TODD: What a night so far, Bama? And up next? The battle for the most coveted prize on Anarchy… Our brand’s championship is on the line as Marisol Vilaro challenges the alleged ‘Micheal Graves.
BAMA: And Mari baby sounded very confident heading into this one. Who can blame her? Baby girl been blowing up like a firework!
TODD: Indeed, impressing in a very close contest with Solomon Kline to earn this opportunity here tonight.
BAMA: But against one of the, if not THE greatest Anarchy Champion of all time, THE Micheal GRAVY BABY??
TODD: THE Micheal Graves is likely dead, Bama.
BAMA: I don’t believe it for one second, Toddy. Until that man walks over to me and tells me he’s anyone other than Gravy-baby.
TODD: Well, believe what you will, but what’s indisputable is that our Anarchy Champion has been unstoppable since capturing the belt last September. And tonight, we’ll find out if the queen of VilaroFit has the right program to knock him off!
The sythinzied beat of Shake it Off By Taylor Swift begins to play over the public address system, as the opening lyrics soon begin, as the fans boo and flashes going off, people are waiting for the arrival of the Fitness Queen herself.
I stay out too late
Got nothing in my brain
That's what people say, mm-mm
That's what people say, mm-mm
As a spotlight is on the entrance ramp and the lights dim, first stepping out is none other than the legendary Snarktopus Nessa Wall, who smiles brightly before trash talking the fans as she smiles, before ordering a couple of stage hands to come out they each have a mirror in hand they face the entrance ramp, as soon out from the back steps La Marvillosa herself Marisol Vilaro.
I go on too many dates
But I can't make 'em stay
At least that's what people say, mm-mm
That's what people say, mm-mm
Marisol stops to admire herself in each mirror posing and showing off, what her hard work has given her and mouthing about how she’s the inspiration these out-of-shape people need. After a few moments of posing she brushes right past, giving her manager/mentor a hug before they head off with Nessa leading the way taking the time to give the fans at ringside a hard time for even trying to touch them.
But I keep cruisin'
Can't stop, won't stop movin'
It's like I got this music in my mind
Sayin' it's gonna be alright
Marisol herself takes the time to pose some more showing off her muscle, and trying to sell them on the VilaroFit mission, and how they need it to improve themselves, As the devious duo soon make their way toward the ring side area Nessa soon goes up the ring steps and takes the time to bark orders at the referee, showing him exactly how lower the ropes for herself, and her client, after being lectured by the Ambitchous one, the referee complies doing it exactly as Nessa demanded enters the ring and motions for Marisol to go up the steps, as she climbs up the steps she takes each moment to keep shilling her products, which doesn’t endear her to the fans, as she soon enters the ring under the rope and soon she rudely brushes past the referee as Nessa presents her to the booing fans as she raises her arms high in the air soaking in the boos, and catcalls.
'Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play
And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate
Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake
I shake it off, I shake it off (hoo-hoo-hoo)
Heartbreakers gonna break, break, break, break, break
And the fakers gonna fake, fake, fake, fake, fake
Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake
I shake it off, I shake it off (hoo-hoo-hoo)
TODD: You’re right about one thing Bama, Marisol is walking into this matchup EXTREMELY confident tonight.
BAMA: She’s gonna’ need to bring that heat baby, she told the world that Graves wasn’t on her level. That she’s the champion destined to rule Anarchy’s airwaves.
TODD: And let’s just hope that tonight she’s not underestimating the challenge before her!
Marisol then does a series of poses once again before turning around and gracing the other side of the area raising her arms high in the air and then doing a similar series of poses showing off her physique and how in shape she is. While Nessa claps her client before they head into their corner, and Nessa is getting Marisol psyched and going over the game plan as they wait for the opponent to enter.
The arena falls into silence as a chilling metal version of "Come Little Children" begins to play.
Lime green lasers pan across the stage as Graves steps out from the back. The XTron displays a montage of Graves, each scene subtly hinting at his unnerving, predator-like persona, with visuals that are eerie and discomforting.
Walking out on the stage with Graves is his motley crew of students. Peter PArkor. Miss Furry cradling North Korean War Baby, and trusted side kick Iriwn. Graves saunters out infront of his crew. He looks down the ramp toward Vilaro and then turns back to his crew. He nods and waves them away o the back.
TODD: It appears as if Graves is ready to see if his DadFitness training has paid off!
BAMA: Gravy said that VilaroFit was a scam. Using overt sexual advertisement to drive sales… and I ain’t mad at her for it baby!
TODD: And instead, Graves is offering his own exercise program for the people!
The Anarchy Champion make his way to the ring. He hands the championship belt off to the ref and begins jogging in place, ready to show his new dad-bod to Mari’s mad-bod!
The bell rings and this Anarchy Championship match is underway!
Graves gallops around the ring, showing off the endurance he’s gained from the new DadFitness training. Mari smirks, belittling the pathetic attempt. She rolls in front of Graves, halting his momentum, twisting his arm around in a lock arm drag, spinning Mark down to the mat with the wrist lock. Mari makes an athletic display, rolling through the hold and flipping up to her feet with it still locked on. Graves hollers out, and outstretched arm pleading, trying to break the hold, but Mari stomps on Grave’s hand.
She throws her hands up, walking toward the ropes and taunting at the crowd.
Graves is up, charging at Mari from behind, but she anticipates, leapfrogging over the attack. Graves hits the ropes, and on the rebound eats a nasty spinning heel kick from Mari!
She makes a confident cover!
1!
2!!
BARELY A TWO COUNT!
TODD: It’s gonna’ take a lot more than that to keep Graves down!
BAMA: Indeedy it will, but Marisol showing early on why everyone loves Mari, and why everyone LOVES the Queen of Fitness. She’s in tip top shape for this contest!
Marisol slaps the mat in frustration as she pulls Graves up by his hair. She slings him toward the corner with a snapmare followed by a low dropkick to the spine!
Graves grunts, clutching his back, but Mari doesn’t give him a second. She follows up with a handspring and …BOOM!... nails the Vilaró Experience! The corner elbow catches Graves flush in the jaw!
BAMA: YES MA’AM! THE EXPERIENCE, TODDY!
TODD: Marisol firing on all cylinders early, showcasing that elite conditioning and aggressive mindset that’s gotten her this far!
She pulls Graves into a cover again!
1!
2!!
NO!!!
Graves gets a shoulder up!
Marisol SCREAMS at the ref, banging the mat in disbelief, then motions toher manager Nessa on the outside, who shouts a few aggressive coaching tips.
Graves is crawling now, trying to find space, his legs sluggish, his breath shallow.
TODD: That handspring elbow rocked the champion, but if Vilaro starts getting distracted by the official, by the crowd, by Nessa’s ego, it could cost her dearly.
BAMA: But tell me this, Todd… WHEN is the last time Graves got hit this hard? I mean Marisol said it: He’s not on her level anymore!
Marisol grabs Graves and hoists him up into a double underhook VILARÓIZER CONNECTS!
She holds the bridge!
1!
2!!
KICKOUT!!!!!
TODD: That was as close as it gets! She almost had him! The Vilaróizer could’ve been the championship moment!
BAMA: My BABY GIRL had it won! She HAD IT! I swear the ref’s count was slow!
TODD: Come on, Bama! Graves is barely hanging on here. But we’ve seen him in trouble before… He lures you in, lets you think it’s over…
Marisol doesn’t wait. She hooks Graves’ arms again…
SECOND VILAROIZER!!!!
But Graves drops his weight, AND DEADLIFTS HER!!!
COUNTER BACK BODY DROP!
Mari CRASHES to the mat!
Both competitors are down!
TODD: Graves digging into the depths of that wrestling pedigree! Maybe DadFitness hasn’t paid off aesthetically, but the technique and resilience remain!
BAMA: Marisol’s in shape for a TikTok crowd. Gravy’s in shape to SURVIVE, Todd!
Graves grabs the ropes and hauls himself up, his eyes narrowing.. He sizes Marisol up as she stumbles to her feet.
RIPARTE! Running knee under the chin!
He hooks the waist…
NORTHERN LIGHTS SUPLEX BRIDGE!
1!
2!!
3…NO!!!!!!
Marisol kicks out and immediately pulls herself to the outside!
She stumbles into Nessa’s arms for support.
TODD: The challenger wisely bails! She needs space after that explosive counter from Graves!
BAMA: That knee caught her clean! I think I saw her soul leave her body, just for a second!
TODD: She’s smart though, buying herself recovery time! Nessa’s keeping her in the fight!
But Graves doesn’t let her breathe. BASEBALL SLIDE UNDER THE BOTTOM ROPE!
He knocks both Marisol and Nessa into the barricade!
He darts outside, grabbing Mari by the head and tossing her back in the ring. He climbs to the top rope and leaps!!!
DIVING KNEE DROP!
NO!
MARI ROLLS!
Graves’ knee SLAMS the canvas!
TODD: Nobody home! Graves might’ve just blown that knee!
BAMA: That’s the problem with DadFitness, baby. You don’t train those ligaments!
Marisol is back up and sees the opening! She locks in a heel hook!
Graves SCREAMS! Locked down in the center of the ring!
TODD: Vilaro locking in that submission! The Fitness Queen might be seconds away from forcing Graves to tap out!
BAMA: Do it baby! Break that DadBod apart joint by joint!
Graves crawls, he’s reaching out desperate for the ropes! He reaches further out as MArisol wrenches back harder!
Slowly he reaches… His fingers brushing the rope!!!!!
But Nessa yanks it away?!
The crowd BOOS!
TODD: That is blatant cheating! Nessa just pulled the bottom rope away!
BAMA: It’s… Fitness strategy! Targeting visual-motor coordination! That’s what we call it in VilaroFit!
Ref finally sees it…
NESSA IS EJECTED FROM RINGSIDE!
The crowd erupts!
TODD: YES! Finally! This match will be decided fair and square!
BAMA: NOOOO! You’re throwing away an ICON! A MENTOR!
As Nessa screams and resists the official.
And… whos this? Rushing down to ringside?
burp break! Burp break!
IT’S MISS FURRY!
She’s cradling the NorthKoreanWarBaby in her arms!
TODD: Wow! A touching moment here between father and son!
Hold the match! Baby needs a burp break!
The fussy child is handed over to Graves who rests him on his chest and begins patting him softly on the back.
BURP!
THe NorthKoreanWarBaby spitups on Grave’s chest. The baby is then handed back to Furry and the match goes on!
Between her manager being ejected, and her opponent now having formula throw-up on his chest, Mari is beside herself arguing with the ref. She turns back to Greaves who uses the distraction… fingers in the eyes!
The crowd gasps!
Graves stumbles up, and grabs Marisol…. IT’S THE END!
HE HOOKS HER UP AND LIFTS FOR THE SUPLEX!!!
NO!
MARI SLIPS OUT MIDWAY!
She counters… DOUBLE KNEE FACEBUSTER!
Graves stumbles backward…
MARI PULLS HIM IN
VILAROFIT FACIAL!!!
TODD: STOMPS! FACE STOMP! AGAIN AND AGAIN!
BAMA: One more baby! One more!
FINAL STOMP CONNECTS! GRAVES HEAD BOUNCES!
SHE COVERS!
1!
2!!
NOOOOOO!!!
Graves BARELY kicks out!
TODD: HOW IS HE STILL ALIVE?!
BAMA: We are witnessing an absolute war for the Anarchy title, Todd!
Marisol looks SHOCKED.
She slams the mat, screams at the official again… but Graves sneaks up rolls her into an inside cradle!!
1!
2!!
MARI REVERSES IT!!!!!
1!
2!!
REVERSAL AGAIN!!!!!!
GRAVES ROLLS THROUGH AGAIN - A DEEP HOOK ON BOTH LEGS NOW!!!
1!
2!!
3!!!!!!
WINNER: and STILL XWF Anarchy Champion – “Allegedly” Micheal Graves!
TODD: HE GOT HER! A SHOCKING COUNTER AND GRAVES PINS MARISOL CLEAN AS A WHISTLE. HE COUNTERS MARI’S COUNTER AND GETS THE THREE!
BAMA: Damn! Graves just out-wrestled Marisol Vilaro at the buzzer! Thats why we say, he might just be the best Anarchy Champion we’ve ever seen, Toddy! Ain’t no shame in that…Mari gave him HELL!
Graves pops to his knees, gasping, sweat pouring from his brow. The official hands him the Anarchy Championship as he leans back against the ropes, half-laughing, half-exhausted.
