A dimly lit warehouse near the Montréal docks, where fog creeps like vipers across the concrete. The camera pans slowly to reveal a man seated in a vintage leather armchair — black gloves folded neatly on his lap, his legs crossed in contemplative ease. Oswald Knight, better known to some as “Mr. Penguin,” wears a three-piece midnight blue suit, tailored to cut his narrow frame with precision. A single spotlight burns above his head, casting stark shadows that dance on his angular face. His voice, when it arrives, is deliberate. Calm. Like a storm cloud teasing thunder.
OSWALD KNIGHT:
(tilting his head, mockingly inquisitive)
"Tell me, cher public... have you ever seen a glacier move? Slow, yes. Icy. Indifferent. But when it comes... oh, when it moves... it reshapes continents. Destroys dynasties. And unlike fire, it doesn’t rage. It calculates."
(smirking)
"That, my darlings, is me. The so-called ‘Mr. Penguin.’ No feathers, no waddling. Just the storm you didn't notice until your kingdom was underwater."
(pauses, removes gloves slowly)
"Now, Friday Night Clash looms like a scythe over the wheat fields. And I, your friendly neighborhood anomaly, stand poised to do what I do best: reintroduce reality to fantasy."
(leans forward, voice low and smooth)
"Let’s speak plainly. There’s gold on the line. The Youngblood Championship. And three figures step into the chessboard—each one claiming to be the future of this empire. One, a bolt from heaven. The other, a riddle in flesh. And me? I’m the one who lets lightning strike… and who melts the myth of gods with truth."
ON LIGHTNING MAN
(taps temple with one gloved finger, sneering playfully)
"Ah, Lightning Man. The Hero of the Hood. The caped conundrum in latex and legacy. They love you, don’t they? The audience, I mean. The children scream your name. The commentators wet themselves on cue. You’re the antithesis to everything I represent, mon frère. While you leap and dazzle, I calculate. While you flash your bright blue bravado, I draw the map to your demise in chalk and venom."
(sighs, mock disappointed)
"But heroism… oh, it’s so exhausting. You’re always running in, saving the day, no questions asked. And that’s your fatal flaw, isn’t it? You never ask questions. You never stop to consider what lies in the silence after applause. You don’t think, Lightning. You react. And me? I’m not a storm to be outpaced. I’m the reason the sky cracks in the first place."
(voice turns sharp, surgical)
"I don’t need to beat your body, mon ami. I just need to outthink your soul."
ON “THE SPHINX” DRAKE NYGMA
(chuckles, tongue clicks)
"And then… there’s him. The riddle carved in onyx. The Oracle with fists. The vessel of Akhenaten—Drake Nygma, The Sphinx."
(smile fades into a thin line)
"You terrify them. Not me. You worship a forgotten god. I play chess with the ones who claim to be gods."
(rising from the chair, voice colder now)
"You believe in destiny, don’t you, Drake? In some divine path pre-written in papyrus and blood. But destiny is the drug of the desperate. It comforts the ones who are too frightened to choose."
(walks toward the camera, steps light but echoing)
"You think I’m an obstacle on your path to some golden ascension. But allow me to correct the record: you are merely one more piece of ancient history I’ll file away beneath my boots. Your name will join the others in the tomb of the ‘almosts.’"
(hushed voice, mocking reverence)
"The Sphinx falls not by sword, not by spear… but by strategy. And I am the answer to your riddle."
OSWALD KNIGHT’S PHILOSOPHY
(returning to the spotlight, arms out like a maestro)
"Understand this, mes petites fourmis. I’m not a villain. I’m not a hero. I’m the storm. Unaffiliated. Unapologetic. Unrepentant."
(grinning)
"My moves are ballet. My mind, a labyrinth. I weigh 143 pounds of precision. 22 years of being underestimated. Of being called ‘too soft,’ ‘too strange,’ ‘too small.’ And now? Now I’m the problem they didn’t see coming because they never bothered to look."
