Steam still rose from Micheal Graves' skin as he stepped out of the showers and into the locker room. A triumphant smile was plastered across his face so wide that it narrowed his eyes into gleeful slits. "Hey! Did you guys see just how HARD I drilled little Dolly Waters tonight?!" Gravy's laugh was deep, from the tailbone, and echoed throughout the locker room. "Not before giving her an extra crispy makeover!" He continued. "Anyone wanna see how it's done!?"














Expecting the usual chorus of groans from his fellow wrestlers that wasn't there, Graves opened his eyes, and to his surprise, the locker room was eerily silent and completely—EMPTY. 

As he surveyed the scene, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Where the fuck did everyone go?" It was a little odd, but he shrugged it off, chuckling, "Probably all helping piece Dolly Waters back together. HEH!"

He strolled confidently through the dense fog, only covered by a thin white towel.

Near naked, he presented a jarring sight: his physique a contradictory mix of fitness and flabbiness. His skin bore an unsettling combination of oiliness and dry patches, marred further by a widespread, crusty red rash. His fingernails, neglected and unclean, were second only in repulsiveness to his long, brown, unnaturally thick toenails.










As Micheal reached his locker, he nonchalantly dropped his towel to the floor, revealing more of his unkempt state. An overgrowth of coarse ass hair and the Television Championship belt - which he inexplicably must have worn in the shower - mercifully obscured the more disturbing aspects of his anatomy as he bent over to retrieve his clothes.

Suddenly, the click of polished shoes startled Graves. As he looked up he saw a sharped dressed man standing at the end of the lockers.

"Hey! Can't you read!? TALENT ONLY! Why you think I'm the only one in here!?"

The man ignored Graves' taunts and stepped towards him, speaking with a smooth silk like voice. "Congratulations, Gravy, that was quite a performance out there."

Graves squinted, trying to place the face. "Uh, yeah... Do I know you?"

The man chuckled. "You might say I'm an admirer of your work, but who I am doesn't matter, what does is the point of my visit – I'm here to remind you of your purpose in this realm."

Graves' eyes narrowed. "Being fucking awesome? I've already got that shit on lock!"

The man's smile widened. "Not quite, Micheal. If you may recall, your role is far more significant than you realize. You are a harbinger, a gatherer of souls. Holding that Television championship gives you influence, a tool to draw in the pure and the unsuspecting."

Graves laughed, crossing his arms. "I've been working hard at that, haven't I? Have you seen the politicians and celebrities I've been dealing to? They're all eating out of my hand! You know why? Cause I got them hooked on that Ped-life! Though I think that Hillary dude is a little off his rocker. Pretty sure I saw him eating a kids leg like it was a turkey's!"

The man shook his head. "Those souls were already damned well before they met you, Micheal. Your task is to tempt the innocent, those pure of heart."

Graves' expression turned defiant. "Innocent? In this business? You've got to be kidding me! Not even Ned Kaye is without some contrived dark past!"

As the man stepped closer as his eyes seemed to glow faintly. "Micheal, your influence extends far beyond those few whom you share a lock room. Think bigger. You stand in a ring watched by millions, each with their own vulnerabilities, their own susceptibilities. Your role, your true purpose, is to use that platform to ensnare the masses."

Graves tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Trap'em like wittle wrabbits, huh? You're talking about turning my fans into what... disciples of darkness? HEY! That'd be a hell of a stable name!"

"No, it would not... and as for your fans? Hells no! What do you have, maybe three of them?" The man pulls a scroll from his breast pocket and unrolls it. His face lights up from the golden hue it emits. "Scratch that, you have 2 fans now. One of them seems to have overdosed on Tide-Pods while you were dead." The man rolls the scroll up and tucks it back into his pocket. "No, Micheal, I need you to make new fans! All the fans! Win them over, then lead them all straight to Hell!"

Graves, surprisingly unfazed by the man's mocking of his 'limited' fan base and the grim fate of one of them, arched an eyebrow in confusion. "How the fuck am I supposed to do that? What, you want me to go all goody-goody or some shit?"

