LUCIANO VS BALOR WOLFE W/EROS

 

 

The arena darkens as Luciano's music hits, and spotlights flicker between dark red and white. Luciano slowly walks out onto the stage, pausing momentarily to look around, sunglasses reflecting the lights.

 

 

He then confidently strides down the ramp, his intense gaze never leaving the referee. Reaching ringside, Luciano climbs the steel steps, pausing dramatically before stepping through the ropes. Once inside, he removes his sunglasses and leather vest, revealing his heavily tattooed physique, and stares down his opponent with a cold, calculated expression.

 

 

🎤 Astrid Vale (in-ring, spotlight hits the entranceway):

“Ladies and gentlemen... the following contest is scheduled for one fall!

Introducing first...

Weighing in at two hundred and ninety-four pounds...
Standing six feet, three inches tall...

From Brooklyn, New York...

He is the KINGPIN of PAIN...
LUUUUUCIAAANOOOOO!!”

 

 

📢 [Arena lights cut to black – a single spotlight flickers at the top of the ramp.]
🎵 "Show me how to lie, you're getting better all the time..."

 

💜 (SYNC MOMENT): As the opening guitar riff hits, a purple and white strobe pulses to life, illuminating a lone figure sitting cross-legged at the top of the stage. His purple, black, and white dog mask conceals his face, head bowed in stillness.

 

 

🔥 The anticipation builds. The crowd begins to stir, sensing the storm to come.
🎵 "And turning all against the one, is an art that's hard to teach..."

 

💜 (SYNC MOMENT): As the bass line kicks in, Balor’s fingers twitch. Then—suddenly—he lifts his head. His piercing eyes gleam from behind the mask as the camera zooms in, catching the eerie calm before chaos.

🎵 "Another clever word sets off an unsuspecting herd..."

 

 

🔥 (SYNC MOMENT): Just as the beat drops, Eros steps forward, placing a hand gently on Balor’s shoulder and removes the mask. The crowd erupts as Balor’s platinum blonde hair and lip rings shimmer under the spotlight.

 

🎵 "Now dance, fucker, dance—man, he never had a chance!"

 

🔥 Balor rises to his feet. Eros hands him the Infernal Crown Championship, and Balor grips it tightly, raising it high into the air. The reaction is thunderous.

 

🎵 "You're gonna go far, kid!"

 

💜 (SYNC MOMENT): Mid-ramp, Balor runs a hand through his hair, exhales sharply—then sud🔥 The anticipation builds. The crowd begins to stir, sensing the storm to come.

🎵 "And turning all against the one, is an art that's hard to teach..."

 

💜 (SYNC MOMENT): As the bass line kicks in, Balor’s fingers twitch. Then—suddenly—he lifts his head. His piercing eyes gleam from behind the mask as the camera zooms in, catching the eerie calm before chaos.

 

🎵 "Another clever word sets off an unsuspecting herd..."

 

He suddenly sprints forward, eyes locked on the ring.

 

🔥 In one clean leap, he jumps onto the apron, grabbing the ropes and scanning the crowd.
💥 (SYNC MOMENT): He springboards over the top rope, landing effortlessly in the center of the ring—the championship still in his hand.

 

🎤 Astrid Vale (as the crowd buzzes and the lights shift to an infernal glow):

“And his opponent…

Accompanied to the ring by Eros…
He weighs in at two hundred and thirty pounds…
Standing six feet, four inches tall…
From Sydney, Australia…

He is the reigning… defending… INFERNAL CROWN CHAMPION…

The Champion of the Gods…

BAAALOOOOR WOOOOLFE!!”

 

🎵 "When you walk away, nothing more to say..."

 

🔥 As the second verse begins, Balor climbs the nearest turnbuckle, standing tall with his arms outstretched, championship in hand. His eyes close, taking it all in.

 

📢 Then—just as the second “You’re gonna go far, kid!” hits—
The music cuts. Total silence.

 

⏳ A pause. A breath. Then—

💜 (SYNC MOMENT: The crowd picks up, roaring the chorus on their own, their voices echoing through the arena.)

 

🎵 "With a thousand lies and a good disguise
Hit 'em right between the eyes
Hit 'em right between the eyes
When you walk away, nothing more to say
See the lightning in your eyes
See 'em running for their lives!"

 

🔥 Balor stays motionless, standing on the turnbuckle, letting the energy of the crowd wash over him. Slowly, deliberately, he drops down and steps to the center of the ring.

 

💜 He walks over to Eros, handing him the Infernal Crown Championship with a quiet nod. he holds it close, as Balor lowers himself into a cross-legged seated position in the corner, eyes never leaving his opponent’s side of the ring.

Ready. Watching. Calm before war.

 

DING DING DING!

 

 

Jackson Creed: “And we are underway—Luciano WASTES no time—look at him charge!”

 

 

Lenny Cruz: “The Brooklyn Butcher is coming in hot! No handshake, no pacing—just fury!”

 

 

Sinclair DeVille: “Can you blame him? The guy’s been disrespected all week long. He should’ve been first in line for Balor.”

 

Luciano barrels across the ring like a missile—but Balor Wolfe sidesteps, calm and composed, and pulls the top rope down. Luciano flies through—

 

Jackson: “Over the top—BUT HE LANDS ON HIS FEET! Luciano manages to stay upright!”

 

Lenny: “The man’s got balance—but Balor’s got poise.”

 

Inside the ring, Balor grins, walking slowly to the far side, as if unfazed. He doesn’t look over his shoulder, doesn’t taunt—just exudes cool confidence. Eros, on the outside, holds the Infernal Crown Championship with pride, watching calmly.

 

Sinclair: “What’s Balor smirking at? He hasn’t done a thing yet.”

 

Lenny: “He doesn’t need to. Luciano’s beating himself with every step.”

 

Luciano, already red in the face, slides back into the ring—and once again, charges like a bull.

 

Jackson: “Here we go again—Luciano looking for blood—”

 

Balor ducks, pulls the rope—

THUD—

 

Jackson: “AND THIS TIME LUCIANO LANDS HARD! Back-first on the floor outside!”

 

Lenny: “Oof! No safe landing there! That’s the danger of rage—Balor saw it coming again.”

 

Luciano slaps the floor with both palms, furious, rolling to one knee as the crowd starts to stir. He snarls up at Balor, who remains unbothered, gently bouncing on his heels in the center of the ring.

 

Sinclair: “That’s twice now. Somebody tell Balor this isn’t a game.”

 

Jackson: “You have to wonder—Luciano’s been livid all week long, especially after being passed over for Elijah in last week’s opener. He’s taken to social media, calling it a ‘joke,’ saying things like—quote—‘That should’ve been me,’ and even, ‘I cost Elijah because he shouldn’t have been there.’”

 

Lenny: “Yeah, well tonight—he’s in the ring. But Balor? He’s playing this like a chess match.”

 

Luciano rolls back in—no theatrics this time. He storms to his feet and gets right in Balor’s face, eyes blazing.

 

Luciano (shouting): “You better show me some respect!”

 

And then—**CRACK—**a vicious open-palm slap across Balor’s cheek, loud and ugly.

 

Lenny: “WHOA! That was a full receipt!”

 

Sinclair: “THERE’S the Butcher we came to see.”

 

Balor’s jaw turns slightly from the slap, but he doesn’t strike right away. He laughs. A slow, amused chuckle. Then he steps in—

 

Jackson: “And now Balor—shoves Luciano back—”

 

CRACK—SUPERKICK!

 

Lenny: “RIGHT ON THE CHIN!”

 

Luciano hits the mat hard and flat.

 

Sinclair: “Are you kidding me?!”

 

Jackson: “Balor Wolfe just dropped him with surgical precision!”

 

But Balor doesn’t cover. Instead, he drops on top and begins to rain down fists—measured, crisp, and full of purpose. Ground and pound, as Senior Official Carter Vale checks the positioning.

 

Balor (audible): “You want respect? Then stop acting like a clown.”

 

Lenny: “Wolfe is firing off! That’s years of discipline behind every punch!”

 

Sinclair: “This is a fight now. Forget showboating—Balor’s making a statement.”

 

Jackson: “And Eros on the outside hasn’t flinched. That Infernal Crown held high—this isn’t about defending it tonight… but Balor’s still showing why he’s the one wearing it.”

 

The crowd rises in energy as Balor continues his assault, taking full control of the match, while Luciano clutches the side of his face beneath the storm of strikes.

 

Jackson Creed: “We’re back in this match and Balor Wolfe is in full command after that wicked superkick and a relentless series of strikes.”

 

Lenny Cruz: “Luciano tried to bring that Brooklyn bravado, but Balor’s got him playing checkers in a chess match!”

 

Balor rises from the mat, dragging Luciano up by the wrist. Luciano tries to swing wild—misses.

 

Jackson: “Duck under by Balor—Snap Powerslam! Hooks the leg—no, no cover!”

 

Lenny: “Balor doesn’t even want the three right now—he’s just making a point!”

 

Balor stands over him, smirking, then bends down, slapping Luciano across the head.

 

Balor (audible): “You’re not ready. You were never ready.”

 

Luciano crawls toward the ropes, coughing. The crowd’s half booing Luciano, half cheering Balor’s punishment. Luciano reaches for the middle rope to pull himself up—Balor’s already there, grabbing him into position.

 

Jackson: “He’s looking for that Fallaway Slam!”

 

Lenny: “Nope—Luciano fights it—”

 

Luciano throws elbows—but Balor ducks behind, spins him around—Saito Suplex!

CRASH.

 

Sinclair DeVille: “Okay that—THAT was brutal. Ref might want to check if Luciano even knows where he is.”

 

Jackson: “Balor Wolfe has shut down every offensive attempt tonight. Just clinical dominance.”

 

Luciano clutches his neck as Balor circles him, stalking. He hauls him up again—Luciano with a shove, trying to create space—rushes in—

 

Jackson: “Clothesline attempt—NOPE! Reversed—Pumphandle lift!”

 

BOOM! Pumphandle Driver.

 

Lenny: “GOOD NIGHT. But again, Balor doesn’t even go for the pin. He’s just dissecting this man!”

 

Balor leans over him again, talking more trash as Carter Vale warns about closed fists.

 

Balor (audible): “You said I wasn’t a real fighter? Keep talking now.”

 

Luciano rolls away, clearly stunned—but his eyes dart toward the corner, calculating. He pulls himself up, swaying.

 

Jackson: “Luciano—trying to bait him in now—”

 

Lenny: “Don’t fall for it, Balor—”

 

Balor takes the bait, charging in with momentum—Luciano ducks behind him and grabs his waist!

 

Jackson: “Luciano—going for a Running Powerslam?”

 

Lenny: “That’s not his usual gameplan—what’s he doing?”

 

Luciano stumbles a bit, adjusting grip—and Balor counters again, dropping down behind him!

 

Jackson: “Reversal again! Balor—pushing him toward the ropes—WAIT—toward the REF!”

 

Luciano pushes Balor right at Carter Vale, who’s caught off guard. Balor stops just inches before crashing into him.

 

Sinclair: “OHHH—REF IN DANGER!”

 

Lenny: “He didn’t hit him—but wait, wait, the ref is out of position—!”

 

Jackson: “TURN AROUND, BALOR—!”

 

WHAM—

LOW BLOW.

 

Luciano steps in and kicks Balor square between the legs, with the ref completely shielded from view. The crowd groans in unison.

 

Sinclair (mock innocence): “Whoops! What happened there? Little slip of the boot, maybe?”

 

Lenny: “Give me a break! He kicked him in the crown jewels!”

 

Balor stumbles, gasping, hands on his knees—

 

Jackson: “And now Luciano—DDT!! Spiked him!”

 

WHAM. Balor’s skull bounces off the canvas. Luciano throws his body over him, draping the arm lazily across the chest.

 

Sinclair: “NOW who’s in control? That’s ring IQ, gentlemen!”

 

Jackson: “Luciano just changed the course of this match with one dirty trick and one precise move—and Senior Official Carter Vale didn’t see a thing!”

 

Luciano breathes heavily, smirking now as he glances toward Eros on the outside—who’s staring him down without blinking, still clutching the Infernal Crown Title like a loaded weapon.

 

Lenny: “Eros is just watching. No movement, no distraction—but you know he saw what happened.”

 

Jackson: “The question is—can Balor recover from it?”

 

Jackson Creed: “We’re back live and right now Luciano has completely taken over. That low blow and DDT may have been dirty, but it’s put him in the driver’s seat.”

 

Sinclair DeVille: “And that’s what winners do, Jackson. They take advantage. Doesn’t matter how—it matters when.”

 

Luciano stands tall over a gasping Balor, holding his jaw as he paces. He yanks Balor up by the hair and drills a hard European Uppercut that sends the Infernal Crown Champion into the corner.

 

Lenny Cruz: “Balor’s in trouble now… and Luciano’s smelling blood.”

 

WHAM! Luciano charges in and drives his shoulder into Balor’s gut—once, twice, a third time, rattling the turnbuckles.

 

Jackson: “Corner shoulder thrusts—he’s trying to break him in half!”

 

Luciano pulls Balor out by the arm and plants him with a Spinebuster, the ring shaking on impact. He floats into a cover, pressing the forearm across Balor’s face.

 

Carter Vale: “ONE… TWO…—NO!”

 

Lenny: “Kickout! Balor’s still breathing!”

 

Luciano sits up, sneering, and slams his hand against the mat.

 

Sinclair: “That’s alright. That’s fine. Stay on him.”

 

He drags Balor to his feet again and hooks both arms.

 

Jackson: “Uh-oh—he’s looking for Concrete Shoes!”

 

WHAM! Double Underhook DDT! Balor’s head spikes the mat again. Luciano scrambles over and hooks the far leg this time.

 

Carter Vale: “ONE! TWO!—NO!!”

 

Lenny: “KICKOUT AGAIN!”

 

Sinclair: “Oh come on! Stay down already!”

 

Luciano slaps the mat this time, visibly annoyed. He rises, pacing, jaw clenched.

 

Luciano (audible): “You think you’re better than me!? HUH!?”

 

He points toward Eros at ringside, who stands motionless with the Infernal Crown in his hands, unfazed.

 

Luciano grabs Balor’s wrist, yanks him up with a scowl, and hits the ropes—

 

Jackson: “He’s going for it—MOB HIT!!”

 

CRACK! The running knee strike lands flush on Balor’s jaw as he’s rising. Balor drops like a stone.

 

Sinclair: “RIGHT ON THE MARK! That’s GOTTA do it!”

 

Carter Vale: “ONE! TWO!—NOOO!”

 

Lenny: “HE KICKED OUT AGAIN! BALOR WOLFE KICKED OUT AGAIN!”

 

Luciano SCREAMS in frustration, rolling over and punching the mat repeatedly.

 

Jackson: “Every big move, every signature strike—Balor won’t stay down!”

 

Sinclair: “This is ridiculous! Do they teach them how to die in Radio Silence or what!?”

 

Luciano glares at the top turnbuckle and stomps over to the corner, climbing up. The crowd rises with tension, some cheering for Balor to rise, others booing the Butcher.

 

Lenny: “Wait, what’s this? Luciano doesn’t go up top often.”

 

Jackson: “Desperation or something special? Either way—he’s measuring him!”

 

Luciano stands tall on the top rope, eyes locked on Balor who’s staggering up slowly.

 

Luciano (shouting): “STAY DOWN!”

 

He leaps—

Jackson: “DOUBLE AXE HANDLE—”

 

Lenny: “WAIT—BALOR SPRINGS TO LIFE—”

 

BOOM!!!

 

Jackson: “HE CAUGHT HIM! HE CAUGHT HIM WITH THE HEART OF THE WOLFE!!!”

 

Luciano crashes mid-air into Balor’s brutal running spear, folded in half as both men hit the canvas hard.

 

Lenny: “HE CUT HIM IN HALF IN MID-AIR!!”

 

Sinclair: “No no no NO—what just happened?!”

 

Jackson: “That was instinct, that was timing, that was HEART!”

 

Both men are down. Carter Vale starts his count as the arena roars in reaction.

 

Carter Vale: “ONE…!”

 

Lenny: “Nobody’s moving. That took everything out of both men!”

 

Carter Vale: “TWO…!”

 

Jackson: “Balor Wolfe just shifted the entire momentum of this match in one unbelievable counter!”

 

Carter Vale: “FOUR…!”

 

Jackson Creed: “That spear out of nowhere has left both men sprawled on the mat—neither one moving much at all.”

 

Carter Vale: “FIVE…!”

 

Sinclair DeVille: “Luciano was seconds away from ending this. Seconds! Now look at him—flattened!”

 

Carter Vale: “SIX…!”

 

Lenny Cruz: “Come on, Balor… get up!”

 

Carter Vale: “SEVEN…!”

 

Luciano starts stirring first, rolling over and grabbing the bottom rope. His face is twisted in pain and frustration. He clutches his ribs as he hauls himself slowly up, hand over hand, pulling himself upright like a man coming back from the brink.

 

But then—

 

Lenny: “WAIT A SECOND—”

 

Jackson: “BALOR JUST KIPPED UP!”

 

POP.

 

The crowd explodes as Balor Wolfe kicks up to his feet, adrenaline surging through his body. His long platinum hair flies back, and his eyes are locked in on Luciano with a burning intensity.

 

Sinclair: “No… no no no, stay DOWN you stubborn freak!”

 

Luciano, now upright but using the ropes for support, turns—and freezes. Balor stands like a statue, breathing hard… grinning.

 

Lenny: “You can SEE it in Luciano’s eyes—he just realized he’s in deep trouble.”

 

Luciano glances left—glances right—like he’s thinking about running. The crowd catches it too and starts rising again.

 

Jackson: “He’s thinking about bailing—but Balor snatches him!”

 

Balor charges forward, grabbing Luciano by the wrist and yanking him into a thunderous Snap Powerslam! The ring shudders.

 

Luciano rolls onto his knees—dazed—but Balor pulls him right back up.

 

Lenny: “No rest, no mercy—Balor’s not done!”

 

BOOM! Saito Suplex! Luciano lands awkwardly on the back of his neck, rolling into the corner, arms draped over the bottom ropes.

 

Jackson: “Back-to-back power moves! Balor Wolfe is wide awake now!”

 

Balor stalks into the center of the ring, staring down at the heap that is Luciano. He steps forward slowly… then lifts Luciano by the throat—

 

Lenny: “We’ve seen this before—he’s calling for it!”

 

Jackson: “RADIO WAVE! THE SPINNING CHOKESLAM!”

 

WHAM! Balor lifts Luciano with pure force, spins 180 mid-air, and slams him down so hard the mat practically bounces.

 

Sinclair: “NO! THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO GO THIS WAY!”

 

Jackson: “Luciano just got launched into another dimension!”

 

Balor slowly rises, eyes locked on his fallen opponent. Eros, at ringside, has taken a single step forward—just enough to hold the Infernal Crown Title up a little higher.

 

Lenny: “You can feel it… this is it. This is that moment!”

 

Balor backs into the corner, crouching low, one hand reaching toward the mat as his free arm wipes the sweat from his mouth.