(voice building, like a whisper about to crack into thunder)
"You want violence? I’ll show you elegant annihilation. You want heart? Mine pumps liquid ice and ambition. I don’t fight for honor or vengeance. I fight because the game demands a player who knows how to win."
CLOSING MONOLOGUE
(dons his gloves again, slowly, dramatically)
"Friday Night Clash. The wind howls. The lightning crackles. And the riddle speaks. But amidst it all... the Penguin glides silently beneath the surface. Planning. Watching. Waiting."
(turns to the camera fully, eyes glinting)
"I will not promise pain. I will not promise glory. I promise proof. Proof that the storm you ignored has a name. Oswald Knight. And when the ring is cleared of sparks and dust and riddles?"
(smiling wickedly)
"Only the ice will remain."
(bows his head once, sharply)
"Bonne chance, gentlemen. You’ll need it."
[Camera fades to black. The haunting piano of “Deep End” by Ruelle begins to play. The image of a chessboard slowly fills the screen — Lightning Man’s mask shattered on one square, and a golden ankh crushed on another. In the center? A black-and-white umbrella, standing upright. Alone. Victorious.]
Scene: The Iceberg Lounge
Time: 1:37 a.m.
Location: Oswald Knight’s private mezzanine booth, velvet-rope secured and bathed in the low, icy glow of aquamarine chandeliers. The sounds of clinking glasses and moody jazz slink through the air like smoke. Outside the frost-laced windows, the St. Lawrence River gleams beneath the moonlight. Oswald Knight — Mr. Penguin himself — sits at a circular table alone, a lowball of something dark and aged in one hand, a black notebook in the other.
The booth is sleek, shadowed. His chair, a throne disguised as furniture, high-backed and upholstered in midnight blue velvet. A raven feather rests on the table beside him — a memento or warning, hard to say.
He exhales slowly through his nose and speaks aloud, but to no one in particular.
OSWALD KNIGHT:
(staring out the frosted window, swirling his drink)
"You know what they never tell you about success, cher lecteur?"
(pauses, turns slightly, one eyebrow raised)
"It’s quiet. Not the kind of quiet you get in a library or an empty house. No. It’s the silence that comes after a bomb. When there’s no more screaming, only dust. That kind of quiet."
(sips, smacks lips thoughtfully)
"Here I sit, atop my little frozen empire. The Iceberg Lounge... criminal cocktail lounge to some, neutral ground for warlords to others. Home to me."
(leans back, tilts head lazily)
"And yet, the past always finds its way in. Like a crack in the glass letting the cold seep through. And his name… is August Knight."
ON AUGUST KNIGHT
(his voice turns metallic, lower)
"My brother. My mirror image, if mirrors lied through their teeth. Born stronger, faster, louder. The first to charm a room, the first to throw a punch, the first to be loved."
(hands curl slightly on the glass)
"And me? I was the afterthought. The shade in the corner. The ‘spare Knight,’ as they called me in the barracks of life. Always one step behind August. Always cleaning up his messes. Always the one who learned while he bled."
(glances at the feather, voice icy)
"And now? Now he plays hero. A man who once bathed in blood and bourbon, now cloaked in righteousness. He wages his own war against the underworld — and makes me the villain in his delusions."
(snickers)
"But I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t choose to be his foil. He made me that way. When he cast me out. When he burned my name in every city that dared to know it. I was meant to disappear. Instead... I evolved."
ON THE UNDERWORLD
(speaks with relish, like savoring a favorite dish)
"The criminal underworld... ah, it's not unlike a jungle, oui? The loud ones die first. The flashy ones burn out. But the ones who wait, who observe — they inherit it all."
(smooths the lapel of his tailored suit)
"I never wanted the crown. But it fell to me because I understood the rules. I didn’t fight like a brute. I negotiated like a serpent in a silk tie. I didn’t conquer by power... I outlived."
(sips again, eyes narrowing)
"My operations run from here to Vancouver. Imports. Exports. Secrets. Leverage. I built this empire not on loyalty, but on predictability. People crave chaos... but they’ll pay for consistency."
