riddled reality that never came to be. We can run around in circles on this and it happens too many fucking times than I usually want it to but here’s the simple fact of it all; you have nothing but your word. You have nothing more than what spills from your mouth. Those names you mentioned are not Jamie O’Hara. One of those names ever became anything and he was about as B-Grade as you could get in every capacity from World Champion to tyrannical chairman. None of them are true main event talents. None of them are even remotely equal to me. You can overcome them and whatever they throw at you and that mate is just fucking great, a round of applause! But I don’t need to tell you this, do I? I don’t need to waste my breath any longer on everything that comes with merely saying they’re not like me. Every challenge is greater. Every mental hurdle is tougher. I never, not even close, said that you need to win a championship before you win the big one, Keelan. Men have done it before, multiple times and had the world known just how good I was bound to be, I wouldn’t have become the New Breed champion within 5 weeks, I would have waited those seventeen months to become the EAW Champion; my first championship. Wins and moments are one thing. Wins and moments build collectively to get you from one rung of the ladder to the other and nothing more; it’s what you collect, what you earn that gives you substance at the top. Of course, the exception to the rule is defeating legends, defeating icons and you certainly haven’t done that. If my message wasn’t clear than allow me to repeat, your claims have no weight, they have no substance because you have earned, you have collected NOTHING. I never said that was a bad thing, Keelan, it just makes it tougher for you to convince me you’re a legitimate threat. You have only your word and I must ask, why should I take your word? What reason do I have? None at all. A lack of accomplishments doesn’t make you a bad World Champion, again something I never stated.

Your actions are truly all you have to prove to me that you’re as good as you say you are, that you’re as threatening as you believe yourself to be. But you will waste your breath still with these mindless spills; trying to convince me of something that quite frankly, I already know.

It’s again this veteran instinct kicking in. I don’t underestimate anyone. Everyone that stands across from me in my ring is viewed as a great, as a legend; almighty in every capacity, a true threat to everything I hold dear. Even if you’re a Carlos Rosso or a TLA, you’re still through my eyes seen as deadly, as threatening as someone like Mr. DEDEDE.

It’s just in the end, I’m simply greater.

Ah, quoth the raven nevermore or some bullshit...forgive me I never listened in English class.

Lars, there’s something that occurs to many men when they face me. I trot along the week thinking they’re in control, thinking they had ol Jamie O’Hara where they wanted him...but ultimately they realised they walked into the palm of my hand the moment they said a word. I’ve often been criticised as a manipulator; of thoughts, of emotion. I pick apart the weaknesses that exist in a man and drive them insane trying to defend them. I’ve toyed with more hearts and minds than you have or ever will. They, like you, were never in control and it’s wise that you’ve come to realise it. Question is, what are you going to do to stop it from happening again? Do you believe you can avoid it? You’ve spent this time reviewing your mistakes, you’ve spent your time analysing everything I said and my underhand tactics to fool you into believing you ever stood a chance; full credit, few have ever done that and even fewer to myself. You didn’t realise it was happening, so what makes The Raven think it’s not happening once more? Once again you’re falling into that state of overconfidence, now believing I can’t screw with your feeble mind once more; the more things change, the more they stay the same, it’s a funny, funny saying. Your arrogance again seeps from every pore, Lars and it’s a disappointing sight to see. I truly believed for a moment that you had outwitted me but it seems you only managed to play yourself into once again walking the same tired track that led you to the palm of my hand. Your weakness is your overconfidence, your arrogance that eventually cloud your eyesight and clog your judgement; blindly once more walking in a field of thorns, it ends no differently once more. And you can have your threats but what is the point when those threats are ultimately meaningless?

Losing to me Lars doesn’t mean you suck, it means that you’re just like everybody else.

So don’t fret too much, don’t see it as such a stain to carry. Calling me your biggest mistake is a considerable hot take there, pal. Not the New Breed or National Elite championships? Not Cash In The Vault? Interesting to say the least. You carry the weight of failure far, far too much Grier; instead of copping it across the chops, you allow it to manifest deep within and corrupt your thoughts, your processes. Every defeat makes every following match more important in your mind...but you focus on your defeats more than you should. Every challenge that arrives is new but instead you waste so much time fixated on what you couldn’t do prior. Couldn’t beat this guy or that guy or claim that title. It becomes the very basis of your stinging attacks on many...and it only leads to that weakness being exploited more by men like me. If you truly learnt lessons from defeat, then by now you would have learnt not to be so easily triggered by it all. I paid you a compliment, that despite your losses, your lack of accomplishments much akin to Cetinich, you’re still here. You still have much to learn, much, much more to learn and I don’t think you’re going to be ready to dethrone someone like me anytime soon. You can be the most aggressive son of a bitch there is inside the chamber and you can make every bold threat you wish but as long as you fret defeat, the moment defeat becomes a possibility, you will be defeated. It’s a fatal flaw that exists within you Lars, something you need to face and if not by week’s end, then surely you can write off becoming the World Heavyweight Champion. You have a strong, bold exterior and the words that spill from your mouth are about as intimidating as they get however your mind is fragile, feeble, weak. It’s surrounded by nothing more than flimsy protection that any single moment - great or small - could crack. For all your talk of being The Raven, you’re about as far removed from it as you possibly could be. This...this is all a mental game from start to finish and yet you focus on the physicality of it all. What lies ahead for you after Road to Redemption certainly remains to be seen, but imagine being someone who climbs every single rung of the ladder, from the very bottom to the very top, and wins absolutely nothing along the way...has so little to show for it but meager victories?