 

Jackson: “He’s sizing him up now…”

 

Lenny: “You know what’s coming next!”

 

Jackson: “Luciano’s about to see the LIGHTS OUT…”

 

Balor leans forward, eyes narrowing as the crowd builds with stomps and cheers. Luciano is barely stirring on the mat—face down, hands clawing at nothing.

 

📸 [We return to the ring with Balor Wolfe crouched low in the corner, eyes burning, waiting to pounce. Across from him, Luciano is barely pushing up to all fours—swaying, dazed.]

 

Jackson Creed: “This is it! Balor Wolfe is locked in—he’s got the shot lined up!”

 

Lenny Cruz: “You know what’s coming! The lights are about to go OUT!”

 

📸 [Balor lunges forward, scooping Luciano onto his shoulders—]

 

Jackson: “He’s got him—he’s going for Lights Out—”

 

📸 [Luciano suddenly wriggles loose, drops behind, and with a shove—]

 

Jackson: “WAIT—LOOK OUT!!”

 

📸 [Balor crashes into Senior Official Carter Vale, sending the referee flying through the ropes and tumbling to the floor!]

 

Lenny: “OH NO! Carter’s down! AGAIN!”

 

Sinclair DeVille: “And what a shame, just when things were getting good...”

 

📸 [As Balor looks over the ropes, checking on the ref—]

WHAM.

📸 [Luciano boots him low, another sickening shot between the legs! Balor doubles over, face twisted in agony.]

 

Sinclair: “Beautiful. Just textbook precision. Nobody does a cheap shot better than Luciano!”

 

Jackson: “He’s done it AGAIN! Just like earlier tonight—and just like last week!”

 

📸 [Luciano grins wide, backing into the corner, crouching slightly, fists clenched.]

 

Lenny: “He’s setting up for the Butcher’s Blade… just like he did to Elijah last week when he stole the match from him!”

 

📸 [But now—something shifts. The crowd starts to stir… a BUZZ rising through the arena—]

 

Jackson: “Wait—what’s happening?!”

 

📸 [A blur of color flashes past ringside—]

 

Lenny: “WHOA—ELIJAH?!”

 

 

📸 [ELIJAH vaults over the barricade, snatching the Infernal Crown Title right from Eros’ hands—]

 

Sinclair: “NO! HE CAN’T—STOP HIM—”

 

📸 [Luciano has no idea—he’s locked in, eyes on Balor—]

 

Jackson: “TURN AROUND, LUCIANO—TURN AROUND!”

 

📸 [He doesn’t. Elijah slides into the ring like a missile—]

 

CRACK!!

 

📸 [ELIJAH blasts Luciano in the back of the head with the Infernal Crown Championship! Luciano drops like a bag of bricks!]

 

Lenny: “PAYBACK! ABSOLUTE PAYBACK! LAST WEEK—HE TOOK OUT ELIJAH WITH THAT SAME BELT—”

 

Jackson: “AND BALOR SAW THE WHOLE THING THIS TIME!”

 

📸 [Balor, still hunched in the corner, lifts his head slowly… and smiles. He nods—once—at Elijah.]

 

📸 [Elijah rolls out just as smoothly, returning the title to Eros on the outside. No words. Just actions.]

 

Sinclair: “This is rigged! This is a conspiracy! Someone call Alastor—!”

 

📸 [Elijah sprints around ringside, grabbing Ref Carter Vale and helping him back up, shouting for him to return to the ring.]

 

Jackson: “Elijah might’ve evened the score—but he’s also making sure this ends clean. Ref’s getting back in!”

 

📸 [Balor stalks over to Luciano’s lifeless body, lifts him into the fireman’s carry with cold precision.]

 

Lenny: “He’s got him—this time it’s for real—”

 

📸 [BALOR FLIPS HIM OFF—]

 

Jackson: “LIGHTS OUT!!”

 

📸 [A sickening knee to the jaw lands flush! Luciano’s body goes limp.]

 

📸 [Balor hooks the leg—Vale slides in—]

 

Carter Vale: “ONE! …TWO! …THREE!!”

 

📢 Astrid Vale (ring announcer):
“Here is your winner… BALOR WOLFE!!”

 

🎵 [“You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid” by The Offspring hits as the crowd erupts.]

 

📸 [Balor rolls off Luciano, chest heaving. He doesn’t raise his hand. He just lays there, smiling to himself.]

 

📸 [Outside the ring, Elijah gives one last glance back at the scene—then vanishes into the crowd the way he came.]

 

📸 [Balor Wolfe’s theme—“You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid” by The Offspring—blasts through the arena as the referee raises his hand.]

 

Jackson Creed: “Balor Wolfe survives tonight in classic Wolfe fashion—and with a little poetic help from Elijah!”

 

📸 [Eros slides into the ring with the Infernal Crown Title and places it into Balor’s outstretched hand. Balor holds it up high, sweat pouring down, face flushed, but with that signature smirk curling his lip.]

 

Lenny Cruz: “Listen to this place! That was a war—and somehow, the Champion still stands tall.”

 

📸 [The crowd roars as Balor climbs the turnbuckle, raising the title. Eros points at him proudly from the center of the ring.]

 

📸 [But then—like a shadow returning to the flame—ELIJAH slides back into the ring behind them.]

 

Sinclair DeVille: “Oh come on—he already got his revenge, what more does this storyteller want?!”

 

📸 [Balor steps down and turns—meeting Elijah face to face in the center of the ring. The music continues to blare, drowning out the conversation… but the camera clearly picks up Elijah’s lips.]

 

📸 [“Let’s do this again… hey, champ.”]

 

📸 [Balor doesn’t speak. He just stares—then gives Elijah a faint, almost respectful nod. The grin returns as he steps past him… and leaves Luciano behind.]

 

📸 [Eros follows closely behind, cradling the Infernal Crown like a relic, while Balor makes his way up the ramp, not once looking back.]

 

Jackson Creed: “And just like that, the champ exits… but Elijah’s not done here tonight.”

 

📸 [Elijah turns. Slowly. Coldly. He walks over to Luciano’s crumpled body and drags him up by the hair.]

 

Lenny Cruz: “Uh oh. Elijah’s not done telling his story.”

 

Sinclair: “This is assault. This is gratuitous. Somebody stop—”

 

📸 [WHAM!!]

 

📸 [Elijah drops Luciano with a devastating Duppy Rise, wrenching him down into a brutal snap-style face-first slam.]

 

📸 [Luciano lies flat, eyes glazed, arms limp.]

 

📸 [Elijah crouches over him, dreadlocks falling forward, eyes locked to the camera.]

 

📸 [He yells directly into the lens—clear as day—]

 

ELIJAH:
"You. Me. One on one. See you in Sydney!"

 

📸 [The crowd erupts. A roar of excitement as Elijah glares one last time at Luciano, then turns and slowly exits the ring, his dusty book now in his hand.]

 

Jackson Creed: “You heard him. Clear as prophecy. Elijah has made the challenge official for Sydney.”

 

Lenny Cruz: “Luciano got the last word last week—but Elijah just carved his chapter into the story tonight.”

 

Sinclair DeVille: “This is madness. This is anarchy. And someone—anyone—needs to ask where Alastor is when these people are breaking rules like candy canes.”

 

📸 [As Elijah walks back up the ramp, he pauses under the tron—points back at the ring—and then silently closes his book with a SNAP.]

 

📸 [Fade out with the crowd chanting: “STORY-TELL-ER! STORY-TELL-ER!”]

 

📸 [Elijah disappears through the curtain. Balor and Eros remain at the top of the ramp, watching it all unfold—Balor clutching his ribs, the Infernal Crown resting across Eros’ arm.]

 

Jackson Creed: “There’s a storm brewing, folks. You can feel it in the air. Elijah and Luciano. Balor and—”

 

📸 [CRACK!!]

 

Sinclair DeVille: “WHAT IN THE HELL?!”

 

 

📸 [IVAN VOLKOV bursts through the curtain, swinging a steel pipe with savage intent—slamming it into Balor Wolfe’s spine! Balor drops to his knees in agony.]

 

📸 [CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!]

 

📸 [Ivan goes rabid, driving the pipe into Balor’s ribs five more times, each sickening impact echoing off the walls like gunshots.]

 

Lenny Cruz: “STOP IT! HE’S GONNA BREAK HIS RIBS!”

 

 

📸 [Eros tries to leap in, but VIKTOR DRAGOVICH steps into his path, smirking with his arms outstretched.]

 

Jackson: “Viktor cutting him off—this was an ambush! Ivan waited until Balor was drained from the match!”

 

Sinclair: “Do you hear that, Jackson? That’s the sound of justice. That’s Red Winter warning the world.”

 

📸 [Ivan stands over Balor, pipe raised again—ready to end this with his brutal finisher, Red Winter Execution—]

 

🎵 [Suddenly—“Whatever It Takes” by Imagine Dragons hits as ZAGREUS explodes onto the stage!]

 

 

Lenny: “YES!! YES!!”

 

📸 [ZAGREUS EXPLODES onto the stage, leaping past Viktor and hammering Ivan in the jaw with wild, fast fists! Ivan stumbles back, dropping the pipe as the crowd comes unglued.]

 

Jackson: “Zag’s HERE! The young demigod is throwing HAYMAKERS!”

 

📸 [Ivan tries to regroup, reaching for the weapon—but Zag is too fast. He snatches the pipe up, rears back, and swings—]

 

📸 [Ivan dodges and dives off the stage, fleeing through the crowd like a cowardly wolf retreating to the woods.]

 

Sinclair: “No, no, no—this was supposed to be a statement!”

 

📸 [Zag turns… slowly… to Viktor Dragovich.]

 

📸 [Viktor puts his hands up, backpedaling immediately.]

 

Viktor: “I—I’m just a manager! I don’t fight—I don’t—Zagreus, please!”

 

📸 [But behind Viktor… Balor Wolfe is back up. Bloodied. Holding his ribs. But burning with fury.]

 

Jackson: “Uh oh… look behind you, Viktor…”

 

📸 [Viktor turns—just as Balor grabs him in the fireman’s carry position.]

 

📸 [Zagreus drops the pipe, nods. Then he backs up… a few steps… sprints—]

 

📸 [BOOM!!]

 

📸 [OFFICIALLY SILENCED!! Both knee strikes smash into Viktor’s jaw like divine judgment. He crumples to the ramp, completely out cold.]

 

Lenny Cruz: “OFFICIALLY SILENCED!! THAT’S RADIO SILENCE, BABY!”

 

📸 [The crowd chants along: “RA-DI-O! SI-LENCE!”]

 

📸 [Balor stumbles back, holding his ribs. Eros immediately rushes to support him, one arm around Balor’s waist while holding the Infernal Crown in the other.]

 

📸 [Zag kneels beside Viktor’s unconscious body, glaring toward the arena steps.]

 

📸 [The camera pans up—at the top of the lower bowl, Ivan Volkov stands watching. His expression? Stone cold fury.]

 

📸 [He makes a throat-slashing gesture toward Balor… then vanishes into the shadows of the arena.]

 

📸 [Fade out on a shot of Balor, Eros, and Zagreus standing over Viktor’s wreckage, the Infernal Crown held high.]

 

Jackson Creed: “The message has been sent. Ivan Volkov wants the Infernal Crown—but tonight, Radio Silence reminded him that no one gets it without consequences.”

 

Sinclair DeVille: “This was supposed to be Red Winter’s moment… but instead? They got humbled. On the ramp. In front of everyone.”

 

Lenny Cruz: “And now? We’re all headed to Sydney… and it’s about to get nuclear.”

 

 

Gilberto J stands in the center of the ring, mic in hand, confidence blazing in his voice as he addresses the roaring MAWL Frequency crowd.

 

 

Gilberto J:

“I said it last week, and I’ll say it again, there ain’t a soul alive who can touch me in this ring or in this…”

 

Suddenly, his microphone cuts off mid-sentence. The arena buzzes with confusion. Then…

 

BLACKOUT.

 

The lights die completely, plunging the arena into pitch darkness. The crowd murmurs, then gasps as the titantron flickers to life with static. A figure appears onscreen… a man cloaked in a pristine white hooded robe, face obscured behind a tarnished silver mask, glinting like something holy and cursed. He chuckles softly, the laugh twisting and echoing through layers of distortion. His voice cracks like a broken sermon.

 

 

Masked Man (singing, voice warping in and out):

“Have you been to MAWL for the cleansing pow’r?”

 

Glitch.

 

“Are you washed… in the blood of the Lamb?”

 

A single-frame image flashes on screen: a lamb, wide-eyed, standing alone in a crimson-drenched room. It disappears before the crowd can fully process what they saw.

 

Masked Man (continuing):

“Are you fully trusting in His grace this hour?

Are you washed… in the blood of the Lamb?”

 

SPOTLIGHT—SECTION 102.

 

Another man, in an identical white robe and silver mask, stands motionless among the crowd, singing with haunting devotion:

 

 

Crowd Man:

“Are you washed in the blood,

In the soul-cleansing blood of the Lamb?”

 

Gilberto J turns, scanning the arena, puzzled. His hands go up. “What is this?” he mouths.

 

SPOTLIGHT—SECTION 118.

 

A second masked figure appears on the opposite side of the arena, singing the next lines in perfect harmony, like some cultic hymn echoing through a cathedral of violence.

 

Second Figure:

“Are your garments spotless? Are they white as snow?

Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?”

 

SPOTLIGHT—THE RAMP.

 

A white horse emerges from the back, slow and deliberate. Its mane is braided with crimson ribbon, and tied around its saddle is a long old rope, dragging behind it like a serpent’s tail. The spotlight widens.

 

The lights flash back on.

 

Gilberto J turns

 

Jacen Tarot is crouched on the ring apron.

 

 

He waits for the moment.

 

Before Gilberto can react…

 

Jacen springboards off the ropes with his Revelation.

 

A flipping neckbreaker from the top rope crashes Gilberto to the mat. He lays motionless.

 

Jacen stands over him, arms outstretched like a fallen angel giving benediction to a corpse. The crowd doesn’t know whether to scream or sit in stunned awe.

 

He grabs Gilberto’s legs, about to lock in the Hexas Cloverleaf…

 

…but pauses. Looks down at him with almost… reverence. 

 

Jacen slides out of the ring. He grabs the rope tied to the horse's saddle.

 

 

Then, with dark intent, he slides back into the ring and ties the other end around Gilberto’s ankles.

 

Jacen shouts something at the horse.

 

The horse jerks forward, slow at first, then building into a trot. Gilberto J is dragged across the canvas, legs scraping, head lolling. Out under the bottom rope. Up the ramp. Into the darkness backstage.

 

Jacen stands there watching with a smile.

 

The lights blackout again. A laugh is heard over the speakers followed by “Are you washed in the blood of the lamb?” 

 

When the lights return…

Jacen is gone.

 

A single tarot card is left in the ring. The camera zooms showing it to be once again the conquest card.

 

SIGNAL TOURNAMENT SEMI-FINALS

BIRDS OF PLAY VS THE END BEGINS

 

 

Wings of Time starts blaring over the speakers as Petey Peacock and Paulie Parrot come out, flapping their wings and "flying" around the stage, Pen Gwen standing with a smile in the middle of them.

 

 

🎤 Astrid Vale (as colorful lights swirl and their theme blasts through the arena):

“Introducing first… accompanied to the ring by Pen Gwen…
At a combined weight of four hundred and sixty-two pounds…
From Fortaleza, Brazil…

They are “The Brightest Bird Star” Petey Peacock… and “The Fine Feathery Friend” Paulie Parrot...

THE BIIIIIRDS… OF PLAAAAAAY!!”

 

 

The arena falls into darkness. The snaking guitar opening of “It’s All Over”  trickles through the arena with footage on the titantron of buildings and monuments crumbling before the drums drop, at which Tron and the runners show a full Atomic Mushroom and Fire Walls explode on the stage, from the rafters, and around the ring itself. The lights drop to a crimson red and the runner shows in military font
"THE END BEGINS."

 

From the Fire-

 

 

• Genesis, only his eyes and hair visible on his face and the fire reflecting in his pupils. The red highlights the camo that comprises the remainder of his outfit and give him a terrifying glow.

 

 

• Omega X emerges slowly behind him, towering as if the Gods themselves,hair and eyes white as static and emotionless, with only white samurai pants and a tattoo of a black Omega with a Red X almost like a blade scar running through it.
  
  

Genesis lets out a sharp “HAI!” and they slowly storm their way to the ring, both sets of eyes locked firmly on the [referee/opponent], staring into and through them. Omega steps over the ropes with relative ease as Genesis climbs the Turnbuckle and walks to the middle of the top rope, where he perches, positioning himself directly behind Omega X. Genesis moves his hands upwards as a hologram of an Earth forms between them. Omega puts his arms in an X above his head, then shoots them down as the hologram explodes into a firework X. 

 

🎤 Astrid Vale (as the lights dim, a slow, foreboding beat echoes through the arena):

“And their opponents… representing The End Begins…

At a combined weight of five hundred and sixty-five pounds…

They are the bringers of order and judgment…

GENESIS…
OMEGA X…

THE EEEEND… BEEEGIIINS!!”

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Up next here on Frequency — a tag team semi-final match that promises to be pure fire. The Birds of Play take on The End Begins, with the winner punching their ticket to the finals of the Signal Tag Team Championship Tournament.”

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“And both teams earned this moment, Jackson. The Birds of Play pulled out a high-octane win last week against High Risk in one of the most chaotic, creative, high-flying matches we’ve seen all year!”

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“Or as I call it — two feathered lunatics getting lucky. Let’s be honest: High Risk had that match until the Birds started dive-bombing like kamikaze drones.”

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“It wasn’t luck, Sinclair — it was timing, teamwork, and that devastating Egg Drop that sealed the deal. Petey Peacock and Paulie Parrot showed real chemistry under pressure.”

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“And speaking of pressure—The End Begins cranked it up to eleven in their quarterfinal clash with Venom Cartel. Omega X? He’s not a man, he’s a wrecking ball in white pants!”

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“Genesis and Omega X dismantled the Cartel like they were tearing down a condemned building. Power. Control. No wasted motion. That 'Rise and Fall of Civilization' finisher? It’s not just a name, it’s a warning.”

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“And now the Birds meet the storm. Flash versus force. Flight versus fire. Whoever wins this one moves on to the tournament finals — and one step closer to MAWL tag team gold.”

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“Two of the best teams in the world, and only one will advance. Jackson, I’ve been looking forward to this one all week!”

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“Good. Hope you enjoy it. Because when it’s over, the only thing flying out of here will be feathers.”

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“It’s semi-final time — Birds of Play vs The End Begins — and it’s coming your way, next!”

Signal Tag Team Championship Tournament – Semi-Final #1Birds of Play vs. THE END BEGINS

DING DING DING!

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
"And we are underway! Semi-final action in the Signal Tag Team Championship Tournament — Birds of Play versus The End Begins — and it’s Paulie Parrot starting things off against Genesis."

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“Smart call from the Birds — Paulie’s the quickest guy in this whole tournament. Let’s see how Genesis handles someone he can’t just muscle right away.”

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“Oh, he can muscle him. Just watch.”