ON DESTINY AND DUALITY
(lights a clove cigarette with a slow flick)
"Some would say August is the light and I the dark. But that's far too romantic. No, no. He is fire. Blinding. Dangerous. Short-lived."
(leans forward, eyes sharp as glass)
"And me? I am ice. I wait. I kill slowly. I preserve everything he destroys. I am not your villain. I am your alternative."
(puffs, smoke curling like a serpent above his head)
"August wants to end the underworld. I simply wish to understand it."
ON THE FUTURE
(sighs, setting the drink down)
"The Youngblood Championship looms. My feud with Lightning Man simmers. The Sphinx haunts the edges of mythology and mortality. But none of them—none—carry the weight August Knight does on my shoulders."
(speaks quieter, softer, but with a blade's edge)
"I can beat gods, heroes, and riddles. But blood? That’s harder. That’s trickier. That... festers."
(a beat of silence, then a small, amused laugh)
"But perhaps one day, when the wind howls right and the rivers freeze just so, he’ll come through that door, sit across this table, and finally ask me why."
(grins wide)
"And when he does? I won’t answer. Because the past doesn’t deserve closure. It deserves consequence."
[He rises slowly from his seat, picking up the raven feather and sliding it into his pocket.]
OSWALD KNIGHT:
"Enough reminiscing. There’s a title to take, a riddle to solve, and a bolt of lightning to bottle."
(pauses at the curtain, looking back over his shoulder)
"And August, wherever you are... know this: I didn’t become Mr. Penguin in spite of you."
(smiles faintly)
"I became him because of you."
Part One: Flashback – “Where the Magpies Sing”
Setting: Perth, Western Australia – 12 years ago.
The sun is brutal. The air, dry and humming with cicadas. A rusted-out playground sits behind a faded community center, surrounded by red dust and eucalyptus trees.
Young Oswald Knight, 10 years old, is perched alone on the monkey bars. His legs swing idly, and there’s a deep bruise on his cheek. His school uniform is crumpled, torn at the sleeve. The laughter of other boys echoes faintly — none of them his.
Across the field, 16-year-old August Knight stands like a sculpture made of sun and sinew. Taller, broader, all muscle and charisma even then, August is sparring with two older teens, effortlessly predicting their movements and disarming them with sharp grace. He wins easily. Again. And again. And again.
Oswald watches. Not with admiration — with calculation.
August approaches.
AUGUST (young, cocky):
"You gonna sit there like a goose or actually come train for once?"
OSWALD (quietly):
"I don’t fight. I learn."
August snorts, pulling a rag from his back pocket to wipe sweat from his brow.
AUGUST:
"Learning doesn’t stop you getting your face kicked in."
OSWALD:
"Neither does copying every move someone else throws at you."
That gets August’s attention. He turns, eyes narrowing just slightly.
AUGUST:
"You saying you could beat me, Ozzie?"
OSWALD:
"Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday? I won’t have to."
AUGUST (laughs):
"Yeah? Why’s that?"
Oswald hops down from the bars, brushing red dirt from his pants.
OSWALD (cold):
"Because by then, I’ll have the whole world fighting for me."
He walks away, barefoot in the dust, leaving his brother standing in the sun.
Part Two: Present Day – “Brothers at the End of the World”
Setting: Iceberg Lounge, Oswald’s private booth. The club is empty. Closed for ‘maintenance.’ Thunder rumbles faintly outside, despite the clear sky.
Oswald Knight sits with his back to the door, fingers steepled, gazing out at the frozen river. His suit is impeccable. His posture, relaxed—but only by design.
AUGUST KNIGHT enters.
Dressed in tactical blacks, a utility belt clipped at his waist, and a long coat dusted with frost. His hair is shorter now. His face lined with responsibility. But his presence? Still solar.
OSWALD (without turning):
"I wondered how long it would take before the storm brought you back to my door."
AUGUST (firm):
"This isn’t a visit. It’s a warning."
