The Federal Detention Center, Houston

It’s fleeting…power

Misty Waters' voice is calm, unwavering. In the confines of her temporary detention, the chaotic noise of the outside world is muffled, but she knows the storm she’s unleashed.

In the aftermath of Relentless XXV, the world of professional wrestling- and beyond- had been shaken to its core. The blood spilled in Houston, the staged assassination of Misty Waters, and her claims of messianic resurrection left the nation simmering in chaos and disbelief. Spectacle and reality became indistinguishable, and as she was apprehended upon her return from South Korea, what seemed like half the state of Texas was waiting for her at the gates of the federal prison.

You either seize it when it presents itself- or you spend a lifetime chasing it, like the fragments of a dream-always out of reach. Just a memory of what should’ve been.

Misty’s voice was steady, like she’s holding the weight of history in her hands. Across the cold, steel table, Paulie sat, silent but shaken. His fear for Misty’s safety wasn’t for this holding cell she would only be briefly inhabiting, or the charges of incitement and conspiracy she now faced, but something far more terrifying.

You can’t pull this off, Misty. Paulie’s voice trembled, his usual bravado giving way to a primal fear. If you keep claiming to be ‘The Lord’- if you keep pushing this-you’re going to provoke him.

This is no longer about the charges of incitement, conspiracy, and fraud leveled against her. This isn't about the staged resurrection that triggered riots, or the fact that she outlasted two opponents on consecutive nights at Relentless. It’s something far darker. When Misty declared herself The Lord, it was more than a line in her performance. They were a calculated declaration of someone with designs far beyond professional wrestling.

Her revolution isn’t some hollow play for power like Johnny Bacchus' of the world- filled with grandstanding but no clear direction. Misty knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s not here to talk about power.

Misty’s eyes, lit by a cold fire, betrayed no doubt. That’s the point.

Misty is power.

Hours Later

The scene outside the Federal Courthouse in Houston is chaos incarnate. News vans line the streets, and a swarm of reporters jostle for position as protesters and supporters alike have filled the streets by the thousands.

Reporter: “In an unprecedented turn of events, XWF XTreme Champion Misty Waters has agreed to one of the most expedited trials in U.S. history. The prosecution, representing the people of Texas, is confident they have more than enough evidence to convict Waters of inciting violence and conspiring to defraud the public. With footage from XWF broadcasts and public statements in hand, they believe they have an open-and-shut case.”

The camera cuts to the prosecutor, a smug expression on his face as he speaks in to the microphone.

Prosecutor: “It’s all on tape. This isn't some abstract conspiracy theory, like the defendant will try and paint- this is real. Misty Waters orchestrated violence, incited riots, and manipulated the masses for her own gain. The jury, and the entire world, won’t take long to see her for what she is- a fraud, a criminal, and a danger to society.”

The prosecutor’s words echoing through the courthouse halls, each syllable heavy with accusation. His voice, calm yet unrelenting. It isn’t just the precursor to his opening statement- it was a declaration of war against Misty’s entire narrative.

The news feed cuts back to the frenzied chaos outside the courthouse, where the lines between fervent devotion and the Misty Madness had blurred. The air thick with the sound of chanting, prayers, and cries for Misty’s release. The camera panned over a crowd of supporters- some armed, some kneeling, all utterly consumed by the spectacle unfolding before them. T-shirts bearing Misty’s mugshot flew off vendor tables, her image plastered on flags and posters like she were Che Guevara.

News Reporter: “With the prosecution moving forward in the trial of Misty Waters for incitement and conspiracy, this has become far more than a courtroom case. It’s a national spectacle. But what’s truly stunning isn’t the charges themselves, but the obsessive public debate surrounding the legitimacy of Misty Waters’ claims of resurrection.

Is she a criminal or a divine figure?

That’s the question at the heart of this trial, though one would think the evidence should speak for itself."

We told you before that the truth should be self-evident. There’s no gray between the events that have transpired throughout this twisted tale we’ve followed for months now. Misty’s quest for power and domination, all of her years of scheming, of plotting, and manipulating the outcomes leading her to this very moment. To the court of public opinion. Where lies can dance under the stage light of justice.