 

The two circle. Paulie twitches with nervous energy, bouncing on his toes. Genesis stands grounded, arms out in a low guard, unmoving. They lock up — Paulie slips under, quick waistlock. Genesis grabs the wrists, peels out, turns, and shoves Paulie hard across the ring.

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Genesis asserting early control — and look at that shove! Sent Paulie nearly back to the Birds’ corner.”

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“That’s the power game. That’s what End Begins brings. But Paulie’s not rattled — he’s grinning!”

 

Paulie nods, runs forward — ducks a lariat — rebounds off the ropes — leapfrogs Genesis, then slides between his legs, spins to his feet, and hits a low dropkick to the knee! Genesis staggers back — Paulie kips up — arm drag! Genesis pops up — another arm drag!

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Speed on full display! Paulie Parrot creating separation and keeping the bigger man off balance!”

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“Fine. Toss him around a bit, birdbrain. But the second Genesis grabs you, it’s over.”

 

Genesis snarls, lunges in — Paulie matrixes under a clothesline — tags in Petey Peacock as he rebounds! Petey jumps the ropes with flair — Genesis swings — Petey cartwheels out of it and LEVELS him with a European uppercut!

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Tag made — and Petey Peacock brings the impact! That uppercut snapped Genesis’ head back!”

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“And here’s what makes the Birds dangerous — it’s not just flips. They hit. Petey’s 260 pounds of torque in every limb!”

 

Petey grabs a side headlock — Genesis backs him into the ropes — Jenny Caldwell calls for the break — Genesis raises the hands… then DRIVES a knee into Petey’s ribs!

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“Hey! That was cheap!”

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“Smart, Cruz. The referee’s count was at three — that’s called using the margin of error.”

 

Genesis keeps hold — short-arm whip — Petey ducks the return lariat, jumps for a crossbody — CAUGHT! Genesis transitions into a sidewalk slam, drives Petey down hard, then floats over for the lateral press—

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Cover by Genesis—”

 

🧑‍⚖️Jenny Caldwell:
“One!—”

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Quick kickout from Petey — not enough damage done.”

 

Genesis grabs a handful of hair, dragging Petey toward his corner — he tags in Omega X with a bone-rattling SLAP.

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“That sound you just heard? That was gravity getting reinforcements.”

 

Omega steps over the ropes without bending a knee. The crowd hushes slightly at his size. Petey rises — Omega charges — BIG BOOT—

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“NO! Petey ducks! Tags Paulie!”

 

Paulie springboards in — dropkick to Omega’s shoulder! Omega steps back a single pace. Paulie hits the ropes — ducks a haymaker — jumps on Petey’s back—MONKEY FLIP using Petey for leverage—Omega stumbles!

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“They’re pulling out combo tricks early — that’s what they need! Use the team, use the ropes, keep him turning!”

 

Paulie tags Petey back in — they grab each arm — double whip — Omega reverses BOTH — they hit opposite ropes — Omega swings—

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“DOUBLE DROP TOEHOLD! Birds keeping it grounded!”

 

Petey runs and baseball slides into Omega’s ribs — Paulie follows with a standing moonsault — tag again!

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“Fast tags! Beautiful flow! They’ve got Omega X off his feet!”

 

Paulie climbs the top rope — Petey lifts Omega in a fireman’s carry — Paulie leaps—DIVING KNEE to the head — Omega falls to a knee!

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“They’re not trying to pin — they’re trying to chop the giant down. Every move wears him out.”

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“Better hope it works. Because if he stands back up, this match flips real fast.”

 

Omega snarls, rising — Petey runs — springboard elbow — caught! Omega hoists him for a slam — Paulie SPRINGS in with a dropkick to the back of Petey, knocking both of them down!

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“STILL evenly matched! These teams are trading momentum like it's currency!”

 

Omega crawls toward his corner — Genesis extends the hand — TAG!

 

At the same time, Petey tags in Paulie — crowd roars as both fresh men re-enter at speed.

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“Here we go again!”

 

Genesis charges — Paulie ducks — tilt-a-whirl headscissors! Genesis flips — lands on his feet — clothesline! Paulie ducks again — rebound dropkick! Genesis staggers into the ropes — Paulie charges — but Genesis BACK BODY DROPS him over—

—Paulie lands on the apron! Springboard — crossbody—NO! Genesis CATCHES HIM mid-air—

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“WAIT—Petey’s BACK IN! SPRINGBOARD LARIAT TO THE BACK OF GENESIS’ HEAD!”

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“Double-teaming! Illegal! Caldwell, open your eyes!”

 

Jenny yells and pushes Petey back to the apron. Genesis drops to one knee — Paulie runs for a shining wizard—Genesis catches him mid-run—tilt-up into a powerslam position—Paulie wriggles out—rolls him up—

 

🧑‍⚖️Jenny Caldwell:
“One!—Two!—”

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Kickout at two! And we are STILL dead even!”

 

Both men scramble to their feet—Paulie swings, Genesis blocks, they lock eyes mid-motion. The crowd buzzes. Petey and Omega both shout encouragement from the apron.

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“That’s a STALEMATE, Jackson! This crowd knows it — you can feel it! Speed, power, tags, combos — everything’s landed, and nothing’s broken!”

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“This is what semi-final stakes bring out. Two of the top teams in MAWL — and right now? They’re perfectly matched.”

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“After a flurry of speed and strength, we’re back to square one here in the semi-final. Neither team has blinked.”

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“They’re trading plays like two top-tier quarterbacks — and I don’t know who’s got the edge!”

 

Genesis and Paulie reset — this time, no circling — they charge. Paulie lands a stinging forearm. Genesis fires back with a knife-edge chop that echoes off the rafters. Paulie stumbles — but throws another forearm! Genesis responds with a short-arm elbow!

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“These two aren’t playing anymore — that’s a war of attrition unfolding right here.”

 

Paulie ducks a wild lariat — hits a rolling sole butt — Genesis sways, Petey tags in—Paulie whips Genesis to the ropes—Petey leapfrogs—Paulie ducks under—Petey catches Genesis with a flying neckbreaker! Cover—

 

🧑‍⚖️Jenny Caldwell:

“One! Two—”

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Genesis kicks out again — but that’s another rapid-tag combo from the Birds.”

 

Petey brings Genesis to his feet — body shot — whips him to the corner — charges — Genesis gets the boot up! Petey staggers — Genesis explodes out with a shoulder block that FLATTENS him! He shakes out his wrist — tags in Omega X.

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“Now we’re back in business. Release the WMD.”

 

Omega X stalks in — grabs Petey off the mat by one hand. Petey with elbows to the ribs — Omega shoves him off — Petey charges back — Omega lifts for a sidewalk slam — Petey wriggles out behind — dropkick to the back! Omega stumbles forward into the ropes — Petey charges — clothesline—NO! Omega stays up!

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Petey’s throwing everything he has at the big man, but Omega X is still upright!”

 

Petey rebounds again — Omega swings a big lariat — Petey ducks — hits the ropes again — FLIES — but Omega steps forward and launches him with a HUGE back body drop over the top rope—

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“WAIT—HE LANDS ON THE APRON! PETEY’S STILL IN IT!”

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“Not for long—”

 

Omega spins — clothesline — Petey ducks — goes for a springboard—

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“SECOND CLOTHESLINE LANDS! PETEY FLIPS OFF THE APRON—HARD LANDING!”

 

The crowd gasps as Petey flips mid-air and lands back-first near the barricade.

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“Oh MAN! Petey just did a full rotation on the way down! That was BRUTAL!”

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Jenny Caldwell checking on him—but Omega doesn’t want the countout! He tags Genesis back in—”

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“That’s what you call earning the win. They’re not walking away with a technicality — they want to finish this in the ring.”

 

Genesis drops to the floor, grabs Petey by the mask, and hauls him up like a sandbag. He rolls him back under the ropes — Omega holds the ropes open — Genesis steps in, drags Petey to the center—

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Deadlift scoop — Genesis tags Omega back in—double-team coming!”

 

Genesis hoists Petey in a vertical suplex — holds him there — Omega hits the ropes and REBOUNDS with a massive big boot to the exposed midsection! Petey crumples like he’s been cut in half!

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“GOD what impact! Cover by Omega—”

 

🧑‍⚖️Jenny Caldwell:
“One! Two—!”

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“Kickout! That Peacock’s still got fight!”

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“Stubborn, but stupid. He should’ve stayed outside.”

 

Omega doesn’t argue — he brings Petey up again — tags Genesis back in. They nod — double whip into the ropes — Petey rebounds — Genesis lifts for a flapjack—Omega MEETS HIM MID-AIR with a jumping elbow to the chest!

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“ANOTHER crushing double-team! Genesis covers this time—”

 

🧑‍⚖️Jenny Caldwell:
“One! Two—!”

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“AND STILL only two!”

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“Petey Peacock is refusing to quit! He’s absorbing more punishment in three minutes than most guys do in three matches!”

 

Genesis sits up, breathing heavier now. He wipes his face, looks over at Omega with a nod, then stands, dragging Petey up again.

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“They’ve taken control. The End Begins isn’t just winning this part — they’re proving a point.”

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“They want this title shot, no question. But if the Birds want it too, they’re going to have to weather this storm.”

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“We’re back live in the semi-final — and right now, The End Begins has completely taken the air out of the Birds of Play.”

 

Genesis holds Petey in a grounded chinlock, knee planted between his shoulder blades. Omega X looms on the apron, arms crossed, motionless.

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“I don’t like how still Omega X is. He’s not just waiting — he’s studying. And that’s terrifying.”

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“Why run when your partner’s dishing out punishment like a war crime with footnotes?”

 

Petey tries to fight to his knees — Genesis wrenches back harder — Jenny Caldwell checks the arm—

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Petey reaching now — just fingertips away from the bottom rope—Genesis yanks him back to center! Smart positioning.”

 

Genesis lets go and drills an elbow into the side of Petey’s head. He brings him up—short-arm whip—
—Petey rebounds—Genesis catches and hoists—sidewalk slam with authority! Cover—

 

🧑‍⚖️Jenny Caldwell:
“One! Two—!”

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Petey kicks out again, but he’s starting to fade. That was a deadlift slam with a message.”

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“Message reads: You’re not getting out of this match conscious.”

 

Genesis tags in Omega — the two lift Petey in a double gutwrench and LAUNCH him into the corner like a sandbag. Petey bounces off the turnbuckles and crumples. Omega walks over like he’s just getting started.

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“Petey needs a miracle here, Jackson. He’s spent.”

 

Omega picks him up — one-arm scoop — walks to the center — and hits a rib-rattling Backbreaker over his knee, then holds Petey there, pressing down across his chest.

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Just torturous power. Omega’s not just beating him—he’s breaking him down piece by piece.”

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“And enjoying every clinical second of it.”

 

Omega finally drops him, then walks over to Genesis. They exchange a quick nod — Genesis calls for one more combo.

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Looks like another double-team—”

 

Genesis steps back in—Omega lifts Petey again, tosses him into Genesis’s arms—Genesis goes for another slam—

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:

“Wait, wait—he’s taking too long—Petey’s ALIVE!”

 

Mid-lift, Petey suddenly kicks his legs, wriggles through—lands behind Genesis—pushes him forward into Omega! They bump shoulders!

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Miscommunication! Just a second — but it might be all Petey needs!”

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“HE GOT THEM BOTH! PETEY PEACOCK REFUSES TO DIE!”

 

Genesis falls into the ropes—Omega drops to a knee—Petey crawls—stumbles—JUMPS—

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“HE LAUNCHED HIMSELF ACROSS HALF THE RING!”

 

SLAP! Paulie Parrot tags in mid-flight and LEAPS to the top rope—

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“INCOMING!!”

 

Paulie FLIES with a massive crossbody that takes down BOTH members of The End Begins as the crowd erupts!

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“DOUBLE CROSSBODY! THE PARROT HAS LANDED!”

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“Birds don’t hit like that! That was an airstrike!”

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“Momentum SHIFTED, baby! The Birds of Play are BACK!”

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Paulie Parrot is taking flight and The End Begins can’t pin him down!”

 

Paulie darts across the ring — springboard back elbow to Genesis, who stumbles into the ropes! Omega X tries to cut him off — Paulie slides through his legs — pops up behind — JUMPING NECKBREAKER!

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“They can’t even get their feet set — Paulie’s everywhere!”

 

Tag to Petey — the two Birds of Play hit a double dropkick that knocks Genesis over the top rope! Petey hits the ropes — tope con hilo to the floor!!

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“PETEY PEACOCK DIVES THROUGH THE SKY!”

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“This is chaos! Complete breakdown in formation! That’s what speed does to power — it creates panic!”

 

Back in the ring, Paulie measures Omega X — springboard crossbody—caught!

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Caught out of mid-air! Omega X just snatched him like a meteor!”

 

Omega muscles Paulie into powerbomb position—but takes a split second to adjust his footing—

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“Wait, he’s wasting time—Petey’s coming!”

 

*Petey SLAMS shoulder-first into Omega’s ribs—WHAM!—the impact knocks Omega backward—his grip loosens and Paulie flips down behind him—

—AND COLLIDES into Genesis just getting back onto the apron!

 

🎤Jackson Creed:

“DOUBLE COLLISION! The legal man is dazed! Genesis is rocked!”

 

Omega spins—Paulie snatches his legs—

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“ROLL-UP! SMALL PACKAGE! HE’S GOT HIM!”

 

🧑‍⚖️Jenny Caldwell:
“ONE!”

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Paulie’s got him TIGHT—Omega’s shoulders are DOWN—”

 

🧑‍⚖️Jenny Caldwell:
“TWO!”

 

Genesis dives in—

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“He’s not gonna make it!”

 

🧑‍⚖️Jenny Caldwell:
“THREE!!!”

 

[DING DING DING!]

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“THE BIRDS DID IT! THE BIRDS DID IT! THE BIRDS OF PLAY ARE GOING TO THE FINALS!”

 

Genesis crashes a half-second too late, inches from breaking the pin, as Jenny Caldwell signals for the bell and backs off.

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“INCHES, JACKSON! INCHES! That was as close as you get without winning!”

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“Don’t even talk to me right now. That was robbery. Daylight robbery with feathers.”

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“The Birds of Play — Petey Peacock and Paulie Parrot — just pulled off the biggest win of their careers!”

 

🎤Astrid Vale (Ring Announcer):
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN… your winners… and advancing to the FINALS of the Signal Tag Team Championship Tournament…
THE BIRDS… OF… PLAY!!”

 

“Wings of Time” by Tame Impala begins to play as the crowd erupts.

 

But no one’s standing yet.

 

All four wrestlers — Petey, Paulie, Genesis, and Omega X — are laid out on the mat, chests heaving, staring up at the lights.

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“What a war. No cheap tricks. No shortcuts. That was two teams throwing everything they had at each other.”

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“That’s what a semi-final should look like. The Birds earned it — but The End Begins? They ain’t going away.”

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille:
“They lost because they hesitated. That’s the price of inexperience — and they just paid it in gold.”

 

The music still echoes through the arena as the crowd stands and applauds. Inside the ring, the Birds of Play begin to stir.

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“Paulie Parrot, Petey Peacock — the Birds of Play — just did what no one thought they could. They’re going to the finals.”

 

Paulie, still holding his ribs, rolls to his knees. Petey helps him up. The two stumble toward each other, eyes wide — then fall into a tight embrace, forehead to forehead, arms wrapped in exhausted joy.

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“They earned that. Every inch of it. You could feel how much this meant.”

 

Across the ring, Genesis sits up slowly. His mouth is open, his expression one of disbelief. He covers his mouth with his hand — stunned — as if trying to process how fast it all slipped away.

 

Omega X still lies flat on his back, unmoving — not from pain, but disappointment. After a long moment, he raises both hands to his face and covers his eyes.

 

🎤Sinclair DeVille (quietly):
“That’s what happens. You do everything right… except one thing.”

 

🎤Jackson Creed (softly):
“They had this. They had it. The lack of tag team experience — just their second match together — that’s the difference tonight.”

 

The Birds look at each other — then look at The End Begins.

Petey and Paulie walk across the ring… slowly… and extend their hands.

 

Genesis lowers his hand, eyes locking with Petey’s. Omega lowers his arms from his face. There’s a long beat—

—then both men take the offered hands.

 

Petey and Paulie strain to help lift Omega to his feet, while Paulie steadies Genesis. Once upright, words are exchanged — too quiet for the mics to catch — but the meaning is clear.

 

Petey nods. Paulie places a hand on Genesis’s shoulder.

 

🎤Lenny Cruz:
“No trash talk. No insults. That’s just mutual respect, right there.”

 

And then—

The Birds raise the arms of The End Begins.

 

🎤Jackson Creed:
“A match like that? There are no losers in that ring tonight.”

 

The crowd roars in appreciation — a standing ovation beginning to swell.

 

Paulie and Petey give one last nod, then quietly slip out of the ring, leaving Genesis and Omega standing center ring.

 

The music fades. The lights dim slightly.

 

The camera lingers as Genesis and Omega look out over the arena. Genesis runs a hand through his hair. Omega stays stone-still, processing the moment. Not rage. Not frustration. Just… a lesson burned into memory.

 

🎤Jackson Creed (softly):
“This isn’t the end for The End Begins. It’s just the beginning.”

 

Fade to black.

 

 

📸 [BACKSTAGE – MAWL INTERVIEW SET]

📸 [The camera cuts to a dimly lit corner of the backstage area. VIKTOR DRAGOVICH sits in a steel chair, neck braced, head bandaged, looking like he got hit by a freight train. Beside him stands IVAN VOLKOV, arms crossed, eyes cold, pipe still clutched in his gloved hand.]

 

 

Viktor Dragovich (strained voice):
"Australia… you cheer for your golden wolf. You wear his colors, chant his name, believe his heart is unbreakable. But soon… in your home country, in your home city… Balor Wolfe walks into his greatest nightmare."

 

📸 [Ivan says nothing. Just glares at the camera, stone still.]

 

Viktor:
"80,000 of you will pack that stadium thinking your hero cannot fall. But when Ivan Volkov steps into that ring… he will not just take your title. He will take the soul of your country."

 

📸 [Ivan slowly steps forward, pipe over his shoulder, and speaks quietly—calm, cold, final.]

 

Ivan Volkov:
"Wolfe... you are great champion.
But in your city…
I will break you.
And I will take it."

 

📸 [He stares down the camera for a moment longer before walking off. Viktor remains behind, eyes burning beneath the bandages.]

 

📸 [Fade out.]

 

……*Bzzzt*..*bzzzt* the sound of an old school TV static is heard…

 

 

The Tron screen clears up to the sounds of a light hearted ice cream truck style music 

 

A female voice, calm and lighthearted speaks over, as the image of a dog is displayed

 

 

Female voice: Let me tell you a story!!!

 

A story about a dog and his bone

Usually unknown, but we'll call this one Luciano

The dog came across a bridge below a river

To him, the other dog's bone looked a lot better

In his mind, he thought he was rather clever

A plot! To get another one he thought bigger

 

 

Releasing his own, to go after the other

But it was only a reflection, he knew no better

Now the dog, that didn't appreciate the one 

Tried for more but ended up with none

 

….the female voice gets deeper sounding, switching octaves back and forth becoming unsteady…..then stabilises to a deep male voice

 

The screen image changes….

