...In With the New
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"I accept chaos, I'm not sure whether it accepts me."
-Bob Dylan
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~Chaos. There just wasn't any other word for it. The teeming mass of flailing limbs shifting about in the arena was like some monstrous, many-legged insect stumbling around in a drunken stupor; the horde bulging and undulating as groups of combatants came together, clashed, and drew apart. Many of the interplanetary warriors had formed temporary alliances during the first moments, though the galactic gladiator known as Jay Omega had remained aloof. In fact, The Omega Man had barely moved from his original spot; he simply stood with his arms folded across his chest until someone was foolish enough to approach him.

  Jay had already sent more than a handful of lesser competitors packing; better to conserve energy and let them run if they wanted. Others seemed to subscribe to the opposing philosophy; amidst a swirl in the fracas, Omega glimpsed the Jedarran, beset on all sides and leaping from foe to foe, slashing with his sword. Jay admired the young man's speed and grace for a moment, before his field of view was taken up by a late-stage Gwophf. A race of intelligent parasites, the Gwophf consumed and replaced the brain of their host, mutated the body, then used their meat puppet to find a new host brain to eat.

  This host seemed to have been some sort of bird person Omega was unfamiliar with. A clumsy swipe from a twisted appendage that was once a wing, and Jay burst into motion. He ducked and rolled under the swing, came up behind the creature and kicked out the back of its knee, followed by a spinning back kick to the thick neck of the Gwophf's host. The abomination fell forward into the dirt, and Omega hesitated for the briefest of moments before jumping on its skull; executing the parasite in gory fashion.

  The Omega Man didn't consider himself a murderer; sure he had killed a lot of people, but those had mostly been combat situations, like this one. He didn't feel good about ending the Gwophf's life, but it had to be done; the host was dead already, and effectively immune to pain, it was only a matter of time before it took a new host. Jay felt a shiver run down his spine, and turned around looking for the source of the sensation. He found Elaks of Murtish standing in the middle of a battle, watching him.~

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"How swiftly fate can make or unmake kings."
-Mithridates
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*We fade in–*

*Welcome back, True Believers!*

*Yes, yes, welcome back. Now get out of here, you already got to narrate that dance video thing.*

*I thought you said we weren't airing that?*

*As an official promo. Nothing stopping you from posting it on your YouTube channel.*

*Ooo-weee! Byesies!*

*We fade in on a banner of the XWF logo. The shot pulls back, revealing the banner is in fact the apron skirt of a wrestling ring. The camera pans a slow circle while rising up, taking in a packed audience frozen in a moment of time. As the ring comes back into view, the shot stops on Jay Omega - seated on the top turnbuckle, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees - then tracks around him until he's in the center of the screen, facing us head on.*

JAY OMEGA: I shouldn't be surprised that Whiskey Dick don't know nothin' about me, and truth be told, I'm not. Prior to just over a year ago, I didn't exist, as far as this universe was concerned. Kinda still don't, as far as the XWF fan base goes. Whiskey Dick was right to make that flash in the pan remark; after all, in my brief stint here at the beginning of Twenty Twenty-Two, the most notable thing I did was lose to Corey Smith. And considering how trendy losing to Corey was among the roster, that's not really notable. Which just won't do at all. See, you might not have had time to get the impression from me initially, so let me be clear; I am a total attention whore, and the fact that my XWF career thus far amounts to token wins over the likes of Tommy Wish, Chameleon, the Disintegrators, and some dudes so unremarkable I don't even remember their names is just... well it's pathetic, to be blunt. Oh, speaking of blunt...

*Jay shakes his head in disappointment, then reaches into the inside pocket of his vest and withdraws a black plastic cigarette case which has never contained a cigarette. Omega pulls a royal purple stick of hand-rolled, homegrown goodness from the case and sticks it in his mouth, then trades the case for a gold Zippo lighter. A spark, a flare, a puff of smoke, and The Omega Man is fully in his element.*

JAY OMEGA: Now, I could give y'all a history lesson, and yammer on about the many titles I've won in companies that aren't the XWF, like Whiskey Dick, but I ain't gonna, because they don't matter. That's the thing, Whiskey Dick, you run your mouth about holding tag gold all over the indy scene, but are you the tag champ here in XWF? No? And you haven't been for a year and a half? Then I have zero fucks to give. I've got a whole trophy case full of alien knickknacks and doodads proclaiming my badassery all across the galaxy, but none of them mean shit in an XWF ring.

*Jay hits the blunt like it owes him money, exhales a thick cloud of pale white smoke with tinges of blue in it, then teeters on the edge of his seat for a moment before regaining his balance.*

JAY OMEGA: Nor do my multiversal escapades have any bearing on what happens here, which is why I don't really talk about them. I totally could; just a few weeks ago, I was in a reality where Spain had Conquistadored the shit outta everybody, and one of the more well kmown names in lucha libre wrestling was Roberto Tequila. I don't want to waste time with the whole story, but much like Whiskey Dick, he was incapable of reaching higher than third string titles. Maybe low second string, depending on how the titles are ranked. I can tell you this much with certainty; neither there, nor here, is Whiskey Dick a top guy.