OSWALD:
"Ooooh—how heroic. Still quoting your little Saturday morning codebook, brother?"
(August steps forward. They’re ten feet apart now.)
AUGUST:
"Drake Nygma is not just some ghost you can outplay. The Sphinx is a conduit for something ancient. And Lightning Man’s got the heart of a thousand fans behind him."
OSWALD (turns slowly, voice sharp as ice):
"And I have me."
(beat)
"I don’t need gods, ghosts, or groupies. I don’t need fans to cheer, or smoke to vanish into. I am not a symbol, August—I am a force. One that doesn’t ask permission before it reshapes the world."
(August stiffens.)
AUGUST
"You’ve wrapped yourself in this cold empire like it makes you untouchable. But I know you, Ozzie. I know the boy who used to break his own fingers to fake injuries and skip gym."
OSWALD (lowers gaze, a flicker of rage):
"And I know the brother who let him."
(A tense silence. The only sound is the hum of the frost generators.)
AUGUST:
"You don’t have to be this. You don’t have to be him. Let the title go. Walk away from the Clash."
OSWALD (smirks):
"And hand it to you? Or your costumed comrade? No, no, no. You see, that’s the difference between us, August. You hope the world can be saved. I know it can’t. So I plan for it. I adapt. And I take everything I can before the clock runs out."
(August steps closer now, within striking range.)
AUGUST:
"You’re smarter than this."
OSWALD (smile turns cold):
"I’m smarter because of this."
(They lock eyes. The world seems to stop.)
AUGUST:
"Then I’ll see you in the ring."
OSWALD:
"No, brother. You’ll see me above it."
[The lights flicker. A spotlight hits Oswald as he rises, arms outstretched like a conductor before an orchestra of chaos. August stands, unmoving, his silhouette etched in thunder.]
And so it is:
The storm brews.
The past festers.
And the Clash?
Will be biblical.
Fan reactions
🦂 THE SPHINX (Neutral Evil)
“A conduit of Akhenaten. Undefeated. Unfathomable. He speaks in riddles, bleeds black sand, and hasn’t blinked in 7 months.”
Wrestling Twitter/X:
🧵@CultOfTheObelisk:
The Sphinx is less a wrestler and more a cosmic inevitability. You don’t fight him—you just delay your end. #RoninRumble #AkhenatenHasRisen
@KayfabeKween13:
The Sphinx scares me and turns me on and I think that’s how cults start.
@SuplexAndSuffering:
if the lights go out during Clash I’m leaving. I'm not fighting a Pharaoh for my soul on a Friday night.
Tumblr:
❝ every time he speaks it’s like he's vibrating on an ancient plane. i saw my past lives in his entrance pyro. ❞
#TheSphinx #drake nygma #divine horror #neutral evil rights
Reddit (r/HRWFandom):
u/BloodsandDreams:
Theory: The Sphinx isn’t human. Every match, his opponents seem drained—like actually physically and spiritually depleted.
⚡️ LIGHTNING MAN (Neutral Good)
“The masked enigma. A streak of thunder in a dying world. The people’s hero, but no one truly knows who he is underneath.”
Wrestling Twitter/X:
@ThunderingHeart:
Lightning Man is what would happen if Spider-Man was raised in Lucha Underground and trained by Batman. 🫡⚡️#YoungbloodChamp #HeroInTheDark
@PopcornJustice:
I KNOW he’s good but like… how does his mask never move??? Is it grafted to his soul???
@RealHeelSkeeter:
look i’m not sayin Lightning Man is a time traveler but i am sayin he moves like he's seen the end of days and chose to dance anyway
Tumblr:
❝ the way he hesitates before delivering a finisher, like he’s weighing every life he’s ever saved. ❞
#lightning man #the masked myth #soft boi with hands #neutral good excellence
Reddit (r/UOWFandom):
u/TheBoltReturns:
I don't think Lightning Man wants to be champion. I think he has to be. Big “guardian at the gates of hell” vibes. He’ll protect you—but he won’t smile doing it.