 

 

Elijah: You're foolish, little one

You interrupted a clash, one of great fun

All for what? For what the spider asks!!!!

Jealousy…., for a match…. non titled?

 

For your greed, for your stupidity 

You shall not have a title or match with Balor…

…But the spider is fair, won't leave you lonely

Won't leave you without a bone

Cuz the one with a bone, a bone to pick is me

You’ll get my attention….and escape you really should abandon

 

Say goodbye to dreams, hopes and desires

And hello to all despair, fear and tears…. 

For now, the spider conspires

Your story is now mine to tell…

Your will no more 

In my web, you'll now be trapped in……

 

The screen returns to the MAWL sign

 

 

[Camera fades in on the commentary desk. Jackson Creed sits centered, flanked by “Lightning” Lenny Cruz on his left and Sinclair DeVille on his right. The arena hums with anticipation.]

 

 

Jackson Creed (Play-by-Play):
“Folks, coming up next—brace yourselves. This quarterfinal is chaos waiting to detonate: Jay the Joker vs Shadow Kawashima. Two of the most unpredictable forces in the Ether Tournament… colliding tonight.

 

 

Lenny Cruz (Color – Face):
“You wanna talk unpredictable? Let’s rewind just a second to how these two got here. Both men cheated death in round one—but only one of them laughed through it.”

 

[REPLAY: Jay the Joker vs Zagreus – flashes of Joker screaming at Ref Jenny, Z’s kip-up, superkick, springboard elbow, Blessing of Persephone. Then: Harley’s run-in, silver mist, Joker’s small package.]

 

Jackson:
“Zagreus had him. Had him dead to rights. That Blessing of Persephone landed flush—but Harley Quinn crashes the party, and a bottle of who-knows-what turns the tide.”

 

Lenny:
“Silver spray to the face and a roll-up! Come on, man. That wasn’t a win—that was theft."

 

 

Sinclair DeVille (Color – Heel):
“Oh, don’t cry about it. Jay the Joker didn’t break the rules. He just bent them like balloon animals. He outmaneuvered Radio Silence, and he’s laughing all the way to the quarterfinals.”

 

Jackson:
“He may have laughed last week, but this week? He’s standing across from something a little less funhouse and a little more… funeral.”

 

[REPLAY: Magnus vs Shadow Kawashima – Magnus domination, Blackheart appearing on stage, Shadow spitting black mist, hitting Shadowrealm for the win.]

 

Lenny:
“Shadow Kawashima—silent but absolutely lethal. Magnus was steamrolling him… until Damian Blackheart shows up. Doesn’t even lay a hand, just stands there. And somehow, that’s enough.”

 

Sinclair (smirking):
“Presence is power, gentlemen. And Shadow? He weaponized it. One shot of that black mist and bam—Shadowrealm. Lights out. Magnus never saw it coming… literally.”

 

Jackson:
“So now we’ve got Gotham’s Clown Prince of Poison vs the Silent Assassin of Spirit Crusher. Both advanced under questionable circumstances. Both carry shadows—Harley Quinn on one side… Damian Blackheart on the other.”

 

Lenny:
“But the difference? Joker wants to make a mockery of this tournament. Shadow wants to end it. Cold. Quiet. Violent. You don’t play mind games with a man who has none left to lose."

 

Sinclair:
“Please. Joker’s smarter than people think. He’s erratic, sure—but you don’t survive the madness he’s survived without a brain behind the mask. Shadow better pray Jay doesn’t start laughing in his face... because that’s when things get dangerous.”

 

Jackson:
“Mind games. Mist. Mayhem. This quarterfinal could end in a pinfall… or a war crime. Jay the Joker. Shadow Kawashima. The road to Ether gold gets twisted tonight.”

 

[Graphic flashes on screen: ETHER CHAMPIONSHIP TOURNAMENT – QUARTERFINAL MATCH: JAY THE JOKER vs. SHADOW KAWASHIMA. Both men’s faces flicker against a shattered glass backdrop.]

 

[Fade to black as the Joker’s laughter echoes faintly… then cuts out abruptly with the eerie silence of Shadow’s theme.]

 

The Ether Championship Tournament – Quarterfinal Match

Jay the Joker vs. Shadow Kawashima

 

 

The Joker walks out slowly with Purple and Green lights gleaming, carrying his iconic crowbar everywhere he goes.

 

 

Harley Quinn right behind him carrying her baseball bat.

 

 

Astrid Vale (as a twisted, carnival-style tune begins to play and the lights flicker):

“Introducing first…

Weighing in at one hundred and sixty pounds…
Standing six feet tall…
From Gotham City…

He is the twisted grin behind the madness…

JAAAAY… THE JOOOOKERRR!!”

 

 

Shadow Kawashima is in complete darkness except for a spotlight that follows him to the ring and casts a large shadow behind him.

 

 

 Screen shows shadowy figures lurking through graveyards

 

Astrid Vale (as the lights dim to a cold hue and thunderous drums echo through the arena):

“And his opponent…

Weighing in at two hundred and sixty-seven pounds…
Standing six feet, four inches tall…
From Nagoya, Japan…

He is the silent storm… the shadow that strikes…

SHAAADOOOW… KAAAWASHIIIMAAA!!”

 

 

Referee: “Classic” Jenny Caldwell

 

[DING DING DING!!!]

 

Jackson Creed (Play-by-Play):
"And here we go! Quarterfinal action underway—Jay the Joker vs. Shadow Kawashima. Two of MAWL’s most dangerous minds about to clash, and—wait, Joker’s not waiting!"

 

Lenny Cruz (Face Color):
"Whoa! Jay just RUSHED across the ring! Look at him go!"

 

Sinclair DeVille (Heel Color):
"That’s what I love—initiative. Hit ‘em before they finish blinking."

 

Jackson:
"Joker lights up Shadow with a flurry—forearm, forearm, knee to the midsection—AND he snaps him into the corner with a whip! Shadow hits spine-first and Joker’s right behind him with a running knee!"

 

Lenny:
"Shadow’s rocked early! I don’t think he expected that kind of pace out of Joker!"

 

Sinclair:
"Nobody ever expects a punchline to land that hard."

 

Jackson:
"Joker grabs Shadow by the wrist—short-arm clothesline! Takes him down! He’s not done—grabs the arm again—another clothesline! Shadow hits the mat again like a sack of bricks!"

 

Lenny:

"Joker is picking him apart right now!"

 

Jackson:
"But instead of going for the cover, look at this—Jay’s doing snow angels in the ring?!"

 

Sinclair (delighted):
"Beautiful! Art! That’s a man enjoying his masterpiece. Let the man have his moment."

 

Lenny (half-laughing):
"He’s got a monster down and he’s goofing off! This crowd’s actually loving it?!"

 

[Cut to the crowd: mixed cheers and laughter—chants of “LET HIM COOK!” start to pick up from a rowdy section.]

 

Jackson:
"Shadow rolling to his knees now—Joker stomps on the back of his neck! No hesitation when the moment calls for violence."

 

Lenny:
"He’ll clown you, sure—but he’ll cut you just as quick. That stomp was nasty."

 

Sinclair:
"That’s psychology, Lenny. You break the man’s body, then break the spirit. Joker’s smiling while Shadow gasps for breath."

 

Jackson:
"Now Joker backing into the ropes—charges—low dropkick right to the side of the head! Shadow sprawled out flat, and STILL—Jay doesn’t go for the pin. Instead—"

 

Lenny:
"He’s straddling Shadow’s back like a rodeo horse and—oh come on! He’s riding him?!"

 

Sinclair (mocking):
"Yee-haw, baby! That’s Gotham’s favorite cowboy!"

 

Jackson:
"Jenny Caldwell stepping in now, warning Joker to stop taunting and stay on the fight. But Joker’s just holding up his hands, backing off slowly, grinning ear to ear."

 

Lenny:
"He’s treating this match like open mic night at the asylum. But man… Shadow hasn’t landed anything yet."

 

Jackson:
"That’s the story so far—this has been ALL Joker. Quick, nasty, relentless—but every time he could pin, he stops to play. And as dangerous as Shadow is, that’s a high-risk game to play."

 

Sinclair:
"Or a smart one. You frustrate the beast, you take away the rhythm. Joker’s in full control—not just of the ring, but the crowd."

 

[Crowd camera: signs that read “CHAOS KING” and “HONK IF U BLEED” held up, crowd clapping along as Joker struts circles around Shadow.]

 

Jackson:
"Shadow starting to stir now—but Joker sees it. He *hooks him from behind—belly-to-back position—**and SNAPS him down with a sharp suplex!"

 

Lenny:
"That one had whiplash on it!"

 

Jackson:
"And Joker’s laughing again! He rolls to his knees, stares straight into the camera, and mouths: ‘Are you not entertained?’"

 

Sinclair:
"You know what, Jackson? I am entertained."

 

Jackson (pointed):
"We’ll see how long that lasts. You give Shadow Kawashima enough time to breathe... and things tend to turn violent."

 

Jackson Creed (Play-by-Play):
"We are deep into this quarterfinal now, and it has been all Jay the Joker. Shadow Kawashima hasn’t had a breath—let alone an opening."

 

Lenny Cruz (Color – Face):
"I don’t know what’s scarier—Joker’s offense or the fact that he looks like he’s dancing to music only he can hear."

 

Sinclair DeVille (Color – Heel):
"Ah, the sweet symphony of chaos. Can’t you hear it? Violin stabs. Pipe organs. The laughter of the damned."

 

[In-ring: Joker skips in a circle around a downed Shadow Kawashima, humming loudly and occasionally snapping his fingers to an invisible beat. He throws his arms out wide like a conductor, then hits a quick stomp to Shadow’s ribs, sending him rolling.]

 

Jackson:
"Joker is putting on a clinic here—sharp strikes, quick movement, and total control. But still no cover attempt! It’s like winning isn’t even his goal—it’s humiliation."

 

Lenny:
"And Harley’s eating it up at ringside! Look at her—she’s got that wild grin going. Cheering, clapping, blowing kisses toward the camera!"

 

Sinclair:
"That’s support, Lenny. Try it sometime."

 

[Suddenly, the camera shifts toward the entrance ramp. The lights shift tone—subtly, but noticeably. A single spotlight picks up a figure stepping through the curtain slowly, deliberately.]

 

 

Jackson (tense):
"Wait a second… that’s… that’s Damian Blackheart."

 

Lenny:
"Blackheart?! What the hell is he doing out here?! He’s got his own quarterfinal match later tonight against Stitches the Clown!"

 

Sinclair (grinning):
"Looks like the doctor’s making rounds..."

 

[Damian Blackheart, still in his dark brown suit, pipe in hand, strolls down the ramp. No music. No theatrics. Just the cold stare of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing. He stops—midway down the ramp—and just watches. Silent. Unmoving.]

 

Jackson:
"He's not interfering—he's not even flinching. But Joker sees him now… and everything just changed."

 

[In-ring: Joker freezes mid-strut, eyes narrowing. His lips stop moving. He looks toward Blackheart, cocking his head like a curious bird. Shadow lies still behind him, breathing heavy.]

 

Lenny:
"You can feel that chill. Joker’s whole vibe just got knocked sideways. It’s like someone changed the channel in his head."

 

Sinclair:
"And you never want the laughter to stop with Joker. That’s when things get… unstable."

 

Jackson:
"Jay turns back—OH! BIG boot from Shadow outta nowhere!! Right to the jaw!"

 

Lenny (shouting):
"He CAUGHT him! Right on the button!"

 

Jackson:
"Joker drops like a puppet with the strings cut—and Shadow’s UP! No shriek. No scream. Just cold fury in his eyes!"

 

Sinclair:
"Blackheart’s still not moving. Still just… watching. Like he’s timing something."

 

[In-ring: Joker stumbles to his feet—Shadow charges—short-arm clothesline that FLIPS Joker mid-air.]

 

Jackson:
"WHIPLASH CLOTHESLINE! Joker got turned inside out!"

 

Lenny:
"And Shadow’s not letting up now—he yanks Joker up—BRAINBUSTER!! Straight down! That thud was gross!"

 

Jackson:
"And finally, Shadow Kawashima has come alive! Three brutal shots in a row! The crowd doesn’t even know how to feel!"

 

[Cut to Harley Quinn at ringside—panic on her face for the first time as she screams at Joker to get up. Joker lies flat, eyes wide, blinking up at the lights.]

 

Sinclair (chuckling low):
"You dance too long in the dark… eventually the dark starts tapping its foot."

 

Jackson:
"And Damian Blackheart? He hasn’t moved. Hasn’t said a word. But his presence—his aura alone—changed this match."

 

Lenny:
"And don’t forget—he’s got his own war later tonight. Against Stitches the Clown. If he’s willing to show up here? That’s a message."

 

Jackson:
"One thing’s certain—this match just got a lot more dangerous for Jay the Joker."

 

Jackson Creed (Play-by-Play):
"Shadow Kawashima is in control, and Joker’s body language says it all. He hasn’t had a move in since Blackheart showed up—this is the most human Joker’s looked all night."

 

Lenny Cruz (Color – Face):
"He’s getting thrown around like a crime scene mannequin, Jackson. Shadow is making him hurt now!"

 

Sinclair DeVille (Color – Heel):
"Don’t write the punchline yet. Joker’s not dead until the last laugh."

 

[In-ring: Shadow traps Joker in the corner and unleashes a flurry—knife-edge chop, Mongolian chop, headbutt. Joker slumps. Shadow steps back and drives a knee into Joker’s face—the crowd groans at the impact.]

 

Jackson:
"Joker slumps to the mat! That knee cracked him! Shadow’s stalking again—and he’s not even making a sound."

 

[Camera catches Damian Blackheart still standing mid-ramp. Same pose. Arms folded. Watching. Like a scientist observing a test subject.]

 

Lenny:
"Still no movement from Blackheart. Still just… staring."

 

Sinclair (half-joking):
"He hasn’t blinked in five minutes. You could project horror films onto that man’s soul."

 

 

Jackson:
"Hold on… that’s—STITCHES?! Stitches the Clown?! He’s Blackheart’s opponent later tonight!"

 

Lenny:
"Why the hell is he out here?!"

 

[Stitches reaches out and taps Blackheart on the shoulder. Blackheart turns slowly. Stitches immediately gets in his face—mocking, gesturing wildly, jabbing a finger toward the ring and then his own chest.]

 

Sinclair:
"Stitches is pissed. He’s accusing Blackheart of being more concerned about his partner’s match than his own! He might not be wrong."

 

Jackson:
"This is boiling over fast! Officials rushing down the ramp now—trying to separate the two!"

 

[Security and MAWL road agents pour out—stepping between Stitches and Blackheart, who hasn’t raised his voice, hasn’t lifted a hand. But his pipe is gone now. His jaw locked.]

 

Lenny:
"Jenny Caldwell’s trying to keep focus but she’s looking back now—trying to tell security to keep it clean!"

 

**[Back in the ring—Joker crawls over to Shadow, eyes still dazed—then suddenly grins wide. Shadow reaches for him—LOW BLOW!!! Right between the legs! Shadow drops!]

 

Jackson:
"LOW BLOW!! LOW BLOW!!! Ref didn’t see it! She’s still yelling toward the ramp!"

 

Sinclair (smug):
"And that’s how you twist a tragedy into a comedy."

 

Lenny:
"That’s disgusting! Shadow had this match—Joker just STOLE that opening!"

 

**[Joker pulls something from under the ring apron—brass knuckles tucked in his boot all along. He doesn’t hesitate—right hand winds up—BAM!! Straight to the jaw!]

 

Jackson:
"THE JOKER’S LAST LAUGH!! Right to the face!! Shadow crumbles like stone!"

 

[Joker quickly kicks the knuckles under the bottom rope toward Harley, who scoops them up with glee. Joker drops and SLAPS the mat, calling out to Jenny—who turns and runs back.]

 

Lenny:
"He’s acting like nothing happened!"

 

Jenny Caldwell:
“ONE! TWO! THREE!!!”

 

[DING DING DING!!!]

 

Astrid Vale (Ring Announcer):
“Here is your winner… advancing to the Semifinals of the Ether Championship Tournament…
JAY… THE… JOKERRRRR!!”

 

[“Joaquin Phoenix – The Joker” hits the PA. Joker sits up, that wild grin back on his face as Harley pulls him to his feet and spins under his arm like it’s a circus act.]

 

Jackson:
"He did it. He actually did it. Joker steals one from Shadow Kawashima, and MAWL’s wild card moves one step closer to the Ether Championship."

 

Lenny:
"That wasn’t a win, man. That was larceny. That was a carnival crime scene!"

 

Sinclair:
"And yet… the ref’s hand still hit three. Who’s laughing now?"

 

[On the ramp: Blackheart hasn’t moved. Still staring toward the ring. Calm. Pipe back in hand. Stitches is gone—escorted by security—but Blackheart simply turns his head slightly as Joker and Harley strut right past him.]

 

[Joker throws his head back, cackling, and Harley joins in—taunting Stitches wherever he went, ignoring Blackheart completely.]

 

Jackson (low):
"They walked right past him like he was part of the set… but something tells me Damian Blackheart doesn’t forget being dismissed."

 

Lenny:
"And after tonight… neither will Shadow Kawashima."

 

[Final shot: Joker and Harley disappear through the curtain, still laughing. Damian Blackheart stands on the ramp alone, expression unreadable, smoke curling from his pipe as he turns toward the ring. Fade to black.]

 

 

[The room is quiet. Dimly lit. No music, no background noise—just the soft hum of tension.]

 

 

[Balor Wolfe sits alone in his chair, still in his ring gear. His hair is damp, chest heaving gently. The Infernal Crown Championship rests in his lap.]

 

📸 [He doesn't look up. Just stares at the title. Then, calmly—he begins to speak.]

 

Balor Wolfe (softly):
"Ivan... you don't know what you’ve done.
There’s something about us Australians you don’t understand..."

 

📸 [He slowly lifts his head, locking eyes with the camera now.]

 

Balor Wolfe:
"We don’t break easy.
We didn’t break when the Crown sent men to tear apart our first union.
We stood, waving the Southern Cross—
And we didn’t back down."

 

📸 [He places the title gently on the bench beside him, standing up slowly.]

 

Balor Wolfe:
"Ned Kelly didn’t back down when he was outgunned.
He put on a suit of iron and went down firing his pistols.
The ANZAC diggers—
They didn’t back down when they landed at Gallipoli.
Even when they knew they wouldn’t win."

 

📸 [Balor picks up the chair he was sitting on—and throws it across the room with a loud CRASH.]

 

📸 [The fury rises in his chest—and for the first time in a long time… the Australian accent bleeds through.]

 

Balor Wolfe (fiercely):
"We didn’t back down when we held a damn port city in North Africa from the Na*is.
Not even when they mocked us—called us rats.
We wore that with pride.
Because we’re Australians."

 

📸 [He steps forward, passion blazing in his eyes.]

