[40-SECOND OPENING VIDEO PACKAGE]

• Fast flashes of each MAWL roster member – but it opens with Alastor's eyes glowing in darkness, followed by Balor Wolfe’s bloodied grin from Hell in a Cell.
  
  
• Cut rapidly through Wildfire unleashing flames, the MAWLIWOOD BLONDES winking and flexing, RADE’s terrifying mask emerging through smoke, Damian Blackheart’s dark silhouette, and Lynx mid-springboard corkscrew.
  
  
• Final image: Radio Silence celebrating at MAWL Mania – Balor Wolfe hoisted high on the Edge Runners' shoulders, the MAWL Mania Championship glowing under crimson light as the crowd behind them erupts.
  
  

Cut to black — a metal, glitchy sound stingers in — then the MAWL: Frequency of the Damned title card bursts onto the screen.

 

 

JACKSON CREED:
“We are live, the Frequency is loud, and tonight… MAWL makes history. Welcome to Frequency of the Damned. From wonderful New Orleans I’m Jackson Creed alongside the legendary ‘Lightning’ Lenny Cruz and the ever-opinionated Sinclair DeVille — and folks, it’s Draft Night!”

 

 

LENNY CRUZ:
“What a way to kick things off! The fans are still reeling from MAWL International Incident, and now we find out where the future of this company lies!”

 

 

SINCLAIR DEVILLE:
“Let’s not waste time, gentlemen. History’s about to be made. Get ready for chaos, betrayal, and brilliance… because I have a feeling Alastor’s about to pull a demon’s trick outta his sleeve.”

 

 

(Purple and red lights swirl. The crowd erupts in cheers as Alastor struts down the ramp, cane in hand, radio static echoing behind him.)

 

 

CREED:
“There he is! The architect of Frequency, the Radio Demon himself — Alastor!”

 

CRUZ:
“This man has changed the game already, and he hasn’t even made a pick yet!”

 

DEVILLE (smirking):
“The smartest man in wrestling. A demon with vision, class, and a championship in his pocket — if I had a hat, I’d tip it to him.”

 

 

(Blue spotlight on stage. Colin McRae walks out in a sharp suit, clipboard in hand. Focused, serious. He gets a respectful reaction from the crowd.)

 

ROUND ONE – MAWL DRAFT

Pick #1 – Frequency of the Damned

ALASTOR (into mic, smiling wide):
“With my first overall pick… I choose for MAWL: Frequency of the Damned—”
(he pauses dramatically, letting the crowd swell)
“…RADIO SILENCE. Zagreus. The Edge Runners – Johnny and V. Eros. And the MAWL Mania Champion… the Champion of the Gods… BALOR WOLFE.”

 

 

[Crowd explodes in thunderous cheers. Cut to footage of Radio Silence in action. Balor holding the title. Zagreus flipping through the air. The Edge Runners smirking. Eros blowing a kiss.]

 

CREED:
“There it is! The biggest pick of the night — Radio Silence stays on Frequency!”

 

CRUZ:
“Alastor just dropped a bomb. That’s five megastars in one shot. The backbone of this brand.”

 

DEVILLE (practically purring):
“That, gentlemen, is not just a pick. That’s a statement. Alastor has secured the future of wrestling. We love a wise devil.”

 

Pick #1 – Madness

COLIN MCRAE:
“My first pick… is a future world champion. A threat in the ring, a threat on the mic, and the Main Event of BOOMANIA himself — SM HeartBreaker.”

 

 

[Cut to SM HeartBreaker winning the Asylum Title, successfully cashing in, and then losing the title. Fans boo and he takes it in. Big spotlight moment.]

 

CREED:
“A great start for Madness! The HeartBreaker is unabashed and going to say what he wants when he wants, better to have that on your side.”

 

CRUZ:
“He might feel some kind of way about being called "Future" World Champion, if recent promos are any indication.”

 

Pick #2 – Frequency

 

ALASTOR:
“Wildfire. Let’s turn up the heat.”

 

 

[Flames rise in the arena. Wildfire stands among them, roaring.]

 

CREED:
“Explosive pick — Wildfire is chaos incarnate!”

 

DEVILLE:
“Unpredictable. Dangerous. Beautiful. A demon’s favorite kind of fire.”

 

Pick #2 – Madness

 

COLIN:
“Gozu.”

 

 

[Cut to Gozu brutalizing an opponent in a corner, winning the belt from SM, snorting through his mask.]

 

CRUZ:
“That’s a monster. Madness just got a whole lot heavier with the Asylum Champion.”

 

Pick #3 – Frequency

 

ALASTOR:
“The bright lights, the big attitude… The MAWLIWOOD BLONDES.”

 

 

[Footage of the Blondes mugging for the camera, soaking in cheers.]

 

CREED:
“They bring glam, glitz, and gold potential.”

 

DEVILLE:
“Hollywood's favorite tag team — and Frequency just bought box office.”

 

Pick #3 – Madness

 

COLIN:
“Scott Razor.”

 

 

[Supercut of Razor beating people with his trusty bat.]

 

CRUZ:
“The Bully of Bullies brings the brutality everywhere he goes.”

 

Pick #4 – Frequency

 

ALASTOR (grinning):
“The bump in the night. The monster of myth… RADE.”

 

 

[Lights drop as RADE’s blood-red smiley mask fades in on screen.]

 

CREED:
“God help whoever crosses Frequency… that thing is here to stay.”

 

DEVILLE:
“That’s not a wrestler. That’s a horror movie in boots. I love it.”

 

Pick #4 – Madness

 

COLIN:
“You better believe he's coming...JCM Ace.”

 

 

[Highlights of JCM’s aerial offense and cocky taunts.]

 

CRUZ:
“Ace is trouble. But Colin knows how to channel it.”

 

Pick #5 – Frequency

 

ALASTOR:
“And finally… the future in motion… Lynx.”

 

 

[Lynx nails a twisting plancha into the crowd. Fans chant “LYNX! LYNX!”]

 

CREED:
“Big fan favorite. So much potential, and already clutch in big matches.”

 

COLIN:
“And my final pick for round one… the brotherhood of blood… La Sangre Maldita.”

 

 

[Cut to the trio storming down the ramp, brutalizing a team with triple-team attacks.]

 

CRUZ:
“A blood feud waiting to happen. These guys are violent, proud, and united.”

 

DEVILLE:
“A wise choice from McRae. One warband to match another.”

 

[ROUND ONE COMPLETE]

 

CREED:
“And just like that, Round One is in the books! Frequency lands the champions, the monsters, the showstoppers — while Madness counters with dangerous outlaws and future icons. This draft is just heating up!”

 

CRUZ:
“And the balance of power? Still up in the air, baby!”

 

DEVILLE (grinning):
“Let it burn. This is gonna be beautiful.”

 

[After Round One Ends — the camera cuts back to the Frequency desk, where Alastor stands up slowly.]

 

JACKSON CREED:
“Hold on a second — looks like Alastor has more to say!”

 

LENNY CRUZ:
“He’s stepping out of the booth… this ain’t just business, this is a show.”

 

[Alastor adjusts his crimson tie, grabs his silver-headed cane, and walks toward the ring with confidence. The arena darkens, spotlights follow him down the ramp.]

 

[IN-RING – THREE TABLES WITH BLACK CLOTH COVERS SIT IN A ROW]

ALASTOR (mic in hand):
“Ladies and gentlemen, if I may request just a few more minutes of your time…”
(crowd cheers)
“…This show… my show… Frequency of the Damned is not just a brand. It’s a revolution. A new era that demands recognition, excellence… and above all… spectacle.”

 

[Alastor paces slowly in front of the tables.]

 

“And what, my dear crowd, defines a brand more than its gold? Its champions. And here, in the shadows of legacy, we will no longer carry the discarded names of yesterday. We will burn our own path into the future — forged in ambition, bound in blood, and crowned in fire.”

 

“Which brings me… to my next guest. Please welcome… my champion… Balor Wolfe.”

 

 

[Massive reaction from the crowd as Balor Wolfe steps out in a tailored suit, MAWL Mania Championship over his shoulder. Eros walks beside him in matching colors, the two stride to the ring like royalty.]

 

 

CREED:
“The Champion of the Gods himself. MAWL Mania main event winner. And maybe about to be a whole lot more.”

 

CRUZ:
“He’s the centerpiece of this brand. And with Alastor backing him, this is history in the making.”

 

[IN-RING – Balor and Eros enter. Alastor greets them both with a warm nod.]

 

ALASTOR:
“Balor… my prodigy. My warhound. My Champion. You have led us through blood and hellfire. But tonight… we leave the old gods behind.”

 

[Alastor reaches behind the corner of the ring and pulls out a black metal trash can. He taps the side with his cane. The crowd murmurs.]

 

“The MAWL Mania Championship… was a crown forged by others. Held by fools and tyrants alike. You, my dear Wolfe, have outgrown it.”

 

*[Balor looks to the crowd. Then slowly removes the title from his shoulder. With no hesitation, he lets it fall into the trash can.
The crowd GASPS, then erupts with mixed shock and awe.]

 

ALASTOR (softly):
“…Now… allow me to show you something better.”

 

[He walks to the center table, takes a long breath, then RIPS the black cloth off.]

 

[REVEAL: The Infernal Crown Championship]

 

 

[The crowd pops HUGE.]

 

ALASTOR (lifting it with reverence):
“This is the symbol of my faith in you. This is not a belt. This… is the Infernal Crown.
It is a declaration to every other brand, every other soul who steps in that ring… that you are not just my champion…
You are the BEST champion.”

 

[Alastor hands the title to Balor, who stares at it for a long moment.]

 

[Then, Balor steps in front of the tables, center ring. Eros places a hand on his shoulder. The music swells.]

 

[BALOR WOLFE raises the Infernal Crown Championship high into the air.]

 

[Crowd ROARS. Flashbulbs. Pyro from the stage. The ring is bathed in red light.]

 

CREED (low tone):
“…A new era has begun.”

 

DEVILLE:
“Long may he reign.”

 

CRUZ:
“Frequency has its king.”

 

[Balor Wolfe still stands tall in the center of the ring, raising the Infernal Crown Championship high over his head. The arena is electric.]

 

[SUDDENLY — the lights flash cold white.]

 

 

[Crowd ERUPTS in massive boos as Ivan Volkov steps out onto the stage, stone-faced, with Viktor Dragovich at his side, smirking with his ever-present cane. They glare at the ring.]

 

CREED:
“Oh no. We knew this tension had to snap eventually.”

 

CRUZ:
“Ivan Volkov — cold, calculated, and undefeated in one-on-one matches. And he’s got a target.”

 

DEVILLE:
“That man EARNED a title shot at MAWL Mania. Alastor just spat on it.”

 

[VIKTOR DRAGOVICH raises a mic, speaking smugly.]

 

VIKTOR:
“What is this? You call this honor, Alastor? You call this championship material? Let me remind you and these sheep here…”
(points to the crowd)
“At MAWL: Baptized in Blood, Ivan Volkov was promised a MAWL Mania Championship match. This? This little stunt with your fancy red belt? This is how you dodge a fight.”

 

[Crowd starts chanting: “YOU FKED LYNX! YOU FKED LYNX!” then: “WE WANT LYNX!”]

 

*[Ivan glares forward stoically. Viktor scowls. They ignore the chants.]

 

[Alastor raises a mic, about to respond — but Balor Wolfe cuts him off.]

 

BALOR WOLFE (stepping forward, mic in hand):
“Hey! Shut it, Alastor. I got this.”
(crowd pops)
“MAWL Mania Title. Infernal Crown. A goddamn tinfoil hat — doesn’t matter to me. I’ll defend this title against that overgrown moron…”
(points at Ivan)
“…any place, anytime.”