🐧 OSWALD KNIGHT / MR. PENGUIN (True Neutral)
“The Iceberg Strategist. A master tactician with no loyalty but to the game itself. He’ll shake your hand or slit your throat—depends on the weather.”
Wrestling Twitter/X:
@FrostbittenFangirl:
Oswald Knight is what would happen if Moriarty did ballet in the air and owned a speakeasy. I fear him. I love him. I have... complicated feelings.
@HeelPenguinTruth:
No one plays the long game like Mr. Penguin. He’s 65kg of absolute psychological terrorism.
@SlipperyWhenWet:
Oswald has that “I’ll fake cry at your funeral then steal the urn” energy. And I respect that. #TrueNeutralChaos
Tumblr:
❝ he's not good. he's not evil. he’s the concept of “checkmate” in human form. ❞
#mr penguin #oswald knight #true neutral supremacy #you think he's cold but he's FIRE beneath glass
Reddit (r/fUOWandom):
u/IcebergMafia:
Oswald is the perfect middle. Not in-between. Not indecisive. But perfectly, calculatedly neutral. Like if an AI learned ring psychology and had unresolved family trauma.
u/DefinitelyNotOswald:
Did he just quote “Macbeth” during that backstage promo?? And then do a 450 splash?? This man’s alignment is “AP Literature But Horny.”
🧵 FAN POLL: WHO WALKS OUT YOUNGBLOOD CHAMP?
@HRWOfficialPolls:
🔥WHO’S YOUR PICK FOR FRIDAY NIGHT CLASH?🔥
🦂 The Sphinx - The Eternal Champion
⚡ Lightning Man - The People’s Thunder
🐧 Mr. Penguin - The Iceberg Incarnate
VOTE NOW! 🗳️
Top Comment:
@DoomsdayDiva:
This ain’t just a title match. This is a god, a ghost, and a greedy gremlin walking into a ring with a loaded chessboard and no rules.
🐧 FANCAMS: MR. PENGUIN EDITS THAT GO WAY TOO HARD
🎥 “ICE COLD”
🎵 “Wicked Games” – The Weeknd
Mood: Smoking in a velvet armchair while plotting the downfall of the sun.
Visuals: Oswald stepping into the fog on his entrance, slow-motion smirk, removing his gloves with unholy precision. The finisher (“Poor Ignorant Souls”) hits in beat drop.
Top comment:
🧊@StrategicSadism:
“He has the aura of a villain who would kiss you once then vanish for seven years and come back with a war plan.”
🎥 “CALCULATED VIOLENCE”
🎵 “MONTERO” – Lil Nas X
Mood: Weaponized bisexuality in crime boss form.
Visuals: Mr. Penguin flipping mid-air, throwing an icy glare post-match, licking a paper cut while bleeding from the mouth. Every frame is pure drama.
Top comment:
🐧@ColdAndChaotic:
“He’s not even real and he still ruined my life.”
💥 CHAOTIC SHIPPER DISCOURSE 💥
🔥 PENGUBOLT (Oswald Knight × Lightning Man)
“Enemies to rivals to emotionally stunted situationship where they duel with poetry and fists under moonlight.”
Tumblr posts include:
“Lightning Man would tie him to a rooftop in a thunderstorm and Oswald would be like ‘finally, attention.’”
“They fight like divorced immortals who still secretly leave notes for each other in Latin.”
AO3 tags spotted:
#mutual mask kink
#enemies with matching scars
#he electrocuted me and i liked it
Twitter/X excerpt: @OsBoltMutuals:
Oswald: breathes
Lightning Man: “Shut the hell up” (respectfully)
Me: writing a 60k slow burn about their hands brushing mid-battle
🧊 FROSTBITE (Oswald × The Sphinx)
“Cold versus ancient. The Penguin versus the Pyramid. Powerplay that would leave them both psychologically wrecked.”
Tumblr insanity includes:
“They’ve never even touched and yet I’m convinced they’ve astrally fucked during a solar eclipse.”