TODD: A masterclass in timing and technique. Graves kept cool under pressure and found the narrowest of windows to lock down the win.
BAMA: But give it up for Mari V! She hung with him every step of the way. She didn’t just look like she belonged, she looked like a champion in waiting!
TODD: 100% agree. She pushed Graves to the edge. But the Anarchy Champ proves once again why he’s held that title since September. The era of ‘Allegedly’ Michael Graves rolls on!
Inside the ring, Marisol sits up, hands on her hips, nodding reluctantly. Nessa storms in, trying to protest…. but Mari just raises a hand and shakes her head.
She stands, and with the crowd buzzing behind her, she offers a short, stiff nod of respect toward Graves as he stands atop the ramp, clutching the belt to his chest, looking back over his shoulder as his DadFitness crew arrives to help him celebrate.
TODD: You get the sense we’re gonna see this matchup again, Todd. These two are just too skilled to not cross paths a time or two more.
BAMA: No doubt about it, baby boy. But tonight, it’s Gravy baby and the NorthKoreanWarBaby, proving that the People’s Fitness Program is a rung or two above the Queen of Fitness here at Ides of March.
B L A C K.
A distorted march and shrill, ear-splitting violins attack the mass of attendants with visceral intent, triggering a contentious wave of hateful screams and wails. The music builds, and builds, until GORGO's voice ECHOES throughout the arena…
…NOW WE BECOME DEATH…
…THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS…
♫ GO BACK TO SLEEP! ♫
CUT TO: THE STAGE.
A Perfect Circle's COUNTING BODIES LIKE SHEEP violently assaults the listeners with its droning march as SMOKE AND RUIN crawls across the platform in strobing white light. A single spotlight shines down to center stage as Maynard begins singing the first verse.
♫ Don't fret precious, I'm here ♫
♫ Step away from the window
♫ And go… BACK TO SLEEP ♫
From below, GORGO slowly rises out of the stage surrounded in dark haze and flashing light. Blonde hair is smeared black with grease and hangs in wet tangles. Face painted black and white and marked with pagan symbology. White eyes outlined in black. Their smile, their awful smile, stretched into a hideous, crazed grin. Muscular shoulders and arms, but with feminine curves in all the right places, covered in black smeared grease paint. Their perfect, terrifying form elevates to the stage level with their shoulders heaving and body twisted into a grotesque, animalistic hunch.
They are YELENA GORGO. The Woman Who Laughs. The Mama-san. The Mad Queen. The Entity.
♫ COUNT BODIES LIKE SHEEP ♫
♫ LIKE SHEEP ♫
♫ LIKE SHEEP ♫
♫ LIKE SHEEP ♫
♫ LIKE SHEEP ♫
♫ LIKE SHEEP ♫
♫ LIKE SHEEP ♫
♫ COUNTING BODIES LIKE SHEEP TO THE RHYTHM OF WAR DRUMS ♫
They begin walking down the aisle but with a strange gate, more like a prowling animal, all while twisted giggles escape their mouth like a jackal's cry, causing their shoulders to hunch up and down with each hee-haw. Everyone watches their every movement. Shrieks and boos spew out of the mouths of everyone in attendance. All of them have nothing but utter contempt and disgust for Gorgo but every single one of them is standing to get a glimpse of them.
Gorgo crawls on their belly under the bottom rope and then pulls themself across the canvas to the middle of the ring. They sit up on their knees and then bend at the waist awkwardly backward, like a contortionist possessed by the devil. Then, suddenly, they lurch forward and let out a primal, howling, death metal scream with every muscle contracted and veins bulging outward through their skin as the house lights rise.
BG: It’s Gorgo! She’s scary!
JC: What’s even scarier is that whole Black Rainbow thing. She’s got some sort of entity that’s taking control and she wants to spread that throughout the XWF like a cancer!
BG: Her very own Project 2025! Did you see what it did to Marisol Vilaro? Terrifying!
JC: They.
BG: Huh?
JC: What they did. We don’t say “it” anymore. It’s rude.
BG: Don’t you mean they’re rude?
The honeyed rasp of Atara's voice blares over the facility's PA in unison with those words appearing on the multitude of screens and displays littering the arena.
HELLO DOVES
The crowd pops and gets to their feet shouting in near total unison a single word.
OPA!
Arena lights start to pulse in time with the music and multiple vertical streams of pyro erupt across the front of stage. Strutting with purpose Atara emerges from the back taking spot centerstage atop the ramp. Posing for the camera, a wink and kiss is given to the viewers at home.
Grunge walking to the ringsteps, she climbs and stops at the top to posture again for her adoring public. Hand on her hip, the Grecian moves to the middle of the apron to blows a final kiss to the camera and enters the ring through the middle rope. But she trips on the middle rope! Her left foot catches and she falls face first, twisting on the way down. The referee goes to check on her!
BG: Oh no! The champ may be injured.
JC: Yes, it’s not looking good for the X-Treme Champion, Mrs. James Raven.
The referee is asking Atara Raven if she can continue. She nods. Suddenly, Gorgo pushes the referee aside, rips the X-treme title off Atty, drops it on the mat, and proceeds to stomp on the left leg of Raven. Gorgo yells OPA between each successive and gradually more vicious stomp as the crowd boos. Atara tries to scoot away, but it appears her knee is really hurting.
Atara manages to wriggle away and attempts to pull herself up on the ropes, but Gorgo grabs her from behind. German Suplex! She circles a fallen Raven, grasps her waist and lifts her up. Another german suplex! And another! Three more german suplexes!
BG: Gorgo is taking the champ to suplex city, baby!
JC: Indeed. Tonight it appears Stratford-Upon-Avon is indeed, suplex city! Poor thing.
BG: But she’s not out yet!
Remarkably, Atara makes it to her feet and the crowd cheers! They chant: Atara, Atara Raven! Atara, Atara Raven! Raven is on her feet, but barely. With her good leg, she kicks Gorgo in the gut. She yells OPA! The crowd cheers. Another kick with the right leg. Another OPA! yell. More cheering. Gorgo begs her to do it again and Atara winds up a head kick with her right foot, but Gorgo ducks under it. KICK DEMON! Gorgo hits her finishing kick out of nowhere, sending Raven to the mat in a heap. More violent stomps to the left leg from Gorgo. Raven cries out in pain as she writhes on the floor. The referee urges Gorgo to back off. Gorgo obliges and laughs a sinister laugh. Raven sits up and eggs Gorgo on, a glutton for punishment. SMASH! Gorgo hits Raven in the face with the X-treme title. Gorgo goes for the pin, but Atara reverses it, rolling through into a pin of her own.
1…
Tw…no! Gorgo rolls her around, splitting her legs like a wishbone.
BG: Oh Mylanta! It’s Aphrodite’s Duality! Gorgo is using Raven’s own finishing submission against her! Unbelievable!
JC: And with that injured left knee, this could spell the end of Atara’s championship reign!
You can see the pain on Atara’s face as Gorgo pushes her own legs into hers, pulling them apart! The referee goes to check on Raven. She tries to struggle free, but it’s no use, Atara Raven slaps the mat, tapping out. It’s over!
WINNER AND NEEEEEEEEEW X-TREME CHAMPION : YELENA GORGO!
Gorgo takes the X-Treme title and exits through the crowd. As she walks the first few rows, several people in the crowd start brawling around her, leading security to escort them out.
BG: What the hell did we just witness, Jacuinde!?
JC: Your guess is as good as mine, Brody. I’ve never seen anything like it!
BG: Folks, do not touch that dial! Next on the car-[/align]
Suddenly, the music cut and the lights went out in the arena.
BG: Really? They're cutting the power early?
JC: No I-wait, what's that?
The big screen broke into static, then to black, as words began to appear on the screen.
I bring ye wine from above,
From the vats of the storied sun;
The audio and video cut into static once again, revealing a new set of words:
For every one of yer love,
And life for every one.
I bring ye laughter and tears,
The kisses that foam and bleed,
The joys of a million years,
The flowers that bear no seed.
Your loves shall lap up slaughter,
And dabbled with roses of blood
Each desperate darling daughter
Shall swim in the fervid flood.
I lead you, lord of the maze,
In the darkness free of the sun;
In spite of the spite that is day’s
We are wed, we are wild, we are one.
My cup...runneth over...
JC & BG: NOOOOOOOOOOO WAAAAAAAAAAAY
BG: THE LORD OF THE VINE!
JC: DIONYSUS IS BACK!
As "Round and Round Through the Grapevine" blared throughout the arena, the crowed roared at the return of the Master of Revels. Dionysus walked out confidently, applauding to the crowd with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. He points to the champion in the ring, shouting, "I'M READY TO GO! I'M COMIN' FOR IT! WAIT FOR ME!" while gesturing toward a belt around his waist.
BG: The former two-time Television Champion and Xtreme Champion had taken some personal time, but now he's back and ready to go!
JC: Well he definitely isn't coming back to make friends, that's for sure.
BG: No sir; he's got one thing on his mind, and that is gold in his future.
When we return, the lights are low and the massive chamber of the Lion’s Den has begun to lower down the ring. A hush has fallen over the audience, as if in reverence or anticipation.
JC: Welcome back, friends — we are just about to begin tonight’s Lion’s Den match.
BG: Get popcorn or get barf bags! This’ll be killer!
The lights in the arena cut out entirely, and the fans begin to buzz. The darkness holds for a moment before…
With each of the hits of the word “Fame” a spotlight flashes back and forth between the stage and a random spot in the audience. On the screen, the images alternate between key moments from the career of Sebastian Everett-Bryce, S.E.B. and Empire.
After the final Fame, the lyrics end.
Na, na, na, na…
The screen flashes with the words Welcome to the Empire.
As the beat drops, Sebastian Everett-Bryce flings his arms wide, lit up by a bright spotlight, his head covered by the hood of his jacket. He stands in the middle of the ramp, the lights beating down on him, before looking out at the crowd. He wears a long jacket, zipped to the waist. The jacket, which is cut away at the bottom and only runs down the back of his legs, is patterned with an elongated Union Flag, but it appears to be cracked, and broken. Distressed. His tights are short, with the initials S.E.B. emblazoned upon the front.
RA: The following contest is a Lion’s Den match, scheduled for One Fall! Making his way to the ring first, from Chelsea, England and weighing in at 238lbs. He is… SEBASTIAN! EVERETT! BRYCE!
Fame makes a man take things over
Fame lets him loose, hard to swallow
Fame puts you there where things are hollow
It's not your brain, it's just the flame
That puts your change to keep you insane (sane)
The lights lift and Seb makes his way to the ring, stretching his neck from side to side as he walks, he slaps hands with fans as he walks, stopping with a random fan and staring into the camera and shouting “My Empire, right here!”. He climbs up the steps and steps through the door to the chamber before standing in the middle of the ring.
Fame, what you like is in the limo
Fame, what you get is no tomorrow
Fame, what you need you'll have to borrow
Fame, fame, fame, fame
Fame, fame, fame, fame[/color[
He pulls back his hood.
Is it any wonder?
Is it any wonder?
Is it any wonder?
Is it any wonder? (Ooh)
The beat drops again, he flashes his arms out to a side, a satisfied smirk upon his face, he holds the position for a moment, to allow the crowd to take pictures, before pulling off his Jacket to reveal “EMPIRE” on the back of his tights.
As his music comes to an end, Seb backs to the corner and leans, with a satisfactory smirk upon his face. The camera focuses on the stage as the lights cut and “The Gnashing” by Deafheaven begins to play over the P.A.
The guitar seems to shimmer over the crowd as muffled as white lights flash like sparks around the floor. A name appears on the tron: Jonathan Bacchus.
[
Buried secrets, mythic meanings
In a tender ocean spilling
The crowd reacts as out from behind the curtain walks Jonathan Bacchus, dressed in all black with a peacoat over a turtleneck and combat pants bloused into his Louboutin sneakers. He wears a white Thalia mask over his face, his hair hanging down over the top. Accompanying him is a similarly dressed woman in a Melpomene mask — Grace Leary. As Jonathan pulls his hood back, he reveals a crown of thorns atop his head. He removes this and the mask, revealing his eyes smear with black almost warpaint.
A leaking thimble flowing fragile
Oozing tension into blue
He marches down deliberately, his eyes on the ring. On the ramp, he flicks the Thalia mask casually over his shoulder into the crowd.