Now that would misery on the most grand of scales.

Isn’t this a funny thing we tend to do?

We lose, we face setbacks, we don’t get the result we clamored to claim…

...and so we trot out the tired excuses of “I wasn’t at my best!”

Against me, whether it’s Voltage or a FPV, whether it’s Voltage or Pain For Pride you bring your absolute best regardless. And I don’t buy into this fictitious idea that you weren’t at your best then, Keelan. For all the men you had faced since your first day here, never had you been in the presence of such a champion before, never had such an opportunity to prove to the world your merit, your worth. And if you don’t bring your best, then that’s an insult to what it means to be in your position. Because there’s many, many men like you Keelan; many who you could question their right to be in this match...and they all would have taken that moment you had with both hands. To sit in second or third gear against a lowly foe is a right one earns but if there’s anything about this emerging generation I’ve come to learn is that you all believe just because you’re a contender, it means you’re equal. Because you get a taste, you get to feast. I thought my arrogance knew no bounds but I paid my dues to get here, I fought to be able to face someone like you and bring less than my best. Hypothetical, I walk from this chamber still champion and in one month’s time you and I stand inside High Voltage; are you going to turn to me and say that you weren’t your best at Road to Redemption? Are you going to pull endless amounts of shit from your arse to try and write your former performance off? Burying those efforts and writing them off as only “half-arsed” attempts, only leads to more and more and more graves being dug and one of them is going to be your career; you do not sit on a rung that excludes you from being knocked down and replaced if you can’t get the job done, if you can’t prove you deserve to hold it. And when you face the best there is, regardless if it’s the best on the roster or the best in the world, you seize the opportunity and you bring your best. You bring everything you have to leave a mark and full credit, even if in your deluded mind it wasn’t the best you had to offer you still did enough to make me notice you more. Here’s the thing, I’m not impressed by falling off a ladder through an announce table and still being able to win a match. Diamond Cage has been doing that for years, he’s amounted to far less than what he could have been and ultimately, he’s seen as a dumb cunt in my eyes than a gutsy fuck, with all due respect. People put their bodies through wars, they seek to cover their bodies in scars and for what? To call themselves the toughest cunt in the world? See, to me that’s overcompensating for something else; ring talent more than anything. And letting someone like Kenny Drake, like WOLVESDEN do that to begin with...doesn’t paint a very impressive picture. For all that our General Manager is, he never did become anything spectacular in this business when he was competing.

But I am have become everything every man and every woman strives to become.

Having the balls to put yourself through punishment is more stupidity than it is brave, Keelan and inside the chamber, being beaten from pillar to post, steel grating to steel chains to glass pods, might pale in comparison to some of the falls you’ve taken, but I don’t need such brutality to win. You’re right, you’re not Jacob Senn, you’re not Xavier Williams, you’re not Tiberius Jones or the Pizza Boy, you’re not like any of the host of names I’ve beaten since February or the names I’ve defeated over the years. I’m not going to suddenly think you’re as good as them, Keelan. No, I don’t change mind because YOU want to stand there and say “Please think of me as highly!” Perhaps someday that will come to bite me on my arse but thus far it’s worked well. You have no claim, Keelan. There are no reasons for me to think of you as equal to them and you blew that once chance to make me consider you as threatening two weeks ago. Being unpredictable is a commendable aspect but what makes you unpredictable? Show me where your improvisation, your unpredictability have led to success? Mere victories isn’t what I’m after; the milestones, the achievements...what you lack. See it’s easy to say these things but when you have nothing to back them up with, they’re meaningless. Throw your buzz words out with little care, create your monikers that aim to make me shake in my boots...you have no substance, no legitimacy to your claims. So what does the “Killer” off that they didn’t? The men who once claimed to be unpredictable, the men who claimed to be monsters beneath the bed, the men who thought they could systematically pick and tear me apart and all fell to their knees. I’ve stomped out roaring fires within the hearts of many, I’ve kicked in teeth that never came back out. I’ve ended people’s careers, I’ve made some worse. I’ve done so, so much in my short time here and I can safely say I’ve seen many, many Keelans come and go. I’ve heard your dribble more times than I want to remember but it never fails to make me laugh. Each time I cast your body against the steel, a little more of your confidence, your bravado is stripped away. And remains deep down will be on show for the world to see. I seek the day when someone ends this glorious reign but you do not offer something that has not been offered before. You do not make a claim that hasn’t been stated before. It’s unavoidable, truly. All men in your shoes, with so few wars fought and won, have little to go on.