The man leaned in closer. ""Micheal, you push boundaries. No, you're a symbol for those who defy convention! I would never ask you to change that. People are attracted to individuals like you, those who dare to challenge societal expectations – ESPECIALLY in today's climate. The issue until now has been that you've lacked the depth and substance to back it up." 

Graves frowned. "I fucking gush substance so hard you'll get washed away by a big green wave. Just ask Dolly Waters~!"

"Why is it green? No, wait—NEVERMIND!" The man takes a moment to recollect his thoughts. "Answer me this: The energy you felt tonight, that overwhelming surge as you dominated Dolly Waters – it was extraordinary, wasn't it? That wasn't just any typical match of yours, it was a turning point, an awakening. The infernal flames have embraced you, transformed you. You're not the same man you once were. You've emerged stronger, more formidable. Now, your boasts aren't just empty words – they're promises that you can fulfill. Your threats? They've become potent tools for victory."

Graves thought back to the match, remembering the finer details. "Yeah, I felt something alright – Dolly's nipples piercing through my back during that Rolling Waters! Mmmmm, as piercing as ever!"

The man let out an exasperated sigh, clearly unamused by Graves' crude humor. "Maybe I made a mistake with this one... Focus, Micheal. You've been given a gift, a power that most men would kill their mother for. You need to harness it, use it to captivate not just a room, but the entire world!"

Graves leaned against the lockers, folding his arms. "Alright, so you're saying I'm some kind of super-powered devil-freak now? And what? I'm supposed to use this 'gift' to trick people into being my fans and then influence them into acting more like me, thus sending them directly to you? Is that about right?"

"That's precisely right! People are drawn to power and to those who defy norms and blaze their own trails. You, Micheal Graves, are poised to become the most infamous name in all of wrestling. That's your role now. Embrace it."

Graves thought for a moment, the gears turning slowly in his head. "So, what you're saying is, all I gotta do is just keep unapologetically being me, but crank it up to eleven in the ring, huh? Keep pushing the boundaries of peoples stupid-fucking 'good taste', while being the awesome ass fucker that I am...?"

"Phrazing... But, yes, partly. Your mission isn't as easy as that," the man insisted. "You must first make a statement in the ring that nobody would ever expect."

"A statement? You know I did just manhandle the shit out of Dolly Waters, right?"

The man leans in, emphasizing his point. "Micheal, defeating Dolly Waters is far from the grand gesture I'm speaking of. You need to decisively defeat a name that is feared across the globe, someone whose downfall at your hands would be so unexpected that it would send shockwaves through the entire industry."

Graves, unfazed, throws out a guess. "So who is it, Mark Flynn?"

The man simply shakes his head.

Graves tries again... "O-Fucking-Kay! Bobby Bourbon it is! I've been itching for this! Haven't faced down that fat bastard since Jefferson Jackson saved his ass years ago! Fat fuck's been ducking me ever since!"

His patience waning, the man silently shakes his head.

"Ned Kaye, then, huh? I'm not sure if I've ever crossed paths with Ned Kaye... An Anarchy match maybe? Oh well, dude is as stiff as a board and just as easy to push over. Bring it on!" Graves exclaims, only to be met with an audible "No!" The man, emphasizing his words even more this time, continues. "Think bigger!"

Graves pauses, scratching his head, the gears turning slowly. After a moment, he admits, "There aren't any bigger names in the XWF than those. Unless... "A light bulb seems to go off in his head, "Wait a minute! You want me to beat myself!? I mean, I'm down with the devil here, but I already do that three times a day as is!"

The man gives Graves a look of disbelief.

"What? ... Oh come on! Who doesn't like a little gravy on their steak!?"

"That is not what I meant at all. *sigh* Micheal, I have a former associate. One that, over the years, has grown more troublesome to control than beneficial to keep around."

"Unknown Soldier!? Damn, never thought I'd see him on the wrong side of Hell."