The People V. Misty Waters The Lord

The courtroom is packed, the tension suffocating. The eyes of the world are unable to escape what they’re witnessing.

The gallery is filled with outrage and fanaticism- some glaring at Misty with contempt, others gazing at her with reverence as if awaiting a miracle. The media lines the back of the room, their cameras ready to capture history for a global audience, while law enforcement officers stand vigilant, their expressions stone, anticipating the chaos brewing just outside the walls.

Misty Waters sits at the defense table with an eerie calmness. Even framed by the fluorescent lights of the courtroom, her face is unreadable. Draped in the same white gown she wore during her so-called “resurrection” and the ensuing chaos in Houston, she seemed less like a defendant and more like a figurehead awaiting coronation. Beside her, the XTreme Championship—a symbol of her ambition, her campaign, her power—lay gleaming in the artificial light, as though waiting to be raised in triumph once more.

Next to her, Paulie was a different picture altogether. His fingers drumming nervously on the table, his foot tapping the floor. Flickering with unease, he keeps glancing at Misty, who despite the weight of what’s facing her, is disturbingly at peace. As if she’s not even listening to the prosecutor very astutely outlining the charges against her.

The prosecutor, pacing deliberately in front of the jury, his voice unwavering, laid out the case against Misty with surgical precision.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” his voice cutting through the room, “we’re going to ask you to return with a guilty verdict on one count of Incitement to Riot and a guilty verdict on one count of Conspiracy to Defraud the Public.

But I want to be clear… These are charges against a human being.

We are not asking you to judge the divine. This is not about a messiah or some almighty figure from folklore. No, this is about Misty Waters, a very mortal, very real woman sitting at the defense table. She wants you to see her as something more, something untouchable, but the evidence will show that she is anything but. The crimes she stands accused of -inciting riots, conspiracy to deceive the public- are clear, and the destruction she has caused is undeniable.”

The weight of his words settle on the room, he glances toward the silent jury.

“We will show you tapes- official footage broadcast by the XWF, footage the world has seen live. Footage that will prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that this woman is guilty of some of the most heinous and destructive crimes our sacred state, and this republic, has ever seen.

Under her words, the city of Houston burned.

People lost their livelihoods. Stores were looted. Your neighbors were killed. What you see here is not just a professional wrestler- what you see is a dangerous demagogue, someone who has exploited her platform to spread division and violence.

All for her own personal gain.

All for power.”

That word, power, it hangs thick, like a poisonous fog.

…and Misty doesn’t flinch.

This is the moment she’s waited so long for.

Her moment, not just to defend herself in a court of law, but to defend the XTreme Championship campaign, her messianic rise, and everything she’s fought to achieve.

Rising from her seat, Misty approaches the jury, the courtroom watching her every move with bated breath. Dressed in white, like a savior come to deliver judgment.

Where this court claims prosecution, Misty begins, her voice soft but sharp as a blade, the entire world sees persecution.

The jurors blinked, some shifting in their seats. Her words aren’t a defense- they’re a challenge.

A challenge to the very system trying to convict her.

You want to talk about power? she continues, turning her gaze toward the jury, then the cameras, as if addressing not just the courtroom but the world. Power is the ability to make people believe in something greater than themselves.

And you all believed in the system, didn’t you?

You believed in the lies they fed you- just like Johnny Bacchus believes in his own hollow crusade.
[dolly]He was played like a pawn by the same corrupt forces he vows to dismantle. A revolutionary who finds nothing but failure in his wake. For all his grandstanding, all his talk of fighting the system, what has he done? Where are the victories, the broken chains of oppression he promised? Misty’s words drip with contempt, her disdain for Bacchus’s self-righteousness burning through each syllable.

Yet it is I, THE LORD, who stands to bear witness. It is I, THE LORD, who is on trial.

She pauses, letting the declaration settle over the courtroom like a brooding storm cloud over her thunderous voice,

Yet it is I, THE LORD, who is brought under scrutiny.

I am the one answering for footage from the very company conspiring to silence me. The same company that propped up Bacchus, the so-called revolutionary, and his empty promises. The same company that broadcasts his failures while they turn a blind eye to the blood on his hands.

Her voice sharpens, cutting through the courtroom’s tension.