RA: An his opponent, from Oakland, California and weighing in at 205 lbs… accompanied by Grace Leary… he is “The Insurgent” – JONATHAN! BACCHUS!
Hear these howls hurling our present
I know what this costs us
At the base of the ramp, Bacchus regards the chamber and SEB. He removes his coat and sweater before handing them to Grace. Then he looks down at the black leather gloves on his hands… and removes them.
Hear these howls, embrace the Gnashing
He steps up the stairs into the chamber, the referee locking the door behind him. He makes no theatrics or gestures to the crowd, other than vaulting himself cleanly over the top rope — instead he takes in the pods around him and his opponent.
I know what this costs us
I know it’s exhausting you
Finally, he takes to his corner. And then he waits.
Johnny Bacchus
- vs -
Sebastian Everett-Bryce Lion Den’s Match
As the bell rings, the two men stare across the ring from one another, each still in their corner and not moving a muscle. It’s an intense, locked gaze: the quiet intensity of Jonathan Bacchus, and the small, assured smirk on the lips of SEB. Around them, the crowd roars.
JC: Nine months in the making. Finally, this two men will have the chance to get their hands on one another with the terms negotiated and no excuses.
They exit their corners almost in unison, taking steps forward before beginning to circle — Bacchus moves more cautiously, his eyes darting around the chamber and his opponent, while SEB keeps almost a hop in his step, his vision locked solely on his nemesis. As SEB comes to the center of the ring, Bacchus does not follow suit; SEB’s smirk widens and he beckons him on.
SEB: What’s wrong, John? Getting cold feet?
The crowd encourages it on, and SEB soaks it in, taking a moment to turn out to them and egg the cheers. But that moment’s just enough: Bacchus lunges forward with almost inhuman swiftness, picking SEB’s ankle to send him crashing to the ground before leaping to mount him and rain down punches!
BG: That’s the cunning of Bacchus! Can’t turn your back on the little twerp, or he’ll be on you like white on rice!
The barrage does not last long; SEB draws his arms in and pushes up, absolutely throwing Bacchus off of his chest and up into the air. As Bacchus lands, he pulls himself up to his feet with the ropes, and SEB charges forward, nailing him a clothesline to send him tumbling over and onto the metal outside. SEB exits through the ropes in pursuit, pulling Bacchus up to his feet and whipping him into the chainlink wall of the chamber! Before Bacchus can even writhe in pain, SEB charges forward once more, throwing his full weight behind his shoulder as it collides with Bacchus’ chest. He pulls the Insurgent off the wall, throwing him back into the ring. SEB pauses at the ropes and grips them with both hands. He smiles as he looks down at his prone opponent and somersaults himself over the top for a senton.
JC: Bacchus pulls himself out of the way! Great situational awareness there!
Even with nobody home, SEB manages to roll through unharmed. As he gets up and turns around, Bacchus uses the ropes to push himself up for an Enziguri! SEB stumbles, and Bacchus grabs him by the head and drops down for a reverse Hot Shot.
BG: OOF! That’ll hurt in the morning.
SEB falls forward to his knees, clasping the back of his head and neck. Meanwhile, Bacchus launches himself right over the ropes and lands with a horrifying double stomp to the back aching head, sending SEB limp. Bacchus takes a moment to creep back towards the ropes, waiting patiently for SEB to begin recovering. No sooner has his opponent done so that Bacchus charges forward, blasting SEB clean across the face with a shotgun dropkick to lay him out once more.
JC: This has been an absolute barrage.
BG: You saw it earlier! Bacchus knows he SEB gets the chance to get up, his ass is grass.
Bacchus stands above SEB, grabbing the best in the business by the back of his hair as he pulls him up to his knees. From behind, a pummeling club strikes SEB across the face, but Bacchus does not allow him to fall — shifting SEB’s weight, he now delivers a mirrored blow to the other side of his head. He pulls SEB up and cocks back for a third, but as though driven by pure instinct, SEB throws a hard elbow into his gut! Bacchus doubles over, and SEB hits a throat strikes to send the Rascal King off sputtering. Its enough time for SEB to push himself up, locking Bacchus in a front guillotine before dropping down with a thunderous DDT! He kips up to his feet and lets out a whoop of exhilaration as the crowd cheers on!
And it is right then that the lights lower and begin to flicker between the pods. It ends with an alarm and a light on one now open pod: a pod filled with trash cans, a fire extinguisher, light tubes, and mundane household implements of destruction, including a literal kitchen sink.
BG: Time for some home improvement!
SEB walks over to the pod, looking through everything gathered inside. He sifts through curiously, his face more a frown of disinterest than excitement. After a moment of consideration, he hits the button to shut the pod door to a groan of disappointment from the audience.
SEB turns back to Bacchus who has pulled himself over towards the corner. He uses the ropes to pull himself up, and SEB is right on him with a waist lock. A thunderous German suplex brings the Insurgent to the mat, and SEB keeps the waistlock applied as he flips over and hoists Bacchus up into the arm, dropping him with a back suplex! SEB flips his footing and applies a gut wrench, hoisting Bacchus into the air for a third suplex! And its from here that SEB stays to the ground, locking in the Emperor Lock!
JC: This is bad news! Bacchus now has a 235 lb gorilla on his back, choking the hell out of him, and there’s no respite!
Bacchus’s eyes practically bulge out of his head as SEB cinches in the lock, clawing at the mat with his one free arm and thrashing around as SEB maintains the hold. Bacchus kicks his legs under him and forces himself towards the ropes, just out of reach!
BG: There’s no rope breaks anyway, ya idiot!
JC: I don’t even know if its about the break so much as something — anything — to give him leverage!
At the sight of any sign of movement and progress, SEB tightens the lock, his face turning into a mask of determination and anger. Bacchus refuses to submit, still thrashing like a fish in an attempt to get free! Unable to throw an elbow back or pry SEB’s arm from his throat, his grimaces in agony, closing his eyes… and then reaches up to stick a finger under SEB’s exposed armpit and tickle it.
BG: WHAT?!
And… for a moment, SEB spasms, just enough to slacken the hold. And that gives just enough room for Johnny to throw the back of his head directly into SEB’s face.
JC: Yikes.
BG: Good thing the pretty boy’s probably got a good plastic surgeon!
SEB completely releases the hold as he clutches his face, and Johnny takes the opening to lurch across the ring as far as he can from SEB. And it’s at that moment the lights go down once more.
BG: Let ‘em roar!
After the lights flash about, the focus on a single pod as an alarm sounds and the door opens: lengths of cruel barbed wire stuffed about, a pair of thick gloves to handle it, and a single cloth pouch resting in an opening.
Bacchus approaches the pod, picking up the cloth bag. He regards it for a moment, giving it a shake to determine the contents, then opens it and empties it into the pod: thumbtacks.
JC: Who can even imagine the damage those could do! And now the bag is… being emptied right there in the pod?! It seems that Jonathan Bacchus is also less than interested in the weapons!
Bacchus turns away from the pod without hitting the button. Inside the ring, SEB has sat bolt upright like the dead rising from the grave, a trickle of blood now leaking from his nose and mouth. And he looks pissed.
BG: I wouldn’t wanna get back in that ring right now!
And like Goodman, Bacchus very much does not look eager to get back in the ring. SEB stomps across the ring like a man on a mission, but as he gets to the ropes, Bacchus slips around him and back into the ring! SEB continues his pursuit, and Jonathan flees to the corner, bounding up the turnbuckle to flip himself up and over SEB! SEB wheels back again and charges, but Bacchus catches him with a drop toehold to take him to the mat. In the scramble, Bacchus is up first and leaps up with a spin to spike SEB’s head with King’s Dead! He pushes SEB over for the first cover of the match, but before the ref can even land his hand for a count of “One”, SEB has shot a hand up to jam two fingers directly into each of Jonathan’s eyes.
JC: Oh my god!
Bacchus lets out a howl and breaks the pin in pain, and SEB shoves him off in contempt before grabbing a handful of his nemesis’s hair. He gets up and drags the stunned Bacchus along towards the corner, a look of anger on his face rarely seen from the former champion. He grips Bacchus under the armpits and lifts him up, throwing him spine first into the corner of the pod! Bacchus’s head whips back against the metal support beam, and he crumbles to the side, landing stomach first over the top rope. SEB grips him around the waist and lifts him with dead strength, walking out into the ring before whipping Bacchus back into the turnbuckle with an ugly German Suplex. Bacchus remains slumped in the corner as SEB wheels around, charges, and lays him out with a moonsault dropkick to complete The Conquest!
JC: SEB is on fire! He’s lining up to put this away!
SEB stalks to the far corner, and this time it’s he who waits for his downed opponent to rouse. As Bacchus comes back to life, SEB readies himself — as Bacchus begins to stand, SEB charges.
JC: EMPIRE KICK!
The move lands flush across Johnny’s face, sending him spiraling like a top and through the ropes. And as SEB rises… the lights dim and begin to flash around the pods.
BG: Bacchus may have just been saved by the bell!
When the lights finish, they land on a pod that opens: kendo sticks, sledgehammers, 2x4”s and other brutal bludgeoning implements. And it’s these that catch SEB’s eye. An oddly wicked grin comes over his face as he goes to inspect them.
Sorting through the gathered implements, he tosses out four of the 2x4”s and several kendo sticks. Rummaging through the pile… he finds a painted rainbow baseball bat. Bacchus’s baseball bat. He holds it in his hand, giving it a twirl and miming a few swings… before he tosses it back with the rest of the weapon pile. Taking one of the Kendo Sticks, he steps back out of the pod and checks for his nemesis, now only barely recovering from the Empire Kick.
JC: Looks like SEB wants to keep this going!
BG: These two have been waiting for this moment, JC! Bacchus has gotten into SEB’s head and under his skin — can you blame him for wanting to make the little twerp suffer?!
Stepping back into the ring, SEB paces around Bacchus before delivering a wicked Kendo stick shot to his back. And then another. And another. Bacchus goes from seething in pain to collapsing to the mat, but SEB doesn’t cease until the weapon is left broken and splintering! It’s then that SEB rolls Bacchus over for a pin.
Ref: 1!
2!
Bacchus kicks out! SEB merely scoffs, rising up to pull Bacchus to his feet by his hair. He dumps him over the ropes to the outside before following, and then sets himself to arranging 2x4”s in a stacked pile. He pulls Bacchus up and hooks his head…
JC: Oh my GOD!
And SEB delivers a picture perfect suplex… directly onto the stack of 2x4”s. The audience lets out a gasp as Bacchus sits up in agony, literal tears in his eyes from pain, before SEB shoves him to the ground with his boot cruelly to his face. SEB picks up the baseball bat — Johnny’s baseball bat — and places the tip down on Johnny’s chest, giving it a mocking twirl.
BG: Rubbing it in the little punk’s face! Just as he deserves!
SEB tosses the bat aside, it landing in the barbed wire and thumbtack filled pod across the outside. He pulls Bacchus back up and puts him against the ropes before nailing him with a stiff roundhouse to the gut, doubling him over. He pushes him back up and hits a second roundhouse to his opponent, before whipping Jonathan into the cage. As Jonathan staggers forward, SEB hoists him up for a scoop slam… and it’s at that moment that pure survival instincts kick in and Johnny slides back down over him to the ground. And whether out of exhaustion, calculation, or mere mechanical motion, Johnny collapses directly down into the back of SEB’s legs to send him landing face first in the side of the chamber.
And as the two lay on the outside, both now leaking blood from their wounds, the lights go down once more.
BG: The last one!
The lights flicker, but it’s pure pageantry — the only remaining pod opens. And the contents are beautiful in their simplicity: tables and chairs.
SEB and Bacchus rise almost simultaneously, both slowly and using the chamber wall and ropes to pull themselves up respectively. They exchange a look: SEB with blood streaming from his nose and mouth, Bacchus with his body bruised and bleeding. Then SEB throws himself forward for a pounce, and Johnny is only barely able to pull himself up and over the ropes to escape.
Once more, the two men lay in repose.
This time, it’s SEB who pushes himself up, fully to his feet. Bacchus still lays on the mat, turning himself onto his stomach and beginning to crawl across the mat towards the pod. SEB’s durability and constitution is superior: he crosses through the ropes, walking past Bacchus and stopping at the ropes to turn back and look at him. As Johnny looks up, SEB charges and lays him out once more.
JC: EMPIRE KICK! AND BACCHUS DIDN’T EVEN HAVE THE STRENGTH TO RESIST!