The man is now visibly growing tired of this guessing game. "No, damn it, not Unknown Soldier! Soldier is good people."

Graves cuts him off. "Oh, so a dude who'd sell his soul to the Devil to get everything he wants, then piss it all away because he's a lazy fucktard? BOOM—Thunder Knuckles!!!?"

Finally, the man's patience wears thin. "For fucks sake! I'm talking about Doctor Louis D'Ville!"

The mention of that name causes a visible reaction in Graves. His confident demeanor falters as a flicker of fear crosses his face. Doctor Louis D'Ville – a man that once stole everything from Graves.














The man, noticing Graves' hesitation, leaned in closer, his voice taking on a darker, more persuasive tone. "Fear not, Micheal. Recall the transformation you have undergone. You are no longer bound by the limits of your former self. The fires of the abyss have forged you anew, stronger and more formidable. As for D'Ville, that once mighty force, he's diminished, merely a specter of what he used to be. But you, Micheal, you have ascended. You are now a force to be reckoned with, a warrior enhanced by hellfire's touch."

Graves pondered for a moment, his expression morphing from shock to a devious, unhinged grin. "Doc D'Ville, huh? The big kahuna, the top dog... or at least he used to be. Still, that's a big fish to fry. But hey, if I'm packing this new hellfire under the hood like you say, then it's showtime. Let’s see how the good doctor dances when the Dark Warrior turns up the heat and makes the ring a little less comfortable... like a pork roast at a barbecue. It's about to get real hot for ol' Louis, and I'm not just talking about my killer ghost pepper breath!"

The man nods, his smile returning. "Exactly, and once you Defeat D'Ville, you'll send a message that cannot be ignored. You'll show them all that you're not just some sideshow attraction, but the main event. The man who took down the legendary Doctor D'Ville. A man who should be respected and looked up to!"

Graves chuckles, the fear now completely gone, replaced by his typical over-confidence. "Micheal Graves defeats Doctor Louis D'Ville... Hmmm, I like the sound of that. It's got a real nice ring to it. Beating the hell out of an icon of XWF? Now that's a statement. That icon being one whose name has held as much weight as D'Ville's — I'm already cumming! Alright, I'm in, but how we gonna make this match happen? It ain't like Doc's on the full-time roster. Bitch picked up a win over fat bastard with the bonus of a briefcase. I doubt me dangling the TV gold in front of him is going to draw Doc out!"

The man steps back, satisfied. "Don't concern yourself with the how. You will find your name across from his very soon."

Graves raises an eyebrow, intrigued yet slightly suspicious. "Just like that, huh? You make it sound like you've got some kind of pull around here. Usually I have to resort to all sorts of Tom-Fuckery to draw big names into matches with me."

The man's smile turns sly. "Let's just say, influential people tend to listen when I speak. You focus on your preparation. Leave the rest to me."

Graves nods slowly. "Alright, I'll take your word for it. Doctor Louis D'Ville... Heh, it's about time I settle that score. He might've been a nightmare once, but nowadays? Pffffft!"

The man gives Graves a final nod and turns, walking away.

Graves turns back to his locker, his smirk returning full force. "Doctor Louis D'Ville, you won't even see what's coming." He mutters to himself, now filled with a sense of purpose.

As the camera fades to black, the last image is of Micheal Graves, the TV Champion, a man on the brink of redefining his legacy, ready to confront and conquer the most historically feared name on the roster...

---

---

The camera slowly flickers to life, its lens adjusting to the dark, creepy, old, basement that seems almost forgotten by time. With the strike of a match, this secluded lair becomes illuminated, revealing Micheal Graves, the freshly anointed Television Champion. He transfers the flame to a few melted candles and turns his attention toward the camera.

"Look at me, XWF Universe. Take a good, hard look at your new Television Champion!" Graves sneers, lifting the championship belt for all to see. "This... this right here is the result of taking what I wanted from Dolly Waters, when I wanted it, by force!"