 

Balor Wolfe:
"We were sent to a sunburnt island with the most dangerous animals in the world…

And we thrived.
We’re built different, mate. You don’t get it.
I’m not scared of you, big boy."

 

📸 [Balor reaches down and lifts the Infernal Crown Championship, holding it by the strap—shoulders squared, fire in his voice.]

 

Balor Wolfe:
"When I step into Accor Stadium—
The grounds of the 2000 Olympics…
The home of my beloved Sydney Swans…
With eighty-thousand strong chanting my name, waving the flag behind me—
You don’t stand a bloody chance."

 

📸 [He raises the title high above his head.]

 

Balor Wolfe:
"You want this, mate?"

 

📸 [The camera zooms in as his voice drops to a deadly calm.]

 

Balor Wolfe:
"Then you’ll have to kill me for it.
Because in Sydney...
You don’t have the guts to beat me."

 

📸 [He holds the title high, proud, breathing hard as the shot lingers—fading to black.]

 

 

The screen flickers, static crawling like swampflies. A low jazz-fiddle plays over creaking wood and chirping cicadas. The image settles on a dimly lit pier, with fog rolling in from the water. An old lantern swings gently from a hook above.

 

 

Vernon Gravewater stands center screen—coat heavy with river mud, a bottle in one hand, and a smile that knows too much.

 

Vernon Gravewater (calm, slow drawl):

“Y’all ever taste somethin’ that makes the hair on yer arms stand up? Somethin’ brewed so deep in the soil of forgotten sins… it don’t just quench... it remembers?”

 

He uncaps the bottle with a flick of his nail—fizz hisses out like a whisper from the beyond.

 

Vernon:

“This here… is Gravewater Brewin’ Co.

Handcrafted in cursed kettles. Fermented by fog. Bottled at the crossroads.”

 

He raises the bottle to the camera. The label reads: “GRAVEWATER BREWING CO – TASTE THE CURSE.”

 

Vernon:

“And now, with the help of my favorite devils at WREK‑TV… We’re bringin’ this flavor to your front porch.”

 

Vernon:

“Whether yer watchin’ Blood Hour Radio, TDA Street Fights, or that poor boy Milo gettin’ lost in another timeline…There’ll be a Gravewater brew nearby, ready to wash it all down with.”

 

Behind him, swamp lights flicker on—revealing towering crates of Gravewater beer. Strange symbols are branded into the wood. One of them glows.

 

Vernon:

“From Bayou Brutal IPA...

To Critter Creek Cream Ale...

To our newest blend: Time-Lost Lager—brewed for those who forgot what day it is…”

 

He tips the bottle back, takes a swig, and smiles darkly.

 

Vernon:

“WREK‑TV knows chaos.

I know flavor. And together? We gon’ ferment the future.”

 

He leans into the camera.

 

Vernon:

“Come get lost in the bottle. Gravewater Brewing Co— Drink responsibly. Or don’t. Time ain’t real anyway.”

 

The screen fades into a mossy commercial slide with the tagline:

 

GRAVEWATER BREWING CO

“Born in the Bayou. Bottled in Sin.”

Now a proud sponsor of WREK‑TV.

 

 

Scene: Ringside, just before the bell rings for the semi-final match – The Edge Runners vs. MAWLiwood Blondes]

 

 

Jackson Creed:
“Before we get to what promises to be a high-octane semi-final, let’s rewind just a bit and take a look at how we got here—because both these teams had drastically different roads to tonight.”

 

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Drastic is putting it lightly, Jackson. The Edge Runners went through hell against The Doomsayers last week. Johnny got dissected for a good ten minutes like he was the main course on a butcher’s table. But that heart, man—he stayed in it, and when V got the tag? The building exploded.”

 

[Footage overlay: V hitting the plancha on The Prophet, then Jacked In Cutting Cords finisher]

 

Jackson Creed:
"That comeback wasn’t just explosive—it was textbook resilience. V tore through everyone in his way, and when they hit that Jacked In Cutting Cords combo, it was lights out. Johnny and V earned that win the hard way, with grit and air miles.”

 

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Grit? Please. You call ‘flipping around like a malfunctioning drone’ grit? That was desperation meets dumb luck. The Doomsayers slipped, and the Edge Runners capitalized. It happens.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Sure, Sinclair. And maybe next you’ll tell us the MAWLiwood Blondes won clean, right?”

 

Jackson Creed (smirking):
“Let’s not forget what the Blondes did to the Animalities.”

 

[Footage overlay: Lionheart dominating, followed by camera shot to the head, then Final Take finisher]

 

Jackson Creed:
“They were this close to getting steamrolled by Lionheart and Jaguar until Anderson grabbed a ringside camera and used it like a steel chair with a flashbulb.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“It was cinematic brilliance! A director’s cut moment. That’s why they’re stars, Creed. They turned a horror scene into a blockbuster finish. The Final Take was pure box office.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“They turned a competitive match into a crime scene, Sinclair. And that stunt Winston pulled—accusing Victor Kingston of an attack that never happened? Disgraceful. That wasn’t showbiz, that was straight-up fraud.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“And yet… it worked. Which brings us here: Edge Runners—scrappy, high-flying underdogs… and the MAWLiwood Blondes—Hollywood hitmen with the General Manager’s blessing. You couldn’t write a more contrasting semi-final matchup.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Speed and heart versus arrogance and manipulation. Let’s see if the good guys can flip the script.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Oh, they can try. But this is a MAWLiwood production now. And in the Blondes’ world? The extras never get the spotlight.”

 

[Bell rings – crowd erupts as the match begins]

Signal Tag Team Championship Tournament – Semi-Final #2

MAWLiwood Blondes vs. The Edge Runners

 

The arena plunges into darkness.

A single golden spotlight shines at the top of the ramp.

The faint sound of cameras clicking and distant fan screams can be heard.

 

 

🎵 Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods? 🎵

Smoke billows as a red carpet slowly rolls down the entrance ramp by itself.

The crowd starts laughing and cheering because everyone knows what’s coming.

 

 

🎵 I need a hero! 🎵

“Red Carpet” Mark Anderson emerges first in a ridiculous floor-length velvet robe, wearing sunglasses inside, flashing dazzling finger guns to the crowd.

 

He dramatically points to the fans like he’s selecting the lucky few who may gaze upon him today.

 

 

🎵 I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night! 🎵

“High Risk” Winston Lewis kicks the entrance into overdrive, strutting out in a flame-covered leather jacket while flexing obnoxiously.

He carries a small handheld fan and blows his golden hair in slow motion to the beat of the song.

 

They stop halfway down the ramp and mimic action hero movie posters:

 

Mark Anderson: One arm across his chest, chin tilted up like a movie poster pose.

 

Winston Lewis: Kneeling down, pointing sunglasses at the hard cam as if locking onto a target.

 

The crowd begins chanting along with the chorus: 🎵 I NEED A HERO! 🎵

 

Red Carpet Mark rolls out a fake Oscar from his robe and pretends to give an acceptance speech while walking.

 

High Risk Winston fake ‘dodge rolls’ behind imaginary explosions, then finger guns both sides of the crowd in sync with the beat.

 

They climb the ropes and Mark Anderson dramatically removes his robe, throwing it like it’s worth a million dollars.

Winston tosses his sunglasses to the crowd like a blessing.

They strike one final synchronized pose on opposite turnbuckles just as the chorus explodes again.

 

🎵 They’ve gotta be strong, they’ve gotta be fast, and they’ve gotta be fresh from the fight! 🎵

 

Astrid Vale (as gold lights dazzle, and camera flashes pop like a premiere night):

“Introducing first…

At a combined weight of four hundred and forty-five pounds…

They are the blockbuster tag team sensation…
‘Red Carpet’ Mark Anderson and ‘High Risk’ Winston Lewis…

THE MAAAAAWLIIIWOOD BLONDES!!”

 

 

📢[Arena Lights Cut to Black – The Tron Flickers with Glitching Code]

 

🎵 "Cause we lost everything... we had to pay the price..."
– A deep red and electric blue light pulses on stage, illuminating two silhouettes standing in the smoke. Their Radio Silence masks flicker with neon lines, glitching like corrupted data

 

 

The crowd buzzes as Johnny and V remain motionless, their heads tilting slightly in unison.

 

🎵 "I saw in you what life was missing..."
– The smoke thickens as the duo takes slow, methodical steps forward, the neon reflections dancing off their black and chrome cyberpunk-inspired gear.

 

🎵 "You lit a flame that consumed my hate..."
🔥 (SYNC MOMENT: As "flame" hits, sparks shoot from the stage, casting their figures in a chaotic glow.)

 

🎵 "I'm not one for reminiscing but..."
– They stop at the center of the stage, standing side by side as the camera zooms in on their masks—Johnny’s glowing red and silver, V’s pulsing blue and green.

 

🎵 "I'd trade it all for your sweet embrace..."
– (SYNC MOMENT: On "embrace," they both reach up and slowly remove their masks, revealing their faces.)

 

Astrid Vale Ring Announcer:

"And their opponents… at a combined weight of 385 pounds… representing Radio Silence… they are the high-flying, system-crashing, neon-streaked outlaws of the future… JOHNNY! V! THE EDGE RUNNERS!”

 

🎵 "Cause we lost everything... we had to pay the price..."
– Johnny tosses his mask aside, rolling his shoulders as V twirls theirs around a finger before flicking it into the crowd. The two exchange a nod.

 

🎵 "There's a canvas with two faces... of fallen angels who loved and lost..."
– The beat kicks in, and they suddenly explode into a sprint, storming down the ramp.

 

🎵 "It was a passion for the ages... but in the end, guess we paid the cost..."
🔥 (SYNC MOMENT: As "paid the cost" hits, Johnny slides into the ring, while V leaps up onto the apron in one fluid motion.)

 

🎵 "A thing of beauty - I know..."
💥 (The entire crowd starts buzzing, knowing what’s coming.)

 

🎵 "WILL NEVER FADE AWAY!"
🔥 (SYNC MOMENT: The entire arena sings along, voices booming as Johnny and V climb opposite turnbuckles.)

 

🎵 "What you did to me - I know... said what you had to say..."
– Johnny beats his chest once before pointing straight at the hard cam. V throws up two fingers in their hacker’s salute, a smirk creeping across their face.

 

🎵 "But a thing of beauty..."
🎵 "WILL NEVER FADE AWAY!" (The crowd roars it in unison, shaking the arena.)
🔥 (SYNC MOMENT: Johnny and V hop down at the exact moment the line is sung, walking to center ring.)

 

🎵 "I see your eyes, I know you see me..."
– The duo stands tall, staring down their opponents or the hard cam, soaking in the electric atmosphere.

 

🎵 "A thing of beauty - I know..."
🎵 "WILL NEVER FADE AWAY!" (Another massive crowd singalong, fists pumping in the air.)

 

🎵 "And I'll do my duty - I know..."
🎵 "SOMEHOW I'LL FIND A WAY!" (The crowd screams it, fully locked into the moment.)

 

🎵 "But a thing of beauty..."
🎵 "WILL NEVER FADE AWAY!"
🔥 (SYNC MOMENT: Johnny and V step forward, ready for battle as the lights return to normal.)

 

Bell Rings

 

Jackson Creed:
“There’s the bell—and the MAWLiwood Blondes are… posing?”

 

*[In the ring, Winston Lewis is mid-glam, striking a dramatic side profile, chin high, arms wide like he’s walking a red carpet. Mark Anderson kneels in front of him with a clunky vintage camera, snapping exaggerated “photos.”]

 

Mark Anderson (shouting):

"Yes! Give me ‘arrogant gladiator’—oh, that’s Oscar-worthy! One more for the cover of Blonde Weekly!"

 

Winston Lewis (grinning):
"This face? Money, baby. Frame it.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“You’ve gotta be kidding me. The bell rang and these two are still stuck in promo mode.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Hey, presentation matters, Lenny. This is a moment. Greatness deserves to be captured properly.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Well V’s not waiting around—DROPKICK!! Right to Winston—BLASTS him off the apron and into Mark!”

 

[The crowd pops as Winston tumbles off the apron—Mark yelps and barely catches his partner, stumbling back with him in his arms.]

 

Mark Anderson (panicking):
"I got you, I got you—hold still, Winston! Your jacket’s creasing—“

 

Winston Lewis:
"He hit me in the face! Did he touch the cheekbone?! Tell me the cheekbone's okay!”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Too late to worry about cheekbones—V hits the ropes—CROSSBODY OVER THE TOP! Takes them both down on the floor!!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Hollywood just got hit with a stunt they didn’t approve!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“That camera’s in danger—don’t let that little wirehead near the—NOOO!”

 

Jackson Creed:
“V grabs the vintage camera—AND LAUNCHES IT INTO THE CROWD! That just flew over the barricade and into Row 7!”

 

Mark Anderson (screaming):
"NOOOO! THAT WAS A PROP! That was a RENTAL!"

 

Winston Lewis (still down):
"That camera had MY GOOD SIDE in it!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Guess someone in the crowd is getting an early Christmas gift—and that lens is never coming back!”

 

Jackson Creed:
“V now grabbing Winston—drags him under the bottom rope back into the ring—Vanya starts the count—two… three… breaks it at four—good awareness by V!”

 

[V drags Winston toward the corner and tags in Johnny with a loud smack of the wrist. The crowd claps rhythmically as Johnny vaults into the ring over the top rope.]

 

Jackson Creed:
*“Johnny’s in—Edge Runners moving fast—*hip toss from V—Johnny hits the ropes—standing moonsault connects! Goes for a quick cover—only a one count!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“They’re tagging quick and hitting cleaner than a two-man airstrike. This is what the Edge Runners do best.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Tag again—V’s back in—Johnny grabs the arm—SPRINGBOARD ELBOW! Right to the shoulder! Winston drops to his knees!”

 

Winston Lewis (groaning):
"TIME OUT! Time out—I wasn’t READY for this scene!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“They’re violating all kinds of union rules right now, Jackson! That’s not how you treat your co-stars!”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Another tag—Johnny in again—V with the snapmare—Johnny—basement dropkick to the spine! And Winston collapses, grabbing his back!”

 

[Winston crawls toward the corner, gasping, while Mark Anderson climbs up on the apron screaming.]

 

Mark Anderson (furious):
"HEY! REF! HE DESTROYED THE CAMERA! THAT’S EVIDENCE! ARE YOU JUST GONNA LET THAT HAPPEN?!"

 

Winston Lewis (wheezing, crawling):
"He assaulted the lens, Mark... The lens! Tag me before they break my hair!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
“These two are more worried about props and hair gel than surviving the tournament.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Edge Runners have the momentum—three clean tags in a row, complete control of the ring—and the MAWLiwood Blondes are shaken, stirred, and scrambling to recover.”

 

[In the ring: V is now the legal man. Winston Lewis is legal for the Blondes, struggling on the mat. Johnny stands in the corner, fresh and ready.]

 

Jackson Creed:
“We are back in action here, and the Edge Runners continue to put on a tag team clinic. V has been darting around the ring like a blur, and Winston Lewis—well, he looks like someone just spoiled his premiere.”

 

[V whips Winston to the ropes, leapfrogs him on the return, and nails a picture-perfect arm drag on the rebound.]

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Beautiful elevation on that leapfrog—and that arm drag snapped like it was out of a lucha school highlight reel!”

 

[Winston stumbles into the corner, dazed. V charges—running back elbow connects, and Winston slumps against the turnbuckles.]

 

V (to Winston):
"Still feel like a star, huh?"

 

Winston Lewis (groaning):
"I’m calling my agent… and my chiropractor…"

 

Jackson Creed:
“V is absolutely rolling right now—and Mark Anderson is having a meltdown on the apron!”

 

Mark Anderson (shouting):
"You think this is funny?! That camera was on loan! Do you know how hard it is to rent in this economy?!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“He's right! That wasn’t just a prop—it was vintage equipment, Creed! That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen!”

 

[V whips Winston across the ring again and follows—but Winston grabs the top rope, stops himself, and collapses to the mat, crawling toward Anderson. Anderson reaches out—then suddenly starts to step through the ropes.]

 

Jackson Creed:
“Wait—Anderson is coming in—he’s NOT the legal man!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“He’s stepping through like he’s about to shoot a sequel!”

 

Mark Anderson (to Ref Vanya):
"You need to eject him for destroying rented property! That was a collector's lens! From 1974!"

 

Jackson Creed:
“Referee Vanya Cross is moving over—trying to stop Anderson from entering the ring—but look out—Winston Lewis just crawled up—AND A LOW BLOW!!”

 

[The crowd groans as V collapses in a heap, clutching below the belt. Vanya is still distracted by Anderson shouting on the apron.]

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“THAT'S how you take the lead back! Sneak attack, baby! Hollywood always has a second take!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“A cheap take! That’s what that was! The Blondes knew they couldn’t match the pace, so they pulled the plug on the projector!”

 

Jackson Creed:
“And now Winston’s dragging V by the arm—pulls him to the Blondes' corner—and here comes the tag to Anderson—who now immediately wraps V’s legs up like a pretzel!”

 

Mark Anderson:
"Yeah, go ahead and fly now, huh?! You break my camera, I break your knees!"

 

[Anderson sits back, locking V’s legs, holding him on the mat so he can’t roll away or stand.]

 

Jackson Creed:
“Anderson’s pinning the legs—keeping V grounded—and Winston with the stomps now! Relentless stomps to the body, the ribs—just hammering him into the mat!”

 

Winston Lewis (yelling mid-stomp):
"That camera cost more than your whole career!"
"You gonna Venmo me for the deposit, huh?! You got a receipt?!"

 

Sinclair DeVille (laughing):
“Oh, now this is cinema. You love to see the revenge arc, don’t you?”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“This isn’t revenge—it’s a meltdown with boots on. They got outwrestled and now they’re throwing a tantrum!”

 

Jackson Creed:
“V’s in a bad way now—grounded in the Blondes’ corner, Johnny can only watch—and the Blondes are back in control, stomping, screaming, and still obsessing over that destroyed camera.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“We are deep into this semi-final match, and the MAWLiwood Blondes—despite the chaos—have slowed the pace and taken control.”

 

[In the ring, Mark Anderson now has V locked in a rear chinlock, one knee pressing down between V’s shoulders. Winston is on the apron, casually adjusting his sunglasses.]

 

Mark Anderson (gritting his teeth):
"You like cameras? I’ll show you angles! Look at the footwork, Winston!"

 

Winston Lewis (pointing at a pretend lens):
"Oooh yeah. Lock it in, baby. This one’s for the wrestling magazines."

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“That’s synergy. One controls the body, the other controls the brand. These two are the total package.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Total nonsense. V needs to get out of there before he ends up in a feature-length beatdown.”

 

[Anderson transitions into a snap suplex and floats over into a lazy cover—Vanya counts.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"ONE—no! Not even close—V kicks out strong, but the Blondes are quick to reset."

 

[Winston slaps the turnbuckle pad like it’s a photo shoot set. Anderson drags V over and tags him in.]

 

Jackson Creed:
“Winston back in—launches in with a slingshot elbow drop, right across the sternum!”

 

Winston Lewis (posing immediately after the move):
"Get my good side!"