“What if Oswald is the only one who understands his riddles? What if the Sphinx only speaks to him???”
AO3 tags:
#telepathic foreplay
#riddle me harder
#true neutral gets corrupted
Reddit fan theory:
u/IcebergHighPriestess:
“Hear me out—Oswald is the reincarnated high priest who betrayed Akhenaten in a past life. The Sphinx remembers. That’s why he won’t kill him.”
🧵 LIVE TWITTER/X THREAD: “THE FIGHT, THE FLIRT, THE PHARAOH”
@ClashCommentaryQueen
8:02PM
AND WE’RE LIVE!!!
The lights just cut out. The Sphinx is hovering. Oswald hasn’t blinked. Lightning Man already did a backflip just to enter.
This isn’t wrestling. This is cosmic theatre.
@HeelHungry69
8:06PM
oswald just smirked at lightning man and mouthed “try not to embarrass yourself” and lightning man did a cartwheel kick that missed on purpose. i can’t breathe.
@SoftlySupine
8:09PM
Lightning Man and Oswald are fighting like divorced parents who still share a dog. There is tension. There is history. There are lawsuits.
@PenguinThirstAcc
8:13PM
Oswald just hit Poor Ignorant Souls ON THE SPHINX and then winked at Lightning Man.
Lightning man responded by hurling him over the ropes and then standing there like 🧍
Fellas is it gay to have ritual combat with unspoken romantic energy
@TheAkhenatenAccount
8:16PM
Sphinx is no-selling everything like pain is a suggestion and gravity’s a rumor.
Meanwhile the other two are flirting and fighting like “Mr & Mr. Smith”
@BoltForDays
8:20PM
Oswald: flips Lightning Man into a spinebuster mid-air like a goddamn swan assassin
Lightning Man: “Nice form, Penguin. Shame about your personality.”
Oswald: “Aww. Careful or I might start thinking you’re sweet on me.”
THE AUDIENCE: 😭😭😭😭😭
@FrostbiteFics
8:24PM
Petition to lock Oswald and Lightning in a haunted hotel with one bed, no phones, and a history of repressed feelings.
@ThirstyForThunder
8:30PM
someone PLEASE explain why this fight feels like the plot of a romcom directed by Guillermo del Toro
#Clash2025 #YoungbloodTripleThreat
📩 “LEAKED” DMs: Oswald Knight × Lightning Man
@AnonymousSourceFangirl
leaked DMs between Lightning Man and Oswald Knight. they hate each other. they also DEFINITELY text like this. 💀
[Private DM Thread]
🧊 @OswaldK
Just watched your last promo.
You do realize your entire brand is glitter and trauma, yes?
⚡ @BoltStrikeX
Better than your brand: “Bird-themed villain with a superiority complex and unresolved daddy issues.”
🧊
Touché.
But I land better aerials.
And my cape doesn’t smell like anxiety.
⚡
You say “better aerials” like you didn’t eat mat last week trying to out-fly me.
Also: it’s not anxiety. It’s justice. And maybe a little lavender oil.
🧊
Cute.
Keep talking. You might distract me long enough to win for once.
⚡
You’d like that, wouldn’t you?
🧊
Wouldn’t hate it.
⚡
Are we fighting or flirting?
🧊
That’s always been your problem.
You can’t tell the difference.
@ShippersInTheAbyss
I AM GOING TO SOB. That is ENEMIES TO LOVERS TO STILL ENEMIES BUT NOW THEY OCCASIONALLY CUDDLE.
@BoltAndBirdFan13
“It’s justice. And maybe a little lavender oil.”
OSWALD IS GONE. HE’S NEVER COMING BACK. HE’S IN LOVE.
💥 FAN ANALYSIS THREADS: "Oswald HATES him... or does he??" 🧵
🧵 @QueerInTheClash
“Why Oswald Knight’s Hatred Toward Lightning Man is Actually Queer Asexual Bisexual Longing (An Iceberg Theory)”
Let’s unpack the psychological and romantic tension of the most emotionally constipated rivalry in UOW.