He leans closer to the camera, his eyes burning with a crazed intensity.

"Dolly Waters, your precious little gypsy queen, thought she could dance with me, carried by her fairy tales and so-called divine victories. She believed she could hold on to this title, that she could outlast the Dark Warrior, that she wasn't a victim, but oh, how wrong she was!"

Graves stops, his gaze piercing through the camera.

"Dolly Waters was just the beginning. This title," he says, tapping the championship belt, "is merely a token of my power, a power that grows with each passing moment. I am the darkness that lurks in the heart of the XWF, and I will consume everything and everyone in my path as I take this opportunity and use it to rise to the very top of the XWF!"

He leans in once more, his voice lowering to a menacing whisper.

"To the rest of the locker room, consider this your only warning. Challenge me, and you'll find yourself in the same position as Dolly Waters - broken, defeated, and forgotten; which brings me to the first challenger to my Television crown..."

"The 'good' Doctor,"–Graves begins, shaking his head with a mocking smile.–"Louis D'Ville, the icon, the legend, one of, if not the most respected names in XWF history – but let's get something straight right out of the gate. Respect? It's just a fancy word for fear. And Doc, ain't nobody fearful of you no more, because you just ain't the same man you used to be back when you had a court of Kings, now are ya?"

He leans in, his voice dropping to a more menacing tone.

"Oh how the mighty have fallen. Once a legend, now just another part-time player with part-time skills to show for it." Graves sneers. "Demoted from God to Dog, and what's a Dog without his bite? Just a whimpering pup begging for scraps at the table of those more powerful. And failing often enough that you now find yourself here, challenging for this–" He thrusts the TV title into view, only to fling it back over his shoulder disdainfully. "—a pathetic trinket, a pale shadow of the glories that you once clung to!"

"King Doc, ruler of the XWF no more!"

"Your record, Doc? It's laughable after the last few years. It used to be that your defeats were rare, so rare in fact that as your match count entered the hundreds, your failures remained in single digits. For a long while anyway, but now? Heh, I bet you've done lost count, ain't ya? Running out of fingers and toes, I bet! Free 4 All, Bobby Bourbon, Mark Fly—oh wait, you won that one, didn't you? Ha! There you go, Doc, proving that every DOG has its day – But trust me, Saturday the 10th? That day ain't gonna be yours. Not by a long shot!"

His demeanor shifts to a manic intensity. "While you, Doc, seem to be running in quicksand, unable to live up to your own legend, I'm on a different trajectory altogether! I've been on the rise, climbing higher each and every day. Not even death could halt my ascent!"

"You all saw it! six months ago Mark Flynn blew my head clear off my shoulders, and at Free 4 All, I returned to bitch slap the TV title off of my greatest nemesis! I stared down the grim reaper himself then ripped a rank one right in his face; do you really think I'm sweating King Dock-lite?"

"Fuckin' please!"

"See, Doc, there's a fundamental difference between you and me. You rely on fear born from respect, to get into your opponents heads, but I? I command fear because inside of that ring, I am a relentless-fucking-animal who will do whatever it takes to get what I want, and right now, I want nothing more than to pin your shoulders to the mat 1...2...3, and show everyone just how far you've fallen, and I've risen! I aim to show the world exactly what this new dawn in the XWF entails! Knowing Doc, he's probably having a good chuckle as he listens to me now, but he'll soon realize that I didn't just rise from the dead, I returned stronger, fiercer, and hungrier than ever! What's your comeback story, Doc? A few wins here and there to barely keep your head above water?"

Graves laughs, the sound ominously echoing through the empty basement. "King Doc-lite, indeed. More like, Cadryn needs to take your ass to court for gimmick infringement, because you're quickly becoming the jester of the XWF, amusing us all with your pathetic attempts to reclaim a glory that's long since faded. But here's the thing, Doc, just like I told Dolly, this isn't a fairy tale, and there's no magical ending where you suddenly become the man you once were. He died way back when Alias pinned his shoulders to the mat!"