 

[Crowd cheers hard.]

 

BALOR (turning toward Ivan):
“But let’s be real here. If it wasn’t for Vikky the vampire over there, I’d be defending this crown against Lynx. Not you.”

 

[Pop. “LYNX! LYNX! LYNX!”]

 

BALOR (stepping to ropes, snarling):
“So, Ivan. At Baptized in Blood — you better bring your A-game, you halfwit — because I’m going to show the whole damn world… that without Viktor Dragovich whispering in your ear?

You’re nothing.”

 

[Ivan drops his mic and STORMS toward the ring — crowd pops — but suddenly the lights flicker.]

 

[The ramp becomes engulfed in creeping black fog — and from the haze, a line of SHADOW MEN (Alastor’s minions) rise up between the ring and Ivan.]

 

CREED:
“Whoa — what the hell? These… these are Alastor’s ‘shadows!’”

 

CRUZ:
“They’re blocking the way! Ivan’s ready to throw hands and they just formed a damn wall!”

 

[Ivan growls, nostrils flaring, fists clenched — he’s being restrained by unseen forces.]

 

[ALASTOR (now laughing, steps forward):

“Now now… let’s not ruin the main event, shall we?”
(gestures theatrically)
“Save it for the pay-per-view, boy.”

 

[Balor Wolfe steps through the ropes, still holding the Infernal Crown. He and Eros exit the ring and walk through the crowd, fans parting like water around them. He taps the title on his shoulder, glaring at Ivan the whole way.]

 

[Ivan and Viktor slowly retreat up the ramp — Ivan still seething, eyes locked on Balor. The camera closes on his face — pure rage.]

 

CREED:
“There it is. At Blood and Wine — Balor Wolfe vs Ivan Volkov. The Infernal Crown on the line. And I don’t think either man is walking out the same.”

 

DEVILLE:
“Let them kill each other. This is exactly the chaos Frequency promises.”

 

[The arena is slowly settling back down after Balor Wolfe exited through the crowd and Ivan Volkov retreated up the ramp. The ring is still lit in red, a faint haze of fog lingering near the apron.]

 

[Alastor, once again alone in the ring, brushes off his suit and taps his cane to bring attention back to him. The crowd begins to hush again.]

 

ALASTOR (smiling, calm and theatrical):

“Now that the tempers have cooled… allow me to continue.”
(he turns slowly, facing the remaining two cloth-covered tables)
“You see, one Infernal Crown alone cannot define greatness. In my kingdom, there must be more than one throne. Greatness comes in many forms — and thus, it must be recognized.”

 

[Alastor approaches the second table. With a single tug — he WHIPS the cloth away.]

 

 

[Crowd “ooohs.” Alastor lets the moment breathe.]

 

ALASTOR:

“This is the Ether Championship. Designed not for those who fall short… but for those who stand tall beneath the fire.”
“This crown is for those just outside the infernal throne… but still worthy of awe. Artists. Innovators. Fighters who need only one spark to set the world ablaze.”

 

[Alastor then walks to the final table and, with a flourish, RIPS the cloth away.]

 

[REVEAL: THE SIGNAL TAG TEAM TITLES]

 

 

[Crowd pops louder.]

 

ALASTOR:

“And these… are the Signal Tag Team Championships. A beacon. A reward for those who move in rhythm. Who fight as one mind… with two souls.”

“Tag team wrestling is not a novelty. It is an art. And in my Frequency — it shall be treated as such.”

 

[He looks down at both newly revealed championships, arms wide as if addressing royalty.]

 

“And so, tonight, we begin the journey to crown these first bearers of light… and signal. Tournaments begin tonight. The path begins now.”

 

[He places each championship carefully back on the tables, one hand lingering briefly on the Ether belt.]

 

ALASTOR (softly, then turning back toward the crowd):
“This ring… is a cathedral. And tonight, we begin worship.”

 

[The lights slowly fade around him as Alastor steps through the ropes. The camera follows him up the ramp.]

 

[Cut to commentary.]

 

CREED:
“Two more championships. Two more pieces of history. And the Frequency is only just warming up.”

 

CRUZ:
“Alastor just built a mountain of gold — and everyone on this brand is gonna claw their way to the top.”

 

DEVILLE:
“He’s not just building a brand… he’s building a legacy.”

 

[Alastor returns to his draft booth. The crowd is still buzzing as the camera zooms in on the new titles in the ring.]

MAWL DRAFT – ROUND TWO

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #1 – Psycho Supremacy

(Nero, Tides of Time, Jassy, Bloodswan, Red Ghost, Rufus Reeve – group pick)

 

 

DEVILLE:
“That should’ve been picked before now. That’s terror in a box.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #1 – Spirit Crusher (tag team)

 

 

CRUZ:
“These two are sure to spill blood on Alastor's new canvas.”

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #2 – Maki

 

 

CREED:
“The One Punch Champ re-earned her nickname recently after obtaining the belt from El Cerrador. Nasty bit of business this one."

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #2 – Blood Drawn

 

 

DEVILLE:
“I think this will be a good pick. One man instrument of destruction."

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #3 – Daniel

 

 

CRUZ:
“Bit of an unstable one here, especially with that mask following him around, but he can break anyone down.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #3 – NEONYX NOTORIO

 

 

CREED:
“Unpredictable. But I think this will be a good pick.”

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #4 – Aiko

 

 

CRUZ:
“Should’ve been picked before now. She’s sharp.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #4 – Ace Anarchy

 

 

DEVILLE:
“I think this will be a good pick — just pure chaos in boots.”

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #5 – Tyler Hayes

 

 

CREED:
“Shoey continues at Madness, and tons of upside.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #5 – Jay the Joker

 

 

CRUZ:
“This should’ve been picked before now. Total wildcard.”

 

CREED:
“Another round down, and both rosters are filling up fast with danger, drama, and pure talent.”

 

CRUZ:
“And the tournaments start tonight — that’s not a tease, that’s a promise.”

 

DEVILLE:
“May the strongest survive. And may the rest burn trying.”

 

Match: LYNX vs. Neonyx Notorio – The Ether Championship Tournament First Round

 

 

The arena lights dim to a moody glow as the unmistakable beat of Britney Spears’ “Hit Me Baby One More Time” kicks in. The crowd erupts, fully behind him—not ironically, but with genuine love for the wildcard that is Lynx. Fans at ringside hold up handmade signs with paw prints, claw marks, and slogans like “Pounce First, Ask Later” and “HUNT WITH LYNX.”

 

 

From the curtain, Lynx steps out slowly, hood up, head down. The crowd gets even louder as he stands still at the top of the ramp, soaking it in. With a smooth motion, he lifts his head and throws back the hood, revealing a focused, intense glare—half-wild, half-playful. He begins his walk with that low, springy stride, like he’s stalking prey. Every few steps, he flicks his wrists outward, mimicking claw swipes to the beat of the music. The crowd chants his name rhythmically along with the melody:

 

"LYNX! LYNX! LYNX! LYNX!"

 

Reaching the ring, Lynx hops up onto the apron, then slingshots in with a flawless twist, landing in a crouch in the center. He holds the pose just long enough for the crowd to pop again, then rises smoothly to his feet and paces the ropes like a predator testing the cage.

 

 

Ring Announcer – Astrid Vale (with a cool, clear delivery over the crowd’s energy):
“Introducing… from the Białowieża Forest, Poland… weighing in at 205 pounds… the high-flying apex of instinct—LYNX!”

 

As Astrid finishes, Lynx climbs the turnbuckle and raises one fist, then flips backward off it with ease, landing low in a ready stance. The crowd roars as the music fades and the bell nears—Lynx is locked in, ready to strike.

 

 

As the lights drop, the arena is plunged into darkness, the only illumination coming from pulsating neon strobes flashing in sync with the beat of his entrance theme. A slight fog rolls across the stage, shrouding the entranceway in a hazy glow.

 

As the beat drops, the titantron lights up with a mesmerizing display of neon dragons swirling around each other, twisting and coiling in an endless cycle of movement, their glowing bodies pulsing in rhythm with the music.

 

 

As the lights drop, the arena is plunged into darkness, the only illumination coming from pulsating neon strobes flashing in sync with the beat of his entrance theme. A slight fog rolls across the stage, shrouding the entranceway in a hazy glow.

 

As the beat drops, the titantron lights up with a mesmerizing display of neon dragons swirling around each other, twisting and coiling in an endless cycle of movement, their glowing bodies pulsing in rhythm with the music.

 

After a few moments, Neonyx Notorio steps onto the stage with an undeniable aura of confidence, his movements slow and deliberate as he surveys the crowd, drinking in his own self-importance. His mask with flared dragon wings and a central dragon head glimmers under the strobes, matching the neon blue and pink designs on his gear and cape. His spiked shoulder pads and flowing black cape with a dark grey dragon emblazoned across the back complete his striking silhouette.

 

He walks arrogantly down the ramp, exuding an air of untouchable charisma, taking calculated pauses to turn his head and scan the audience as if basking in his own greatness.

 

Ring Announcer – Astrid Vale (clear, stylized delivery with a touch of flair):
“Making his way to the ring… weighing in at 205 pounds… from wherever the lights burn brightest… the neon dragon of dominance… NEONYX NOTORIO!”

 

As he reaches the ring, Neonyx effortlessly jumps onto the apron before quickly rushing up the turnbuckle. Standing tall, he places his hands behind his back, scanning the crowd as if daring them to match his energy. Without hesitation, he front flips off the turnbuckle, landing with a smooth roll into a kneeling position on one leg. He bows his head into his balled fist before slowly looking up and pointing—either at his opponent if they are already in the ring, or toward the crowd if he enters first—before finally standing and adjusting his gloves, fully in his element.

 

 

 Bell rings.

 

Jackson Creed:
“And here we go! LYNX and Neonyx Notorio squaring off—first round action in the Ether Championship Tournament! This crowd's buzzing, Lenny.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Oh, they know what’s up, Jackson. These two don’t just want to win—they want to make a statement. You’ve got wild instinct versus untamed ego. Let’s see what breaks first.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Oh, please. Let’s not pretend LYNX is anything but a well-dressed wilderness mascot. Neonyx Notorio? He’s the future of this division—and the reason half the fans showed up tonight.”

 

The two men circle each other slowly as the crowd sways with anticipation. LYNX crouches low, feline in motion, eyes locked in on his opponent. Neonyx stands upright, casually stretching one shoulder, smirking through his dragon mask.

 

They lock up—quick tie-up center ring. LYNX transitions low, snapping behind with a slick waistlock.

 

Jackson Creed:
“Beautiful takedown by LYNX! Fast and efficient—he’s got that amateur control and balance, even with Notorio squirming!”

 

LYNX floats over and traps the arm, rolling Neonyx down into a tight grounded wristlock. Neonyx tries to kip up, but LYNX yanks the arm downward again, maintaining control.

 

Lenny Cruz:
“That’s that forest-trained grip! He doesn’t just catch you—he grounds you. Neonyx might be flashy, but you can’t flip if you’re stuck face-down.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Sure, but let’s not forget Neonyx has the body control of a gymnast with anger issues. He’ll find a way out—and probably look cooler doing it.”

 

Neonyx finally gets a foot under him, rolls out of the wristlock, and flips backward—lands on his feet—only for LYNX to hit a snap DDT! The crowd gasps as Neonyx spikes into the mat.

 

Jackson Creed:
“DDT! Lightning quick! LYNX is a step ahead so far!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“And he's not wasting time either! Watch how he keeps the tempo just uncomfortable enough for Neonyx to not get flashy.”