 

[Anderson pulls out an imaginary clapperboard.]

 

Mark Anderson:
"Scene two, take three!"

 

[Winston drops into a cocky kneel over V, flexing both arms. The crowd boos. Johnny shouts from the corner.]

 

Johnny (yelling):
"You want a shot? You’ll get one in the mouth! Tag me, V!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
“They just can’t help themselves—they’re putting on a show while they’re trying to win a match.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Winston tags Anderson back in, and now they’re going for—wait, Winston’s climbing the ropes?”

 

[Winston climbs to the second rope, arms raised in full pose, blowing kisses to the front row while Anderson sets up a backdrop on V.]

 

Winston Lewis:
"This one's for the fans! You’re welcome!"

 

Jackson Creed:
“Hold on—V SHOVES ANDERSON—AND HE STUMBLES INTO WINSTON!!”

 

[Anderson crashes into Winston’s legs—Winston topples off the rope and wipes out on the floor below!]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"HAA! Down goes Hollywood!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"That’s not in the script! Someone call the script supervisor!"

 

[Anderson turns around—right into a diving forearm from V!]

 

Jackson Creed:
“V explodes up! That was pure instinct—and he’s crawling—scraping toward the corner—”

 

[Johnny is stomping the apron, hand out, crowd clapping.]

 

Crowd:
"EDGE RUN-NERS! EDGE RUN-NERS!"

 

Jackson Creed:
“TAG MADE! HERE COMES JOHNNY!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Clear the set—stuntman’s in trouble now!"

 

[Johnny slingshots over the top rope and blasts Anderson with a clothesline. Anderson scrambles up—Johnny hits the ropes—springboard dropkick! Anderson spills into the ropes.]

 

Jackson Creed:
“Johnny's flying! Springboard dropkick levels Anderson—he’s up again—Frankensteiner! Rolls through into the corner!”

 

[Anderson staggers—Johnny whips him hard across the ring, then follows in with a running Meteora to the chest!]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"That man’s kneecaps just became high-speed missiles!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"Oh come on, Mark! You were posing like a champ! What happened to the strategy?!"

 

[Johnny stands tall, the crowd roaring as he fires up, slapping his chest and pointing at the dazed Winston who’s barely crawling back onto the apron.]

 

Jackson Creed:
“Johnny Wolfe is unleashed! The Edge Runners have survived the glitz, the low blows, and the noise—and now they’re looking to cut the act!”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Johnny is in full control, tearing through the Blondes like a man possessed! V is still down outside, Winston is nowhere to be seen, and Mark Anderson just has no answer right now!”

 

[In the ring, Johnny hits a springboard tornado DDT, popping back to his feet with a roar as the crowd explodes. Anderson rolls toward the corner, dazed.]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Johnny’s rolling—big move after big move—and he’s not slowing down! You love to see it!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"Where’s Winston?! Someone get him back in there—Anderson’s swimming in deep water!"

 

Jackson Creed:
“Johnny now with a standing shooting star press! That’s three big-time moves in a row! He’s calling for it—setting up for the Poison Rana!”

 

[Johnny backs to the far corner, measuring his man, crowd on their feet. But just as he takes a step forward—]

 

Jackson Creed:
“WAIT—WINSTON SLIDES IN FROM THE OUTSIDE!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
"He’s not legal! What the hell?!"

 

[Referee Vanya Cross immediately intercepts Winston, stepping between him and Johnny and shouting for him to exit. Winston throws his hands up in protest.]

 

Winston Lewis:
"I didn’t touch him! I was just looking for the—THE CAMERA! WHERE’S THE CAMERA?!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"Classic misdirection! I LOVE IT."

 

[But the crowd isn’t watching Winston—they’re screaming and booing, a wave of noise rising.]

 

Jackson Creed (suddenly serious):
“Hold on—what’s happening—what’s the crowd looking at—OH NO—”

 

Lenny Cruz:
"IT’S WILDFIRE! FROM THE CROWD!"

 

 

[The fans behind the hard cam lose it as WildFire, dressed in street gear, leaps onto the apron. A vintage camera slung over his shoulder—he grins as he suddenly SWINGS IT into Johnny’s face!]

 

CRACK!!

 

Jackson Creed:
“CAMERA SHOT TO THE FACE!! JOHNNY JUST GOT SMASHED!!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
"That’s a thousand-dollar lens—RIGHT TO THE TEMPLE!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"That’s what I call cinematic excellence!"

 

[WildFire drops down immediately and hides behind the apron, disappearing into the crowd side. Vanya finally turns around—but Johnny is down, clutching his face, dazed and staggering to his feet.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Johnny has no idea what hit him—he can barely stay upright!"

 

[Anderson rushes forward—leaps to the middle rope—springboard sunset flip bomb pin!]

 

Jackson Creed:
“SUNSET FLIP BOMB! COVER!!”

 

[Vanya drops down—]

 

Crowd:
"ONE!"

"TWO!"

 

[V is diving in from the outside—BUT—]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"V’s sliding in—he’s gonna break it—WAIT—NO!!"

 

[WildFire grabs V’s legs from under the apron! V can’t move—he claws at the canvas, trying to reach—]

 

Jackson Creed:
"WILDFIRE’S GOT HIM! WILDFIRE’S GOT V!!"

 

Crowd:
"BOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"THREE!!! IT’S OVER!!!"

 

[DING DING DING!]

Astrid Vale (ring announcer):
"Here are your winners… and advancing to the finals of the Signal Tag Team Championship Tournament… the MAWLIWOOD… BLONDES!!"

 

[“Hollywood-style” rock theme blasts through the speakers as Winston and Mark bail from the ring, WildFire joining them on the ramp.]

 

[Winston clutches his ribs, Anderson holds up one finger and smirks, while WildFire raises the camera like a trophy. The three pose together, smug and triumphant at the top of the ramp.]

 

Sinclair DeVille (grinning):
"That’s how stars are made, gentlemen. Get used to it. The Blondes are going to the finals—and WildFire just earned his executive producer credit."

 

Lenny Cruz (furious):
"That wasn’t a match, that was a crime scene. Someone fine this guy! Suspend him!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"The Edge Runners were robbed. The Blondes move on to face The Birds of Play in the finals—but this win is stained with interference, a camera shot, and one hell of a cheap assist from WildFire."

 

[In the ring, V helps Johnny sit up, checking on his partner, still holding his head.]

 

Jackson Creed (somber):

"You have to wonder what this means going forward—because this story? It’s far from over."

 

 

Music starts playing over the speakers. It sounds like music MAWL plays during their breaks, or like music to a Saturday Night Main Event special nostalgia event. Some people bob their heads expecting an ad to hit the screen. Others look around at each other wondering what they think the music could indicate.

 

Suddenly the lights flash on the titantron screen with a full on extreme montage of 2 men performing tricks, back flips, parkour running, back spins and various breakdance moves, and 360 degree camera views of posing like power rangers.

 

 

Then 2 wrestlers come out from behind the curtains in matching pastel cloud washed track suits with the words 'POWER PLAY' displayed boldly on their tops. They start clapping and hyping the crowd up.

 

The shorter man has long purple dyed side fringes, and is riding a skateboard down the ramp.

 

The taller, more stockier man, is marching down the ramp with pride, with his hood half down, showing off his voluminous, wavy pompadour. 

 

The skateboarding wrestler reaches the ring side, and then back flips off his skateboard, and lands crouched on the apron like a ninja. 

 

Meanwhile the taller man starts to charge towards the ring with quickening speed. He then jumps a few feet from the ring, slides under the ropes baseball-style, and pops up straight into a  handspin that ends with him landing on his feet in a wide stance. The crowd pops HUGE!

 

The two meet center-ring, standing back-to-back with big grins. One stands and flexes and pointing to the words on their top, The other goes on one knee tugging his hoodie hood low, eyes scanning the crowd.

 

The crowd starts applauding, impressed by the display of acrobats and athleticism.

 

One of them quickly grabs a mic, and starts to speak.

 

Dion: “Wooooooooo baby! Don't it feel great to be here tonight. To be alive. I know we do. To feel this energy pumping through your veins?! Man—Detroit never felt this good… oh wait… we ain’t even in Detroit!”

The crowd laughs as Dion keeps going.

 

“Look at y’all! Look at us! This… THIS right here is what Saturday nights are made for! Big lights! Big fights! Big hype! And—”

 

Derek (quietly, smirking under his hood): “Big bro… you forgot to tell ‘em who we are.”

 

Crowd chuckles, some chanting “WHO ARE YOU? WHO ARE YOU?” as Dion freezes mid-gesture.

 

Dion (laughs, rubbing his face): “Ha! I was just testing you bro… Um but, see? I’m so amped up I forgot the most important part! My bad. My BAD, fam.”

 

He throws an arm over Derek’s shoulder, pulling him in close.

 

“Alright, let’s rewind… WHO are we? Lemme tell you somethin’, y’all lookin’ at the freshest tag team to hit this ring in YEARS. The next gen. The cheat code. The patch update you didn’t even know you needed!

We… are… POWER PLAY!”

 

Crowd pops, some already chanting “POW-ER PLAY! POW-ER PLAY!”

 

Dion (pointing dramatically at Derek): “This right here—this is my blood, my little bro. Smooth like silk. Precise like a joystick combo. Silent but DEADLY. But he doesn't stink. … DEREK, The debonair with flair, prince of harcore parkour and more, “DODGEBALL” LANE!”

 

Derek tugs his hood slightly lower trying hard to maintain his composure, eyes sharp as he calmly nods at the crowd.

 

Dion (turning, pointing at himself with both thumbs): “And me? Well, you already know. I’m the big bro. The muscle. The mouth. The big mouth?! The man who’s got more moves than your playlist. I’m tanned, I’m toned, ladies love me…

He points to an older woman in the front row who shows little to no interest.

“Yes even you ma'am, don't deny it now, come on…”

Dion tries to act suave, but the woman is looking perplexed, so Dion quickly moves on.

“I mean hot women love me”

He nods to himself.

“Also I’m totally rad… men, don’t get mad, that i’m the best your girl ever had. I’m not just a fad. I’m that lad. DION “HARDBALL” LANE!”

 

He throws his arms out wide to a huge crowd pop, soaking it all in.

 

Dion (grinning into the hard cam): “Tag division? Get ready. It’s GAME ON, BABY!”

 

 

Earlier today

 

WildFire has just arrived at the arena .

 

He is still in his Canadian Tuxedo and carrying a large Edmonton Oiler hockey bag over one shoulder.

 

 

Moon walks by dressed in his Royal Moon Prince attire.

 

 

WildFire nearly hits Moon with the large bag as they pass each other.

 

WildFire (realizing the near miss) : “Uhh sorry about that. “

 

Moon doesn’t seem to notice as he keeps walking.

 

WildFire (frowning) : Hmm just a sec. (He takes out his cellphone and loads up Google translate)

 

WildFire : “Uhh just a sec “

 

WildFire : “namaskar, tumhi kase ahat?” 

 

At least that’s what he tries to say, but it comes out more like “Narmascar turnkey Kaze ahat”

 

Moon keeps walking apparently not hearing him.

 

WildFire shakes his head in exasperation and continues on his way.

 

===================================================================================

Part II

 Later in the Evening.

 

WildFire is backstage and he goes to enter the locker room  for the male wrestlers.

 

A beautiful woman bars his way .

 

WildFire (frowning confused)  : “Uhh hi, excuse me please, “ he points at the locker room door ”Could you move so I can get in please,  thanks”

 

Woman :  “No.”

 

WildFire shakes his head : “ ??? , Who are you ? And why are you in my way?”

 

Woman : “Nevermind who I am, I am here to tell you you may not enter”

 

WildFire :”Why??”

 

Woman : “Because the Great and Noble Prince Moon is inside and he does not wish to be DISTURBED.”

 

WildFire : “Disturbed ?? “

 

Woman : “Yes he is meditating and preparing for his match with… WildFire.. Is it? Later this evening and does not wish to be interrupted”

 

WildFire : “In the Men’s locker room ? Why didn’t he just use one of the like 20 empty rooms around here?” (this is a large exaggeration)

 

Woman : “It is not for one such as you to question the actions of the NOBLE ONE  Know only that the Noble Prince does not have time or patience for such …” She looks at WildFire like he is something disgusting and beneath her, her nose in the air with disdain.

 

“kami janmala alela kachara”

 

WildFire :” What??”

 

Woman :”Lowborn trash.”

 

WildFire (trying hard to control his temper) : “LOWBORN TRASH !!!” WildFIre takes a quick breath “LOWBORN TRASH !!! WHO THE CRAP DO YOU THINK …”

 

WildFire is interrupted as the door opens and Moon comes out.

 

 

Jackson Creed (Play-by-Play, calm and authoritative):
“Folks, tonight’s Ether Championship Quarterfinal is shaping up to be a grudge match layered in chaos. Damian Blackheart—calculated, ruthless—goes one-on-one with the wildcard of this tournament: Stitches the Clown. But let’s remind everyone how we got here…”

 

 

Lenny Cruz (excited):

 “Oh, I remember exactly how we got here, Jackson. Round one—Ace Anarchy had Blackheart on the ropes! He hit the Full House DDT, had the crowd counting to ten—but no ref! Carter Vale got taken out by a ricochet off Blackheart’s skull like he was caught in a pinball game!”

 

 

Sinclair DeVille (smooth, sarcastic):
“Let’s not forget, Lenny, chaos is Ace’s brand. You live by the circus, you get clowned. Blackheart took advantage of the situation—as any true strategist would—and used that cane brilliantly to steal the win.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“It was decidedly underhanded, but effective. A Plaguebringer later and Damian Blackheart advanced—leaving Ace Anarchy with a visual victory and a moral one, but not the one that counts.”

 

Lenny Cruz (cutting in):
“Yeah, moral victories don’t get you titles.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Now—on the other side of the bracket... the Stitches situation. Originally scheduled to face Uncle Insamity, but that all changed the moment the Clown broke Uncle’s arm in a backstage ambush and literally stole his spot in the tournament.”

 

Sinclair DeVille (gleeful):
“And isn’t that poetic, gentlemen? The clown became the closer! Hijacked the bracket—and then proceeded to butcher El Cerrador.”

 

Lenny Cruz (fired up):
“Don’t even start, Sinclair! Cerrador had that match won! He had ‘La Sentencia Final’ locked in—Stitches tapped out! But the ref didn’t see it because he was busy stopping Uncle Insamity from storming the ring like a one-armed reaper!”

 

Jackson Creed:
“The visual tap went unseen. Seconds later, Stitches delivered the Final Stitch after a cheap shot, and picked up the three count. Another match marred by interference and controversy.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Stitches shouldn’t even be here, man. He stole a man’s spot. Blackheart should’ve lost. And yet—here we are.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Here we are, indeed. Two men—masters of manipulation and violence—finally colliding. And if you thought round one was controversial... just wait until the quarterfinals kick off.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Damian Blackheart vs. Stitches the Clown. A strategist against a sadist. One step closer to the Ether Championship. And we’ll have it for you—next.”

The Ether Championship Tournament – Quarterfinal Match

Damian Blackheart vs. Stitches the Clown

 

 

Fog machine, candles and 18th century street lamps adorn the entrance way. Titantron/screen shows images of leeches, pre-20th century surgery, anatomical drawings, plus short video clips of Blackheart performing submission moves and ringing a hand bell in full plague doctor uniform.

 

 

Astrid Vale (as the arena goes dark and eerie, a low ominous hum fills the air):

“Introducing first…

Weighing in at two hundred and twenty-eight pounds…
Standing six feet, two inches tall…
Billed from the shadowy depths of the Silk Road, London…

He is the embodiment of darkness… the sinister force that haunts the ring…

DAAAAMIIAN… BLLLAAACKHEAARRRT!!”

 

 

His cracked, white clown makeup runs with sweat and blood. Thick black eye paint runs down his cheeks like tears.

 

 

His bright red nose is chipped and smeared. Scars on his face - both painted and real.

 

He wears a filthy yellow ruffled clown collar frame his neck like a demeted jester. His sleeveless clown top is torn in places, exposing scarred muscle stitched together.

 

Blood streaked red suspenders that hold up ragged pants covered in oversized polka dots.

 

Carries a single Purple Balloon that is always deflated.

 

Astrid Vale (as chilling circus music plays, flickering lights dance like a haunted carnival):

“And his opponent…

Weighing in at two hundred and eighty-five pounds…
Standing six feet, six inches tall…
Billed from the twisted depths of The Big Top of the Damned…

He’s a nightmare in painted smiles… the harbinger of horror…

STIIIIIIITCHES… THE CLOWN!!”

Referee: Danny “Quickcount” Rayes

 

 

[DING DING DING]

Jackson Creed:
“And here we go! Damian Blackheart takes on Stitches the Clown in the quarterfinals of the Ether Championship Tournament. Both men look focused, circling carefully—this is no ordinary match.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Yeah, Jackson, you can feel the tension. Remember earlier tonight, Shadow Kawashima was in the ring against Jay the Joker. That’s where Blackheart and Stitches first clashed—literally.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Ah, yes. Blackheart and Stitches getting into it on the ramp during that match. Blackheart, Shadow’s partner, distracted just enough to cost Shadow the match. Jay the Joker capitalized with his ‘Last Laugh’ finisher.”

 

Jackson:
“That distraction was huge. It wasn’t intentional, or maybe it was—either way, the seeds of tonight’s showdown were planted right there.”

 

The two men cautiously approach. Damian’s posture is deliberate, calculating, while Stitches rocks on his feet, head tilted with that eerie smile.

 

They lock up. Damian quickly moves into a wrist control, but Stitches shrugs it off and shoves him back.

 

Jackson:
“Classic collar-and-elbow, testing the waters here.”

 

Lenny:
“Both guys feel each other out. Damian with that technical precision, Stitches with raw power and unpredictability.”

 

Blackheart tries to shoot in for a takedown, but Stitches catches him with a stiff shoulder block that nearly knocks Damian off his feet.

 

Sinclair:
“Right off the bat, Stitches sending a message: I’m not here to play nice.”

 

Blackheart backs off and regains composure, circling again. Stitches grins wide and suddenly lunges with a jumping elbow strike.

 

Jackson:
“Whoa! Stitches going aggressive early—trying to set the tone!”

 

Damian ducks, retaliates with a snap suplex attempt—but Stitches lands on his feet, shaking off the move.

 

Lenny:
“You can’t keep this guy down easily. He’s like a nightmare that keeps coming back.”

 

Stitches responds with a vicious clothesline that sends Damian crashing to the mat.

 

Jackson:
“Stitches takes control early. That move was brutal.”

 

As Stitches begins to dominate, the camera cuts briefly to the replay of the earlier brawl on the ramp from Shadow vs. Joker’s match, highlighting Blackheart’s brief distraction.

 

Lenny:
“That scuffle on the ramp cost Shadow dearly—Blackheart’s attention split, and Jay the Joker seized the moment for the win.”

 

Sinclair:
“Interesting how these little moments ripple into something bigger. Now Blackheart has to answer for it—right here, right now.”