I am the one commanded to answer for footage produced by the company who sent Johnny Bacchus -their chosen hero- to South Korea, where an innocent man was led to his grave under his watch.

Yet they paint me as the monster, they paint me as the fraud.

The jury shifts uncomfortably in their seats. The prosecutor looks uneasy, the courtroom buzzing with Misty’s words, her defiance palpable.

At every turn since I conquered the XTreme Championship, the XWF has tried to upend our campaign. Our campaign to cleanse professional wrestling from the corruption of those who’d see it as their own sandbox of injustice. They con you out of your hard-earned money, make you believe in their twisted vision, while the truth of our campaign, the real campaign, is buried beneath lies.

She steps closer to the jury, her voice more intimate now,

And what ploy do they throw at me now? Who stands against me? Johnny Bacchus. The man who can’t even look his own failures in the eye, who pretends he’s some enlightened figure when in reality, he’s just another puppet, another cog in their machine. He will never understand true power. Because real power… it doesn’t question itself. It doesn’t need validation.

Misty straightens, the light catching her XTreme Championship. It gleams like a crown beside her.

I didn’t come here to ask for mercy. I came here to take what’s mine. And at the end of this trial, when the truth is laid bare for the world to see, I will stand victorious- not just over this courtroom, but over the XWF, over Johnny Bacchus, and over every single person who doubted our campaign.

The courtroom is strangled by an uneasy silence as Misty’s words echo off the walls. For a moment, it feels like the air itself can’t breathe.

Paulie watches on nervously, his fingers tapping against the table. Each time Misty evoked "The Lord," his stomach twisted, his face tightening as though he’d been punched. He knows she’s playing with fire -no, summoning fire- and every word she speaks feels like a step closer to an unthinkable precipice.

The prosecutor stands at his table as Misty returns to hers. He clears his throat, breaking the silence with a practiced sharpness.

"That was quite the sermon, Ms. Waters" his voice a clinical contrast to Misty’s fiery delivery. He steps forward, adjusting his tie as he speaks. "But this isn’t a revival tent, and you aren’t here to save anyone’s soul. You’re here to answer for your actions."

The prosecutor looks down at the papers in his hands, briefly skimming the charges again before turning his gaze back to Misty.

"You claim to be ‘The Lord’. A messianic figure leading a divine campaign. But I wonder- do the divine answer to a mortal court?" His tone drips with mockery,attempting to needle Misty. His question lingers in the air, but only for a second. "We’re done with speeches and theatrics, Ms. Waters. It’s time to face the truth."

He turns his attention toward the judge.

“Your Honor, I call Misty Waters to the stand for cross-examination."

The crowd murmurs, the tension in the room rising once more.

Misty, almost looks amused, and rises from her seat. She moves toward the witness stand with the same deliberate grace, her every movement measured, as if the courtroom itself were another stage in her grand theater.

Paulie watches her walk, his foot tapping nervously under the table. His eyes flicker between Misty and the prosecutor, his unease growing with every passing second.

Misty takes to the witness box, the judge nodding as the bailiff steps forward.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

Misty raises her hand, locking her eyes with the prosecutor’s.

I am the truth she says, a cold smirk tugging at her lips.

The prosecutor pauses, allowing the weight of Misty's answer to sink in with the jury. Then he presses play on a remote, and the courtroom television flickers to life.

The footage shows chaos- an arena in turmoil. The crowd at the Ocean Center is a swirling mass of anger, debris flying through the air as people storm the stage, smashing equipment, clashing with security.

"Now, Ms. Waters, I’ll remind you that you’re under oath," he says, his tone colder now, more pointed. He gestures toward the screen. "Who are the two people in this video?"

Misty Waters and Madison Dyson.

She doesn’t hesitate, her voice as steady as her gaze.

"Yes, yes it is," the prosecutor continues, pacing slowly in front of the jury. "Now, could you please tell the jury what you and Miss Dyson are doing in this footage?"

Misty flickers a smile as she responds. We’re exposing the corruption in the XWF.