 

LYNX drags Neonyx up, Irish whip—Notorio reverses—LYNX rebounds, leaps—SPRINGBOARD BULLDOG! Smooth and clean.

LYNX hooks the leg!

1… 2—Kickout!

 

LYNX doesn’t flinch. He transitions immediately, hitting the ropes and launching with a front dropkick right to the chest as Notorio sits up. Neon sparks of sweat fly as he collapses again.

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Okay, okay, I admit—even I felt that one in my designer suit. But if LYNX keeps going this hard this early, he’ll burn himself out.”

 

LYNX stalks his prey again—pulls Neonyx up—tilt-a-whirl headscissors! Notorio rolls through, stunned, gets up—pounce spear from LYNX knocks him halfway across the ring!

 

Jackson Creed:
“Explosive! LYNX just launched him across the canvas like he was hunting prey!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“That’s what I’m talking about! LYNX is in the zone right now!”

 

LYNX goes for another Irish whip—Neonyx reverses again—but this time, LYNX slides under, goes for a float-over neckbreaker—Neonyx shoves him off, ducks a clothesline—leapfrog—drop-down—LYNX rebounds—AND NEONYX THROWS A THUMB TO THE EYE!

 

Jackson Creed:
“Wait—did he just—?”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Aw, come on! That was blatant! Right in the eyes! Jackson, tell me you saw that!”

 

Sinclair DeVille (mocking):
“Oh, relax. He was just…adjusting LYNX’s vision. Can’t be too careful with peripheral awareness in a high-speed match like this!”

 

The referee warns Neonyx, but he plays innocent, grinning through his mask. As LYNX stumbles, clutching his face, Neonyx explodes into a running European uppercut that sends LYNX crashing into the corner.

 

Jackson Creed:
“Momentum shifting now, and in controversial fashion. Neonyx Notorio just turned the tide with some underhanded tactics.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“The guy’s got the talent, but he keeps proving the hype’s bigger than the honor.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Honor doesn’t win titles, gentlemen. Ego does—and Neonyx has plenty to spare.”

 

With LYNX slumped in the corner, Notorio lifts both arms, soaking in the crowd’s boos like it’s oxygen. He blows a sarcastic kiss to the nearest heckler—then charges in with a running knee strike to the jaw that rattles the ring.

 

Jackson Creed:
“And now it’s Notorio in control. The tempo has flipped—and so has the tone of this match!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“LYNX better recover fast… Neonyx just threw honor out the window and stepped on the gas.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“We’re back live as Neonyx Notorio continues to dominate here, after what can only be described as a—shall we say—creative turning point earlier in the match.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“‘Creative’ is right, Jackson. The great ones don’t follow the rulebook—they write new ones. And right now, LYNX is reading chapter one of the Neonyx Notorio Beatdown Bible.”

 

Neonyx has LYNX grounded in a seated position, wrenching back with a tight rear chinlock, his elbow digging into LYNX’s jaw. He leans in, talking trash right into LYNX’s ear—words the cameras don’t catch, but the crowd hears the tone.

 

LYNX struggles, shifting his weight, trying to fight back—but Neonyx pulls him back down and rakes the eyes again behind the referee’s back.

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Are you serious?! Again with the eyes?! That’s twice now! Refs gotta step up!”

 

Jackson Creed:
“LYNX was trying to power out, but Notorio’s playing it just dirty enough to stay out of the referee’s wrath.”

 

The ref gives a warning again. Neonyx throws up his hands in mock innocence, mouthing, “What? I'm just stretching him.” He drags LYNX to his feet, hooks him—snap suplex—rolls through—hangtime vertical suplex! The crowd groans at the impact.

 

Notorio floats into a lateral press—
1… 2… Kickout!

 

Neonyx slaps the mat, not angry—performative, feeding the drama. He stands, points to the crowd, spins around in a slow circle, and throws his arms out like a neon deity.

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“You hear that? That’s the sound of greatness being misunderstood. Let the man bask, people.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Or maybe they’re booing because he’s been cheap as a clearance sale all match!”

 

Neonyx drags LYNX up again, whips him into the ropes—leaps—dropkick right to the face! LYNX crumbles. Neonyx immediately kips up and walks a slow circle around his opponent, cocky as ever.

 

Jackson Creed:
“It’s been all Notorio for the last few minutes, and he's just feeding off the negative energy now. But something tells me LYNX isn’t done yet.”

 

As Neonyx tries pulling LYNX up again—LYNX BURSTS TO LIFE!
Hope Spot 1 – Kick combo! Left, right, spinning roundhouse—he stuns Notorio!
LYNX hits the ropes—springboard crossbody! Covers!

1… 2—Kickout!

 

The crowd rises with hope—LYNX pops up, runs for a bulldog—but Neonyx yanks him by the trunks mid-sprint and throws him face-first into the second turnbuckle!

 

Lenny Cruz:
“NO! Man, he had him! LYNX had that rally, and Neo just yanked the brakes with another cheap shot!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Oh, boo-hoo. The man used ring awareness. You want to win or you want to be polite?”

 

LYNX clutches his jaw in the corner. Neonyx runs in—leaping clothesline in the corner! He climbs to the second rope, stands tall, and grinds a boot into LYNX’s face with one hand raised in the air, soaking in the boos.

 

Ref counts: 1... 2... 3... 4—Neonyx hops down just in time.

 

Jackson Creed:
“Toe on the line again. Notorio’s dancing with disqualification and loving every second of it.”

 

Neonyx grabs LYNX and pulls him out with a snapmare, hits the ropes—low running basement dropkick to the back of the head!

1… 2… LYNX KICKS OUT AGAIN!

 

The crowd pops for the resilience. LYNX tries to shake the cobwebs as Neonyx pounds the mat in frustration.

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Okay, I’m impressed—LYNX is stubborn. But there’s a fine line between resilience and stupidity.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Tell that to these fans, Sinclair—they’re getting LOUD for LYNX now!”

 

The arena starts to rally as LYNX gets to a knee. Neonyx slaps the back of his head, taunting. LYNX rises—slaps the taste out of Neonyx’s mouth! Crowd explodes!

 

Hope Spot 2 – LYNX counters a whip—backflip—PELE KICK!

Neonyx stumbles into the ropes—rebounds—and LYNX nails a float-over neckbreaker! He scrambles up, points to the crowd, howls like a wildcat—and they roar back!

 

Jackson Creed:
“Here he comes! LYNX finding that second gear!”

 

LYNX grabs Neonyx—goes for a dragon suplex—he lifts—but Neonyx stomps the foot!

 

Then, as the ref leans in to check the stomp, Neonyx reaches back and elbows LYNX low, just under the beltline—disguised behind the ref’s back.

 

Lenny Cruz:
“NO WAY! Ref didn’t see it! That’s three shady tactics now!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“I saw an aggressive escape from a suplex, thank you very much.”

 

LYNX crumbles, gasping in pain. Neonyx yanks him up—spinning back elbow! LYNX drops again. The crowd boos hard, now fully siding with the wildcat.

 

Jackson Creed:
“The tide may still be in Notorio’s favor, but the arena’s turned on him completely. They’re behind LYNX now, and that might be the edge he needs.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“You can only cheat so many times before a wild animal bites back, Sinclair.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Oh, I’m sure LYNX’ll bite something—like the mat, when Notorio finishes him.”

 

Crowd chants
“LET’S GO LYNX!” clap clap clapclapclap
“LYNX! LYNX! LYNX!”

 

Jackson Creed:
“We’re entering the deep waters now as Neonyx Notorio continues to press the advantage—but that fire from LYNX is still flickering, Lenny.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“It’s more than flickering—it’s building. But Neo’s not letting the guy breathe. Say what you want, Notorio's staying relentless.”

Neonyx drags LYNX up by the arm and slaps him across the face, shouting through his mask, “You’re not built for this stage!”

 

Then—WHIP into the ropes—POP-UP DROPKICK! LYNX hits the mat hard and bounces off his side.

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“I love it. Every move with style. Neonyx isn’t just beating LYNX—he’s embarrassing him.”

 

Neonyx drags LYNX up again—snap DDT! Rolls through with cocky confidence—drags LYNX’s limp body into position. He climbs the turnbuckle, pausing at the top, throwing both arms out like he’s perched on the edge of a club stage.

 

Lenny Cruz:
“This is where he loses focus—every second he poses, LYNX gets stronger.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“But when the moves land, it’s hard to argue the showmanship doesn’t come with substance.”

 

Neonyx leaps—BURNING ARROW!
Mid-air cutter connects perfectly. The crowd gasps at the impact. LYNX’s body bounces slightly on impact.

 

Jackson Creed:
“Signature move! That Burning Arrow caught all of it—cover!”

 

Neonyx hooks the leg.
Referee Danny “Quickcount” Rayes slides into position.
1… 2… NO!!

 

Jackson Creed:
“HE GOT OUT! LYNX KICKED OUT! I don’t know how!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“That’s instinct! That’s what separates the hunted from the survivor, Jackson!”

 

Neonyx shoots up furious, chest heaving. He points at Danny Rayes and storms over.

 

Neonyx:

“You count everything else fast—what the hell was that!?”

 

Rayes throws up his hands, gesturing two! and pointing to his sleeve tattoo as if it confirms his credibility.

Sinclair DeVille:
“Don’t antagonize the officials, Neo! Unless it’s Danny—then yell all you want. He did slow that one down.”

 

As Neonyx and Rayes jaw back and forth, the crowd erupts behind LYNX, who stirs on the mat, blinking hard, fists twitching like he’s recharging.

 

Jackson Creed:
“This moment may cost Notorio—he gave LYNX just enough time to breathe.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“And breathing’s all a wildcat needs, baby!”

 

Neonyx turns back around to finish it—but LYNX EXPLODES FORWARD!

HOPE SPOT – THE BIG ONE

Kick combo! Low kick—midsection—spinning back heel to the gut! Neonyx doubles over!

LYNX hits the ropes—SPRINGBOARD BULLDOG—NO—FLIPS OVER—SITS OUT—FLOATING NECKBREAKER COMBO! The crowd goes nuts!

Neonyx stumbles to his feet—LYNX cartwheels—BACKFLIP INTO A LEG LARIAT!
MISSING LYNX CONNECTS!

 

Jackson Creed:
“HE NAILED IT! MISSING LYNX OUT OF NOWHERE!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Let’s GO! That’s the move, that’s the spark he needed!”

 

But LYNX is down—spent. His chest heaves as he lies beside his opponent. He reaches weakly for a cover—but collapses, face down.

Referee Danny Rayes looks from one man to the other—throws up both hands.

Ref Count Begins…
1…
2…
3…

The crowd begins stomping and clapping in rhythm, desperate for LYNX to move.

4…
5…

LYNX begins crawling toward the ropes, his fingers digging into the mat.

 

Jackson Creed:
“This is what the Ether Championship brings out in people. It’s not about who’s cleaner—it’s about who’s got something left when the gas tank says empty.”

 

6…

Neonyx rolls to a knee, shaking the cobwebs. LYNX grabs the middle rope, using it to pull himself up.

 

Lenny Cruz:
“We could be one heartbeat away from the match turning completely!”

 

7…
“…8…”

Both men stir—Neonyx crawling toward the ropes, LYNX clawing at the mat like a cornered predator digging into his last burst of instinct.

“…9—”

BOTH KIP UP.

 

Jackson Creed:
“DOUBLE KIP-UP AT NINE! THIS CROWD IS LOUDER THAN EVER!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“That’s not adrenaline—that’s desperation! They both know one mistake ends it!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Then let’s see who blinks first. My money’s on LYNX short-circuiting from lack of oxygen.”