 

Back in the ring, Stitches lifts Blackheart with a backbreaker slam, holding him down for a moment, flexing his grip like a twisted puppeteer.

 

Jackson:
“And just like that, Stitches is in full control. Damian’s in deep trouble early in this one.”

 

But Blackheart isn’t done yet. Gathering his wits, he suddenly rolls through a big power slam attempt from Stitches and lands behind him.

 

Lenny:
“Wait—what a counter! Damian’s not going down without a fight.”

 

Jackson:
“Blackheart takes control for the first time! This match just flipped on a dime!”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Both men locked in a fierce battle for control here—neither willing to give an inch. You can almost hear the tension crackling in the air.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“That’s right, Jackson. These two are just as hated by this crowd as they are by each other. No cheers, just a lot of jeers and boos.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Perfect environment for a brutal fight. And honestly? Neither of these men deserve your cheers. They’re monsters.”

 

Damian fires off a sharp scalpel kick — a spinning back kick that clips Stitches on the ribs. Stitches grimaces but immediately responds with a clothesline that knocks Blackheart sideways.

 

Jackson:
“Blackheart goes for two quick strikes—”

 

Lenny:
“Only two though! The crowd is brutal tonight, not letting either man get much momentum.”

 

Stitches charges the ropes and rebounds with a running crossbody, hitting Blackheart with surprising agility for a man his size.

 

Sinclair:
“You see that? Stitches has this uncanny mix of power and speed. It’s unsettling.”

 

Damian rolls through, landing a wrist clutch exploder suplex, then quickly follows up with a rolling elbow.

 

Jackson:
“Two moves in a row from Blackheart! But that’s all he gets.”

 

Stitches barely beats the count at two, seething as he pushes himself up. He lashes out with a nerve pinch paired with a cold stare, freezing Damian momentarily.

 

Lenny:

“Gotta give credit to Blackheart—he’s holding his own despite the crowd turning on him.”

 

Sinclair:
“Hold on, I think the fans are booing both these guys because neither’s a hero. This is pure chaos.”

 

The two men slug it out in the middle of the ring, exchanging strikes—rolling cutter from Blackheart, followed by a corner headbutt flurry from Stitches.

 

Jackson:
“Neither man can hold on to control for long. It’s almost like every time one gets two moves in a row, the other answers right back.”

 

Blackheart grabs Stitches’ arm, locking in a Fujiwara armbar—twisting and wrenching, but Stitches fights to the ropes, forcing a break.

 

Lenny:
“This is textbook wrestling brutality. Quick sequences, no time to breathe.”

 

Stitches snaps back with a fallaway slam into the turnbuckle, but Damian counters mid-lift with a half nelson backbreaker, bringing the momentum right back.

 

Sinclair:
“Ugh, I hate these two, but damn, their technical skill is impressive.”

 

Both men stagger, exhaustion starting to show, but neither willing to give ground. The crowd’s boos intensify as the referee’s count rises twice when either man manages a brief pin attempt—both barely kicking out at two.

 

Jackson:
“You said it, Lenny—no long runs of offense here. Two moves tops, then the other comes roaring back. This is a back-and-forth war of attrition.”

 

Lenny:
“I’m on the edge of my seat! They’re matching each other blow for blow, move for move.”

 

Stitches suddenly swings for a big top bomb powerbomb setup, but Blackheart wriggles free, landing a snap suplex to stop it cold.

 

Jackson:
“And just like that—Blackheart cuts off the big move!”

 

Sinclair:
“This match has no mercy, no downtime. It’s pure punishment.”

 

The referee, Danny “Quickcount” Rayes, stays sharp, counting fast on each pin attempt but never letting either man stay down.

 

Jackson:
“That quick count is keeping this fight intense—no easy outs for either competitor.”

 

Lenny:
“Two moves, two counts. That’s the story of this match so far.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“What a grueling contest so far—both men trading moves, counters, and quick pins. Now, things are about to get even more intense.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“That’s right, Jackson. We’re stepping into signature territory, and both men know how to make their moves count.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“And with these two? You can bet every signature is like a sledgehammer.”

 

Blackheart attempts a quick rolling cutter, but Stitches ducks low, narrowly avoiding the strike.

 

Jackson:
“Whoa! Stitches slips out just in time.”

 

Stitches grins, head tilted in that eerie fashion, then charges with a sudden Big Top Bomb powerbomb—he lifts Blackheart high and slams him down hard!

 

Lenny:
“There it is! The Big Top Bomb! That’s Stitches putting the pressure on.”

 

Before Damian can recover, Stitches drags him to his feet and hits a second Big Top Bomb in a row, each more punishing than the last.

 

Jackson:
“Two powerbombs back-to-back! Stitches is absolutely dominating right now.”

 

Sinclair:
“Pure brutality. This clown’s not playing — he’s teaching a lesson in pain.”

 

Blackheart lies sprawled, wind knocked out, as Stitches lets out a chilling cackle. The crowd boos loudly, feeding the villainous energy.

 

Stitches stalks his opponent, dragging him to the corner with a fierce grip, then delivers a brutal corner headbutt flurry.

 

Lenny:
“Ouch! That’s gotta sting. Blackheart is reeling, folks.”

 

Jackson:
“He’s struggling to mount any offense with Stitches in full control.”

 

But Damian isn’t done yet. Gritting his teeth, he ducks a swinging strike and counters with a sharp scalpel kick—a spinning back kick to the ribs.

 

Sinclair:
“A little fire from Blackheart! But can he turn this around?”

 

Stitches shrugs off the kick and roars back with a Laughter Lock camel clutch, twisting Blackheart’s back with painful precision while whispering eerie taunts.

 

Jackson:
“And the twisted Laughter Lock is in! Damian’s trapped!”

 

The referee slides in close to check on Blackheart’s condition. Damian struggles, grimacing but refusing to submit.

 

Lenny:
“He’s hanging tough, but Stitches has the upper hand right now.”

 

Sinclair:
“This is textbook domination by the clown, showing why he’s one of the most feared competitors in this tournament.”

 

As the clock ticks down, Stitches maintains control, keeping Blackheart grounded and in pain, all while the crowd continues their chorus of boos.

 

Jackson:
“Stitches the Clown firmly in control after those back-to-back powerbomb signatures.”

 

Lenny:
“Damian’s got to find a way out soon or this match could spiral further out of his favor.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Stitches the Clown is absolutely dominating this match as we near the finish—his control is suffocating. Damian Blackheart looks worn down, but he’s still fighting.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Yeah, Jackson, but something tells me Damian’s not ready to tap out just yet. He’s got that look—calculating, waiting for the right moment.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Doesn’t matter what moment he’s waiting for—Stitches is closing in for the kill. This clown’s got the crowd whipped into a frenzy of boos.”

 

Stitches moves in for another sickening hold, tightening his grip and leaning in with that eerie, blood-smeared grin. Suddenly, the arena lights shift — a new entrance theme blares over the speakers.

 

 

Jackson:
“Wait—what’s this? The music of El Cerrador is hitting! The man Stitches beat in the first round! This can’t be good news for the clown.”

 

 

Lenny:
“El Cerrador is storming down the ramp, and look at the referee! Danny Rayes’ attention is drawn away—he’s watching El Cerrador’s approach.”

 

Sinclair:
“Classic distraction play. The clown’s loving this. Look at him—laughing, waving at El Cerrador like he’s taunting him.”

 

As Stitches waves and taunts behind the distracted referee, El Cerrador barrels toward the ring with fury in his eyes, his red and black gear gleaming under the lights.

 

The referee is caught off guard, scanning the ramp, unable to intervene in time.

 

Suddenly — out of nowhere — Damian Blackheart pulls something from his satchel: a small glass medical jar.

 

With lightning speed, Blackheart swings the jar hard over the back of Stitches’ head. The jar shatters with a loud crack!

 

Jackson:
“Unbelievable! Blackheart just smashed that jar over Stitches’ head!”

 

Lenny:
“That had to be the opening he needed!”

 

Stitches staggers, dazed and stunned. Blackheart wastes no time. He locks in his finisher — the Plaguebringer, a devastating wrist-clutch brainbuster.

 

Jackson:
“Here it comes — Plaguebringer! Blackheart plants Stitches hard!”

 

The referee snaps into action, sliding into position and counting—

 

Danny Rayes:
“One! Two! Three!”

 

Ring Announcer Astrid Vale:

“Here is your winner… advancing to the Semifinals of the Ether Championship Tournament… Damian Blackheart!”

The arena fills with mixed reactions as Blackheart slowly rolls out of the ring, still breathing hard but victorious.

 

Meanwhile, El Cerrador steps into the ring and stands over the fallen Stitches the Clown, glaring down with purpose — a clear message that this rivalry is far from over.

 

Lenny:
“El Cerrador has made his presence felt. This isn’t over by a long shot.”

 

Sinclair:
“Oh, the fireworks are just getting started.”

 

Jackson:
“What a finish to an incredible match. Damian Blackheart moves on in the Ether Championship Tournament… but the story here is far from finished.”

 

[POST-MATCH SEGMENT]

 

Damian Blackheart has already disappeared up the ramp, vanishing like a ghost into the shadows. In the ring, Stitches the Clown is slowly stirring, bits of shattered glass still near his head, paint smeared and face twitching.

 

Jackson Creed:
“Blackheart moves on to the semifinals, but now all eyes are on El Cerrador—still standing over the clown like a storm waiting to break.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“You can feel the tension, Jackson. This is personal.”

 

Stitches pushes himself to his knees, laughing weakly through the pain. El Cerrador doesn’t wait. He BLASTS him with a punishing lariat, dropping the clown flat on the mat! The crowd pops hard.

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Cheap shot from behind! Someone get this man a rulebook!”

 

El Cerrador paces for a moment, breathing hard, then demands a mic from ringside. He lifts it to his mouth, eyes never leaving Stitches.

 

El Cerrador (firmly, accent thick):
“Stitches… clown… tú me robaste. You made a joke of me. Next week… I make you pay. One-on-one. No tricks. No balloons. Just blood.”

 

He tosses the mic down hard onto the mat as the crowd erupts in cheers.

 

Jackson:
“El Cerrador just threw down the gauntlet! Next week — he wants Stitches one-on-one!”

 

Lenny:
“And judging by the look on his face, he’s not coming for laughs… he’s coming for revenge.”

 

 

The camera cuts to a monitor backstage. On it, we see the final shot of Damian Blackheart pinning Stitches after smashing a medical jar over his head. The crowd noise from the arena fades into the hum of the backstage area.

 

 

Standing in front of the screen, arms folded and dressed in a white graphic tee that reads “Built Different,” is JP Spears. He watches with a tight jaw, shaking his head slightly as the ring announcer names Blackheart the winner.

 

 

Veronica Vale (stepping into frame):
“JP Spears! I’m sorry to interrupt, but you just saw the end of tonight’s quarterfinal match. Damian Blackheart moves on in the Ether Championship Tournament—any thoughts on how this tournament is playing out?”

 

JP Spears (without looking at her):
“Yeah. It’s wild. Everyone in this thing’s pulling out tricks, smashin’ jars, takin’ shortcuts… and that’s cool, I guess. I ain’t gotta worry about the how, though. Because when the smoke clears and somebody finally crawls out of this thing with the Ether Championship…”

 

He turns to face the camera, expression focused, almost smirking with confidence.

 

JP Spears:
“I’m next. Doesn’t matter who wins—Blackheart, Joker, Wildfire, hell, even that clown with the face paint and the trauma. I’m gonna be standing across from the first champ, the week after Sydney… and I promise you, I’m gonna raise the bar that night.”

 

Veronica Vale:
“Well, JP, speaking of Damian Blackheart—earlier this month you and he had a tense encounter backstage. Any lingering thoughts about him specifically after tonight?”

 

JP Spears (rolling his eyes, scoffs):
“Blackheart? Man, I’m not worried about him. He ain’t gonna win this tournament anyway, so I’m not losin’ sleep over it. Simple as that.”

 

He gives a quick shrug and walks off, leaving Veronica standing alone.

 

Veronica Vale:
“Strong words from JP Spears… who has his sights set on the Ether Championship, no matter who holds it.”

 

Camera fades as JP disappears down the hallway.

 

BACKSTAGE SEGMENT – PARKING LOT

 

The camera cuts to the rear exit of the MAWL arena. A side door swings open and out walks All-Star Eric Verne, wearing his signature Alabama track jacket, hands in his pockets, still buzzing from earlier backstage banter with Alastor.

 

 

Right behind him are Dangerous Johnny Dagger in a faded band tee and joggers, and Tenacious Taylor Tiger in a hoodie and jeans. The three are relaxed, chatting as they head toward the cars.

 

 

Eric Verne (grinning):
“Man, y’all hear Alastor back there? That dude gives me the chills and motivation at the same time.”

 

Johnny Dagger:
“Bro gives me the urge to run sprints and perform an exorcism.”

 

Taylor Tiger:
“Don’t matter who we’re facing next week. We bring the claws out for M.A.M.A.—no fear, just fury.”

 

Just as Taylor hits the unlock button on their car—BAM!—a steel trash can explodes against the side of the vehicle. The group spins— too late.

 

 

Youngblood Patrick Riot charges in from the shadows like a linebacker and drives Taylor spine-first into the hood with a Riot Gear combo—headbutt to spinebuster, denting the hood like a soda can.

 

Lenny Cruz (commentary voiceover):
“Oh hell no—come on! M.A.M.A. just jumped ‘em cold!”

 

 

Xander Marks follows right behind, grabbing Johnny Dagger mid-step and lifts him into the Texabama Slam—middle-rope Alabama Slam style—right onto the concrete loading dock! Dagger writhes in pain, clutching his back.

 

 

Senator Sherwood strides into frame with a sneer. She yanks Eric Verne by the collar and drills him with the Minority Whip (Ripcord End of Days) onto the asphalt. Verne’s body bounces on impact before going still.

 

The ambush is swift, brutal, and calculated.

 

Sherwood (mocking):
“Alastor send you three out here to scout? Looks like you didn’t find much but your backs on the floor.”

 

 

US Rae walks up last, hands behind her back. She glances down at All-Star Eric Verne, who’s groaning and barely lifting his head.

 

She leans down, gently taps his cheek, then with a smirk—shoves him back to the ground.

 

US Rae (cold and simple):
“See you guys next week.”

 

She stands, adjusting her jacket, and walks off as M.A.M.A. leaves the scene—laughing, mocking, Xander slapping the dented hood for fun, Sherwood waving an imaginary flag.

 

Jackson Creed (commentary):
“This was a message. No music, no stage—just concrete and consequences.”

 

FADE OUT.

 

 

Jackson Creed (professional, poised):
"Quarterfinal action in the Ether Championship Tournament rolls on tonight as WildFire takes on Moon—and folks, these two didn’t exactly take the scenic route to get here."

 

 

Lenny Cruz (leaning forward, fired up):
"No they did not! Let’s start with WildFire—he walked out of Round One with a win over James D… but that victory had Hollywood fingerprints all over it."

 

 

Sinclair DeVille (smugly):
"Correction, Lenny. It had MAWLwood fingerprints. The Blondes showed up, and they delivered. Winston Lewis cracked James D with that vintage camera, and WildFire did exactly what winners do—took the shot and got the job done."

 

Jackson Creed (firm):
"And while all that chaos unfolded, let’s be clear—the Edge Runners didn’t run out to save James D. They came out swinging at the Blondes. That was a score they wanted to settle, not a rescue mission."

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Exactly! Johnny and V just wanted to fight. WildFire didn’t need the assist—he used it anyway. And that mic to the throat? Dirty, effective, and the ref didn’t see a thing."

 

Sinclair DeVille (grinning):
"That's called survival instinct, Lenny. WildFire didn’t just win—he outplayed the system."

 

Jackson Creed:
"And across the bracket, Moon went through hell to beat Blood Drawn. No shortcuts. No outside interference. Just grit, timing, and that picture-perfect crucifix pin when it mattered most."

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Moon had to dodge bombs and throw thunder. That match was a war, and he came out the other side standing. Barely, but standing."

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"Sure, he pulled it off. But all those close calls, all that scrambling around? That’s not control, that’s desperation. And against WildFire? That won’t cut it."

 

Jackson Creed:
"Quarterfinals. Moon. WildFire. One earned it the hard way… one took a detour through a Hollywood set. But both are here—and one moves a step closer to the Ether Championship."

 

 

[Camera cuts to each competitor in their locker room—Moon lacing his boots, focused and intense; WildFire throwing a towel aside, smirking under the glow of backstage lights.]

 

 

Scene opens in the backstage corridor. The MAWLiwood Blondes—Mark Anderson and Winston Lewis—are all smiles, laughing, sunglasses on indoors as usual, swaggering like they just left a Hollywood afterparty.

 

 

Between them is Wildfire, grinning with a vintage camera in hand like it’s a trophy.

 

 

The trio are loud, cocky, and feeling untouchable after their dirty win over the Edge Runners earlier in the night.

 

Winston Lewis:
(half-laughing)
"Bro, the way you cracked Johnny with that thing—like a damn Oscar-winning death scene!"

 

Mark Anderson:
"That was cinema, baby! Award-winning sabotage. Script flipped, spotlight stolen!"

 

Wildfire:
(grinning, mock bowing)
"12 outta 10. Simply the greatest ever! You're welcome for the plot twist."

 

The three slap hands as they turn a corner… and stop dead in their tracks.

 

 

There, waiting, arms behind his back, is Alastor. The shadows cling to him unnaturally, as if they follow him by choice. He begins to slow clap, the sound echoing louder than it should in the quiet corridor. His devilish grin spreads wide, red eyes glinting with wicked amusement.

 

Alastor:
(charming and venomous)
"Well played, gentlemen. Truly. You got one over on this old deer…"

 

He chuckles, eyes narrowing like a predator finally snapping the trap shut. The Blondes smirk, clearly proud of themselves. Wildfire crosses his arms, waiting for whatever threat Alastor thinks he’s bringing.

 

Winston Lewis:
"Look, man, if you’re here to whine, take a number. This? This is what a win looks like."

 

Mark Anderson:
(mock bowing)
"Take notes, Radio Relic."

 

Wildfire:
(grinning)
"Plans, baby. The better one won."

 

Alastor's grin only widens, stretching into something unsettling—hungry.

 

Alastor:
"Oh, I love plans. Especially when they… backfire."

 

He leans in slightly, the air somehow colder.

 

Alastor:
"Effective immediately: both members of the MAWLiwood Blondes are banned from ringside—and from the arena—for the rest of the show."

 

The smiles drop. Winston glances at Mark. Mark’s eyes narrow. Wildfire uncrosses his arms.

 

Alastor:
"And should either of you be seen anywhere near this building again tonight… you, and your little pyromaniac friend here…"
(nods to Wildfire)
"…will be removed from the tournament and replaced by his opponent this evening—Moon—and the boys you just cheated. The Edge Runners."

 

Before anyone can argue, two MAWL security guards step into frame beside Alastor—each holding the Blondes' gear bags.

 

Alastor:
"Show business is about timing, gentlemen. And yours just ran out."

 

Security begins escorting the Blondes out. They protest, trying to act tough even while being pushed back.