You can only hope that your words will not be left to rot in the mud. You can only hope and pray that they mean something in the end.

But it will all be meaningless.

I encourage men to step before me. I encourage them, no matter the fight, to fight until the end.

And for you TLA, for the fifth time we stand on opposite sides of the ring in the one calendar year. Four times you’ve been defeated, three times you’ve had your face caved in by my knees. Don’t worry, I started to lose track myself. I would be a hypocrite if I said that you didn’t deserve this chance; I demanded a shot for the EAW Championship after I had it stripped away under worse circumstances. Truthfully when Drake did was the right thing no matter how tiresome it may be for me to once again front up and address you as an opponent. We didn’t get a definitive answer, you’re quite right there...but we did….twice beforehand. Twice, without interference, I left you laying on that canvas beaten and you can certainly walk away from both those matches with something to hold onto, something to take away with and be remotely proud of your efforts. What would another clean victory have proven at Ground Zero, TLA? What we already knew? What the world simply refuses to accept? Perhaps a clean victory would have signaled the end of your championship crusade - for now at least - and your spot in the chamber would have gone to someone else. See there was something you said a few weeks ago; Ground Zero proved that Jamie O’Hara can’t beat TLA. And I heard that...and I sat at home confused...did Burning Desire not matter? Did our clash on Dynasty not matter? While we didn’t get a definitive answer, I have to wonder if getting one at Road to Redemption will be accepted even if it’s not what you desire? No, you know the answer, it’s already been set for months and you just wish to deny it. As much as has been said, you will keep coming and coming for this championship, stepping up until you dethrone me and each time, without doubt, you’re going to be looking for your idealistic answer, the one that suits you and nothing more.

Your eyes, TLA, they’re clouded and you walk through this place blind; allow me to cast them away and show you the reality of where you stand, where you have always stood.

Clouded with dreams of grandeur, you’re not alone in your misguided ways.

You’re spurred on by the doubt that you believe exists, the weak, feeble reasons to make a claim. This hope, this fantasy that you’re possibly as good as me; capable of knocking me off this throne. There is doubt...there is conjecture because of the way Ground Zero concluded and even that is something I cannot deny. I can believe that if it wasn’t Cameron’s boot, it would have been my knee and I can spew that thought out time and time again, it doesn’t make my belief any more legitimate than it already is. History is history, it’s set in stone and I won’t run from it. You have a claim to make, TLA, but it’s one that will die the moment you and I meet in the center of that ring. The chamber will not provide an excuse, a reason for one more chance in the immediate aftermath of it all; your opportunity to correct the corruption of Ground Zero will come...and go...without anything truly changing. Perhaps instead of your hopes, dreams and brains splattered across the canvas, it will drip between the gaps of the steel grates, hang clipped from the steel chains that encase the ring. No, this isn’t going to be a pretty demise for you and I’ll ensure that for just a second that you wish Ground Zero was where your campaign ended. Being screwed is an easier pill to swallow than getting beaten within an inch of your life without any ounce of mercy shown. The people chanting your name...it’s meaningless. None of them matter in the moment and I’m disappointed you still don’t understand the reality of needing to sacrifice to succeed. You had a moment, at Ground Zero. Perched on the top rope, the world beneath you, everything you’ve longed for within grasp, the world chanting your name endlessly. And what did you do? You fucked it up. You spat in my face, you spat in Cameron’s and she made you pay for your grand disrespect, your lack of class. You blew the single greatest opportunity of your lowly career...because of the people. You soaked in that atmosphere, like a drug you pumped their energy into your body and you felt fucking amazing. You will not have that chance again. Those people will be silenced, those people will sit in their seats stunned by the massacre occurring inside that ring. You may be good enough to step up, to hold this position of “contender” but to beat me? No. That is a dream that will forever elude you, one that will always make every effort you make result in nothing but absolute misery. You can step up once more but you won’t be able to keep up - you never truly have been able to. This...this is all just another moment where TLA collapses to the canvas once more defeated; only this time it won’t be because of someone else, it won’t be because you were robbed. It’s going to be because you were never fit to stand in my presence to begin with.

The true, definitive answer you seek will be a nightmare that you’re going to regret ever chasing.