 

They explode toward each other—Neonyx ducks a clothesline—LYNX rebounds—roll-up cradle!
1… 2… NO!
Neonyx reverses—sunset flip!
1… 2… KICKOUT!

LYNX rolls backward, lands on his feet—charges—Neonyx with an O’Connor Roll!
1… 2—LYNX REVERSES INTO A BACKSLIDE!
1… 2—NEONYX ROLLS THROUGH!

The crowd is on their feet now, watching the scramble for supremacy like it's chess at full speed.

 

Neonyx stands—LYNX goes for a tilt-a-whirl—NO! Neonyx counters mid-air—pop-up knee strike to the jaw!
LYNX stumbles back!

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“There it is! Right on the chin! This one’s done—watch this!”

 

Neonyx hits the ropes—handspring—flipping into the air—GOING FOR SPLICED RED RUM—

 

Jackson Creed:
“NO ONE HOME! LYNX MOVED!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“He WENT TO THE WELL—AND CAME UP DRY!”

 

Neonyx crashes hard, landing awkwardly on his tailbone—grabs the ropes in pain. Before he can fully rise—LYNX LEAPS UP—vaults onto his shoulders in a flash—

LYNX FLIPS INTO—
THE APEX!!
(Handstand on the shoulders—CUTTER TO THE MAT!)

The crowd erupts.

 

Jackson Creed:
“APEX! APEX OUT OF NOWHERE!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“He CAUGHT him! He timed that like a jungle trap!”

 

LYNX crawls—arm over Notorio—
1… 2… 3!!!

DING DING DING!

 

Astrid Vale (in-ring, raising her mic with a sly smirk):
“Ladies and gentlemen… your winner—and advancing in the Ether Championship Tournament…**”

(Her voice swells as the crowd chants)
“…LYYYYYYNX!”

 

 

The crowd ROARS with a mix of surprise and uncontainable joy as the opening piano stabs drop.

 

LYNX rises slowly, dazed but victorious, the beat pulsing beneath the cheers. As Britney’s iconic vocals kick in, he climbs the turnbuckle, exhausted—but smirking. He mouths along to "My loneliness is killing me..." as fans start singing with him.

 

Jackson Creed:
“And just like that—LYNX moves on! In a battle of style versus instinct, it was one bad decision from Notorio that left the door cracked—and LYNX pounced!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Neonyx was sharp, he was flashy, but he got greedy—and the jungle always eats the greedy. You wanna talk about a moment? That Apex came outta nowhere!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“A neon miscalculation. That’s all it was. Neonyx isn’t out—he just got outfoxed by a pop music-loving werecat. Great. What a legacy.”

 

LYNX struts along the apron, waving a slow, sarcastic goodbye to Notorio, who’s still on the mat glaring up. Then he mouths “Hit me baby, one more time” and winks at the camera as the fans scream and chant along.

 

 

Location: A derelict, candlelit corner of the Frequency Zone backstage—stone walls, hanging chains, flickering red bulbs. A tattered MAWL banner swings slowly in the background.

Camera: Static, slightly off-kilter.

Sound: Low, distorted hum underneath the audio, like the world is out of tune.

 

[Visual: DOOMSAYER HAMMER stands stone still, hands folded like a funeral statue. DOOMSAYER PISTOL paces erratically behind him, eyes twitching toward the camera like he hears something the audience can’t. In the center, sitting on a rusted throne-like chair made of broken scaffolding and old belts… is THE PROPHET.]

 

 

The Prophet (calm, almost sermon-like):
"Tonight, the machines run hot…
the circuits scream in desperation…
and your precious little rebels call themselves runners—as if they can outrun the fall of mankind."

 

(He leans forward. One eye twitches. His voice drops a notch.)

 

"You can dress yourselves in neon, lace yourselves with wires and hope—but you can’t stop entropy. You cannot outpace the end."

 

 

Doomsayer Pistol (suddenly bursts forward, screaming toward the lens):
"YOU CAN’T RUN FROM REVELATION!!"

 

The Prophet (unshaken):
"Johnny. V.
You leap.
You fly.
You burn bright."

(He stands now, slow and deliberate.)

"But you will fall… and when you crash, the last thing you’ll hear… is the ringing of a bell that wasn’t meant for your victory."

 

(He gestures. Hammer steps forward—like a looming executioner.)

 

 

Doomsayer Hammer (deep, slow):
"The ground breaks... when we walk.
You will be the dust… beneath our boots."

 

Doomsayer Pistol (hissing in rhythm):
"No more signals.
No more screens.
Just the sound... of your screams."

 

The Prophet (one final whisper to camera):
"This is not a match.
This is the first crack in the world’s mirror.
And the Doomsayers…
hold the hammer."

 

[Cut to black. MAWL logo glitches onto screen. Then vanishes.]

 

 

🎙️ MAWL DRAFT – ROUND THREE

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #1 – Birds of Play (as a trios team)

 

 

JACKSON CREED:
“Interesting move — locking them down as a trio now.”

 

 

LENNY CRUZ:
“I think this will be a good pick.”

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #1 – Zora Luthor International

 

 

[Footage flashes of the full unit led by Zora Luthor — corporate suits, mercenaries, stealing tournaments, winning titles.]

 

 

SINCLAIR DEVILLE:
“Now that is a power move. This should’ve been picked before now.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #2 – Moon

 

 

[Highlights of Moon’s ethereal entrance and precise technical wrestling play on screen.]

 

CRUZ:
“I think this will be a good pick. Heart broken by Crystelle Bassano, Moon can recommit himself to the craft.”

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #2 – Tamara Rivers

 

 

[Crowd reacts well to the pick. Tamara hits her Moddy Dhoo finisher in her highlight reel and there is footage of her both in face and heel form.]

 

CREED:
“The crowd here is responding well to her, this could have been a fresh start but now she has to regain the fans' trust at Madness from her previous actions after rejecting ZLI's offer and trying to return to her roots."

 

DEVILLE:
“She should have taken the deal.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #3 – Ivan Volkov

 

 

[Graphic hits with Ivan’s stone-faced glare — a huge crowd reaction, mostly boos.]

 

CRUZ:
“The man who faced down Balor Wolfe is officially on the roster, which means that their showdown is now set."

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #3 – Los Heroes de la Calle (tag team)

 

 

[Footage of the luchador duo diving through ropes, striking with varying rhythm and precision.]

 

DEVILLE:
“Madness remains a show for the kids.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #4 – James D

 

 

[Highlights of James D working the mic, taunting fans, and hitting a nasty D Stroyer Knee.]

 

CREED:
“He calls himself the Most Interesting Man in the World, but I'm not sure which world he means, because it's not ours."

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #4 – Slang Dang

 

 

[A chaotic, wild highlight reel of Slang Dang throwing haymakers and elbow drops with no form at all.]

 

CRUZ:
“Madness is taking a risk on this guy when there are more seasoned people ready."

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #5 – JP Spears

 

 

[Smooth charisma, flashy offense — JP Spears struts down a ramp, interacting with fans.]

 

DEVILLE:
"This is a perfect example. McRae just let their two-time US Champ get away from them. What a boneheaded move."

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #5 – DX Royal

 

 

[Shot of DX Royal tossing sunglasses into the crowd and landing a spinning back elbow in slo-mo.]

 

CREED:
“I think this will be a good pick. This man has the confidence and skill set to propel himself to main event status in time.”

 

The arena lights dim slightly as eerie, militant Russian music booms through the speakers.

 

 

Ivan Volkov storms to the ring, followed closely by Viktor Dragovich, who carries a mic and speaks over the jeers of the crowd.

 

 

VIKTOR DRAGOVICH
(snarling)
Silence your pathetic voices! You chant for your precious champion like he is a god—he is not! He is mortal. And very soon, he will bleed.

(points at the camera)
At Baptized in Blood, your champion will die—and from his ashes, a new ruler will rise.

(gestures dramatically to Ivan)
A conqueror… a colossus… IVAN VOLKOV!

 

Ivan steps forward, lifts both arms like a tyrant greeting his new empire, and glares into the lens.

 

VIKTOR DRAGOVICH
(venomously)
The Infernal Crown will rest on his shoulders. And all of MAWL... will learn to kneel.

 

Ivan growls in Russian and rips the mic out of Viktor's hand.

 

IVAN VOLKOV
(low, cold)
Alastor gave him a kingdom. I will give him a grave.

 

He drops the mic with a heavy thud as his music plays again and the crowd rains boos.

 

🎙️ MAWL DRAFT – ROUND FOUR

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #1 – Kid Kross

 

 

[A supercut of Kid Kross hitting the Krossover in various situations, culminating in the one that won him the Honeycomb Match at Spring Sting.]

 

DEVILLE:
"McRae dangled Kross out there thinking that he'd be able to exert Kross's Main Event Mandate at Fallout to force Alastor's hand in Kross challenging Balor for the newly christened title. While I applaud the cynical ploy, our mastermind Alastor naturally outfoxed Madness in Elisa Mae stupidly agreeing to a no-involvement stipulation and Kross's mandate would have been lost. McRae learned this during Volkov's little assertion moments ago and snatched Kross up first chance he could.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #1 – Le Lutteur

 

 

[Masked French technician shown executing perfect chain wrestling transitions.]

 

CREED:
“Should’ve been picked before now.”

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #2 – AM Brooks

 

 

[AM Brooks shown smirking backstage, cocky, stylish, and devastating with strikes.]

 

CRUZ:
“I think this will be a good pick.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #2 – El Cerrador

 

 

[Mysterious and brooding — slow-motion footage of his violent headbutts and suvmissions and rope traps.]

 

DEVILLE:
“Bit of a reach maybe… but he’s scary. Could work. He knows how to lock you up.”

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #3 – ANIMALITIES (trios)

 

 

CREED:
“Interesting trio — this one’s either gold or chaos.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #3 – Solemn Guardian

 

 

[A cloaked figure enters a foggy cathedral and hits stunner after stunner after stunner.]

 

CRUZ:
“Should’ve been picked before now. That man’s a nightmare.”

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #4 – Guinevere

 

 

[Elegant and deadly — high-heel kicks, rope submissions, and basking in the fire.]

 

DEVILLE:
“I think this will be a good pick. She plays the game very well and she's fire incarnate.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #4 – High Risk (tag team)

 

 

(Young high-flyers with a fire in their bellies and high-speed tandem finishers.)

 

CREED:
“I think this will be a good pick. They’ll go far in the tag tournament. That dual 630 is a brutal and beautiful thing to watch.”

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #5 – RumRunners (tag team)

 

 

(Prohibition-era brawlers who throw down at a moment's notice)

 

CRUZ:
“Beers and brawls on tap for Madness.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #5 – Doomsayers (tag team)

 

 

(Draped in black, heavy sludge-metal entrance, brutal double-team spinebusters.)

 

DEVILLE:
“That should’ve been picked before now. They’re monsters.”

 

📢 [ASTRID VALE steps into the center of the stage, mic in hand]

 

 

ASTRID VALE:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have been informed that we have our first trade of the night.”

 

[Crowd buzzes — cameras cut to both GMs at their respective booths.]

 

ASTRID VALE (clearly):
“MADNESS is trading their draft rights to ANIMALITIES and Board Control to FREQUENCY…”

(crowd pops — surprise reaction)

“…in exchange for Le Lutteur, who will now join the Madness roster.”

 

 

CREED:
“Whoa! That’s a shake-up! Frequency giving up one of the best technicians for chaos and control.”

 

CRUZ:
“Animalities and Board Control? That’s a whole lot of violence for one man. But Le Lutteur might just be worth it.”