 

Mark Anderson:
"Wild! Text us! We’ll come up with a new angle!"

 

Winston Lewis:
"We’ll fix this! We’ll rewrite the ending!"

 

Wildfire stands silent, unsure. The arrogance has drained just enough for doubt to creep in. The Blondes are marched away, still shouting, but it’s clear—they’re out. For now.

 

Alastor steps beside Wildfire, just close enough for his presence to feel suffocating. His grin is back, calm and cruel.

 

Alastor:
(whispering as he walks past)
"I do enjoy watching plans… backfire like that."

 

As he steps forward, his body dissolves into shadow, vanishing as if he was never there—leaving Wildfire alone, stunned, camera in hand, with the distant echoes of the Blondes still yelling as they’re taken out the exit.

 

 

Arena light go out as the crowd goes silent

The Titantron goes all white, as the name "WildFire" is displayed on the main screen, before he makes an appearance

 "Better than the Best!!!", "!2 out of 10 !!!", "8 stars out of 5 !!!","Simply the Greatest EVER!!!"

 

 

 WildFire charges out of the crowd sliding into the ring

 WildFire kneels in the center of the ring both arms raised

 

 

Fireworks Explode from the 4 ring posts as "I Wanna Rock" by Twisted Sister plays

 

 

Astrid Vale:
“Introducing first…

Weighing in at two hundred and twenty-five pounds…
Standing six feet, two inches tall…
From Edmonton, Alberta, Canada…

WILDFIRE!!”

 

 

A colorful lightshow dances across the entrance gate. A generic wrestling video plays on the titan-tron, as Moon makes his way to the ring.

 

 

 Moon walks slowly through the main gate. He then poses on top of the turnbuckle before he heads to the center of the ring.

 

Moon's tall frame and broad shoulders cast an imposing figure. He's dressed in his Royal Moon Prince attire. The lights illuminate the golden trimming on his outfit. A fierce energy seems to emanate from him. His hair is white; and his dark eyes, alight with excitement, have fire in them.

 

As Moon enters the ring he removes his royal attire and the crowd in the arena witness his impressive physique. Moon is quite handsome. His toned and tight body make a great first impression. His six pack abs and bulging biceps look very impressive.  

 

Astrid Vale:
“And his opponent…

Weighing in at two hundred pounds…
Standing six feet tall…
Billed from Pune, India…

MOON!!”

 

 

Senior Official: Carter Vale

[DING DING DING]

 

Jackson Creed:
"And we are officially underway here in this quarterfinal matchup of the Ether Championship Tournament—WildFire versus Moon!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Wooo baby! The crowd's still on fire from that last one but look at this—WildFire’s pacing like a caged animal and Moon’s just locked in!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"Moon should be. He’s across the ring from wrestling royalty. Say what you will, WildFire knows how to turn up when it counts."

 

Jackson:
"Both men circle, eyeing each other down. And here we go—collar and elbow tie-up in the center of the ring!"

 

Lenny:
"Let’s see who takes the early advantage—OH! Moon pushes WildFire back—textbook leverage! And now he redirects him to the ropes—"

 

Jackson:
"WildFire comes off—Moon ducks the clothesline—AND catches him on the rebound with a stiff back elbow! WildFire spills hard to the mat!"

 

Sinclair:
"And look at WildFire now—already rolling toward the ropes—he’s trying to get out of dodge."

 

Lenny:
"Not so fast! Moon grabs the ankle and drags him back in!"

 

Jackson:
"And listen to this crowd—Moon clearly did his homework. He’s not letting WildFire dictate pace the way he did last week!"

 

Sinclair:
"Last week, WildFire used the outside like a second home. Stalling, resetting—it bought him breathing room. But this time? The game plan’s toast. The MAWLiwood Blondes are banned from ringside."

 

Lenny:
"That’s right! No backup dancers for WildFire tonight. Just him, Moon, and the stakes."

 

Jackson:
"Moon with control now—quick arm drag takedown! WildFire scrambles up, only to eat a deep armdrag again! Moon hangs on, cinching the arm and grounding WildFire."

 

Sinclair:
"WildFire’s gotta find a way to break that grip—he’s not used to being outwrestled like this. And by a guy who comes out to Titanic, no less."

 

Lenny:
"Don’t sleep on Moon, man. That’s royalty in motion right there. Grace, precision, and look at that body control!"

 

Jackson:
"WildFire finally fights to his feet—tries to shove Moon off—but Moon keeps wrist control, spins behind, waistlock—AND TAKES HIM DOWN AGAIN! Amateur-style gut control there by Moon!"

 

Lenny:
"Beautiful chain wrestling, Jack. Moon’s making it look easy."

 

Sinclair:
"It’s only easy until WildFire decides to turn the heat up. Don’t let the bleach-blonde persona fool you—he's dangerous when cornered."

 

Jackson:
"WildFire tries to roll to the apron again—but again Moon cuts him off! This time with a stiff stomp to the spine followed by a snapmare back into the ring center!"

 

Lenny:
"He's like a shadow tonight—WildFire can’t shake him!"

 

Jackson:
"Now Moon off the ropes—running dropkick to the back—NO! WildFire dodges—but Moon lands on his feet! Charges again—running dropkick connects! WildFire SLAMS into the corner—"

 

Lenny:
"WHOA! Second turnbuckle pad just popped loose from that impact!"

 

Sinclair:
"Not off, but loose enough to be dangerous later. Let’s hope Carter Vale saw that."

 

Jackson:
"He’s checking it now. Meanwhile, WildFire slumps in the corner, blinking hard after that dropkick—and Moon stands tall. Total control for the man from Pune."

 

Lenny:
"WildFire came in expecting the same tricks to work, but Moon brought a whole new playbook. And right now? That playbook is working."

 

Sinclair:
"Let’s see how long it lasts. WildFire’s still breathing—and a lion doesn’t sleep, remember?"

 

Jackson:
"WildFire may not be sleeping—but so far, he’s getting outclassed."

 

Jackson Creed:
"And we’re back—Moon still in complete control after that nasty dropkick into the corner. WildFire hasn’t found his footing yet."

 

Lenny Cruz:
"It’s like Moon has him in a headlock without even grabbing him—just total mental control, Jack. WildFire looks rattled."

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"He's rattled because the Blondes aren’t here to smooth things over. No cheat codes tonight. Just reality."

 

Jackson:
"Moon pulls WildFire from the corner—Irish whip to the far ropes—WildFire rebounds—hip toss! And Moon hangs on—turns it into a grounded armbar!"

 

Lenny:
"Fluid like water, baby. Moon is cooking!"

 

Jackson:
"WildFire trying to twist free—but Moon grapevines the arm—shifts to the other side—and snapmares him into another quick pin attempt—"

 

Ref Carter Vale:
"ONE!—TWO—"

 

Jackson:
"Kickout from WildFire!"

 

Lenny:
"He’s surviving, but he’s not thriving."

 

Jackson:
"Moon stays on him—picks WildFire up by the wrist—short-arm knee to the midsection! Then a second! And now—he’s winding up for a big shot—"

 

Sinclair:
"Wait—WildFire ducks—"

 

Jackson:
"MOON SWINGS WILD—NEARLY HITS THE REF!"

 

Lenny:
"Carter had to dive out of the way!"

 

Jackson:
"And that moment—just that one second of chaos—"

 

Sinclair:
"IS ALL WILDFIRE NEEDED! EYE POKE! Right to the face! Ref didn’t see it—he was still recovering from nearly getting beheaded!"

 

Lenny:
"Oh come on! That’s dirty and you know it, Sinclair!"

 

Sinclair:
"It’s resourceful. Moon swung too wild and gave him an opening. You can’t blame WildFire for seizing the moment."

 

Jackson:
"Moon’s stumbling, clutching at his eye—and WildFire charges—LARIAT! Takes Moon off his feet and inside out!"

 

Lenny:
"That’s the hardest shot WildFire’s landed all night!"

 

Sinclair:
"And he’s not done—he smells blood now!"

 

Jackson:
"Moon trying to sit up—WildFire hits the ropes—comes roaring back—KNEE DROP TO THE TEMPLE! He just spiked him!"

 

Lenny:
"Moon is down—flat on the mat!"

 

Jackson:
"And just like that—the pace shifts. WildFire standing tall, arms out to the crowd—but they’re booing heavy after that cheap shot!"

 

Sinclair:
"And they’ll keep booing when he wins. That’s how you make history—you take the moment and twist it to your will."

 

Lenny:
"He twisted an eyeball, not fate. Let’s see if Moon can recover."

 

Jackson:
"As the crowd roars in disapproval, WildFire soaks it in—and the tide of this quarterfinal match just turned in a big way."

 

Jackson Creed:
"And we are back—WildFire now firmly in control of this quarterfinal clash after an eye poke and two heavy shots that dropped Moon flat."

 

Lenny Cruz:
"You can hear this crowd—they’re furious about how WildFire flipped the momentum. And now he’s walking around like he just climbed Everest."

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"Why shouldn’t he? He outsmarted Moon. That’s called adaptability, gentlemen. He didn’t cheat—he improvised."

 

Jackson:
"WildFire now dragging Moon to the center—hooks the leg—snap suplex! Floats over for the cover—"

 

Ref Carter Vale:
"ONE!—TWO—"

 

Jackson:
"Kickout at two!"

 

Lenny:
"That was sharp, that was clean—but look at WildFire now, smirking, talking trash to the fans like he just won the whole tournament!"

 

Sinclair:
"That’s the influence of greatness. That’s the MAWLiwood Blondes rubbing off. The flair, the attitude, the absolute disdain for being average."

 

Jackson:
"WildFire now slapping the back of Moon’s head—real disrespect. Picks him up again—scoops—body slam! Drops a flashy elbow—no cover! Instead he’s flexing to the crowd, saying ‘12 out of 10!’"

 

Lenny:
"And wasting time! That’s not strategy—that’s ego!"

 

Sinclair:
"It’s called entertainment, Cruz. Try it sometime."

 

Jackson:
"Moon rolls to his side—still dazed. WildFire steps in—hooks the head—vertical suplex—no! Spins it into a neckbreaker instead! Nicely executed!"

 

Lenny:
"That was slick, but he’s still showboating between moves. He’s yelling at the hard cam now, saying 'Simply the greatest EVER!'"

 

Jackson:
"WildFire lifts Moon again—this time sends him HARD into the ropes—follows up with a big running forearm—Moon staggers—WildFire off the opposite side—diving back elbow! Moon crumbles to the mat!"

 

Sinclair:
"That’s how you dismantle a man. Bit by bit. Bone by bone. And rub it in while you're doing it."

 

Lenny:
"That’s also how you make a mistake if you’re not careful."

 

Jackson:
"WildFire looking out at the fans—holds up two fingers—there’s the Bowman Salute—and now the cutthroat! Taunt-Off time!"

 

Lenny:
"He’s chaining taunts! He’s doing the whole show!"

 

Sinclair:
"You call it arrogant—I call it confidence. He’s controlling this match like a maestro."

 

Jackson:
"But Moon—Moon just pushed himself off the canvas! He’s not done!"

 

Lenny:
"He’s blinking through the eye pain, but the fire’s still there!"

 

Jackson:
"WildFire charges—going for another big lariat—NO! Moon ducks—DROPKICK! Straight into the CORNER—RIGHT INTO THAT LOOSE TURNBUCKLE PAD!"

 

Lenny:
"OHHH! RIGHT between the shoulders!"

 

Sinclair:
"That same pad that’s been hanging loose since the first dropkick earlier—Carter Vale warned them!"

 

Jackson:
"And both men are DOWN! WildFire bounced chest-first into the corner, and Moon hit the mat right after—he had nothing left to follow up with!"

 

Ref Carter Vale:
"ONE!"

 

Lenny:
"That could’ve cracked ribs—WildFire's clutching his chest!"

 

Ref Carter Vale:
"TWO!"

 

Sinclair:
"Not how you want to land on steel. That exposed buckle’s like hitting the edge of a ladder!"

 

Ref Carter Vale:
"THREE!"

 

Jackson:
"The ref has started the count, both men gasping for air, rolling in pain—this match just swung again!"

 

Lenny:
"And the Ether Championship tournament delivers again! Every match is chaos and drama!"

 

Ref Carter Vale:
"FOUR!"

 

Jackson:
"We’ll see who rises first—this tournament spot is wide open now!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"Both men are back on their feet, barely—WildFire swings—MOON DUCKS—"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"HE GOT HIM! Moon Strikes! Outta nowhere!"

 

Jackson:
"WildFire is planted! Moon hooks the leg—"

 

Ref Carter Vale:
"ONE!—TWO!—NO!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"HE KICKED OUT?! ARE YOU KIDDING?!"

 

Lenny:
"That was three! That was—man, that was close! Moon’s looking at Carter like, ‘what more do I gotta do?!’"

 

Jackson:
"Moon sitting back, hands on his hips now. He’s calm… breathing steady… nods at Carter Vale. No argument, just quiet composure."

 

Lenny:
"That’s the warrior mindset, Jack. You stay focused. But while he's talking—look! LOOK!"

 

Jackson:
"WildFire is crawling—slowly—toward the corner… toward the buckle with the loose pad!"

 

Sinclair:
"Look at that ring IQ! Look at the positioning!"

 

Jackson:
"Moon now walks over, grabs WildFire by the waist—tries to pull him off the corner—"

 

Lenny:
"But WildFire’s hanging on to the buckle! He’s clutching it like his life depends on it!"

 

Jackson:
"Moon tries again—pulls HARD—WildFire yanked clean off—AND MOON LIFTS—BACK SUPLEX—NO! WildFire FLIPS OUT—LANDS ON HIS FEET!"

 

Sinclair:
"Unreal body control—"

 

Jackson:
"Now WildFire grabs Moon for one of his own—BUT MOON COUNTERS—shoves him straight back—INTO THE CORNER!"

 

Lenny:
"That’s the bad buckle again! And Moon’s lining it up—"

 

Jackson:
"CHARGES IN—WILDFIRE DROPS—DROP TOE HOLD!"

 

Lenny:
"OH—NO! NO! FACE FIRST—RIGHT INTO THE EXPOSED TURNBUCKLE!"

 

Sinclair:
"JESUS! That sound—"

 

Jackson:
"Moon collapses like a rag doll! He’s not moving! He’s down!"

 

Lenny:
"WildFire rolls to the outside—finally gets that breather—but no one’s paying attention to him now!"

 

Jackson:
"Referee Carter Vale is checking Moon… and the crowd has gone silent…"

 

Ref Carter Vale:
"…" (waves his hands)

"Ring the bell!"

[DING DING DING DING!!!]

 

Jackson:
"Wait—wait a second—is he calling it?!"

 

Lenny:
"Yeah. Yeah, he’s calling it. Moon’s out, man. That shot—he hasn't moved since!"

 

[Astrid Vale walks to the center of the ring after a quiet exchange with Carter.]

 

Astrid Vale:
"Ladies and gentlemen… Moon is unable to continue fighting. Therefore, your winner via TKO, and advancing to the Semifinals of the Ether Championship Tournament… WILD! FIRE!"

 

[“I Wanna Rock” by Twisted Sister blasts as the crowd ERUPTS in boos.]

 

Jackson:
"WildFire is standing at the top of the ramp now… he’s got something in his hand—wait a minute—"

 

Lenny:
"That’s the turnbuckle pad! He’s holding the pad!"

 

[Replay footage rolls.]

 

Jackson (VO):
"And look at this—look at this! Rewind to earlier—right there, the first dropkick from Moon that shook it loose—WildFire grabbed the buckle, see that? Right there—he was already working it off!"

 

Sinclair:
"Oh my GOD—they played everyone! The Blondes were banned, so they went classic. Old school sabotage. No manager needed—just planning."

 

Lenny:
"Alastor banned those cocky little punks from ringside so this exact trash wouldn't happen! And they just found another way to screw the system!"

 

Sinclair:
"I call that brilliance. You think three guys like WildFire and the MAWLiwood Blondes don’t have backup plans stacked in layers?"

 

Lenny:
"They’ve got plans coming out of their ass, Sinclair! And it STINKS of arrogance!"

 

Sinclair:
"Or genius."

 

Lenny:
"Or crap."

 

Jackson:
"As Lenny and Sinclair argue, WildFire soaks in the moment—pad in hand, smirk on his face, standing tall on the ramp—and folks… whether you like it or not… WildFire is going to the semifinals."

 

[Fade out on WildFire holding the torn buckle pad high above his head, backlit by pyro, as fans rain down boos and Carter continues checking on Moon in the ring.]

 

 

[Backstage – MAWL Interview Zone | A simple black backdrop with “Frequency of the Damned” stenciled in red. The low hum of tension is already in the air.]

 

Eli Ray, dressed sharply as always, stands holding a microphone.

 

 

Eli Ray:
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome my guest at this time… Lynx!”

 

[Lynx steps into frame, hoodie up, damp hair hanging slightly over his eyes. He’s bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, calm but coiled.]

 

 

Eli Ray:
“Lynx, tonight you step into the Quarterfinals of the Ether Championship Tournament against… well… quite possibly the most terrifying man in MAWL—RADE. How are you approaching this matchup?”

 

Lynx (with a cool smirk):
“Approach? Look, Eli… I’ve spent my life in forests where shadows walk, where predators—real ones—breathe down your neck and wait for a single misstep. I’ve seen monsters. I’ve outrun them. I’ve bled with—”

 

[Suddenly, the camera shakes slightly as a massive shadow crashes into Lynx from offscreen—RADE barrels in with full force, slamming Lynx into the backdrop with a heavy shoulder.]

 

 

Eli Ray stumbles back in horror as RADE begins pummeling Lynx with clubbing blows to the back, his metal mask glinting under the backstage lights.

 

The disembodied girl’s voice echoes creepily from somewhere—
“He collects the blood, he shares the blood.”

 

Lynx fights back, throwing elbows and landing a stiff kick to RADE’s thigh, backing the big man off just enough for a tackle into the nearby equipment boxes. Crashing metal fills the space as the two roll and brawl, fists flying and groans echoing.

 

RADE lifts Lynx, teasing a Gesichtsmoerder, but Lynx grabs a chair off a crate and smacks RADE’s ribs, forcing the giant to stumble. But RADE still doesn’t go down.

 

Security staff and road agents flood in, trying to separate the two. They’re both roaring, barely held back—Lynx has a busted lip, RADE is laughing under the mask, blood already smeared across his glove.

 

Then, calmly walking into frame with that devilish grin… is Alastor. Crimson suit immaculate, hands behind his back like a chess master.

 

 

Alastor (with a smirk, savoring the chaos):
“Ohhhh… You two wanna brawl, do you?”
(he tilts his head)
“Well then. Consider this official. The Ether Championship Tournament – Quarterfinal Match… Lynx vs. RADE… is now a hardcore match.”

 

[The crowd in the arena watching live explodes in the background.]

 

Alastor (chuckling darkly as he turns to leave):
“Enjoy yourselves, boys…”

 

[He walks off, hands still behind his back, whistling a tune as the two men are STILL being held back, yelling over each other, the hatred thick and raw.]

 

Fade to black.