The prosecutor’s eyes narrow, his lips curling into a frown. He steps toward the jury, pointing dramatically at the screen as the footage loops again, showing the violence, the chaos, the destruction. The scene shifts to footage from her speech in Appalachia, the one that spurred unrest before her clash with Prince Adeyemi in Houston.

"Exposing corruption?" he snaps with disbelief. "This isn’t some noble crusade, Ms. Waters! This is anarchy. This is violence. This is pure, unadulterated chaos!"[/red

He steps closer to Misty, leaning over the stand.

[red]"You stand there, on that stage, riling up the crowd, feeding off their anger. You and your partner, Madison Dyson, threw gasoline on the fire, and now you want to claim you were ‘exposing corruption’? How convenient."

Misty remains unfazed, her voice calm.

It wasn’t me who made those people act this way. It was the XWF itself. Their hypocrisy, their corruption- that’s what these people saw. They were seeking justice, and what better irony then the one who exposes the XWF’s crimes is now the one being asked to defend herself in this court?

The court gallery shifts around, eyes darting between Misty and the prosecutor, unsure of what’s unfolding.

First, they tried to erase the record of our unprecedented rise.

Tried to cast aspersions at the legacy of this XTreme Championship campaign.

Her eyes drift to the shining belt beside her, the symbol of her dominance, gleaming like an untouchable crown.

Then, they scheduled me to compete in back-to-back deathmatches at Relentless…

Two nights, two different countries.

A feat no champion in XWF history has ever faced. And when that didn’t stop us..." Misty’s voice brooding now, ...they tried to murder me.

The courtroom gasps.

That’s right. Thaddeus Duke himself -he nephew of XWF CEO Theo Pryce- is the one who took the shot. And it's all on tape.

The prosecutor flinches, but Misty presses on, her voice rising with righteous indignation, her eyes locking on the jury.

And what happened to Theo Pryce, the leader of this corrupt, murdering organization, after Relentless? She pauses for dramatic effect, her words like venom, He sold off his stocks and resigned in shame. In fear of the justice THE LORD will bring to the XWF.

This... this is absurd! he shouts, trying to regain control. You're suggesting that the entire XWF is conspiring against you? That they tried to kill you? This is just more of your manipulative lies, Ms. Waters!

Just look at what they’ve done now- plotting my MAGA Power sister, Madison Dyson, against me, trying to stoke a Judas against the path to the light, the path to the truth, against the path to the ONE TRUE LORD!

Suddenly, the air in the courtroom shifts- there's an unnatural chill.

The prosecutor halts, appearing to choke. His face twitching as something dark stirs within him.

His eyes flicker with a red glow. Without warning, his body begins convulsing.

The courtroom gasps and recoils in horror. The prosecutor's body is twisting and contorting in ways no human should. His skin stretches, his mouth opening in an inaudible scream as something is tearing its way out from within him.

A horrible crack echoes through the room as the prosecutor’s chest bursts open, and from the gore emerges The Lord- a comically hideous and towering demon.

Its body is dripping with blood and malice. His boney exoskeleton glowing in ancient patterns, his eyes shining with a malevolent red light. The courtroom erupts into chaos. People screaming and scrambling to escape.

Police officers draw their weapons, opening fire. Bullets rip through the air, but they do nothing- The Lord is unaffected, his monstrous frame impregnable from their attack. He flicks his hand, and the cops are lifted in the air. The Lord closes his fist and their bodies snap like twigs before they’re unceremoniously hurled across the room, lifeless.

The Lord’s voice booms through the courtroom, shaking the very foundation of the building. "You dare summon me, Misty Waters? You believe yourself powerful enough to defy me?" He growls, his tone filled with ancient rage.

But Misty just stands, unfazed. She rises slowly, her gaze unbreakable as she faces The Lord. The evil manifestation of power incarnate.

’bout time you showed up, I’ve been lookin’ for you Misty chuckles, her hand slipping into her robe to reveal the ancient paring knife- the very blade used in the ritual that allowed Misty to possess Dolly’s body months ago. And you’ve walked right into my trap.

Before The Lord can react, Madison Dyson, hidden in the shadows, leaps into action. She grabs The Lord from behind, distracting the demon for just a moment.

It’s all Misty needs.