 

DEVILLE:
“If I’m Alastor? That’s a good deal. You don’t build a kingdom without muscle.”

 

Match: The Edge Runners vs The Doomsayers (w/ The Prophet)
Referee: Vanya Cross

 

 

 Match Type: Signal Tag Team Championship Tournament – Round One

 

 

📢 [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.)

 

Ring Announcer – Astrid Vale (cool, deliberate, voice elevated just enough to ride the music):
“Introducing first… 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!"

 

 

The arena goes black.
A low rumble shakes the speakers as the Tron glitches with red static and warnings like “THE END IS NOW.”

🎵 "Faster than a bullet..."
🔥 Pyro blasts as three shadowy figures emerge—two towering forms and a cloaked figure between them. The lights pulse blood-red as they march through smoke, slow and synchronized.

 

 

🎙️ Ring Announcer – Astrid Vale (sharp, ominous tone):

“At a combined weight of 510 pounds…
From Parks Unknown…
Accompanied by The Prophet…
They are the reckoning made real…
THE DOOMSAYERS!”

 

[Bell Rings]

 

Jackson Creed:
"The bell sounds and this one is officially underway—Signal Tag Team Championship Tournament: Round One! And the Edge Runners are off like a shot!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"WOO! Johnny and V hitting the afterburners! They are not wasting a second! This is what the tournament’s about, baby—win or go home!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"Or, in their case, get sent home once Doomsayer Hammer uses one of them as a mop. Let’s not pretend speed beats mass."

 

Jackson Creed:
"Johnny opens with a springboard dropkick right to Hammer’s chest! V zips behind—dropkick to the back of the knee! The big man is staggered already!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"That's textbook Edge Runners—take the wheels off the tank before it gets moving!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"Hammer tries to swing on Johnny—misses wide! V with a basement leg sweep! Hammer hits the mat—and the crowd erupts!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"This is what happens when you start the match with the wrong man. Pistol should’ve been in first, not the human wrecking ball."

 

 

Jackson Creed:
"V tags in Johnny now—quick tag game. They pull Hammer to a seated position—Johnny runs the ropes—dropkick to the chest! V follows with a slingshot senton! The Edge Runners are surging!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Quick tags, sharp execution—they’re cutting the ring in half and doing exactly what you have to against a monster like Hammer!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"Johnny with the tag back to V—V sprints over to cut off Pistol trying to get in—arm drag sends Pistol flying across the ring! He scrambles up—only to get yeeted over the top rope by Johnny with a running clothesline!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"And that leaves Hammer all alone in the ring—and reeling! When’s the last time you saw this guy down for this long?!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"You’re all getting carried away. It’s one good sequence. The Doomsayers are chaos incarnate—all it takes is one shot to flip this."

 

Jackson Creed:
"V tags Johnny back in—this is flawless teamwork. They hit the ropes together—dual sliding dropkicks to Hammer’s ribs! He’s rolling to the ropes!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"You feel that, Jackson? This crowd’s not just watching—they’re living this. Edge Runners are wrestling with fire tonight!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"Hammer stumbles into the corner—Johnny follows in with a corner clothesline—wait! Hammer shoves him away with authority! But Johnny handsprings out of it! Hits the ropes again—"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"BUT THE PROPHET—THE PROPHET JUST PULLED THE TOP ROPE DOWN!!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"NO! Johnny crashes hard to the outside! Vanya Cross was checking on Hammer—she didn’t see it!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"And that’s why you bring The Prophet to war. Legal or not, that’s how you win tournaments. Ask anyone who’s held gold in this company.

"

Jackson Creed:
"Johnny’s down clutching his ribs—he hit hard on the floor! V is shouting at the ref—he saw it—but Vanya didn’t! The Prophet is backing away slowly, hands raised like he’s innocent!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"This match just turned on a dime! And in a tournament like this, one mistake—one cheap shot—can cost you everything."

 

Jackson Creed:
"From absolute control to dangerous waters, The Edge Runners now find themselves on the defensive. Hammer’s regrouping… and The Doomsayers are about to make them pay for all that early flash."

 

[Camera cuts to Johnny wincing in pain on the floor, The Prophet calmly adjusting his tie behind him, while V on the apron argues with Vanya Cross.]

Jackson Creed:
"And we're back—Johnny still down on the outside after that nasty fall thanks to The Prophet’s little rope trick earlier. Referee Vanya Cross trying to restore order, but now it’s The Doomsayers’ world."

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Johnny’s tough, but he's in the danger zone now. You do not want to be trapped in a corner with Hammer and Pistol breathing down your neck."

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"Correction—you don’t want to be in their corner with The Prophet looming nearby. You’re not just outnumbered, you’re outclassed."

 

Jackson Creed:
"Hammer tags in Pistol now—Johnny's rolled back in by Hammer and immediately caught in a rear chinlock—no, Pistol’s got a handful of hair there!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Come on! He’s yanking the hair right in front of the ref!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"Vanya Cross steps in—warning Pistol. He lets go but not before slamming Johnny back-first into the mat with extra spite."

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"That’s called control, gentlemen. You wear your opponent down and remind the ref who really runs the match."

 

Jackson Creed:
"Pistol drags Johnny to the corner and tags in Hammer. Now the big man steps in—boot to the ribs, and he just leans all 300 pounds over Johnny in the corner. Vanya’s giving him the count!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Hammer breaks at four, but the damage is done! Look at Johnny trying to crawl out and Hammer just grabs him by the leg and yanks him right back."

 

Jackson Creed:
"Johnny tries to swing—small shot to the gut—Hammer just laughs and hits a clubbing forearm to the back of the neck! Johnny crumples to the mat!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"That forearm sounded like it echoed off the rafters. Welcome to the meat grinder, Johnny."

Jackson Creed:
"Tag back to Pistol—clean, fast tag. They send Johnny into the ropes—double shoulder block drops him hard!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"This is smart tag wrestling. Quick tags, focused punishment—they’re taking turns wearing Johnny out like an old tire!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"Johnny starts to crawl toward his corner—but Pistol cuts him off with a running kneelift to the side of the head! And now look—he’s grinding his forearm into Johnny’s face!"

 

Vanya Cross:

"Break it up! Open the hand!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"Vanya stepping in again—she forces Pistol off—and OH COME ON! The Prophet just clubbed Johnny across the back of the head while Vanya’s dealing with Pistol!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"That weasel! The Prophet never lays a hand until the ref’s got her back turned!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"That’s not a weasel, Cruz—that’s precision timing. And look how innocent he looks now. Hands folded. Picture of serenity."

 

Jackson Creed:
"Johnny’s gasping for air now—he needs a tag badly. Pistol pulls him up—tags Hammer—snapmare by Pistol—running boot from Hammer! Johnny's head nearly snapped off!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"And V is desperate to get in—he’s stomping the apron, rallying this crowd!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"Hammer hooks Johnny’s arms—club to the back—another! But Johnny fights out—he’s swinging wildly—gets separation—leaps!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"He’s almost there—he’s almost got the tag!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"NO! Hammer storms into the ring—but here comes V! V LEAPS OFF THE APRON! Huge springboard missile dropkick—takes Hammer clean off his feet!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"WHAT?! He wasn't tagged! That’s illegal!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"Vanya Cross is furious—she’s turning to scold V, forcing him back to the apron!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"BUT LOOK BEHIND HER—"

 

Jackson Creed:
"Pistol—low bridge! He dives at Johnny's legs—drags him back to the Doomsayers' corner! And the ref didn’t see it!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"And that’s how you kill momentum! Johnny was a second from salvation—now he’s back in the pit!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"The Prophet is clapping like he’s watching a puppet show—and V is still getting chewed out! Doomsayers back in control, and this crowd is letting them have it!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Johnny’s reaching for that tag like it's the last light in the dark—and right now, the Doomsayers are determined to keep him lost in the shadows."

 

Jackson Creed:
"We’re deep into this first-round tournament match, and Johnny has taken a beating for the last several minutes. The Doomsayers are relentless—this is tag team dissection."

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Man, Johnny’s been in there so long he might be starting to forget his own name. They’ve isolated him from V like it’s a survival horror game!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"That’s not horror, Lenny. That’s strategy. Tag team excellence. Keep the fast guy grounded, keep the fresh man locked out."

 

Jackson Creed:
"Pistol is back in—tags Hammer again. They whip Johnny into the ropes—Hammer hits a back elbow, and Pistol follows with a running senton across the ribs! Johnny’s coughing on the mat—he can’t even catch his breath!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"You can hear the crowd trying to will him back—V’s got his hand out, stomping the buckle, trying to rally him—but this is looking grim."

 

Jackson Creed:
"Hammer with a handful of hair—pulls Johnny up and slams him down in the center of the ring. Tags in Pistol. Vanya issues another warning about the hair—doesn’t stop them for a second."

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"It’s not cheating if you stop before five. It’s just being... assertive."

 

Jackson Creed:
"Pistol now with a cocky stomp to the back of Johnny’s neck—leans down, talks trash right in his ear. You can feel the arrogance coming off him in waves."

 

Lenny Cruz:
"And listen to this crowd—they hate it! They’re booing loud enough to rattle the hard cam!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"Pistol yanks Johnny up—Irish whip—no! Johnny reverses—Pistol rebounds—BUT FAKES HIM OUT WITH A LOW DROPKICK TO THE KNEE! Johnny drops again, clutching that leg!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"Pistol’s surgical when he wants to be. Every time Johnny shows a pulse, they cut him right back down."

 

Jackson Creed:
"Another tag—Hammer steps back in. The Prophet nods—he knows what’s coming. They’re setting up for something big here..."

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Uh oh. I don’t like this. They’ve got Johnny dead center..."

 

Jackson Creed:
"Pistol runs the ropes—springboard off the middle—looking for that assisted cutter—BUT JOHNNY SLIPS OUT! HAMMER GETS BLASTED BY PISTOL INSTEAD!!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"What the—?!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"Hammer’s sent over the top rope like a falling building! Pistol looks stunned—he turns—AND EATS A LOW DROPKICK FROM JOHNNY!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"He's still alive! He’s still got fight! Pistol’s down! Hammer’s on the outside!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"And Johnny’s crawling—he’s clawing across the canvas—V is begging for that tag—this crowd is white-hot!"

 

Crowd:

"LET’S GO JOH-NNY! CLAP CLAP CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"Johnny’s fingertips are dragging across the mat—V’s stretched out over the ropes, roaring at him to reach!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"This arena’s gonna explode when that tag hits, Jackson! You can feel it! Vanya’s watching—Pistol’s barely moving—"

 

Jackson Creed:
"Johnny inches closer—Hammer’s still trying to pull himself up on the floor—THE TAG IS COMING!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"AND HE MAKES THE TAG! V IS IN! Baton Rouge just came unglued!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Let’s GO!! V hits the ring like a lightning bolt!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"Pistol scrambles up—RIGHT INTO A SLINGBLADE FROM V! He pops up—springboard elbow to Hammer on the apron—knocks him clean off again!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"Oh great. Here comes the flippy tantrum. Somebody get a fire extinguisher."