*Omega slides from his perch, plants his feet, then leans back against the turnbuckle to have another toke.*

JAY OMEGA: Surely you see that, Whiskey Dick? Like Mark Flynn, you've been here for years, toiling for scraps in the midcard, grinding away in the hopes of making something of yourself. But whereas Flynn buckled down and climbed that mountain, you found it easier to seek titles elsewhere. Sure, you've won some piddling, inactive titles in the XWF, but you haven't so much as sniffed at anything as high as the X-Treme title since Twenty Eighteen. Oh, but you were the Television Champion for a whole month as recent as last August! I mean, until you dropped the curtain jerker title to none other than Dick Powers. And I'm supposed to take you seriously?

*Jay snorts derisively, and cycles another cloud of smoke through his lungs, this one containing more streaks of blue.*

JAY OMEGA: Of course, that was Whiskey Dick's second month-long tenure as TV Champ, and I'd be remiss if I didn't mention that his first run with the belt happened after he beat Corey Smith, the man I just admitted to losing to. Granted, that was years ago, and Corey moved up the card, while Whiskey Dick just flopped around. The phrase "upward progression" doesn't seem to be in his vocabulary. Me on the other hand? Sure, I lost both the title shots I earned, but the fact remains that I earned two opportunities in the space of three months, which is pretty damn good, so I feel no shame in losing to either Corey Smith, or Mark Flynn.

*Another puff of smoke, this one more blue than white, and Omega gives a hearty cough, eyeing the burning bud warily.*

JAY OMEGA: Krishna, this shit's kicking my ass! Anyway, Whiskey Dick, I get that you want to defend your crown, but this is my first match back, and I ain't looking to start out with a loss. Which, I'm not so sad to say, means going through you in violent fashion. Because despite my mockery, you won this tournament last year, and if I really want to make a statement, I need to make an example. Sorry about your luck, Whiskey Dick, but on the bright side, there's always next year.

*The Omega Man shrugs apologetically, and the--*

*So, I'm banned from YouTube again.*

*Oh for fuck's sake, what did you do now?*

*I was having a spirited political debate in the comments--*

*You have to stop calling people Nazi pig-fuckers. Oh, dammit! Uh, the scene fades to black, yeah.*

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"You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star."
-Friedrich Nietzsche
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~Time attenuated. Perception filtered through a neurochemical cocktail. Conscious thought gave way to instinct. Elaks was fluid death and moved like a viper; Jay dodged a quick double thrust of the trident, threw himself prone to avoid a sweeping blow with the haft. Heaved himself over onto his back as the plasma blades sank into the ground where his torso had been. Omega kipped up, dove forward into a round off, leaped over a low swipe of the energy whip with a bicycle kick, driving Elaks back, gaining some space. A snarling bundle of fur and flashing silver streaked in from Jay's left.

  The Jedarran struck wildly with his sword, only scoring a few glancing blows against the enemy's armor. Despite the number of kills he had made with it in the last two hours, the Jedarran was clearly not well trained with the blade. Omega watched as Elaks blocked, parried, and simply avoided the flurry of attacks from the furious furry feline man; but one lucky strike slipped past the returning champion's defenses and sheared through the handle of his energy whip. Elaks tossed the sparking refuse aside and shifted to a two-handed grip on his trident with a flourish; The Omega Man got the sinking feeling that Elaks had been intentionally handicapping himself.

  The Jedarran went down in a spray of dull pink blood, the haft of Elaks' trident lodged in his chest. The armored warrior watched intently as the cat-like combatant gasped out one last rattling breath and lay still, then turned his attention to Jay, the only other person still on his feet. The final two warriors circled each other warily, when the toe of Omega's boot made contact with the discarded energy whip. Jay kicked the broken weapon up into his hand, then threw it at his opponent as he dove into a shoulder roll. A slash from the trident intercepted the distraction, and the whip's power cell erupted in a small fireball. The Omega Man came to his feet, now holding the Jedarran's sword.

  Finely crafted, the blade felt like a cross between a rapier and a katana in his hand. No longer content with defending, Jay took up a ready stance, then flowed toward Elaks. For an endless moment the two engaged in a deadly dance; a masterful display of grace and skill, stroke and counterstroke that stretched on. At length, Omega was able to pin the trident down and break Elaks' grip on his weapon. A devastating combination of blows rained down on the armored warrior, driving him to a knee where Jay promptly kicked him onto his back and raised the sword up high, prepared to deliver the coup de grace.~