BG: This is over, JC. Put it away here, SEB.
But… SEB does not put it away, even as the impact of his boot heel has torn Bacchus’ forehead open and begun the flow of blood down his face. SEB sits upright, his breathing heavy and angry as he looks down on his fallen foe, spitting on the mat beside him before pushing himself up and crossing to exit the ring and approach the last pod.
He withdraws two tables and a chair. He tests the chair by giving it a couple whacks on the pod’s support frames, then once satisfied… he smacks the button to close the pod.
SEB throws the chair into the ring and then hoists up the two tables. He throws them in as well, taking a moment to set one of the tables up as Bacchus begins to stir. He pulls the Insurgent to a standing base, taking a moment to grip him by the jaw and stare directly into his eyes. SEB’s gaze is cruel and cold — Jonathan’s is quiet and defiant. SEB pulls him up and hoists him aloft, another picture perfect delayed suplex… and then Bacchus slips out of his grasp once more. Taking advantage of SEB’s disorientation, Bacchus delivers a knee to the gut and then strains to wrench SEB up…
JC: TRAGEDY AT BUFFALO!!
Bacchus drives SEB into the mat, pushing him over with his last bit of strength for the cover.
Ref: ONE!
TWO!
THRE—
SEB kicks out!
JC: KICK OUT! SEB HAS KICKED OUT OF THE TRAGEDY AT BUFFALO!
BG: THE ONLY MAN IN XWF TO EVER DO THAT!
Bacchus doesn’t even have the energy to protest the count — he lays on the mat utterly exhausted, glassy eyes staring up at the top of the chamber. And, to be fair, SEB isn’t exactly moving either.
The crowd continues to roar as the ref rushes back and forth to check the two men, ensuring the match can continue. They rise almost together, both of their faces covered in blood as they come to their knees before one another.
Bacchus throws the first punch. SEB responds in kind.
Bacchus throws another. SEB responds in kind.
Bacchus — SEB — Bacchus — SEB — soon the two are exchanging blows with everything they have left as the crowd roars!
JC: These two men have gone through hell, neither willing to relent! So much emotion — so much history — so much anger and resentment and bad blood between two men who both see themselves as heroes and fight like such!
But it is finally SEB’s superior strength which lands a punch to collapse Bacchus to the mat. And after SEB pushes himself up, he grips Bacchus around the waist, deadlifts him into the air, and delivers a nasty gutwrench suplex through the table! He goes for the cover.
Ref: ONE!
TWO!
THRE—
Bacchus kicks out! SEB sits upright in fury and disbelief as the ref signals two.
JC: It’s still going! Bacchus won’t go down!
SEB lets out a cry of frustration and anger as he pulls Bacchus up and throws him over the ropes to the outside once more. He then turns and picks up the table, hurtling it to the outside and begins to step out through the ropes…
And then his eyes turn to the open pod full of tacks and barbed wire.
BG: That’s not a good look, JC. Even I don’t like this epiphany.
SEB… smiles? He picks up the table and places it against the open pod door, as though substituting one.
Then he hoists Bacchus up.
Then he looks at the chamber.
And then he charges.
JC: JESUS CHRIST!
BG: HE JUST PUT HIM THROUGH THAT TABLE AND INTO THE POD! GOOD GOD, JONATHAN BACCHUS IS PRACTICALLY BURIED IN THAT BARBED WIRE AND THOSE TACKS!
Withdrawing himself from the wreckage, blood streams from the arms, face, and torso of SEB as he gets up — no doubt, a product of the act he just accomplished. Deep inside the pod, as though in a nest of barbed wire, Bacchus lays unconscious. And once he’s fully upright and has pulled the door from the pod chamber’s opening, SEB doesn’t follow Bacchus inside…
He hits the button to seal the pod.
JC: WHAT?!
BG: IS THIS LEGAL?!
JC: HOW DOES BACCHUS CONTINUE THIS MATCH? LOCKED IN THAT POD, EVERY MOVE HE MAKES PUTTING ANOTHER TACK THROUGH HIS SKIN OR CAUSING ANOTHER SLASH FROM THE BARBED WIRE!
And outside the chamber, for the first time in the duration of this match… Grace Leary stirs. Her face is a mask of concern, stepping with urgency to the pod to look in and inspect Jonathan within. She looks over at SEB, the small smile back on his face.
JC: And it’s possible that Grace Leary may throw the towel in for Bacchus here.
BG: What choice do they have? This is it. For all his games, Bacchus has found himself a rat in a trap.
But then, Bacchus pushes himself up through the barbed wire. And through the pod, he looks at SEB, and that smile on SEB’s mouth falters. Even as blood streams down his face and body, Johnny stands proudly and spits a wad of blood on the pod door in defiance.
Then he cocks back.
BG: THE BAT!
JC: HE’S GOT HIS BAT THAT SEB THREW IN EARLIER!
The first swing cracks the pod but doesn’t break it, and as he pulls back, the barbed wire seems to only further entangle him.
And the crowd begins.. to cheer.
Another swing.
More cheers.
And another.
The crowd is beginning to roar.
With each swing, the barbed wire continues to cut into his skin, but Bacchus doesn’t relent. And his gaze never leaves SEB’s, almost unblinking and steeled in its determination.
JC: He won’t give up! He won’t relent! Jonathan Bacchus is going out on his shield, and the crowd has finally seen the tenacity and conviction of this competitor!
Until finally the pod breaks. And Johnny throws the bat aside to push himself out and face SEB. His eyes suddenly flash a rainbow gradient. And SEB grits his teeth as he charges.
The Empire Kick lands flush, and Bacchus falls to the ground: exhausted — broken — defeated.
SEB lays on his back, breathing heavily, rage still consuming him as he rolls over and pushes himself up.
SEB: You want to see The World, Jonathan? I’ll show you The World.
SEB picks Johnny up like a sack of potatoes and throws him over his shoulder. And then… he looks up. And he begins to scale the turnbuckle, then the pod.
A hush falls over the crowd.
JC: This is over. This… is going too far.
BG: SEB said he wanted to end Johnny’s career. He’s a man of his word.
At the top of the platform, SEB moves Johnny into position: his head pointed down as SEB eyes the mat with evil intentions.
JC: This move of SEB’s — if he wants to end a career, this is it.
SEB steels himself, his fingers sinking into Johnny’s flesh to keep him secured as he tenses in preparation of leaping…
…And then a sound comes from the crowd. It starts low at first, but it picks up in volume as more voices join.
A boo.
And SEB hesitates.
JC: He’s won this match, but at what cost? Will SEB show he has no soul? Will he prove Bacchus correct as a cost of winning this war??
Instead… SEB climbs back down. And after he lays Bacchus in the ring, he walks over to pick up the discarded bat. Bringing it back into the ring, he lays it at Bacchus’s side. The Insurgent’s eyes flutter open weakly — the two exchange looks.
And the look is soon taken with a small smile. A nod of understanding. And SEB covers.
Ref: ONE!
TWO!
THREE!!!
WINNER: SEBASTIAN EVERETT-BRYCE
The bell rings as “Fame” by Royal Delux begins to play.
RA: Here is your winner… SEBASTIAN! EVERRET! BRYCE!
The cheers rain down as SEB pushes himself up, his legs trembling and his face marred with blood. He turns to look out over the fans, taking a moment to close his eyes and raise his hands triumphantly.
JC: Half a year in the making, battles both physical and verbal — but at the end of the day, it’s Sebastian Everett-Bryce who has won the war.
BG: A walk through hell for both of these men, JC.
JC: And if Bacchus said he’d been the flames that hardened the former champion, that’s certainly been accomplished.
On the mat, Bacchus stirs. SEB looks down at him, and the two make eye contact.
SEB offers a hand. And with no hesitation, Bacchus accepts it. The crowd roars as SEB pulls his former foe up to his feet, keeping their hands clasped as the two men look one another in the eyes… and shake hands.
JC: What a moment. After everything that’s happened between them, it appears that the Emperor and the Insurgent have reached an understanding.
BG: Shame Bacchus’s friend doesn’t seem on board — she’s practically on the ground over there.
JC: … What?
And as this had occurred, nobody had noticed the hooded figure who’d reached over the barricade to catch Grace from behind in a sleeper hold, leaving her in a pile as he slipped down to the floor and crept towards the entrance of the chamber. No sooner had the ref unlocked the door that the figure darted in, charging across the ring to tackle SEB to the mat and rain down blows upon him.
JC: What the hell?!
Bacchus dives to push the figure off SEB, gripping him by the collar with his remaining strength to force him into the corner. Their eyes lock — the hood is pulled back…
BG: CYPHER!
JC: ITS CYPHER! WHAT IN GOD’S GREEN EARTH?!
Cypher delivers a knee, straight to the jewels of Bacchus, and upon doubling the Insurgent over, he leaps up and spikes his head with the System Crash! Boos begin to rain as Cypher strides over to SEB, a cocky smile on his face, before he stands above him. And Cypher plants a single boot on his chest.
JC: Well what was a beautiful moment has certainly been tainted.
BG: That’s entertainment, JC! And if this is any indication, things are about to start getting real entertaining.
The segment ends with Cypher standing victorious over SEB, a smug smile on his face. And the scene fades to black.
A pair of brass fanfares cry out inside of the royal theater in Stratford. The gallery has been turned upside down from the action thus far. The fans packed inside shift even closer in this intimate setting.
A squire emerges at the theater entrance. Beads of sweat dripping down his face as the squire unravels a scroll and reads aloud to the audience:
Hither ye!
hither ye!
the time hath join for the crowning of professional wrestling’s next monarch
the Ides of March tournament finals are upon us!
The first, frenetic strums of Faith No More's "Gentle Art of Making Enemies" rips through the arena as strobes of gold and white cast across the stage and crowd. After several moments, and then a few more for good measure, Kieran King eventually saunters onto the stage…
The crowd reacts with a mix of gasps and joviality at the sight of King’s condition.
JC: Ladies and gentlemen with everything we’ve witnessed tonight, it’s a miracle that King Kerian is standing, let alone walking back to the ring again.
His left arm is in a sling.
There’s a bloodied bandage around half of his head, holding an eye patch in place. It wears like a tilted crown.
He walks to the ring with only one working eye, and one working arm. Dragging his feet just slow enough to mostly conceal a limp.
BG: That vicious assault by Matthias Syn has taken the King of the XWF down to his final life. Battered he may be, the King is looking to either conquer once more… or fall on his sword here in the royal theater
The usually mocking Keiran King stays quiet. His one eye open wide as he moves to the ring, and climbs slowly through the ropes. He turns and faces the entrance he just came from, remaining silent and focused. Fighting off the pain from the devastating injuries to his eye and arm.
[/b]
All lights in the arena go dark and James Hetfield's opening vocals of Metallica's "The Memory Remains" blares suddenly over the public announce speakers. A minimal yet vocal minority of the fans in attendance shout the first lyrics aloud along with the singer:
Fortune, Fame, Mirror, Vain
Gone Insane
But the Memory Remains
The lights and the big screen both stay completely black. A single word appears on the screen:
. : A U R O R A : .
The guitar and drums come crashing in, along with the rest of the instrumental section. Soon after a mako green spotlight shines down upon the stage where Aurora herself is now standing.
Her ribs and forehead are taped heavily, as she looks out to the ring… her face setting hard on Keiran King.
A smoke machine billows from beneath her, partially obscuring the view.
Rochelle Adams: Making her way to the ring at this time, she hails from Arizona Bay. Ladies and Gentlemen…. The NEW XWF Television Champion… AURORA!!!!!!
Aurora limps through the smoke struggling to carry the TV Title around her waist, with one arm wrapped around her likely broken ribs. She moves down to and around the ring with purpose, moving all of the way around to the southeast ring post before struggling to pull herself up onto the ring apron.
JC: And as you can see, Aurora isn’t in much better shape than King either after the grueling buried alive match with Charlie Nickles!
BG: Aurora is definitely beaten up… but c’mon JC! King Keiran has one eye… ONE ARM! Sure Aurora just went through hell vis a vis that attack with the broken post and a shovel from Charlie, but the King is mortally wounded here!
JC: Either way, these two have battled through a long, tireless war to arrive at this moment. Arguably the XWF’s most coveted prize hangs in the balance here, as King Kieran has earned the right to defend his crown of the XWF against Aurora.