 

Jackson Creed:
"Pistol tries a desperation swing—V ducks—standing dropkick right on the button! Pistol stumbles back—V charges—springboard leg drop to the back of the head!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"V is on another level right now—this is fire, fury, and payback all wrapped into one!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"Hold on—THE PROPHET AGAIN! He’s reaching for the top rope like before—trying to pull it down—"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Not this time! V sees him—SPRINGBOARD—NO—HE DIVES OVER THE TOP ROPE—"

 

Jackson Creed:
"PLANCHA TO THE PROPHET!! The crowd is losing their minds!! The Prophet just got flattened!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"Someone better check his bones. That kid just dove onto a man in a suit!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"V’s not done—he runs around the outside—Hammer just got to his feet— AND V WITH A RUNNING DROPKICK! HAMMER GOES FLYING OVER THE BARRICADE!! INTO THE FRONT ROW!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Into the crowd! Hammer just crashed into three chairs and a bucket of popcorn! V is a storm unleashed!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"And he’s already back in the ring! Pistol’s up—V grabs him—POISON RANA!! Plants him on his head! This crowd is at a FEVER PITCH!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"He didn’t just turn the tide—he flipped the whole ship!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"V tags Johnny—Edge Runners looking to close the book! Johnny lifts Pistol—powerslam position—V heading up top—"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"Don’t let them hit it—!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"FOOT STOMP FROM V! POWER SLAM FROM JOHNNY! That’s the JACKED IN CUTTING CORDS!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"Cover! Vanya drops to count!"

 

Crowd:
“ONE!”
“TWO!”
“THREE!!”

[Bell Rings]

Lenny Cruz:
"THE EDGE RUNNERS ADVANCE! They just punched their ticket to the next round!"

Jackson Creed:
"What a comeback! What resilience! And what a statement from V!"

[🎤 Ring Announcer – Astrid Vale steps into the ring]
She brings the mic to her lips with that signature poised coolness, pacing slowly around the fallen Doomsayers as the crowd roars behind her.

Astrid Vale (with cinematic flair):
"Ladies and gentlemen... your winners of this match…
and advancing in the Signal Tag Team Championship Tournament...
JOOOHNNY.
V.
THE... EDGE... RUNNERRRS!!"

 

 

The arena explodes in cheers as V helps Johnny to his feet. Both men raise their arms in unison at the center of the ring, soaking in the adoration.

The Prophet is slumped ringside. Hammer is still somewhere in the crowd. Pistol lies motionless on the mat.

 

Jackson Creed:
"The Edge Runners did more than survive tonight—they proved they’re legit contenders for those titles."

 

Lenny Cruz:
"And V? Man, he just went supernova. That’s a star performance if I’ve ever seen one."

 

Sinclair DeVille (grumbling):
"Well, enjoy your victory lap. If I know The Prophet, this isn’t over. Not by a long shot."

 

[Post-Match – Inside the Ring | After The Edge Runners’ Victory]

“Never Fade Away” still echoes through the arena as V and Johnny catch their breath in the ring. The crowd is still red hot when the music fades and soft synth tones play. MAWL’s beloved interviewer, Eli Ray, jogs into the ring with a mic in hand, eyes wide with excitement and nerves.

 

 

Eli Ray:
"W-Wow! That was incredible!"
(he pauses, breathless as the crowd cheers again)
"Uh—Johnny, V—you just survived the Doomsayers, and now you’re officially one step closer to the Signal Tag Team Championships! How does it feel?!"

 

Johnny (grinning, sweat-soaked, arms wide as the crowd chants "EDGE RUN-NERS!"):
"It feels like justice, Eli. Like maybe—just maybe—the good guys can still win when the snakes get stomped on."

 

[At ringside, The Prophet is yelling at Vanya Cross, dragging Pistol’s body toward the ramp as Hammer follows behind. He points toward the ring, ranting through the ropes.]

 

The Prophet (shouting):
"You mock the sacred vision! You will pay for this! This was not meant to be—this was not in the prophecy!"

 

Johnny (turns toward The Prophet and leans over the ropes):
"Hey, you creepy Wall Street lizard—you and your end-times cosplay club just got beat! Write that in your little notebook of doom!"

 

[The crowd roars as The Prophet continues barking up the ramp, now trying to keep Pistol upright. Johnny turns back to Eli with a confident smirk.]

 

Eli Ray (nervously laughing):
"R-Right! Uh—V, is there any tag team in MAWL you don’t think you can beat right now?"

 

V (grabbing the mic, breathing heavy but clear):
"Name one."
(Crowd cheers)
"Animalities? We got them. Birds of Play? We’re gonna clip their wings."

 

Johnny (cutting in):
"And those moron blondes—the MAWLIWOOD BLONDES—if they’re even allowed in this tournament? We’ll drop them on their heads too."

 

V (nods, eyes locked ahead):
"Any team. Any time. This isn’t arrogance—it’s precision. We don’t miss."

 

[Crowd starts chanting: “SIGNAL GOLD! SIGNAL GOLD!” as Eli holds up the mic for his second question.]

 

Eli Ray:
"O-One more thing before you go—some fans are wondering… does having Alastor at ringside—being part of Radio Silence—help you guys in these matches?"

 

Johnny (immediately annoyed, steps forward):
"You mean that annoying prick in a suit who's been sitting over there the whole match?"

(He gestures to the commentary booth, where Alastor sits unmoving in the draft war room.)
"He didn’t lift a finger while Prophet tried to steal this win. And you know why? Because he knows we don’t need his help. We do this on our own."

 

[Alastor does not react. His back is turned, casually signing a draft form and scribbling notes as the monitors flicker.]

 

V (more collected, but firm):
"We love Al. He’s family. But what we do in that ring? That’s ours. We don’t need backup—we are the frontline."

 

Eli Ray (smiling, awestruck):
"That’s—uh—wow. That’s powerful. Thank you both—and congrats again!"

 

[Cue "Never Fade Away" blasting again.]

 

[The Edge Runners exit the ring to a standing ovation. As they walk by the booth, Johnny shoots a mocking salute at Alastor. V gives a quieter nod. Alastor finally glances up, gives them a small, satisfied nod—just once—then silently returns to his draft paperwork, flipping another page.]

 

Jackson Creed (on commentary):
"That’s a message loud and clear: The Edge Runners don’t need saving. They’re making their own path to gold."

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Whether Alastor’s watching or not, Johnny and V just proved they belong at the top of this division."

 

Sinclair DeVille (smirking):
"Sure. But next round? The spotlight gets hotter. And everyone burns... eventually."

 

[The Edge Runners pose on the ramp, arms up, the tournament brackets on the screen behind them.]

 

 

Scene opens in an old abandoned warehouse, flickering overhead lights buzz softly. Rain taps against broken windows. The camera slowly pans in on Jacen Tarot, pacing in the dust.

 

 

He’s shirtless, pale under dim light, with a black leather coat draped over his shoulders. In his hands: a sleek black bow. Slung across his back: a quiver of obsidian-tipped arrows.

 

JACEN TAROT (softly, almost whispering):

You ever stare too long into the mirror… and see a version of yourself you don’t quite recognize?

Not a monster… not a man… But a shadow in-between?

 

He stops, looking down at the arrow in his hand, caressing the fletching with his thumb.

 

They said he couldn’t do it.

Said the fire in his eyes was just a flicker…

A candle trying to outshine the storm.

But then… Gilberto J came,

and he didn’t just beat me…

He conquered me.

 

He looks up at the camera now, eyes burning with something unreadable… reverence, hatred, maybe both.

 

And in that moment…

When the light went out…

I saw something inside him.

Something beautiful.

Something terrifying.

 

He begins to slowly pace again, dragging his fingers along a crumbling concrete pillar.

 

A serpent with a crown of gold.

A lion pretending to be a lamb.

He hides it, you see.

He hides it well.

But I still have him… in my sights.

 

He lifts the bow slowly. The camera shifts to show a worn, wooden wall ahead of him, maybe 30 feet away. He pulls a deck of tarot cards from his coat.

 

They think this is over.

They think the tale’s been told.

But I know stories like ours don’t end.

They evolve.

 

He tosses the tarot deck high into the air… cards flutter and spin like dead leaves in a storm. In a blink, he nocks an arrow and fires. The camera cuts to slow motion as the arrow pierces a single card mid-air,  pinning it to the post. As the other cards fall around it like snow, the camera zooms in on the one stuck to the wood: “CONQUEST” in bold script.

 

 

MAWL DRAFT – ROUND FIVE 

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #1 – The Bored

 

 

(A six-person walking sermon against the evils of fun.)

 

 

CREED:
“Okay, that’s a full squad in one go.”

 

 

CRUZ:
“They hate fun - Alastor's sure to have a lot of it with them.”

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #1 – MAL SANGRE

 

 

(A vessel of pure aggression and vengeance.)

 

 

DEVILLE:
"He was drafted separately than his brother and much later. It will be delicious to see that add fuel to his rage."

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #2 – Manta Ray

 

 

(Smooth-as-silk lucha-sub hybrid with oceanic precision.)

 

CRUZ:
“Colin McRae lets another champion and one of their hottest up-and-comers slide through the cracks. This is a win for Frequency."

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #2 – THE END BEGINS (tag team)

 

 

(Aggressive post-apocalyptic duo that delivers end-time monologues between brutal matches.)

 

CREED:
“It's been a while since we've even seen Genesis and longer since these two were a team. I hope McRae knows what he's doing. If he can channel them together it'll be a good pick.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #3 – Ty Neon Sky Lancer

 

 

(Psychedelic striker with cosmic superhero energy.)

 

DEVILLE:
“This is reaching a bit — but the fans love him.”

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #3 – VIOLET

 

 

(Ruthless and refined — commanding presence with elite strikes.)

 

CRUZ:
“Should’ve been picked before now. She's world-title material, and that Bandit Country lariat has toppled countless foes.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #4 – Diana Dresden

 

 

(Former high flyer, known for playing dirty and brutal counters.)

 

CREED:
“That’s a smart grab. She’ll scout every weakness and now that she's shed her heroic skin she's not afraid to capitalize.”

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #4 – ALL-STAR ERIC VERNE

 

 

(Flashy, classic throwback star with crossover charisma.)

 

DEVILLE:
“A little old-school shine for Madness. I like it.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #5 – Brian Storm

 

 

(Brawling Scotsman always down for a fight.)

 

CRUZ:
“I think this will be a good pick. Never backs down.”

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #5 – Schmetterling

 

 

(MAWL's resident firestarter and intense brawler.)

 

CREED:
“Schmetterling started the year holding the championship that Balor and Alastor ended. The fans love him and his flamethrower.”

 

🔁 TRADE ANNOUNCEMENT

 

[The lights dim slightly. Ring Announcer Astrid Vale steps onto the stage with a clipboard in hand. The crowd quiets with anticipation.]

 

 

ASTRID VALE:
“Ladies and gentlemen… we have a trade to announce. And this time — it’s not from Madness General Manager Colin McRae.”

 

“This deal was proposed directly by Frequency of the Damned GM… Alastor.”

(crowd buzzes)

 

📦 TRADE DETAILS:

 

🔴 FREQUENCY sends:

• The Bored (6-person group)
  
  
• Manta Ray
  
  
• Ty Neon Sky Lancer
  
  
• Diana Dresden
  
  
• Brian Storm
  
  

🟦 MADNESS sends:

• MAL SANGRE
  
  
• THE END BEGINS (tag team)
  
  
• VIOLET
  
  
• ALL-STAR ERIC VERNE
  
  

And the MAWL MADNESS U.S. CHAMPIONSHIP, now exclusive to Frequency

 

 

CREED:
“Wait a second—he got a title in the deal?”

 

DEVILLE:
“Alastor’s a devil for a reason. That’s four-for-five plus gold.”

 

CRUZ:
“Frequency just got real dangerous.”

 

DEVILLE (laughing):
“That’s how you bend a brand in your image.”