You entertain me with your hopes, TLA. It’s what I’m going to miss when I drive you out of contendership for the remainder of our time on the same roster and beyond. Why are you going to beat me this time? What can you do that you couldn’t do before? Walk into this contest thinking that you had it all figured out at Ground Zero without Cameron’s influence and it will be a grave mistake. The definition of insanity is doing something repeatedly expecting the same result; can you say you’re approaching this match any different than the last three? Can you say your walk, your talk is any different? No, you can’t. Let’s entertain this thought that you walk out of the chamber as champion. I’m not going to respect you. I’m not going to congratulate you. I’m not even going to give you the credit you think you deserve or suggest you were the better man. Not out of spite, not out of bitterness, but rather because it took four matches, four attempts to beat me in and three times to become the World Heavyweight Champion. That is failure no matter how many ways you look at it differently. No, it would be luck in it’s more purest form rather than skill, rather than talent. Like I said, if you had any of it equal to mine you would already be World Champion, you would have won the matches you believe you should have won. Because becoming the World Heavyweight Champion doesn’t erase every failure, every stain you carry; you’re still forced to accept it, to listen to it, to bear it and comprehend it all. And you can talk yourself up as World Champion, you can let your ego go wild because I know for a fact cunts like you might be humble now, but once you taste success you’ll become as delusional and as arrogance as they come. I’ll let this little parade run wild, I’ll allow you to enjoy your time...and then I’ll come knocking.

I’ll fire my shots and it won’t be on a microphone.

And I will take it all away before you even truly feel like you’re a champion. I will send you down into a hole of misery larger than any other you’ve fallen into every time I’ve defeated you.

But it’s never going to reach that point. It’s never going to be something we see. I am the obstacle you cannot overcome; I am the champion you cannot dethrone and no matter how many times you walk that walk back up the golden steps to my throne, I will always send you back down to the lowly place you belong.

Greatness is never unintentional.

It doesn’t exist by chance, nor does it ever seek out one special person. It is a decision to get up in the darkness of hours and put foot in front of foot in solitude and servitude to a goal that lies deep within. Greatness is earned. Through practice, through pain, through repetition. It does not arrive on an instant but creeps upon us slowly like a rising sun in which every minute matters. Because it is not one moment, not one achievement, but rather a accumulation - not of how much you have - but how much you have given. The only obstacle you must overcome, is yourself. Your desire for greatness. And those words have inspired me since day one. Well before I ever stepped foot inside an EAW ring, all I cared about was greatness and all I ever did was strive to achieve it. By any means, by taking any risk. To be a hero or a villain, to do what was right or do what was wrong. Those mornings where it seemed the sun would never break the horizon, those nights where the final lift of the weight seemed like it would never arrive. Those days where I thought my bones would break, those seconds if agony that never seemed to end. Dedication to this, all of this; I wasn’t born to succeed, success didn’t exist in my veins, my genetic makeup. Even now I still embrace those never ending nights and those painful days. I still embrace the feeling of stepping out of bed with joints cracking with every bit of motion and every aching muscle. Because just having the World Heavyweight Championship around my waist isn’t enough; Cameron was right about that. The journey never concluded at Grand Rampage, it never does conclude with just meager gold. 196 days I have carried it around my waist, over my shoulder and those 196 days have been nothing short of blissful but these are days that will soon become a footnote in the history books. Every time I defend it, I’m defending more than just the gold. I’m defending my legacy. I’m defending my right, my chance to be more than a lowly footnote at the base of some page. My opportunity to cement a legacy that will go months, perhaps years being unmatched. Because we all fight for something worth remembering. We all fight for that one thing that defines our careers; the thing that validates our endless hours. And for some it’s the battles, for others it’s how many times they can grasp championship gold. Some fight for end of year awards, some fight for the mateship they foster with others. I have never been a greedy man; I’ve been one who takes his opportunities and like a soaking towel I twist everything that comes my way until every drop of water falls to the floor. The World Heavyweight Championship has been no different. I don’t need this throne time and time and time again. Countless reigns can belong to someone else. But one, single, all time great reign...that is my legacy. Because this? The harsh reality I need to accept myself is that these chances are limited. Some might sit upon the throne once, some until their days end. Some for just a moment - fleeting and never worth remembering. Some for months on end. A man who stands as World Champion but takes it for granted is one that never deserved it to begin with.

There is always more one can achieve. Greatness holds no bounds and the journey never has a true culmination. A legacy born in the ashes of almighty victories, the wars that are never forgotten. The legends, the immortals who become statues of such marble, their legacy is defined by so much that I seek. I crave what makes them great; an obsession beyond reason and a campaign limitless to reach it, it drives me constantly. Every time the blade has fallen across my neck I’ve risen better than I once was; defeat has always pushed me to do better. Steel sharpens steel or so the saying goes and I look around me and I see no steel to clash with, no challenge to push me further. I see raw potential, deadweight rotting as it clings to relevance and a mutt who deserves to be put down. Perhaps, with all these “contenders” placed to rest, will steel emerge and everything I’ve fought so hard to face will stand up. For all the criticism, for all my actions, I’ve desired nothing more than to be the best in every capacity of this business. That’s all I’ve ever strived to become; nothing more and nothing less. And I can’t without being defeated. I’m sure five brains just lit up, excited over the possibility that I’m just going to lay down because lets be fucking real here, not a single cunt in this chamber can touch me at all and I’m sure I’m going to say that again and again; at this point it’s not up for debate, it’s a fact. But in no way am I going to lay down, in no way am I going to artificially be defeated. That just proves nothing; that does nothing but cheapen the value of defeating me. A common trend in what people think of me is that I’m scared of defeat. I’m scared of losing my World Heavyweight Championship. I need to run and hide behind my missus to protect me and my reign.