She centers herself on the apron and stands facing the crowd. Another glowing emerald spotlight shines straight down on her as laser-lights mimic the northern lights onto the smoke that has gathered around the ceiling of the arena. She pauses for a few moments staring upward before turning and gingerly entering the ring.
Kieran loops a thumb under the strap of his sling and carefully lifts it over his head. He slowly lowers his damaged arm to his side, never once taking his one wide open eye off from Aurora.
Aurora carefully removes the TV Title from her waist and drops it to her feet, full exposing her bandaged ribs now.
The ref comes between them as the two struggle, but bite through rising their fists… King gesturing with a little hand-wave to Aurora.
King Kieran
- vs -
Aurora
THE BELL RINGS!
And Aurora accepts the invitation! She charges in at King with a leaping knee-strike that Kieran fends off, turning to his blind- side to dodge it. Aurora follows right through with a pump-kick that strikes up into the shoulder of King’s bad arm.
He hollers out in pain and drops to a single knee while Aurora takes advantage.
She’s relentless, grabbing King by the head, screaming in pain of her own as she repeatedly knees in the ear. The sound pops from Kieran’s senses, all he can hear is a ringing as he’s bludgeoned over and over in the side of his working face.
He struggles trying to fend off the attack, and runs in trying to grapple Aurora down, but instead a knee connects directly to his nose and falls over in a violent heap.
Aurora goes for the cover!
JC: What an impressive… DEVASTATING attack by Aurora there! This might be over already!
1!
2!!
KIEARN REACHES OVER HIS HEAD AND GRABS THE ROPES BEHIND HIM!
The ref breaks the fall, but Aurora doesn’t relent. She leaps into the air and brings down a knee-drop! It smashes into King’s chest and he rolls over in agony.
Aurora leaps again for a knee-drop!
But King keeps rolling, and Aurora’s knee is jostled against the mat. The impact sent a painful friction up through her ribs. She gasps and grabs at her bandages.
King recovers and TAKES AURORA’S HEAD OFF WITH BUZZSAW KICK!
She’s folded backward and King scrambles over her for the pin—
BUT AURORA ROLLS THROUGH INTO A SMALL PACKAGE??!!!
1!
QUICK KICKOUT BY KING
King powers out and clobbers Aurora across the bridge of her nose with a forearm. King already has blood leaking from his nose thanks to that knee from Aurora, and now he’s ready to leave his own mark on this match.
As Aurora wobbles up to her feet, King makes a limping start into a run… he hits the ropes, and springs off backward - - - HITTING AURORA WITH A SPRINGBOARD STUNNER USING ONLY HIS GOOD ARM!
Aurora doesn’t fall, but flings up-right, wobbling, out on her feet!
King gets back to his feet, one knee at a time, then - - -PLANTS AURORA WITH A VERTICAL JUMP HURRICANRANA!!!!!
HE HOOKS HER LEGS FROM BEHIND LIKE A SUNSET FLIP!
1!
2!!
AURORA GETS A FINGER ON THE BOTTOM ROPE!!!
King pounds the mat, and grabs Aurora by the arm. Slowly he pulls her up, Irish whipping her wearing the pain of his damaged arm on his face, he pulls her back toward him and runs a knee into her ribs. Aurora lets out an agonizing yelp. King pushes her back with another knee strike to the ribs, and shoves the challenger to his crown in the corner. After a third knee to the likely broken ribs of Aurora, Kieran sets her legs up on the middle ropes leaving her in a vulnerable position.
JC: WE’VE SEEN THIS, BRODY!
BG: THE KING IS COMING FOR HIS CROWN AND THEIR JEWELS!
He gets some distance between them.
CROWN JEWELS GROIN PUNT!
IS REVERSED!!!!!
AURORA CATCHES THE LEG AND DRAGON-SCREWS KING INTO THE CORNER!
The crowd rumbles. Aurora has a hold of the ropes, standing now over a downed King in the corner.
She stomps in his neck/chest region. She hauls back, stomps again, this time catching King directly in his damaged head. The attack is gruesome. She holds tighter on the ropes and starts stomping a mudhole directly in the damaged eye, each stomp tearing away at the bandages.
The crowd groans at the sheer violence.
JC: My goodness, Aurora is decimating that fractured orbital socket of King’s!
BG: This is hard to watch, JC. His eye bone wont just be fractured, it’ll be shattered!
The bandage is mostly torn away from King’s face, exposing a gruesome sight. Blood and bruising around his eye, bruising that covers most of the side of his head. His broken eye is only barely covered by the eyepatch and a few bandages holding the strap in place around his head. Blood starts dripping down from behind the eye patch.
Aurora limps to the opposite corner, holding her ribs. She falls fack into the corner, partially resting, but also waiting for King to stir. The horrifically bruised, and injured looking King finally gets to his feet after that mudhole stomping JUST AS AURORA CHARGES IN!
CRITICAL TRIGGER SHOTGUN DROPKICK!!!!
IS HALTED!
King lunges forward just before Aurora can leap, he grapples around her with a bear hug. Halting her momentum swing. With a violent snap of the neck, King headbutts her. As she stumbles back King spits in her face, and rakes a large hand across her eyes. The crowd boos loudly, as the ref begins shouting at King. He shoves the ref away and batters Aurora into the ropes. She grabs around King’s neck and tries to knee him… but King back-body drops Aurora over the ropes. She holds onto the ropes, causing her to fall awkwardly, and she lands right on her spine across the apron.
King limps away from the ropes and toward the center of the mat as Aurora rolls off the apron and falls to the floor. King is seriously damaged, but fighting through. Gathering his breath, he sizes Aurora up on the floor. She gets to her feet, and King sprints for the turnbuckle. He runs up the first and second pad before vaulting over the top rope, with a turning flying crossbody that cleans Aurora out!
JC: High stakes match, high stakes meanuvers!
BG: The way King executed that, he looked like he wasn’t injured at all! What a gifted athlete!
The move does damage to both, but considerably more to Aurora. King grunts, chomping his teeth together as he struggles up to a knee, clutching his damaged arm close to his side. He stands over Aurora who’s barely crawling on the floor.SICKENING KICK TO HER RIBS. King damn near growls through his teeth, and tears off what padding and banageds are left on Aurora’s ribs. He kicks her even harder now
JC: My god, Brody. I don’t think Aurora can breathe right now!
Over and over he kicks! Aurora appears to be spitting blood-up!
She crawls up to all fours again, and just barely turns and gets an arm up to absorb most of the blow of another kick. Only on her knees now, gasping for air, King right infront of her…
DESPERATION REFLEX OF THE ARM!
She throws her arm up and low blows Kieran.
BG: DIRTY MOVE!
JC: WHAT? PAYBACK FOR THE EYE RAKE, BRODY! THIS MATCH IS ABOUT SURVIVAL!
King crumbles over holding his groin.
Rather than counting Aurora and King out, the ref has joined them on the floor.
There can be no count-outs in this match. No disqualifications. The XWF must crown its next king!
Aurora is given some time to recover, and finally hobbles back to her feet. She takes off running toward the apron, she leaps up and runs long it, running al lthe way to the end where she dives off with a knee- connecting with devastating force to King’s bad eye just as he stands.
King falls back into the barricade. His head wobbling, his arms spread out across the railing just across from the ring steps. Aurora climbs to the top of the stairs now, and vaults off
ENTROPY BLADE!!!!!
The flying V-trigger cracks King in the jaw!!!!
AND PARTIALLY COLLAPSES THE BARRICADE!
King and Aurora spill into a section of fans!
AURORA COVERS OUTSIDE?!
And the ref counts the fall!!!!
1!
2!!
– – –
JC: HOW ON EARTH DID KIERAN KING KICKOUT THERE???
BG: THE KING NOT WILLING TO FALL ON HIS SWORD FOR THE CROWN - - -YET
Aurora looks nearly unconscious as she rises back to her feet, struggling to bend her torso upward. She snags a handful of King’s locks and rakes his head around, helping him to his feet before pushing him (bad shoulder/arm first) into the steel ring steps.
King trips over broken barricade pieces along the way, to a more violent fall into the edges of the staircase.
King slides off the front of the stairs, and crumbles down on his rear between the side of the steps and the ring apron.
Aurora sizes him up, and climbs on the apron, several feet away… SHE CHARGES AND LEAPS OFF AGAIN!!!
CRITICAL TRIGGER SHOTGUN DROPKICK!!!!!
THAT KING NARROWLY AVOIDS!!!
AURORA CRASHES VIOLENTLY INTO THE STEEL STEPS!
Aurora is mangled, as she lands pretty much tail-bone first into the steps. The crowd gasps at the impact.
Meanwhile King has first crawled, then managed to limp his way to his feet heading to the stage, and the theater entrance. Catching his breath, he leans over near the base of the theater stage. He starts throwing his arms up in the universal sign for medical assistance- then points down to Aurora who's bokeh on the floor near the ring. He starts gesturing, waving his arm from the backstage area and pointing down to the ring.
JC: King’s calling for medical assistance for Aurora!
BG: Can you blame him? Look at her! She may never walk again after this, JC! She’ll have no ribs to support her vertebrae.
JC: I’m not sure it works that way, Brody.
King is imploring backstage to send medics down to remove Aurora from the match, which would win him the crown again by default.
Only no one comes… yet King hears a rumbling in the audience.
He looks down to the ring with his one wide again and sees Aurora, somehow, miraculously dragging up to her feet.
King snarls and begins marching back down to the ring. Aurora is up
AND THE TWO MEET IN THE CENTER OF THE RUN WAY!
The two begin trading kicks, knees, forearms, punches, with veracity, and ill intent.
King throws a violent looking haymaker and - - - -
EVENT HORIZON!
Aurora’s trademark roundhouse kick to the gut impales the King!
He’s bent over, gasping for air. Aurora grabs the back of his pants and runs him down the ramp, chest first into the apron, throwing him so hard she falls to her knees too. King drops backwards flat to the floor. Aurora gets him back up, and rolls him under the ropes.
As King rolls on the mat, Aurora, from the otherside of the apron, vaults over the ropes and comes down on the back of King’s neck with a knee drop.
Aurora pops to her feet, and lifts King again, whipping him into the turnbuckle. She moves to the one opposite of him, then points her fingers like a gun and charges…
King’s eye goes wide!
CRITICAL TRIGGER!
The shotgun dropkick lands perfectly!
King falls forward out of the corner and lands right on his face as Aurora ip-ups to her feet and begins pumping up, moving to the center of the ring.
She watches King barely climb to his knees and charges in
THE BLACK LEGACY!!!!
BUT KING FENDS OFF THE SPIKE HURRICANRANA!
The two struggle on the mat. Aurora wrenching King up by the air, King grappling at her face on the way up. Aurora open-hand slaps King across the face, more specifically across his bad eye. The tw stand there again, beating the HELL out of one another. Punches. Kicks. Slaps. Eye rakes and then another sickening, desperate headbutt from King!
HE SNATCHES AURORA UP NOW!
HIS ARM READY TO FALL OFF AS HE STRUGGLES TO LIFT…
F UR HEAD!
King plants Aurora with the brainbuster!
He doesn’t go for the pin?
Instead King pulls up on the ropes, using their assistance back to his feet. Then he limps along, holding them on his way to the turnbuckle.
He struggles, but climbs to the top turnbuckle as the crowd stirs to their feet again.
King’s positioned atop the turnbuckle, holding his bad arm with his good one. He slowly points up in the arm with his good arm and then
KING MAKER —- 450 SPLASH!!!!!
IS ABORTED MID AIR!
AURORA ROLLS OUT OF THE WAY!
KING ROLLS THROUGH HIS FINISHING DIVE!
HE LANDS IN A BAD WAY ON ALL FOURS!
STARBURST SONATA!!!!!
THE SPIKE CURB STOMP FROM AURORA!!!
IS COUNTERED WITH A POP-UP
KING LEAPS AFTER AURORA!!!!
UGLY ON THE OUTSIDE!
THE FALLING CODEBREAKER!!!!
Aurora smashes face first into King’s knees and pops upright… completely out on her feet and falling back into the ropes.
King struggles back to his feet, he leaps after Aurora again.
UGLY ON THE OUTSIDE!
But Aurora is holding onto the ropes, and Kings falls back trying to pull her down, landing on his feet.
JC: How in the HELL is Aurora still able to support her base like that, Brody! She appears to be unconscious!
BG: How in the hell are either of these two still alive?!