Oswald Knight is canonically a control-obsessed strategist. He doesn’t let anyone get under his skin.
Except Lightning Man.
The man flips once and Oswald’s whole face does that tight-jawed little jaw clench thing. 👀
Asexuality ≠ lack of intimacy or attraction. Oswald constantly pushes Lightning away while keeping him close.
He insults him with poetic flourish.
He flips him mid-air like it’s a dance.
And he never actually tries to injure him.
Bisexual chaos: Oswald calling Lightning Man a “walking neon tantrum” and then glancing at him for a full six seconds during that backstage interview.
Repressed feelings? Mutual fascination? Liminal queer pining? It’s all there.
LIGHTNING MAN CALLED HIM “PENGUIN PIE” IN A MIC’D UP SEGMENT.
That is not heterosexual behavior.
That is flirty vigilante energy aimed at a bisexual criminal mastermind trying not to blush on national TV.
People say Oswald is “too cold” for romance.
I say: he feels too much, and Lightning Man is the only one who throws off his balance.
Asexual doesn’t mean unfeeling—it means Oswald wants to connect his way, in his own confusing storm of ice and intellect.
TL;DR:
Oswald Knight is an asexual bisexual disaster with a slow-burn fixation on Lightning Man.
And Lightning knows it.
And we’re all just witnesses to their 12-season-long queer rivalry arc.
#OsBolt #BirdBolt #UOWChaosShips #AspecOswald
💬 REPLIES:
@ThirstInNeutral:
“They’re wrestling but it feels like a first date in hell. I love them your honor.”
@AceKingOswald:
“Oswald when Lightning Man flips over him: 😐
Oswald when Lightning Man compliments his strategy: 😳🫨”
@ShipOrGetStruck:
“Lightning is like a golden retriever with lightning powers and Oswald is the cat who hates dogs but keeps sitting beside them anyway.”
@LiminalAces:
“As an ace person myself, the tension Oswald gives off when Lightning is too close is SO REAL. He’s not repulsed. He’s overwhelmed. And I see him.”
🧊 Oswald Knight – Final Thoughts Before the Bell Rings
The lights will come down. The crowd will rise. They'll scream for divinity and lightning.
And me?
I'll be waiting.
Not with fire. Not with brute force. Not with delusions of grandeur carved in gold. No, I come with something far more dangerous.
Clarity.
You see, they all get so caught up in their chaos. The Sphinx, with his riddles and illusions of godhood. Lightning Man, with his fists full of justice and his heart too big for his mask to contain. They make noise. They burn bright. They want so desperately to mean something.
I don’t. I only want to win.
Because for someone like me—someone who doesn’t burn, doesn’t crave touch like others do, someone who learned long ago that intimacy isn’t always skin-deep—victory is its own kind of closeness. Cold. Precise. Satisfying.
They mistake my calm for emptiness.
They’re wrong.
Inside this chest is not a void—it’s a storm measured in angles, in steps ahead, in meticulously placed pressure points. I don’t need your warmth to matter. I don’t need connection in the way they do. I don’t need to feel you to beat you. I only need to read you.
And Lightning… oh, Lightning. You’ll try to provoke me again, won’t you? You always do. With your clever little jabs, with that voice too confident, too close. As if you’re trying to get under my skin. As if you think there’s still something soft in there.
Maybe there is. Maybe I keep it buried under six feet of frost and strategy. Maybe I only let it out when no one’s looking, especially not you.
But it won’t matter tonight.
Tonight, I’m not the man you think you know. I’m not the boy you grew up trading moves with in the backyard. I’m not the fool who hesitates when your fingers brush too close to mine in the clinch.
Tonight, I am the moment you look up and realize the match has already been won.
Before the bell. Before the breath.
Before the thought ever crossed your mind.
And when it’s over? When the lights come back on and the crowd screams your name or his or neither?
I’ll walk out the same way I came in.
Silent. Calculated. Alone.
But victorious.
And that... is enough.