I want to be defeated…

...I want to be proven wrong...

I WANT TO HAVE MY SKULL KICKED IN. I WANT TO BE LEFT DEFEATED. I WANT TO BE PROVEN TO BE FALSE IN EVERYTHING I SAY. I WANT TO BE SECOND BEST EVEN TO THE LOWEST OF THE FUCKING LOW. I WANT TO BE MOCKED IN DEFEAT. I WANT THE BITTERNESS OF IT ALL TO REST ON MY TONGUE. I WANT TO SWALLOW MY PRIDE. I WANT MY EGO DENTED. I WANT MY ARMOUR CRACKED. I WANT TO BE LEFT IN NOTHING BUT MY OWN FUCKING TEARS. I WANT TO CRADLE MY SHATTERED DREAMS. I WANT TO BE KNOCKED FROM MY PERCH, THIS APEX. I WANT MY KINGDOM TO BURN TO THE GROUND AND I WANT TO BE COVERED IN THE TATTERED REMAINS OF IT ALL.

I WANT IT ALL.

AND TLA, YOU JUST AREN’T THE ONE.

The man that people believe is “destined” to beat me. “Destined” to become the World Heavyweight Championship.

The difference between you and me is that I go out seeking to be defeated because I see it as a wakeup call that I still have further to go. I seek out defeat because it motivates me to find something more and more. But defeat to you is just another chance for you to push your pathetic and lowly “woe is me” narrative. You can not touch me on a mic nor inside a ring and if you could, you would have reached the King of Elite finals, you would have beaten me at Burning Desire and you would have beaten me at Ground Zero. How this works...it isn’t rocket science and I don’t sit behind close doors and pull the strings to manufacture everything that I have and everything that I will accomplish. See for ten months you’ve sat back and talked yourself up; you’ve inflated your ego with enough hot air to lift yourself off the ground. What can I say that hasn’t already been driven into the mud, between you and I? For ten months we’ve clashed and for ten months you’ve walked away empty handed; you have your argument, your reason to be here at Road to Redemption but it is a line thin to walk upon. Because if it wasn’t her boot, it would have been my knee. What falls from your lips this time, TLA? See every defeat makes every once valid reason you had to believe invalid. Each defeat makes your legitimacy…your substance...less and less legitimate. And most people I face would find something new even if it’s greatly pulled from their arse...but for you? No, the writing is already on the wall for what you will say. More and more this belief that you won’t stop coming. More and more that you will continue to dig deeper and deeper and deeper until you come out on top. This seemingly unwavering belief that stands firm in the face of obstacles and setbacks; but I know deep down every loss breaks you. Every defeat, every opportunity that goes to someone else burns a hole right through your chest. No, see I ran through this last time and the time beforehand and I pitied you, TLA. A man, out of his depth against a foe he cannot measure up; facing the reality that creeps upon you was always something I avoided. But now, I feel there is a need; it all ends here.

You are not as good as you think you are.

And I know in your most private moments you hold onto the belief that you’re just as good as me but if you were, you would already be champion. Don’t look at Ground Zero as an excuse to justify that pathetic belief; one moment in a sea of many others where I have stood over you is hardly convincing. But that’s what someone like you tends to do, what you’ve always done. You find the shortest straw and you clutch to it as if you life depends on it. In this case it likely does; I’m sure if victory doesn’t come your way in the chamber you’ll pack your shit and leave. And nobody would care after a day. After a day those you supported you and got you this far would come to see the reality of the man they once thought so highly of and like me, they will laugh. Your meager TLA Army will go to another man, another woman. If there is anything that I’ve learned about you this year, it’s that you are nothing short of a entitled sook. for three years you’ve never had to fight for more than a day to taste gold on your lips; now the first time you find yourself against a wall you threaten to walk away unless you get your way. You twist the arms of powers that do all that they can to ensure every single fucking person under their control is happy and you sit in their face because you’re not in the spot you think you deserve. Each time we’ve faced I’ve called you an entitled cunt and every time we come to face once more, I just have another reason to believe that’s the case. When there’s people in this company, on this roster, in this fucking chamber who deserves everything that will inevitably come your way, that is a crime; you’ve had your success handed to you on a silver platter, this will be one that never arrives. People can be disillusioned and they can sip the kool-aid to buy into myth that you deserve to be the World Heavyweight Champion; the right people in this world don’t see you as anything more than a charity case, one that will burn the moment he lays his hands on the gold. The harsh reality of charity cases is that they never truly succeed. You have your name etched in gold as champion and for a moment you get the chance to stand at the pinnacle but in the end, it all comes crumbling down around you and all you’re left is with a never ending pile of disappointment and crushed dreams. You don’t get to become the champion you envisioned yourself becoming. You don’t get to have the reign of dominance that you believed would come. You merely have taste the essence of it all without ever holding it in the palm of your hand. I am going to ensure that there won’t be another TLA, another Lucian Black to step foot in EAW. And if I must, I will be martyr to put an end to every single undeserving cunt who ever thinks that having a whinge day in and day out is going to get them what they want.