 

✅ ROUND FIVE (FINAL TRADE-ADJUSTED ROSTERS)

 

🔴 FREQUENCY ADDS (via trade):

• MAL SANGRE
  
  
• THE END BEGINS (tag team)
  
  
• VIOLET
  
  
• ALL-STAR ERIC VERNE
  
  
• MAWL MADNESS U.S. CHAMPIONSHIP
  
  

🟦 MADNESS ADDS (via trade):

• The Bored (5-person group)
  
  
• Manta Ray
  
  
• Ty Neon Sky Lancer
  
  
• Diana Dresden
  
  
• Brian Storm
  
  

CREED:
“Round Five ends in chaos — and control. Alastor just crowned his second belt without a tournament.”

 

CRUZ:
“And you know he’s not done yet. We still have more rounds to go.”

 

DEVILLE:
“More trades, more titles, more teeth. Let’s keep going.”

(In the draft booth at the MAWL Draft in New Orleans, deep in the Frequency of the Damned war room.)

 

Alastor, the perpetually grinning General Manager of Frequency of the Damned, is reviewing draft boards and signing paperwork with precision—until his earpiece buzzes.

 

 

Random Staffer (over earpiece):
Sir, it’s… an emergency. You’re needed. Now.

 

Alastor (smile unwavering, voice smooth like velvet):
An emergency? Delightful. I love a little chaos. I’ll be right there.

 

He stands up, brushing invisible dust from his sleek jacket. His eye twitches just once as he sighs quietly, that grin tightening ever so slightly. He exits the booth with calm urgency, disappearing behind the curtain of production crew and cables.

 

The camera pans back to the stage as the lights shift slightly. The ring announcer, Astrid Vale, steps up to the podium with a curious, composed smile, holding a mic in hand.

 

 

Astrid Vale:
Ladies and gentlemen, due to an unforeseen matter backstage, General Manager Alastor has been called away. But worry not—finishing out the final rounds of the MAWL Draft on behalf of Frequency of the Damned… please welcome Eros!

 

The crowd pops as Eros walks out with no entrance music, dressed in a sharp open blazer over his usual vibrant gear, wearing a confident half-smirk. He raises a hand in acknowledgement to the crowd before casually sliding into the draft booth.

 

 

He takes a seat, adjusts the mic in front of him, looks over the remaining names on the board—and with a sly look to camera—he taps the top of the table once and the screen fades to black.

 

 

Feel The Burn

 

 

“I Wanna Rock” By Twisted Sister plays on the ‘Tron as WildFire strides out of the crowd and towards the ring he is wearing wrestling gear and a black t-shirt which reads MAXIMUM AWESOME WRESTLING LEGACY on the back in fiery red letters and MAWL emblazoned across the chest.

 

He kneels  in the Center of the ring arms raised above his head as the four ring posts burst into flames.

 

The crowd roars with excitement.

 

Jackson Creed walks to the ring as WildFire rises to his feet, arms still outstretched basking in the adoration of the crowd.

 

 

WildFire gestures again as the four ring posts burst into flames again.

 

Jackson Creed : “WildFire if I may…”

 

WildFire gestures again and once more the four ring posts burst into flames.

 

Jackson Creed waiting patiently unfazed : “WildFire..”

Crowd : WildFire !!!

Crowd : WildFire !!!!

Crowd : WildFire !!!!

Crowd : WildFire !!!!

 

WildFire gestures one last time and the whole ring explodes in four walls of flame.

 

Jackson Creed looks calm and collected waiting for the flames to stop and the crowd to quiet down a little.

 

Jackson Creed : “Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome to the very first episode of FREQUENCY OF THE DAMNED, my in ring Guest tonight obviously needs no introductions…

 

Crowd starts chanting again : WildFire !!!

Crowd : WildFire !!!

Crowd : WildFire !!!

Crowd : WildFire !!!!

 

Jackson Creed : Second Overall Pick in the Draft for Frequency !

 

Crowd : WildFire !!

 

WildFire leaning into the mic as Jackson holds his out .

 

WildFire :Better than the Best !!!

 

Crowd : WildFire !!!

 

WildFire : 12 out of 10 !!!

 

Crowd : WildFire !!!

 

WildFire : 8 Stars out  5 !!!

 

Crowd : WildFire !!!

 

WildFire : And Simply the Greatest Ever !!!

 

WildFire pauses as the crowd continues to chant his name.

 

WildFire : AND THE GREATEST ETHER CHAMPION EVER !!!!

 

The Crowd roars as Jackson shakes his head in disbelief.

 

Jackson : “Isn’t that, how do you say it , “putting the cart before the horse”,  WildFire? I mean you haven’t even won the title yet, and from what I hear you aren’t even scheduled for a match tonight?”

 

WildFire laughs sarcastically “And yet, it’s still Predestined to happen Jason !”

 

Jackson :”That’s Jackson.”

 

WildFire :”Whatever.”

 

WildFire : “ I may not have a match tonight, and that kinda sucks for all my fans here tonight”

 

WildFire Points at the crowd as they chant his name.

Crowd : WildFire !!!

Crowd : WildFire !!!

Crowd : WildFire !!!!

Crowd : WildFire !!!!

WildFire : But everyone here knows why I was drafted 2nd overall to this show! And it wasn’t because of my Super Model looks and charming personality.

 

The crowd laughs.

 

WildFire points and the ‘tron

 

The ‘tron flickers to life again

 

 

ALASTOR:

“This is the Ether Championship. Designed not for those who fall short… but for those who stand tall beneath the fire.”
“This crown is for those just outside the infernal throne… but still worthy of awe. Artists. Innovators. Fighters who need only one spark to set the world ablaze.”

 

WildFire smiles.

 

WildFire : “Even Alastor knew when he drafted me, and you just saw the proof! “Those who stand tall beneath the fire … Fighters who need only one spark to set the world ablaze ….”

 

WildFire laughs 

 

WildFire gestures again and the ring posts bursts into flame again.

 

WildFire : I may not be wrestling tonight, and that sucks, but understand this,  it’s all in my NAME !!  I am not just the one that stands tall beneath the Fire, the Spark to set the World ABLAZE…”

Crowd chants again : “WildFire !!!

Crowd chants : WildFire !!!

Crowd chants : WildFire !!!

Crowd chants : WildFire !!!

 

WildFire : “I AM THE FIRE !!! “

 

WildFire turns and leaves the ring.

 

Jackson Creed shakes his head : “Ladies and Gentlemen….. WildFire !”

 

[CAMERA RETURNS TO THE DRAFT DESK – MIDWAY THROUGH NIGHT ONE]

 

JACKSON CREED:
“Ladies and gentlemen, what a draft it’s been so far. We’re five rounds deep and after that Alastor-engineered trade bombshell, it’s time we take a breath and break down how both brands are shaping up.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY OF THE DAMNED

Curated by: GM Alastor
Themes: Supernatural chaos, theatrical grit, dangerous ambition

Current Standouts:

• Radio Silence (Balor Wolfe, Zagreus, Eros, Johnny & V) – Alastor’s crown jewels
  
  
• RADE – The monster in the dark. Unchecked power.
  
  
• Lynx – Fan-favorite wild card, chip on his shoulder.
  
  
• Violet – Cold-blooded, clinical, beautiful brutality.
  
  
• The End Begins – Symbolic of the show's grim tone.
  
  
• Spirit Crusher – Tag threat with a legacy core (Blackheart & Shadow Kawashima)
  
  
• Blood Drawn, Doomsayers, High Risk – Tag division full of danger and extremes
  
  
• Ace Anarchy, Jay the Joker – Unstable personalities that thrive in chaos
  
  
• El Cerrador, Solemn Visitor, Magnus, Ivan Volkov – Stiff strikers, scary men.
  
  
• NEONYX NOTORIO & Cam E. Leon – For the mind games and masks
  
  
• ALL-STAR Eric Verne – Old-school flair in a twisted world
  
  
• MAL SANGRE – Submission machine from the shadows
  
  

MAWL Madness U.S. Champion – Now held by Frequency

 

 

LENNY CRUZ:
“This is a freakin' killer’s row. Every time someone walks through that curtain, it’s like rolling dice with the devil. Alastor’s not building a roster, he’s building a prophecy.”

 

 

SINCLAIR DEVILLE:
“This isn’t a wrestling show, this is a ritual. And he just stole a midcard title to bless it.”

 

🟦 MAWL MADNESS

Curated by: GM Colin McRae
Themes: Athletic excellence, unpredictability, resilience

 

Current Standouts:

• SM HeartBreaker – The brand's swaggering ace-in-waiting
  
  
• Zora Luthor International – Global domination unit (10+ members)
  
  
• The Bored – Ironic, detached, deceptively smart group
  
  
• Psycho Supremacy & Gozu – Terrifying violence
  
  
• DX Royal, AM Brooks, Kid Kross – Young charisma fuel
  
  
• Los Heroes de la Calle, RumRunners – Streetwise and bar-brawl tag depth
  
  
• Guinevere & Aiko – Technical excellence and poise
  
  
• Schmetterling – Classy sadism, makes you scream with grace
  
  
• Daniel, Tyler Hayes, Maki, Slang Dang – Midcard movers with wild variance
  
  

The Bored, Diana Dresden, Ty Neon Sky Lancer, Brian Storm, Manta Ray (via trade) – Striking mix of chaos, style, and versatility

 

CREED:
“Madness is a blender of brilliance. Maybe not as thematically sharp as Frequency, but they’ve got raw firepower, depth, and some of the most unorthodox minds in wrestling.”

 

DEVILLE:
“It’s not Alastor’s curated hellscape, but Colin’s cooking something weird here. With The Bored and Dresden added? That’s intelligence wrapped in dysfunction.”

 

CRUZ:
“I’m loving this roster. You got fists, flips, freaks — and no idea what match you’re getting next. That’s Madness, baby.”

 

📊 Current Totals:

• Frequency: 26 picks (after trades)
  
  
• Madness: 25 picks (after trades)
  
  
• Tag Depth: Both rosters are stacked
  
  

MAWL Madness U.S. Champion – Now on Frequency (via trade)

CREED:
“With tournaments starting tonight and still five more rounds left, this war’s only just begun.”

 

DEVILLE:
“Trades. Titles. Tempers. You don’t survive this draft. You evolve through it.”

 

CRUZ:
“I can’t wait to see who else gets snapped up next!”

 

FREQUENCY OF THE DAMNED’s picks are now being made by Eros
(stepping in for Alastor in a rare moment of trust—or delegation, depending on how you frame it).

 

🎙️ MAWL DRAFT – ROUND SIX

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #1 – P. Crüe (T. Krip, H. Dog, Faith)

 

 

(A chaotic hip-hop trio with loud mouths, loud fashion, and brawling street style.)

 

EROS (on mic from the draft table):
"We could use some noise. Give me the loud ones."

 

CRUZ:
“That’s a wild choice! Street chaos, a history of gold, and bar brawl tactics.”

DEVILLE:
“I think this will be a good pick — they've got attitude and numbers.”

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #1 – Anna Konda

 

 

(Lithe, venomous striker with a serpentine style and submission mastery.)

 

CREED:
“Should’ve been picked before now. Dangerous from bell to bell.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #2 – Eak! (Deke the Freak & Zeke the Sneak)

 

 

(Psychotic tag team that is violently mischievous. Think Looney Tunes meets lucha deathmatch.)

 

EROS:
"Why not? Let the little freaks loose."

 

DEVILLE:
“This is reaching a bit… but honestly, I like the chaos.”

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #2 – Nova Cinder

 

 

(Meteoric striker with explosive kicks seeking to prove herself on her own.)

 

CRUZ:
“She's looking to prove to everyone she's more than Leila's niece and that she can do it on her own. She's come a long way in doing so. Supernova ready to pop.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #3 – Dorothy Damage

 

 

(Midwestern Mat Master who's a Tornado of Energy.)

