In Loving Memory

[Will]

OOC: Good Luck Cat! Sorry about the lack of effort. I had one hell of a week. The holidays are soooo hectic.

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AJ Styles was left lying face first in the ring corner. He was no longer EBWF Path to Glory Champion. He was not the EBWF World Champion. Over the summer Styles was pushed as the company's top heel, following the conclusion of Dean Ambrose's storyline as Champion. By the time he met one on one with Randy Orton he proved to be a credible challenger to the World Championship. The build to the match didn't take long with Styles trading in his PTG title for a shot at the World title. Not in a traditional one fall to a finish, but a submission match, that played into the Survivor Series theme.

Mike Chioda: AJ, are you okay? Do I need to call the trainers out here?

Styles responded to the senior referee by rolling out the ring to a vertical base. He looked out at the fans who were still watching him even though the Pay Per View had just gone off the air. He wasn't in too much pain after the physically enduring match, walking up the entrance ramp towards the curtain. There was a small standing ovation for the phenomenal one from the hardcore fans in attendance. Styles didn't acknowledge it and made a quick exit to the backstage area.

Michael Cole: Hey AJ, do you mind if I get a quick interview for ebwf.net?

He had barely made it from the guerrilla and Cole was already trying to make a move. Styles however didn't oblige, ignoring Cole completely. After expeditiously making it to his locker room he barricaded himself in by sitting up against the door. He was not in the mood to answer any questions, because he had too many of his own. What did he do now, with a month left in his contract? He was not a champion and from the looks of it he was out of the title contention after putting Orton over clean. Could there be any possibility to secure the top spot on the roster again? Rubbing his fingers through his sweaty black hair Styles knew that only time would tell.

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Two weeks had passed and AJ Styles was back better than ever. He hit the gym constantly making sure he was in peak condition. His next opponent was a man he had met once before, Dean Ambrose. This was Styles' shot to gain another opportunity at the Championship. If he could somehow knock off Ambrose he could be a shoe in to face Orton at the Christmas Eve of Destruction event. AJ Styles appeared on the viewers screen in a very dark setting. Clocked entirely in black, Styles looked like a biker who hung out in the local bar. As the camera got a better view of the background, tombstones were noticeable and it look like AJ was wielding a machete as he marched through the field of rotting corpses.

AJ Styles: Dean Ambrose. Our paths reunite us once again. In the past I've got the better of you, you've got the better of me, but all of that is irrelevant at the moment. We are both different since the last time we met. You were this young hungry buck who survived in this land. You were aggressive, witty, lucky. You had it all going for yourself. Nowadays, I wouldn't say its the same. You got your quick fix and then you just rolled over and died. You were actually this close to destroying this company. I'm kinda jealous. See, when we last met I was this god fearing, righteous human being. Now, I just have no fucking morals. Let me ask you something, Dean. Do you fear death?

There was a silence as Styles approached a freshly dug grave. The camera got a good glimpse of the head stone which read...

AJ Styles: In loving memory of Dean Ambrose. Does that frighten you? You walk this sorta walk and talk this sorta talk as if you're ready to meet your demise at any second. I personally don't think you're about that life Dean. I think you do it all for attention. Not from the people though, I think Dean has daddy issues. Some rich kid who is only rebellious because he was invisible to everyone around him and nobody gave a shit about his existence. Well I would like to give you a news flash Dean, nobody still doesn't give a shit about you. Your fifteen minutes of fame has run it's corse and now it's time for you to fade into obscurity. Don't worry, I got you covered. This grave here is my gift to you. Roll over and die, Dean.

Styles threw the edged weapon into the six feet grave and looked into the camera with a sinister stare.