For all this talk of never giving up, I have this feeling that we’re never going to see your face again and your name will never be uttered as anything more than a memory once I leave you in that chamber for dead.

Speaking of the dead, Carlos Rosso?

Holy fuck, I thought you would have kicked the bucket by now, lad.

What is there to say about you? A failure in every area of this business; once thought to be Ichiban, now niban...but you were always that, weren’t you? Despite your greatest efforts to be the best in this business you’ve never been able to crack it here. I actually take more pride in beating you on Dynasty a week before Pain For Pride; knocking you off that ladder was child’s play but the illusion that you were ever a premier talent faded when I nabbed that last minute victory. You can consider it to be luck, Carlos. You can consider it to be seizing an opportunity and nothing more but the sad truth is that one moment defined our respective careers: I’m a man who seizes his opportunities and you’re a man who lets them slip through the cracks. Because how else do you explain last year’s miserable effort at Pain For Pride, huh? Carlos fucking Rosso in a main event match on the grandest stage for the title he’s fought so long, so hard to obtain. And your competition was what? Vic Vendetta and Aren Mstislav? You couldn’t beat two men who represent the lowest point the EAW Championship once reached? And somehow you have the audacity to question me, have the giant steel kahunas to tell me that I don’t deserve everything I have? You’re simply a myth that has never been nor will ever be a legend and that might be a bitter thought to process but even you must wake and realise that it’s true. Chances are not unlimited. The end of the string looms for everyone sooner or later and for you, Carlos, every time you fail to become the champion you think you can be, think you should be you hold your breath hoping there’s another inch to clamor to. No, I shouldn’t feel the need to question it...it’s all so clear in the words you speak. To say I don’t deserve this shows how grand your delusions have grown. In the two years since that one, single moment I’ve been World Champion twice. Since that moment I’ve gone from the same place you were knocked down to and rose back to claim the World Heavyweight Championship. In the time since I’ve earned my spot in the Hall of Fame, I’ve earned my place as one of the very best. Nobody questions what I have because everyone acknowledges and - much to their chagrin - respects what I have earned and what I have become. See you cling to that moment so you have some sense of relevance. Even if you’re merely a footnote as the man I knocked from a ladder all those years ago, it’s still far more recognition than you will ever receive.

But this isn’t 2015 anymore. This isn’t some young bloke skyrocketing up to the peak of the mountain. No, this is 2017 where the man who holds the World Heavyweight Championship has become one of the very best, undeniable best in this modern era. You can live in the past like you’ve always done, hold onto the bitterness that remains from that single moment but none of that is going to matter when reality sets in that you never have been nor ever will be close to my equal inside my ring. And you can try to claim some “veteran” advantage but it all pales in comparison to my raw skill. Call me undeserving, call me whatever you want but you cannot deny my greatness, the place I’ve earned and the place that I will fight until my knuckles are bloodied and exposed.

You should have retired. You should have faded away.

Because what I will do inside my chamber isn’t going to be worth one last shot at glory. Your feeble career crumbles in my hands once more.

A possible future is on show in the form of three men. As the men I rose to prominence ahead of fall back out of the spotlight - in some cases, retirement - a new era begins to slowly break the horizon. To be the leader, the recognisable face that defines a period of time, is competitive to say the least. All men rise up and try to claim it; it’s not through their actions more often than not but rather through words. They try to tempt us into believing their claims...by nothing more than the words that spill from their mouths and that is something I struggle to take with any serious tone. “I AM THE FUTURE! I AM THE FUTURE!” they scream until their voice grows hoarse; such brash confidence existing without merit, without true reason. A man is entitled to believe what he wishes, but like freedom of speech allows me to call someone a dumb cunt for their opinion, the same can be applied here - without weight, substance, legitimacy, your claims of being the future make you look like nothing more than a dumb cunt. There is all but a single method to claims becoming worthy of attention; you toil away. You dig and dig and dig, over and over and over again and you don’t make such grand, baseless claims - you stay humble, regardless of your characteristics, your personality. And over the course of several weeks I had the grand opportunity to see for myself the men who claim to be such a future, the men who believe in their heart of hearts that they can walk in the shoes of the all time greats. I saw...I felt potential. All three made their mark, they certainly did impress me. If this was at a later date, well, I would gladly pass the torch onto any of them. But that is not the reality we have. Three men walk into the fight of their lives and three men will be changed in some capacity; creating and destroying is what the hands of God do. And I’ve said that since the days where I carried the New Breed title to the greatest height it had ever seen, that has never been so true than this contest, this chamber. The chamber has made and broken more men than anyone can care to remember; the scars that don’t heal spell the end to many. Physically and mentally, destruction reigns supreme and the men who have been made under such difficult circumstances are greatly outnumbered. For weeks I had the chance to face these men. One by one, week to week, without the chamber, without outside influences, without the World Heavyweight Championship on the line. They challenged me, they pushed me and I walked away with newfound respect for this new emerging generation.

