When they came of age, three little pigs set out into the world to seek their fortunes.
Each pig’s work ethic determined the quality of the shelter they built.
The first little pig was lazy, building his house out of straw.
The second little pig tried hard but lacked insight, building his house out of sticks.
The third little pig worked hard all day, every day and drew on his experiences to build a strong brick house.
And sure enough when a big bad wolf came strolling down the street and caught a whiff of bacon, he huffed and puffed and blew the straw and stick houses right down, sending the first two pigs scrambling to the third pig’s stronghold.
Then when the wolf couldn’t blow down the third pig’s brick house, he climbed down its fiery chimney to his fate.
Wolfie was cooked for supper.
Sir Bellator, Sir Gable, and I have fought together in this war we made here in OSW.
Sir Vant channeled our faith into a force the likes of which the Slaughterhouse has never seen before.
But tonight, we three knights of Vayikra shall set out individually to seek our own fortune at FTW.
And when we clash in the ring, it is our own faith that will determine our fate.
If it weren’t for me, Sanctus, the mask you’d be wearing right now would be that of Legion. Your lazy mistakes would have taken you down a much darker path.
Had you continued to call upon and serve Yahweh as you had before Vayikra, you surely would have ended up consumed by that wolf’s mask.
And Cael, oh how you fell from grace. You worked your whole life to attain that gold medal of yours.
Your family’s support and your faith in Yahweh took you to the pinnacle for you only to walk the plank off that summit, lusting for more gold with pirate heathens.
You may have slain the Nekken, but committing that unforgivable sin shattered your soul.
I am God’s greatest warrior.
Unlike Sanctus I’ve fought every day for Yahweh, building my faith brick by brick like a fortress inside me. Your straw faith was blown away by the big, bad Impaler.
And unlike Cael I’m too strong and unwavering for the devil to break me down. Your faith cracked like twigs the moment you murdered Israel Grimwolf.
When your faith crumbled, both of you came running to me for sanctuary from Satan himself.
For my faith is made of brick.
Phineas Moody tried to break down my walls, and when he infiltrated my chimney he ended up cooked and served on a wooden, cross-shaped platter as a feast offering.
We are Yahweh’s shepherds, and this is our last supper.
I urge you to build your faith as I have built mine.
For judgment is upon us, brothers, and Yahweh will only the bring the best of us with him to heaven.
But be wary of the wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Or should I say, in a sheep’s mask.
Only I promise I won’t eat you both for dinner—I’ll just blow your fragile houses down.
Deus vult.