Misty plunges the ancient blade into a soft spot in The Lord’s chest. He howls in agony, his body writhing as dark energy begins to consume him. A black, thick blood pours from the wounds his body starts to disintegrate, his power crumbling under the weight of the ancient weapon.

"No! -this cannot- this cannot be!” The Lord chokes and gasps, his voice fading as his body collapses into dust.

The courtroom is left in stunned silence. Judges, jurors, and witnesses are too shell-shocked by the horror and chaos to react.

A mistrial is declared, but Misty doesn’t care. She steps over the fallen bodies, her white robe pristine despite the bloodshed around her, the XTreme Championship slung proudly over her shoulder.

She gazes into the camera,

Johnny Bacchus... the so-called revolutionary.

Misty begins, her voice cuts through the silence with a sharp edge.

You’ve built yer’ forgettable career pretending to stand against the system. A silver spoon Berkeley grad, dressing it up with big words, lofty ideals, proving to anyone who cares just how anti-establishment you are. But let’s be real- what have you actually done? What real power have you ever held in yer’ hands?

Yer’ nothing.

Yer’ the revolution betrayed.

The Trotsky to my Stalin.

Pretending to be some enlightened champion of the people, but all you are is a man desperate for validation. You need the crowd to cheer for you, need the world to see you as this tortured intellectual fighting against the machine.

But at the end of the day, Johnny...

you’re just another cog in it.

Misty steps forward, her eyes burning with intensity.

A man denying the truth of what stands before him.

You claim to fight for the marginalized, but every step of your journey has been about protecting yourself. Building an illusion that you’re something more than what you are- a pretender, a fraud.

You talk about revolution, but revolutions are won by those who seize power, not those who whine about it on social media or sit in their self-righteous bubbles, waiting for someone else to make the move.

You see, Bacchus I understand something you’ll never grasp.

Power isn’t something you just talk about- it’s something you take. It’s something you hold in your hands and wield with purpose. Something my pathetic granddaughter never could understand either.
You’ve spent your career questioning it, trying to dismantle it, but you’ve never once been in a position to truly use it.

That’s why you will always fail. Because yer' scared of what real power. You don’t know what to do with it when it’s staring you in the face.

That’s what makes you weak.

That’s why you could never the type of XTreme Champion that I am.

Look how effortlessly I reclaimed it from that idiot Corey Black, the man who defeated yer' spirit.

I've taken this power and yielded to it's highest possible margin. A breath, a moment, an opportunity away from the completion of the most XTreme Campaign the world has ever seen.

You could fucking never.

Yer' too busy trying to prove something to yourself -to the world- that you never take what’s right in front of you.

Johnny gets outdone at Leap of Faith.

He loses to Corey Black.

He loses to Kieran King.

He gets a shot at MY championship? He deserves one?

Sure...

The revolutionary who's never been part of one.

I am the revolution!

I am the one rewriting the story of professional wrestling, of the XWF, while you’re just trying to convince people you’re still relevant.

Misty raises her XTreme Championship high above her head, it shines like a crown

This isn’t just a belt.

This is the result of every move I’ve made, every step I’ve taken to seize power.

And now, with the 24/7 Case within my grasp, I will take the Universal Championship.

You’ll still be trying to figure out  what happened, trapped in your feelings, thinking you’re smarter than everyone else. But when the bell rings, you’ll be on your back, looking up at the lights, and wondering how you let it slip through your fingers again.

The difference between us, Bacchus, is simple:

You question power. I become it.

You cling to ideals. I conquer reality.

And on Warfare, you’ll finally understand what it means to face someone who doesn’t just dream of power... but knows exactly how to take it.

You’re not fighting a system, Johnny.

Yer' fighting The Lord herself.

2x KWA Unified Southern Glory Champion
6x KWA Middleweight Champion
4x KWA Tag Team Champion
1x XWF XTreme Champion


-Dumb Dolly records that no one cares about-

3x XTreme Champion
2x Tag Team Champion (w/ Vita Valenteen, w/ Charlie Nickles)
2x Hart Champion
3x Television Champion

3x Star Of The Month
August ‘21, May ‘17, October ‘16

3x RP Of The Month
What light through sonder... my perception breaks.
Tranquility: For Old Times Sake
Manifest Victory