It was first the Raven.

You certainly proved your might, your raw strength was more than just talk. I questioned if the missed opportunities you watched pass you by for so long were a poor reflection, reasons for me to believe you were not worthy of being held in such high regard. That certainly rests on one end of the scale and that’s surely something you can’t hide from nor deny. But the scales rest balanced, equaled by just the mere fact you got those chances to begin with. To get them, time and time again, higher and higher on that proverbial ladder; do not fret the losses you accumulate nor the critics who believe your failed campaigns to become the New Breed and National Elite or Cash In The Vault...or World Heavyweight Champion. Just having those chances as soon as you have is an achievement of its own. We all break in some capacity though and for you, it’s the fact of defeat. No matter how hard you try, how well you may do, how grand those applauses might be the fact you lay defeated burns too much to take anything else out of it; anything positive rests at the bottom of the pile of ash called your effort. Defeat is something that you must accept. Defeat as a reason to improve, defeat as a reason to keep going. Being defeated gives one a lesson to learn and for you, a fledgling, lessons are vital. Defeat is an inevitable; champions rise and champions fall; every champion is bound to taste defeat, even that is something I’m not exclusive to. If defeat rests so heavily on your mind when you have nothing to lose, how does Lars Grier comprehend defeat when he loses everything? It’s a lesson learnt in time, perhaps one hastily sped up by walking out of the chamber with that unwanted tally mark. If there was anything I took away from our match on Voltage it was that breaking you isn’t something that can be done physically, no matter the threats I make or the promises to fulfil, that’s something that I doubt can be done. But how ironic is it, that a man that heralds himself as “The Raven” will be beaten mentally instead.

It was then the champion.

I held an immense amount of respect for you. I still do; there’s always going to be a level of it regardless of what is said and the actions we take. But my oh my, how quickly things have changed in such a short period of time, huh? You were a follower, following a man who just days ago was beaten bloodied and left on the figurative side of the road to rot. Your home now in ruins; so influenced by such weakness. I’ve never believed in men who clung to groups to succeed; a lack of resolve emerges as you expect your brothers and sisters in arms to be there for you in your hour of need, your most dire moments. What becomes of Amadeus now? A sheep without his shepherd. The road before you is certainly your’s to control - the turns you make no longer influenced by other people. The Sanatorium holds you down, to be honest. No man or woman has ever become great while under the guide of Diemos. The symbol of what is wrong with EAW, that’s what you called me, no? The man who bears the weight of everything that’s “wrong”, you couldn’t topple on Voltage. This symbol of everything you hate about the lay of the land didn’t crumble from the mountains into the valley below. A second chance, a new opportunity for your idealistic vision of what this place should be has arrived and I wonder without the shackles that once bound you, if your threats to topple me will grow in legitimacy. Shape the mountains that surround you, if you dare Amadeus, but what awaits you when the dust settles may not be worth the effort. Unbound us from the post the suits chain us and install your barbaric ways; you may believe it’s idealistic for you but when all men are shed of the weight of repercussion, Amadeus might find himself struggling to stand tall as the new symbol of Voltage, of EAW. Better the devil you know, right? You walk into the chamber with your vision before your eyes, gold wrapped around your waist already craving for more; confidence should litter your body. Breaking you will be a simple task; physically, proving that no matter how hard you fight, no matter how much you do, you will never be able to rise up and equal me in this business. Incapable of the strength to tear down everything you hate, everything you think is wrong with this business. For every man who took a middle of the pack championship and claimed he was the future, there’s ten more that did the same and failed. Perhaps you’re more akin to TLA; someday you will rise to the top of the card but truly you’re a small fish in a sea of sharks, a glorified mid-card champion with no right to be amongst men like me. It broke those men mentally when they faced such a harsh, cold truth and I ponder if defeat by my hands once more inside the chamber will result in the same outcome? Now free, will you be lost in the wilderness? Or forge your own path without restriction?

And finally, it was the killer.