King leaps at her again, and this time stays in almost a guillotine head hold, unabl to complete the codebreaker stunner again, AND KNOW AURORA IS NAILING HIM IN THE EYE AGAIN!
Over and over!
King is fading quick!!!
Falling back into the turnbuckle as Aurora unleashes on what has to be at this point, King’s broken eye socket. King falls on his feet and covers his head with his arms. Aurora is bouncing off of him with attacks, as King tries kicking her away while he scoots up the turnbuckle. He fends off another punch as he reaches the top, sitting on his rear.
Aurora is on her feet, she runs at King and LEAPS
INTO A BLACK LEGACY HURRICANARAN FROM THE TOP ROPE!!!!
BUT KING HAS CAUGHT HER!
HE PUSHES HER BACK OFF WITH ALL OF HIS MIGHT!
AURORA FALLS BACK, BUT QUICKLY SPRINGS TO HER FEET
KING LEAPS OFF!
DIVING UGLY ON THE OUTSIDE!!!!!
THE IMPACT ON BOTH WRESTLERS IS DEVASTATING!!
AURORA EATS KINGS FALLING KNEES AND BLASTS UP IN THE AIR, LANDING BACKFIRST ON THE MAT
KING, PRACTICALLY DEAD AT THIS POINT, CRAWLS ON HER FOR THE PINFALL!!!!!
1!
2!!
3!!!
WINNER: And STILL King of the XWF - - - KING KIERAN!!!
JC: Can you believe it Brody? Kieran King has done the UNTHINKABLE!!!
BG: Back to back reigns as KING of the XWF, and he's fought through HELL to get here tonight!
JC: Tonight alone, practically blinded, and barely able to raise his arm in victory, King Kieran has risen to the occasion to claim his rule of the XWF once more!
BG: The battles tonight, between all four of the finalist in the Ides of March have been nearly unspeakable! The grit, the determination. It's miracle that any of these warriors have been able to walk away.
King is finally up to his knees. Blood still leaking from behind his eye patch. The ref tries raising his arm, and helping him to his feet. But King refuses, swatting the refs hand away. He looks out toward the timekeeper and motions for him to enter the ring.
A crown lying upon a pillow is presented to King, as an exhausted, almost incredulous grin rides upon his battered, and bloodied face. He lifts the crown off of the pillow, and raises it hig above his head, damaged arm and all, roaring with laughter as he kicks his feet backward, like kicking dust in the barley moving Aurora's face.
JC: There he is ladies and gentlmen, the two time, reigning KING of the XWF...
BG: ALL HAIL KING KIE-!
All at once in random unison every one of the lights in the arena begin to flicker and pulse.
JC: It's happening again! The lights are ou-SOMEONE'S GRABBING ME! HELP!
BG: That's just me, Jacko! I got startled!
Slowly at first but gaining speed. The two competitors in the ring look about and then to each other, before the lights cut shut off with a pop from the generator as well as the fans in attendance. Cell Phone lights attempt to push through the darkness but all that can be seen is silhouettes of the two people in the ring.
The sound of violins begins to drown out the screams of the crowd. A thick myst descends from the upper area of the arena, muting the already useless cell phone flashlights. The music, Increasing in volume exponentially until no one can hear anything but, goes from chaotic to rhythmic with each passing second. The song, unfamiliar at first, and unmistakable soon after.
The lights flash like a party city strobe light, bathing everything and everyone in different colors. At first the order is obviously the mnemonic device to remember the order in which colors appear in a rainbow. As these lights flash faster and faster, the color drains away from them at equal speed. As the song repeats, only slower and obviously creepier in tone.
The lights flash on and for a split second we can see Marisol Vilaro.
The lights flash off and on again and she is joined by Sarah Wolf.
Again the strobes go into overdrive and when they steady we see they are now standing with Enigma.
And one final time the lights explode on and off, and when they finally steady, Yelena Gorgo has joined the other three.
Kieran King begins to back up as the group steps toward him. He squares himself away, and prepares for the fight of his life. Enigma rushes in and takes a hard right hand to the face that stops him but doesn’t stagger him. Marisol attempts a clothesline but King ducks her and sends her over the ropes. He lunges at Yelena, but Sarah intercepts him and takes the hit. Yelena takes her shot and kicks The Winner dead center of their chest, knocking them back into the ropes where Marisol is waiting with an elbow to the back of the head.
King stumbles forward into the arms of Enigma who hoists him into the air, and tosses them upward and to the side. As they fall, a cloud of black liquid spews out of Sarah’s mouth blinding them, and denying them the view of the fall to the mat. Soon as they hit, a parade of kicks is unleashed onto their back, legs and head. Yelena calls her shot, as the other three back off, and as the Winner rises to their feet, Yelena darts toward them, and unleashes a Kikkudemon to the winners face that sends them to the mat with a motionless thud. Looking over their work, the group remains stoic and satisfied.
Security hits the ring after a beat, attempting to break things up but before they even reach the ring, the lights once again stutter off as another voice begins to sing. More gutteral and disturbed than the prior, with all traces of Judy Garlands sweet tones banished and replaced with a overlap of angry screams and pained shouts. The song they sing is the same in rhythm, but far darker in lyrics.
The voice cuts to silence as the darkness gives way to light. In the ring we see only the carnage left behind and not a single trace of those who committed it.
The lights to the grand theatre dim, as the crowd vibrates with a buzz around the sold-out Shakespeare Theatre. The space drips with anticipation, the stage, deigned like a Roman forum with crimson banners and gold laurels, falls silent. Then the first base hit of “Beast” by Tech N9ne shakes the venue.
JC: And he her comes! Chaos, arrogance, unfiltered street brutality incarnate! My gawd, it’s James Shark!
BG: I think the young kids call this aura farming, he sure is dripping with it!
Insanity at it's finest
Fire starter,
Riot maker,
Moon stricken,
Animal need,
Bad seed,
Untamable beast!
The opening verse erupts and strobe lights flood the stage. Flanked by guards of all sorts and sizes, James Shark steps out through the curtains, a gleeful grin stretched across his face. Shoulders bouncing, head bobbing to the rhythm, every movement oozes with confidence. He wears a black hoodie with “The Only Apex Predator” emblazoned on it.
]JC: Shark walks into this historic venue like he owns the damn place! He’s not here for honor, he’s here to take whatever he wants!"
BG: He’s the uninvited storm, the predator who’s hunt has taken him through the locker room in a bloody storm! Now he’s onto his next prey, the very top of the food chain - our Universal Champion!!
He mouths the music, eyes glued to the ring as he confidently makes his way down towards it. He eyes the stairs for a second before scaling them and sliding between the second and third ropes. He takes to the ropes, before stopping abruptly in the middle of the ring and throws a few shadow box punches into the air. Rolling his neck, he gives the crowd a look before grinning up towards the stage and awaiting his prey.
The music fades, but Shark’s energy doesn’t. He paces the ring like a caged animal, shaking off his hoodie and rolling his wrists. He can’t help but lick his lips in eager anticipation. A man dangerous, eager to turn the Ides of March into a bloody, New York massacre.
“I GOT A BONE TO PICK”
The house lights remain low, casting deep shadows over the grand Shakespeare Theatre. The crowd's energy shifts from the raw aggression left in James Shark’s wake to a quiet, simmering anticipation. The opening chords of a slowed-down "King Kunta" by Kendrick Lamar ripple through the speakers, each bass note reverberating like a distant war drum.
JC: And now, we await the champion. The ruler of this battlefield. The man who holds the Universal Championship... Isaiah King.
BG: Shark storms into places like he owns them. But Isaiah King walks in like he’s always owned them. He doesn’t demand respect—he commands it.
A single golden spotlight cuts through the darkness, illuminating the top of the stairs. Isaiah King stands at the apex, his Universal Championship draped over his shoulder, his posture regal but effortless. He is not bouncing on his feet, not fidgeting. He is still, like a king surveying his dominion. Clad in a high-collared black and gold jacket, his crown insignia stitched into the back, he exhales slowly before taking his first step forward.
The camera lingers on his face, stoic. Unreadable, before he adjusts the title, brushing invisible dust from the plate. Unlike Shark, who brawled his way down, Isaiah descends with measured, deliberate steps, his presence alone drawing the focus of the crowd. Some fans cheer, some jeer, but no one looks away.
JC: This is the difference, BG. Shark thrives on chaos. Isaiah King is control.
BG: The Lonely King, JC. He doesn’t need a crew, doesn’t need validation. Just the gold on his shoulder and the knowledge that he is better than the rest.
As he reaches the ring, Isaiah stops just before the apron. Instead of rushing inside, he slowly turns his head, looking out at the crowd. King takes in the moment, his grip tightening on the championship, before ascending the steel steps. He wipes his feet on the apron - a nod to wrestling tradition - before stepping between the ropes with absolute confidence.
Once inside, he walks to the center, raising the Universal Championship high above his head with one hand. No shouting, no wasted movement. Just a single, undeniable statement, he mouths - I am the one you all want to dethrone.
JC: King knows what’s at stake. He knows the man coming for him is reckless, wild, and unpredictable.
BG: Shark might have the hunger, but Isaiah has the crown. And tonight, we’ll see which one really matters.
The music fades, but Isaiah doesn’t move. He stands firm, his expression unmoving as he watches Shark with an air of quiet dismissal. The contrast is unmistakable - one man pacing, snarling like a caged animal, the other standing still, unwavering, a fortress within himself. The Ides of March will decide which approach reigns supreme.
Isaiah King must inform staff of his chosen match type by March 21st
The two stand, inches from each other as Isaiah hands the Universal Championship over to our official. Moving between them, the referee hopes to create some space before sighing in defeat. He signals for the bell to be run and the two men almost immediately bring identical right hands towards each other’s jaws.
Both catch the opposing hands with their left, in a quick parry, both leaning away from the strike and going for a quick right body hook to counter. This two is caught by right hands. The two dash backwards, dropping into their own unique boxing stances, before chuckling at the almost synchronised set of moves.
King: You sure we haven’t met in the Harlem before?
Shark: You a child, young’un, ain’t no way we’ve met.
Lunging forward, the two lock up in classic tie-up, before both deciding to slip out. Isaiah swings a leg out to sweep Shark’s from beneath him and Shark tries to switch around to take Isaiah’s back. Once again, their identical but opposing strategies find them standing apart from each other, eyes watching for the smallest of twitches.
JC: Aren’t they meeting for the first time?
BG: Sure don’t look like it, you know these people all know each other?
JC: Sorry, these people?
…Prince eyes Shark analytically, as if scanning for weaknesses, fears, insecurities… But after their opening exchange, Shark looks like he’s in the one place he’s most comfortable: A fight. Shark, meanwhile, is much less analytical, looking like he’s excited to meet a kindred spirit.
Shark rolls his shoulders, his hands resting lazily at his sides, a cocky smirk curling across his lips.
"You box, Zay? You throw?” Shark smiles, ear-to-ear, raising a fist towards the young champion. “Let’s throw hands. See if you can hang."
Prince's jaw tightens.
JC: A straight fist-fight against James Shark is NOT the best option for ANYONE!
BG: Try telling that to Isaiah King! He’s got decades of boxing experience! And if there’s one thing that Prince Adeyemi will never do, it’s back down from a challenge!
Indeed, Prince steps forward, shoulders squared, fists clenched, his stance firm. Shark is absolutely giddy, as he watches Isaiah enter a boxing stance…
“Ohhhhhhh, here we goooooooooo! Zay been takin’ that Zumba boxing for cardio!!” Shark is beside himself with joy as he gets his feet set! “Let’s see what you got, Zay!”
The crowd erupts as both men settle into bare-knuckle boxing stances, the anticipation thick enough to cut with a blade.
JC: Ali and Foreman. Pacquiao and Mayweather…
BG: Adeyemi and Shark!
JC: And we’re underway!!!
Shark moves first, light on his feet, his lead hand flicking out to test range, teasing with feints, daring Prince to bite. But Adeyemi doesn’t hesitate. He pushes in, bracing, and then—CRACK!
JC: A direct hit! The first point goes to Prince!
BG: He got Shark right in the nose! But unlike most Shark’s, James ain’t backing down!
A stiff right hand splits the air and lands flush on Shark’s nose, snapping his head back. The sound of knuckle meeting bone reverberates over the crowd’s gasps. Shark blinks, instinctively touching his nose, checking for blood. For the first time, his smirk fades—only for a moment. Then it returns, wider, wilder.