Pip: Doc is looking to end this thing and stake claim to the Universal Championship! Doc attempts to secure victory by lifting Alias for a vertical suplex, but Alias counters by shoving his hands down Doc's throat, causing Doc to weaken and collapse HHL: EAT THE LEFT AND RIGHT HAND! 1!! 2!! 3!! WINNER AND STILL UNIVERSAL CHAMPION: ALIAS HHL: Alias has done it! Alias has retained the Universal Championship!

"Alias reached into the abyss of your soul, leaving behind only the husk that is to stand across from me now. Should you yearn for the caress of gold upon your waist, I suggest you seek your fortunes far from here, using that case in a far safer space." Graves diverts his attention to a framed 8x10 of Ned Kaye hanging askew on the wall next to him.

Graves looks back, the smirk returning. "You know, Doc, there's something deliciously ironic about all this. I mean, me, Michael Graves, the guy they all used to laugh off as the punchline of the XWF, now standing here with the TV Title slung over MY shoulder, looking down at YOU of all people. It's fuckin' hilarious how the tables turn, don't you think?"

"The best part? Just like all them losers in the back, I once feared you, Doc. Like everyone else around here, I bought into the hype, the myth of Doctor Louis D'Ville. But in the years since, I've seen the cracks taking root in your impenetrable armor. I came to realize that, for all that you are in that ring, it's fear... fear is your sharpest tool, and your toolkit's been looking pretty empty these days."

"While you've been merely existing on occasion for years now, I've been fighting tooth and nail for every inch of ground I've gained in this company! My journey truly began when Lane locked me in that closet, and since then, I've helped found the most dominant faction of the modern era. I won some gold along the way and I even challenged for the Universal Championship, not once, but twice in the last year. Now I stand here again, a championship in my grasp; and you? You've been nothing but a ghost, haunting the halls of what used to be your kingdom. Ain't nobody giving you shit, and fair enough, cause you ain't earned shit, not in a very long time! Even that case that you carry so proudly came not from some great feat, as they usually do, but instead from Bobby Bourbon, a man who has been easily defeated in many pivitable points in his career, and if he don't like me saying so, he can set his sights on me next for all I give a fuck, BRING IT! Last time we were together Bobby earned his red wings, this time he can choke on my cock!"

Graves' expression hardens, the playfulness giving way to a demented resolve. "My hunger for domination has grown too strong, Doc. Too strong to let a broken-down relic from the past stand in my way. Your time at the top of your game is but a distant memory. Mine? It's only just beginning! Everyone's jokes and laughter at my expense over the years has only built to this moment. Come Warfare, it will be me reveling in the last laugh, watching as you, the once great Doctor D'Ville, grovel at my feet, like the dog that you are!"

He straightens up, his wild and sinister eyes piercing through the camera. "So, please, continue to underestimate me as you always have. It'll only make it all the sweeter when I stand over you in that ring, the TV Title still mine, proving once and for all that Michael Graves is no joke. That the only joke here... is the idea that a washed-up, discarded, relic, like you could ever take this belt from me!"

"Warfare, Doc, that's where the final act of this pathetic tragedy you call a comeback plays out. You'll step into MY ring, a battleground full of false hope and broken dreams, thinking maybe, just maybe, you can turn back the clock, be the Doc you used to be before you foolheartedly added a 'K' and docked yourself into a permanent losers bracket! I'm the harsh reality waiting to smash your fantasy to bits. Nowadays, I dish it out even better than I take it, and I've always taken it pretty fucking well. You think you can reclaim your throne? Ha! I'm the king now, the king of televisioon, and there ain't no need for any jesters in my court!"

"Come Warfare, you'll find that the real horror show isn't the one you remember from your glory days, but instead the nightmare I'm about to unleash. You're stepping into a world of pain, Doc, a world where your past accolades mean nothing and your greatest fear is realized..."

"Losing to someone like ME!"

With a final, dismissive laugh, Graves turns, the camera capturing the TV Title on his shoulder as scene fades...