The absolute ledge that has shot to contendership. A man without a list of accomplishments, much like Grier. But like Voltage, I would be a fool to underestimate you. Perhaps of the three, of all the men I’ve faced since Ground Zero, you gave me the greatest challenge. You stood up, tall and valiant and fought tooth and nail to push me to my limit. My limit still truly out of sight but the effort was commendable regardless. My belief that you are fit to reign over this business was cemented and while Voltage was a good showing, you need more for Road to Redemption. You need to dig deeper and find something greater than what you gave me on Voltage. I must apologise however. You wanted to see the best of Jamie O’Hara. I said I would grant you what you wanted but Voltage was never the time or place to do so. A lie I told, an empty promise that sits in a sea of many others. But despite my untruths, I hope I saw the best of Keelan Cetenich that night. I hope I saw the very best you had to offer not so I can sit here and belittle you in any capacity. It’s to tell you that you need MORE. You need to find MORE. Nothing would excite me more than watching you rip the title from my grasp, nothing would give me the satisfaction I crave in defeat more than watching you take your place as the face of a whole generation of talent. What I saw, what I felt was close...but not close enough. The potential runs deep, deeper than anyone else among you three fledglings; I don’t know if it’s my bias that makes me hope that you won’t end up like Carlos Rosso or TLA without true reason. I gave you credit for reaching this place then, like I did Lars tonight, without championships, without gold, without accomplishments; no matter how much I want to hope you won’t become a failure, there is a precedent set by your time here in EAW already. Breaking it is a tough task. When I stepped inside the chamber the first time I wasn’t given much of a chance. Not too many people believed I could thrive within it. And yet I walked out not just with my head held high but with the world’s eyes placed directly upon me and the grand expectation to rise to the place I stand today. I was not broken by this place and a year later I walked in and walked out champion. Last year I wasn’t broken in defeat, it motivated me to destroy the competition of the Dynasty side of the King of Elite tournament and it spurred me on to conquer everyone who stood in my way to becoming the World Heavyweight Champion. What you make of your experiences is up to you and there is no intent on breaking you, Keelan. I intend to break people because I love to see the misery that follows them. Breaking Carlos, TLA, Grier and Amadeus would fill me with joy to see their respective downward spirals but for you? I want you to learn. I want you to walk in the same shoes I did to reach this point, I want you to thrive like I did and not suffer. The bumps and the bruises will fade, the broken bones will heal with time.

The hands of God create and destroy. I will gladly create your career, Keelan.

All men are bound to a destiny that lingers before their eyes; like the carrot that taunts the donkey, our destinies drives us further and further. But the sad truth is not all see truth and reality before their eyes, just a fictitious reality born from their own desire. You all think your destiny is to become the World Heavyweight Champion; every challenger in this chamber, every challenger each time they step before me think it’s their destiny. For one, perhaps it will be. Perhaps your destiny is to take the reigns of this business and lead it; perhaps one of you will be immortalised. No, you’re all still mere fledglings in the grand scheme of things; still so low on the rungs of the proverbial ladder and despite how...insulting that may sound, that’s just reality. But this chamber...this chamber is an almighty chance to make your name worth something great - break away from the pack that still binds you, claim your greatness, your future. Walk among the steel and see the veil that covers your destiny be lifted; tested beyond imagination, every bone broken, every ounce of blood spilt. I am the gatekeeper to the future you all seek to claim; I am the one who breaks you to see if below your facades lies the true capacity, the capability to reign. Is it the Raven? The Killer? The Champ? Break beneath the weight of my greatness, crash your bodies against the steel and walk away from this hell with an invaluable lesson learnt.

I chase glory as if my life depends on it. If there’s something to claim - a record, an achievement, a legacy - then there’s little in this world that stands between me and conquering it. And this match carries more than just the selfish goals I have. The championship I hold in my hands has been carried by some of the greatest of all time; It’s a championship that has existed since the dawn of this company. The lows it has seen are masked well and truly by the consistent highs and I will not allow it to fall to another low; it will not be a blight I carry, it will not be a stain that I wear. To be the best, you must beat the best and in this chamber, I’m quite certainly the best; this belt isn’t handed, it isn’t a trophy handed around for merely participating at the pinnacle. And I’ll be fucking damned if it a day comes where the World Heavyweight Championship falls to complete irrelevance, such mockery. This title needs me but more importantly, Voltage needs me. Voltage needs a King who can represent it against the best - it needs a champion that isn’t considered a joke in comparison. A Voltage without Jamie O’Hara at the top is a brand barely a scratch above NEO; a lowly level of mediocrity. And is there anyone better? Anyone better suited than me? A premature arrival of a future will leave it in tatters; they will not thrive in such a world. Carlos Rosso? A has been who never truly was. And then there’s TLA, the most “likely” man to carry this brand. A fucking joke who isn’t going to be taken seriously by anyone else on any other brand. People can have their grand disdain for me; they can be bitter, they can be...well...salty. I stand tall as the pride of Voltage, the heart, the soul - IT’S FUCKING PULSE - and nobody is going to rip away my legacy; nobody is going to stand as an obstacle between me and the glory I have worked so hard for so fucking long to obtain.

Step forth into my chamber. Step in my hell.

Fall to your fucking knees.

And hail the almighty.