"Oh man! You’re HIM, huh?" Shark mutters under his breath, licking his lips.
Prince eyes Shark narrowly, still analyzing his opponent… As Shark’s excitement gets more erratic…
JC: I don’t know if James Shark has ever eaten a right-jab quite like that in his entire career! Prince just ROCKED the challenger.
BG: But Shark seems to be enjoying himself here, JC. I’m not sure that bodes well for the champion.
Prince throws again, but Shark is gone before the punch can land, his body slipping back just enough to let the fist cut through empty air! Adeyemi tries again with another punching sequence—another hook, a straight—but Shark sways just out of reach, his upper body moving like liquid.
BG: Buzz like a butterfly, sting like a bee!
JC: Shark is the one who dared Prince to box with him… But thus far, Isaiah is the only one swinging!
Shark’s baiting now, letting his head lead closer… letting Prince commit to his swings, letting the champ taste the frustration of missing by inches.
JC: James Shark might be the quickest man to run the ropes! It’s like he can see Prince’s punches coming before Prince can throw them!
BG: The champ trying to use his own footwork to narrow that gap, trying to force Shark’s reaction time to be instantaneous!
Adeyemi’s eyes narrow, as he tries to grapevine his feet closer into Shark’s radius He surges forward, stepping in to close the distance and cut off Shark’s escape. But as soon as he moves within striking range—BOOM!
A right hook slams into Prince’s ribs, cutting through his momentum like a knife through a watermelon!
Then another! This time, a left thuds against Prince’s side, knuckles digging deep against the champ’s ribs!
JC: I think you were right, partner! That initial shot from Prince only seems to have sharpened Shark’s blades.
BG: And he’s swingin’ them bad boys with ILL-intent!
Adeyemi grunts, his abs clenching against the blows! His boxing training kicks in, as he covers his middle to block further strikes…
But the Shark smells blood in the water and he’s not done feeding!
He bypasses Isaiah’s guard with a right to the liver! Followed by a left to the solar plexus! The impact sends sharp, electric pain lancing through Prince’s core, his breath hitching for a half-second too long.
JC: Oh man! If this were a boxing round, I think this the score is shifting from 9-10 Prince to maybe a 10-8, Shark!
BG: Two-point difference? That still sounds close!
JC: Trust me, Brody! It’s not!
Prince tries to pivot backwards, creating that same distance that Shark was creating earlier! But Shark doesn’t let the champ retreat an inch! Every inch Prince tries to recede is an inch Shark encroaches into the champ’s space as Shark’s fists rain down pistons, pounding into Adeyemi’s body!
A stiff Shark uppercut rips into his sternum, and his back meets the turnbuckles with a dull thud. Trapped.
JC: Oh no! Prince has been trying to fade back out of Shark’s range… But now he has nowhere left to go!
Shark grins through his teeth, stepping in close. He feints high with a right hand!
Prince’s own right shoot to shove off the right…
But it was a decoy! Shark instead drives his left into Adeyemi’s ribs again, right where he hit moments before! Pain flares through Adeyemi’s torso, forcing him to grit his teeth, but he refuses to lose his stance!
JC: Prince refusing to give Shark the satisfaction of taking him off his feet!
BG: It’s gotta only be a matter of time! Shark might be the best boxer in the world!
Shark, though, can sense it. The edge. The widening gap. Like his prey is thrashing the moment before they go under the water…
A jab snaps Adeyemi’s head back, then a cruel, measured uppercut rattles his jaw. The power behind Shark’s fists isn’t reckless—it’s surgical. Each strike lands exactly where he wants, testing Adeyemi’s chin, his endurance, his will.
The crowd buzzes! Prince’s breath starts to get heavier, it’s sapping his energy having to withstand all these punches!
JC: Oh boy! This spells-trouble for our Universal Champion!
BG: James Shark is putting on an absolute boxing clinic right now! Adeyemi looks like he doesn’t know what hit him!
Shark steps in for the knockout punch!
…But Prince spins, blocking side-stepping the punch!
…AND DRIVE A SPINNING ELBOW STRAIGHT INTO JAMES SHARK’S FACE!
JC: In a match of fists? CLEARY… advantage Shark…. But elbows?
BG: Prince Adeyemi has built a career out of that elbow!
The point of his bone collides with Shark’s skull, sending a sickening crack through the air! The crowd rises to their feet, electrified, anticipating a possible knockout after that sickening sound from Prince’s strike!
Shark’s head whips to the side, his body staggering back on instinct, his balance nearly breaking as he crashes across the ring into the opposite turnbuckle!
Prince shakes his head, dusting off cobwebs, as he catches his breath, having almost been beaten by Shark’s sheer boxing acumen!
…The official checks in with Shark, after for the first time, Shark seems shaken. He checks in, asking if Shark wants to continue…
For the first time in the match, Shark looks stunned. His chest rises and falls as he steadies himself, his fingers curling around the top rope for balance. But then—his expression shifts.
His eyes burn with fire. A grin spreads across his face, wide, almost manic. He wipes his mouth, tasting blood.
"Ohhhh! That’s how y’all do it in Harlemn, huh!" Shark bites, his voice absolutely buzzing with electricity! [red]”Y’all throw elbows? Street-fight?!? You shoulda tol’ me, Zay! You wanna burn this mother down, I got the kerosene in my veins, Zay!”
JC: Oh my GOD, what is wrong with James Shark?!?
BG: James Shark is many things, Jacko! But, about all else, he is a man who loves to fight! And he and Adeyemi may be not be the same guy, but they are very similar in loving combat in all its forms
James Shark’s lips curl into a savage grin, his nostrils flaring as he wipes the sweat from his brow. That elbow?
”You didn’ say you wanna go NUTS, Zay!” Shark keeps mouthing off, as his veins visibly vibrate with adrenaline. ”We was just boxin’, now you got me itchin’ to SCRAP!”
Prince looks on… But there’s a small, nearly-imperceptible smirk spreading across his face. As if this opponent just became interesting.
Shark and Prince step up again! No boxing form this time!
JC: Oh my! These two men don’t look like two athletes, they look like two desperate men, fighting to survive!
BG: That’s how they’ve both lived their whole lives, Jacko!
Shark moves first, lunging—not with footwork, not with calculated strikes, but with pure animalistic aggression! His body torques forward, elbows swinging like hatchets, slicing through the space between them.
Prince Adeyemi’s eyes narrow, his shoulders tightening. He instinctively throws up his forearms, trying to swat away Shark’s wild swings like a martial artist… but Shark isn’t picking his shots anymore—he’s battering Prince, throwing wild elbows into whatever flesh he can find.
Prince’s hands move quick to rebound off Shark’s blows… But Shark’s hands just keep increasing speed! Until…
CRACK!
An elbow slams into Prince’s collarbone, sending a shockwave of pain down his arm. He grits his teeth, stepping back, but Shark keeps coming!
SMACK!
Another elbow crashes against his temple. Prince staggers, his vision blurring at the edges for half a second.
[COMMENTARY]
Shark draws his face close to Prince… Too close! Prince tries to bring an uppercut across Shark’s ch-
PAIN! A white-hot, sharp sting rips across his forehead—Shark’s teeth sinking into his flesh!
JC: Oh my God, James Shark just bit Prince straight on the face!
BG: Watch out, Prince! You might lose a limb from that Shark Bite!
Prince’s body jerks violently as he lets out a guttural snarl, instinctively thrashing backward. But Shark clings on like a rabid animal, his jaw tightening, his fingers gripping Prince’s shoulders to hold him in place.
Prince launches an elbow, catching Shark in the face! Shark’s teeth loosen, as his head reels backwards from Prince’s skull…
Prince charges in, looking for another blow…
SNAP! Again, Shark’s face glides through the space between the competitors… And Shark BITES DOWN on Prince’s ear!
JC: Shades of Tyson here from James Shark!
BG: And ear-biting isn’t an DQ in wrestling like it is in boxing!
Prince roars and slams a forearm into Shark’s jaw, the impact forcing separation with a wet, sickening snap.
JC: If this was fun for Prince before, you can tell he’s losing his patience with Shark’s antics! That last elbow almost took Shark’s head off his neck!
Shark staggers back, stutter-stepping into the ropes! laughing, blood staining his lips as he wipes them with the back of his hand.
Prince breathes heavily, rolling his jaw, his fingers twitching. His eyes burn with an intensity that wasn’t there before.
JC: I think it just dawned on Prince the kind of game Shark wants to play…
BG: And Prince is more than willing to play that game!
Prince teleraphs a body blow… Shark grins, side-stepping, drawing his face for another bite…
But, Prince doesn’t back down! Prince steps in, his stance shifting to bypass Shark’s bite, his left shoulder drawing back—BOOM!
A liver shot. A perfect, bone-crushing left hook that buries itself deep into Shark’s side!
JC: Oh my! That looked BRUTAL!
Shark’s eyes widen for a split second—his body locks up, his knees nearly buckling as his breath hitches. The air in his lungs vanishes, stolen in an instant.
Prince sees the pain in Shark’s eyes! That analytical eye of Prince takes in every detail on Shark’s body… The way Shark’s ribs spasm involuntarily, the way his mouth falls open just slightly as his body betrays him.
Prince grins!
THWACK! Another liver shot, this one even deeper. Shark’s shoulders twitch violently, his stomach tensing in a desperate, failing attempt to guard.
WHUMP!
A third shot—this time, a full-body weight shift behind the punch.
JC: Prince may be a longtime boxer, but he is a LIFETIME street fighter!
BG: And he’s using that know-how to PUNISH James Shark!
Shark rebounds toward the ropes, after another patented Prince kidney punch backs him into the corner…
Shark lets out a sharp grunt, his back arching slightly. He takes a beat, leaning on the ropes besides the turnbuckle, but then—
"This all they got in Harlem, Zay? I ain’t gettin’ full on this shit, I’m still fuckin’ HUNGRY, Zay!"
His voice booms through the arena, a mixture of defiance and mania. His teeth are bared, his chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow breaths. The crowd erupts, caught in the electric chaos.
Prince doesn’t respond with words. He steps forward, grabbing Shark by the top of the skull, and driving his face down—THWUMP!
A knee rises viciously into Shark’s ribs.
Shark’s grin twitches. His body jerks slightly. But before he can react—another knee.
And another!
A THIRD!
Each shot drills deeper into Shark’s ribcage like an excavator. His arms begin to lower, instinctively moving to shield his midsection.
Prince keeps pressing forward, his hands gripping the back of Shark’s head to hold him in place against the middle rope!
BANG! Another knee, this time to the side of the skull! Shark lets out a muffled grunt, the sound of breath escaping his lips like a hiss of air from a punctured tire.
JC: Oh my God! This is getting brutal! These two are in the ropes! Shouldn’t this match have an official?
The official, after that opening, seems content to just let these two destroy each other…
Prince tries to tie Shark’s arm around the ropes, seemingly content to physically break down the Shark with knees until he’s nothing but a pile of blood and vomit…
Then—suddenly, violently—Shark yanks his head back, slipping into the corner… and swings his leg forward!
BAM!
A stiff front kick slams into Prince’s chest, sending him rolling backward!
The impact is thunderous. Prince’s body crashes into the canvas, but he rolls through, absorbing the force, landing smoothly on his feet. His chest rises and falls rapidly, but his balance remains intact.
As he lifts his head—
Shark is already airborne.
His arm cocks back. He’s coming for the kill.
JC: OH MY GOD! SHARKBAI-
Instinct explodes through Prince’s body. He ducks, twisting under Shark’s arm, his body sliding behind him with blinding speed.
BG: …I blinked, how the hell did Prince dodge that Sharkbait?
JC: Prince might be faster than the human eye! That dodge was otherworldly!
Before Shark even processes what just happened—
Prince’s arms lock tight around his waist.
His knees bend. His back arches.
And he lifts.
SNAP!
GERMAN SUPLEX!
Shark’s body whips backward, flipping through the air before CRASHING neck-first into the middle turnbuckle!
The ring shudders beneath the force. The crowd gasps.
JC: Oh my God! What a devastating maneuver! That german suplex against the turnbuckle looked insane, Brody!
BG: Know what’s even more insane, Jacko? We’re this deep in the match and I think that’s the first thing that could be called a wrestling move! These two men are just beating the FUCK out of each other!
Shark, tangled in the ropes, cradles his neck from the mat…
Prince Adeyemi looms over Shark, his chest rising and falling, sweat glistening off his frame.
The camera picks up Shark chuckling, as he tries to exhaustedly shove himself off the ma-
Prince doesn’t let the challenger rise on his own terms! Adeyemi jerks him up by the wrist—BANG! A snap suplex rattles Shark’s spine against the canvas!
JC: Picture perfect suplex from Prince Adeyemi!
The moment Shark’s back touches the mat, Prince rolls through, twisting his hips—BOOM! A second snap suplex sends him crashing again.
JC: Oh my! A second!!
Shark’s body arches in pain, his fingers clawing at the mat, trying to brace himself.
But Prince isn’t done, securing the front-facelock, as he rolls himself and his opponent off the mat!
He pulls Shark up once more, his muscles flexing with raw strength—and for the third time—WHAM!
The ring shakes from the impact. Three straight snap suplexes.
JC: Each of these maneuvers is agonizing to watch! And trust me, folks, they’re even worse to experience!
BG: Remember this, Jacko! Shark didn’t let Prince get an ounce of momentum when they were just striking! But grappling? Technical wrestling? Is Shark’s weakness! The champ is in total control and there’s a real question here over if Shark can do ANYTHING to stop him!
Prince finally releases Shark, rising to one knee. He wipes the sweat from his brow, his expression sharp, focused, as he rises to his feet.
Shark groans, rolling to his side, teeth grit in frustration. He plants a fist into the mat, forcing himself to his feet, refusing to let Prince beat him upright!
Shark’s legs wobble, but his glare is still there—burning with defiance.
Prince, upon rising, looks surprised to see Shark also on his feet! He charges in for another grap-
SMACK!
A rabbit punch! A stiff punch straight to Prince’s ribs!
JC: Nope! Looks like we might be headed back to striking! James Shark’s bread and butter!
Prince flinches, his body jerking slightly. But he doesn’t stagger! He doesn’t fall!
JC: Those suplexes sapped some of Shark’s striking power! Prince is rolling now!
…Shark reels back to deliver another strike…
WHIFF! Prince ducks under!
Shark goes around, and Prince delivers a boot to the gut! Shark doubles over!
Rapidly, Prince wraps his arms around Shark’s waist—lifts him into the air…
GUTWRENCH POWERBOMB!
JC: Wow! What a maneuver!!
The ring shakes from the power of Prince’s high-impact move!
Shark crashes into the mat, his body folding like an accordion on impact.
Prince stacks Shark’s shoulders against the mat!
The official counts!
ONE!
TWO!
THRE-NO!
Shark kicks out!
The crowd erupts!
JC: Phew, close call! Adeyemi almost retained right there!
Prince exhales, unfazed, gripping Shark’s wrist and dragging him up.
He whips Shark into the ropes—his body tensing as he coils back, rotating for the Royal Verdict (discus punch)
As Shark sprints, bounding off the ropes… Prince spins, building up rotational energy…
JC: Oh man, this Royal Verdict is devastating!
Prince SWINGS!
ROYAL VERDICT!
…
Misses! Shark ducks under, running past to the opposite ropes!
Prince spins around to cut off his oppon-
BOOM!
LEAPING SUPERMAN PUNCH!
[white]JC: Holy SHIT! I think that punch hit so hard, I mighta gotten a concussion just LOOKING at it!
BG: That’s not just me? When I saw Shark’s fist hit Prince’s face, my ears started ringing and now everything smells like burnt toast!
Prince’s head snaps to the side, his body locking up mid-motion. His arms fall limp, his legs buckle—and he collapses.
Shark, still dizzy, stumbles forward, landing chest-first onto Prince.
The referee drops for the count.
ONE!
TWO!
THRE—NO!
Prince hurls his shoulder off the mat!
JC: Wow! How the HELL did that punch not knock Prince out?!?
The crowd erupts in shock, rumbling with anticipation as this match continues!
Prince rolls onto his face, to stop another pin attempt…
Little does he know, Shark looks as ragged as he does, lying on the mat… He crawls arm over arm to the ropes, looking he’s been in a car accident…
But that smile of jubilation remains!
1…
2…
JC: Oh NOW the official wants to do his job!
BG: If this war ends in a countout, I’m going to go in there and kick that ref’s ass myself!
JC: Wow, Brody! What’s gotten into you?
BG: I think it’s this fight, Jacko! It’s radiating masculine energy, all this fist-fighting stuff! Makes me wanna do push-ups or something… Hang on…
ONE!
…
Two…
…
*wheeze*
…Okay, that’s enough for now.
3…
4…
These two men struggle and strive to rise off the mat…
Prince and Shark both reach for the bottom rope…
5…
6…
Both start pulling themselves upright…
7…
8…
Both men make it to their feet! The crowd goes absolutely berserk!
JC: Holy shit! How do these guys still have anything in the tank!
BG: It’s the eye of the tiger, Jacko! The thrill of the fight! Hang on, I think I can do more pushups…
JC: Brody, just stay here with me and call the match!
The two breathe heavily, staring across the ring at each other…
Their limbs are heavy, their bodies battered. But their eyes burn with fire.
And then—they charge toward the center of the ring!
JC: Here we go!
Prince throws a right hand—CRACK! Shark’s head jerks sideways, but he fires back—SMACK! Prince’s jaw snaps back.
Another punch.
And another.
And another.
JC: Lots of punching here! Very little dodging!
BG: We’re beyond dodging now, Jackie! These two have given up on not getting hit, now they both just want the other guy to drop first!
WHAM! Prince punches Shark!
SOCK! Shark rotates, hitting Prince with a back fist!
Prince lifts his knee, cranking Shark under the chin!
Shark… laughs.
”Where you goin’, Zay? I feel you slippin’ away, you done workin’?”
JC: Shark calling Prince for what he perceives to be weakening strikes!
Prince reels back, delivering a haymaker across Shark’s skull…
Shark follows up with a one-two combo!
Prince remains upright! …But his knees visibly buckle! The crowd goes oooooooh as Prince’s legs look like jelly!
JC: Oh my! Shark smells blood in the water!
BG: He might not have custody of his daughter, but James Shark might just get custody of the Universal title!
Shark sees it. He winds up, cocking back a final, devastating shot—
SUPERMAN PUNCH!
…MISSES!
Prince ducks! Shark flies past him!
JC: Miscalculation by Shark! He was looking for a home run shot, but ended up with strike one!
BG: And there’s no way Prince is gonna give him strikes two and three! He’s gonna end it here!
Before Shark can react—Prince swings behind James’ back!.
Arms around his throat.
Legs locked around his body.
Prince secures…
THE ROYAL INQUISITION (dragon sleeper)
The crowd goes into a full blown frenzy, everyone screaming as the official asks if Shark if he can continue!
Shark’s body thrashes animalistically! He kicks, he claws at Prince’s grip—but in the hands of a surgeon like Prince, the more the wild shark thrashes, the deeper the sleeper sinks in.
JC: This could be it! As you noted, Brody, Shark’s weakness is technical wrestling, and Prince has his signature hold locked in, center of the ring!
Shark’s face flushes red. His fingers twitch.
Prince puts all the torque he can to manually close Shark’s airway…
Shark’s eyelids flutter.
His arm… drops!
JC: Shark! Is… is he out?!!
The referee leans in.
He lifts Shark’s arm—
It falls.
ONE!
He lifts it again—
It falls.
TWO!
The crowd is losing their minds, some screaming for Shark to rise, others proclaiming Prince’s greatness!
One more time—
Shark’s hand… fa-
NO!
…Shark’s hand shoots up!
The arena erupts in chaos!
JC: Oh my God! James Shark refuses to lose!
BG: I don’t think it’s his choice, Jacko! He’s still deep in Prince’s sleeper!
Shark surges to life, his fingers clawing at the canvas, his legs twisting, his body jerking violently!
Prince tightens the hold, his teeth gritting as he wrenches back harder… squeezing harder, like a wild man trying to squeeze an alligator’s mouth shut!
As he thrashes, Shark’s eyes, bloodshot and desperate, scan the ring.
His fingers dig into the mat.
And then—with one last burst of defiant energy—
James Shark starts dragging himself and Prince toward the ropes!
…
And!
It’s!
WORKING!
JC: WOW! Shark is dragging Prince’s full weight across the mat to get to the ropes! This is insane will!
Prince, previously analytical and calm, starts to bark at Shark, telling him to tap out!
Shark refuses! His fingers dig into the mat, his arms trembling under his own weight, each breath coming in ragged gasps. His vision blurs at the edges, his body screaming for oxygen, but he keeps moving—dragging himself inch by inch, arm over arm, toward the ropes…
Prince adjusts his grip, his arms tightening like steel cables. But he can feel it—Shark isn’t fading, he’s moving!
JC: Big choice for Prince! Does he let Shark make it to the ropes on the chance he runs out of air? Or does he take advantage of this momentary control and release the hold?
Prince’s eyes flick to the ropes—Shark’s fingertips are inches away!
Millimeters!
Prince’s jaw clenches. He has no choice.
As he shifts his weight to roll over Shark’s back, planting his palms on the canvas to block Shark’s path!
JC: Great ring awareness by Prince! He’s trying to roll the sleeper to place his body between Shark and the ropes!
Prince executes the roll over Shark!
…
But the moment he loosens his grip—Shark rips free!
JC: CLEAR THE BEACH! THE SHARK IS LOOSE!
The crowd erupts in a deafening roar! Shark swims off the mat, shoving off the mat!
Prince’s muscles coil, as he starfish kipups off the mat, his instincts screaming at him to finish this NOW. He leans against the ropes before bursting forward explosively!
Shark spins around, eager to attack!
But is surprised by the charging Prince!
Prince swings his knee forward, aiming to drive it through Shark’s skull—
LONELY ROAD!
…
MISSES!
Shark ducks under it!
JC: Shark still finding the wherewithal to dodge a knockout blow!
Prince flies past, rebounding off the ropes! He aims another LONELY ROAD as Shark spins around…
…
But Shark…
Grapples Prince!
JC: What?!?
BG: Shark opts for… a front facelock!
Shark’s hands clamp onto Prince’s body—firm, practiced, and dangerously precise. Prince is caught off-guard, shocked that the world-famous boxer…
WHAM!
Just judo-threw King across the ring!
JC: WOW! A shockingly deft judo throw from James Shark!
BG: I didn’t know he had it in him!
Prince’s body rolls across the canvas, discombobulated by the unexpected tumble!
The crowd explodes into cheers, half in awe, half in disbelief.
Prince’s vision swims as he stares up at the arena lights, his chest heaving, his mind trying to process what just happened.
And then he sees the shadow.
Shark is already airborne.
Prince tries to move—
BUT HE’S TOO LATE.
BOOM!
A FIST LIKE A SLEDGEHAMMER CRASHES INTO HIS JAW.
SHARKBAIT!
JC: SHARKBAIT! SHARK HITS THE SHARKBAIT!
Prince’s head snaps violently to the side, his entire body recoiling from the impact!
Shark’s body crumpled atop Prince’s, as if his soul left his body with that punch!
The referee drops beside them.
ONE!
The crowd leans forward, the arena electric with tension.
TWO!
Prince’s fingers twitch, a final instinct to resist—
…
……
THREE!
WINNER: and NEW XWF Universal Champion - - - JAMES SHARK!
The image fades with James Shark climbing the turnbuckle, pointing to his chest, and then to the Universal Championship as he raises it high above his head.
A huge thank you to everyone who sent in segments and helped write matches
Peter Principle
"The Bashmaster" Barry Masterson
Liam Desmond
Atticus Gold
King Kieran
Justin York
Bobby Bourbon
Gorgo
Dionysus
Aurora
Solomon Kline
And everyone who RPed. Thank you for a stellar show.
Isaiah rolls onto his stomach, his breath ragged, his fist pounding the mat in frustration as the weight of the moment crushes down on him. Above him, the championship is wrenched from his grasp, his championship, his crown, now raised high in the bloodied hands of James Shark. The throne he hadnt even gotten to sit on, gone.
The camera lingers on Isaiah’s face, sweat mixing with fury as he lifts his head, locking eyes with the hard cam. His lips move, the words unspoken yet deafening.
"Soon but not yet."
Without another glance, he pushes himself up and rolls from the ring, leaving Shark to bask in his triumph. Isaiah steps off the stage and into the shadows, slipping through the crowd, past the red curtains of the Shakespeare Theatre. He vanishes into the night, lighter than when he arrived but carrying the weight of what comes next.
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