 

EROS:
"I want the one that looks like a fever dream.”

 

CREED:
“We'll see if she has her opponents or the fans saying there's no place like home.”

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #3 – Dusty McGraw

 

 

(Old-school Aussie brawler, with a punch that sounds like thunder.)

 

DEVILLE:
“I think this will be a good pick. Pure grit, no glitter.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #4 – Kitty!

 

 

(Pop idol meets poison. Cutesy on the outside, savage between the ropes.)

 

EROS:
"Give me the murder kitten."

CRUZ:
“Should’ve been picked before now. He’s deceptively brutal.”

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #4 – Vain Plato

 

 

(A pure narcissist who speaks in the third person and insists you call him beautiful.)

 

CREED:
“This is reaching… or maybe genius. If he can tear himself away from a mirror to fight.”

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #5 – Uncle Insamity

 

 

(Fourth-wall breaking, cartoonishly violent, speaks in theme music. Think a demented Uncle Sam with fireworks and a chainsaw.)

 

EROS:
"He scares me. I want him."

 

DEVILLE:
“With his allies Jay the Joker and Harley Quinn also on Frequency, this place will be pure chaos and I for one could not be more thrilled.”

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #5 – High Flyer Mono

 

 

(One-man highlight reel. Masked. Reckless. Beloved by indie fans.)

 

CRUZ:
“I think this will be a good pick. Pure height, pure flight.”

 

Location: Just outside the gorilla position, under stark red-and-white spotlights. A large screen in the background displays “ETHER CHAMPIONSHIP TOURNAMENT – ROUND ONE.”

 

 

Camera: Live backstage shot

 

Veronica Vale stands center frame, elegant in a tailored black power suit, holding a MAWL-branded microphone.

 

 

 Her emerald eyes flick to the side as Ace Anarchy steps into frame—hood pulled over his head, white trench coat flowing behind him, the jagged ace-symbol/redback spider T-shirt visible underneath.

 

 

Veronica Vale (cool, composed):
“Ladies and gentlemen, Veronica Vale here—and joining me now is the man they call The Thunder from Down Under, Ace Anarchy. In just moments, he’ll face the enigmatic and dangerous Damian Blackheart in the first round of the Ether Championship Tournament.”

 

[She turns to Ace, one brow raised.]

“Now, Ace… Blackheart isn’t just methodical—he’s cruel. He picks people apart like an autopsy. And yet here you are, about to step into the ring with a man who studies pain for fun. What makes you think tonight ends with your hand raised?”

 

[Ace lets out a small chuckle. He pulls his hood back, revealing the white, black, and red mask—his eyes sharp, energized. When he speaks, there’s a fast-talking rhythm, like he’s chasing his own words just to keep up.]

 

Ace Anarchy:
“Y’know, Veronica... I’ve been punched in the face by kangaroos, chased outta clubs by bikers, thrown through windshields, and once... once I got electrocuted twice in the same week—and still made my flight.”

[He flashes a quick, crooked grin.]

“And none of that was as boring as Damian Blackheart dissecting someone on a Wednesday night.”

 

[Veronica smirks slightly.]

 

Veronica:
“So… you’re not impressed by the plague doctor routine?”

 

Ace:
“Oh, he’s spooky. Real spooky. Creepy little satchel, fog machine, probably smells like antique scalpels and daddy issues. But me? I don’t slow down for theatrics. I don’t freeze up when the lights flicker.

I speed up. I spin out. I hit from every angle and I don’t stop swinging until the bell rings or the lights go out—whichever comes first.”

 

[He leans in slightly toward the mic, voice dropping just a notch—but still with a manic grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.]

 

Ace:
“See, Blackheart studies pain. He likes to take his time.

But I’m gonna show him what happens when chaos doesn’t wait around to be catalogued.”

 

[Veronica tilts her head ever so slightly—just enough for the camera to catch the glint in her eye.]

 

Veronica:
“One last question. If this is your shot to make history… what’s your message to the MAWL locker room watching this tournament unfold?”

 

[Ace pauses. Then slowly lifts his hand to the camera lens—flicks it lightly like he’s shuffling a deck.]

Ace:
“Doesn’t matter who’s holding the cards tonight...
Because I’m the wildcard.
And I’m about to play the system face-down.”

 

[With that, he flicks his trench coat and walks off toward the curtain. Veronica watches him go, her expression unreadable. Then, with a poised turn back to camera—]

 

Veronica (with crisp finality):
“Chaos meets calculation—Ace Anarchy versus Damian Blackheart. And it begins… right now.”

 

 

Match: Ace Anarchy vs. Damian Blackheart
Senior Official: Carter Vale

 

 

 White sparks rain down over the entrance as Ace Anarchy bursts onto the stage.

 

 

 The screen behind him fills with falling ‘Joker’ playing cards, which ignite to reveal an anarchy symbol. As his theme song hits, red and white strobe lights flash in sync with the rhythm. Ace Anarchy throws his arms up, singing along behind his mask. He bounces down the ramp, high-fiving and fist-bumping fans before sliding into the ring, ready for action.

 

 

🎙️ Ring Announcer – Astrid Vale (energetic and crisp):

“Making his way to the ring… from The Outback, Australia… weighing in at 225 pounds… standing 6’2” tall…
The outlaw of the wild frontier, the thunder from down under… ACE ANARCHY!”

 

 

 Fog machines fill the entranceway as candles and 18th-century street lamps cast eerie glows. The titantron displays images of leeches, pre-20th-century surgeries, anatomical drawings, and short clips of Blackheart applying submissions and ringing a hand bell in full plague doctor attire.

 

 

🎙️ Ring Announcer – Astrid Vale (calm, ominous tone):

“Introducing now… from the shadowed depths of the Silk Road, London… weighing in at 228 pounds, standing 6 feet 2 inches tall…
The master of anatomy and agony… DAMIAN BLACKHEART!”

[DING DING DING]

 

 

Jackson Creed:
“We’re live and rolling, folks—Ace Anarchy against Damian Blackheart, round one of the Ether Championship Tournament. Two men, two totally different philosophies—chaos versus calculation.”

 

 

Lenny Cruz :
“And I’m telling you now, Jackson—Ace is lightning in a bottle. You give him an inch, he’ll flip over you and turn it into a mile.”

 

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Yes, until he runs straight into a scalpel. Damian Blackheart doesn’t make flashy moves. He makes incisions.”

 

Jackson:
“They meet in the center—collar-and-elbow tie-up—and it’s Ace who breaks away first, ducking behind—waistlock—Blackheart tries to fight out—but Ace rolls forward—back to his feet—and pops Blackheart with a quick dropkick to the chest!”

 

Lenny:
“Textbook Ace! Fast, sharp, and already keeping Blackheart guessing!”

 

Jackson:
“Blackheart scrambles to the ropes—but Ace’s already moving—jumps up—springboards from the second rope—arm drag sends Blackheart across the ring!”

 

Sinclair:

“Momentum. Nothing more. The man’s fighting like he drank five energy drinks and called it strategy.”

 

Jackson:
“Blackheart’s up again—but Ace meets him with a running forearm—another! He hits the ropes—comes back—and slides under Blackheart’s clothesline attempt! Pops up behind—running back elbow knocks Damian off balance!”

 

Lenny:
“Ace is chaining these together! This is what he does best—high speed, high energy, high pressure!”

 

Jackson:
“Blackheart stumbles into the corner—Ace rushes in with a flying forearm! Lands on the middle rope—jumps off—catches Damian with a twisting crossbody—hooks the legs!”

 

Ref Carter Vale:
“One—Two—kickout!”

 

Sinclair:
“You’re not going to keep Blackheart down with a move that looks like it belongs in a gymnastics competition.”

 

Jackson:
“Ace doesn’t waste time—he’s back up, dragging Blackheart by the arm—whips him into the ropes—Blackheart reverses—Ace ducks under the return clothesline—off the far ropes now—BASEMENT DROPKICK to the knee! Takes Blackheart down to one leg!”

 

Lenny:
“He’s chopping the tree down! One step ahead at every turn!”

 

Jackson:
“Blackheart backing off to the apron now—trying to create space—but Ace is relentless—grabs the top rope and slingshots over—lands behind Damian on the apron—turns him—knocks him loopy with a sharp right hand!”

 

Sinclair:
“Referee! Get that man back in the ring—he’s not licensed to fly.”

 

Jackson:
“Blackheart swings back—Ace ducks—AND BACKFLIPS OFF THE APRON, LANDING ON HIS FEET! That crowd is eating it up!”

 

Crowd:
“ACE! ACE! ACE!”

 

Jackson:
“But here’s the twist—Blackheart just played possum! As Ace hops up onto the apron again—OH! Damian yanks the ropes and Ace slams throat-first across the top strand!”

 

Lenny:
“Damn it! That was dirty! Ref didn’t see it!”

 

Jackson:
“And Carter Vale was just out of position—checking the ring count! Blackheart now dragging Ace through the ropes—no finesse here—just pure control. Tight waist grip—SNAP SUPLEX! Ace bounces off the mat hard.”

 

Sinclair:
“There it is. That’s what happens when you stop bouncing and start bleeding time. Blackheart has found his rhythm.”

 

Jackson:
“The early blitz may have cost Ace more than he realized—and now Blackheart is methodically taking over.”

Jackson Creed:
“Welcome back to the action here in round one of the Ether Championship Tournament. Damian Blackheart has grounded the high-flying Ace Anarchy after a shift in momentum, and now he’s dissecting the match like it’s lying on his operating table.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“And I hate how good he is at it! Ace had all the energy, all the crowd, and one cheap move turned this whole match upside down.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Cheap? Oh no, that was efficient. There’s a difference. A great tactician exploits an opening. Damian doesn’t waste energy—he manages it.”

Jackson:
“Blackheart now wrenching in a grounded headlock, knee planted between Ace’s shoulder blades. Just grinding it in, keeping Ace locked down.”

 

Lenny:
“Look at Carter Vale—checking that grip, but Blackheart knows the rules. He’s keeping it legal… just legal enough.”

 

Jackson:
“Ace trying to squirm—gets a knee under—he’s shifting, shifting—**rolls backward out of it—**back to his feet—arm drag! He creates space!”

 

Lenny:
“Here comes the spark! Let’s go, Ace!”

 

Jackson:
“Ace up first—hits the ropes—Blackheart up a half-second later—Ace with a leapfrog—turns—damn! Blackheart jams a thumb into the eye while the ref’s angle is blocked!”

 

Lenny:
“Come on! Again?! That’s three times he’s pulled something like that!”

 

Sinclair:
“Smart ring awareness, Lenny. That’s called turning defense into opportunity. You should take notes.”

 

Jackson:
“Blackheart seizes the moment—drops Ace with a quick Russian leg sweep, floats over for a loose cover—”

 

Carter Vale:
“One—two—kickout!”

 

Jackson:
“Blackheart doesn’t even react—he just mounts Ace and starts driving the point of the elbow into the base of the neck! One! Two! Three times!”

 

Lenny:
“He’s targeting every joint, every nerve. You can see it in his eyes—he’s not fighting, he’s studying.”

 

Jackson:
“Now he’s dragging Ace to the ropes—places the arm across the middle strand—and drops a knee down onto it! Vale starts the five-count—Blackheart milks it to four before backing off.”

 

Sinclair:
“Manipulation. Joint control. Don’t blame Damian for using the ropes—the ropes are part of the ring. They’re tools.”

 

Jackson:
“Ace is clutching his elbow—Blackheart pulls him to his feet—whips him into the turnbuckle with authority! And now stalking in… driving his shoulder into Ace’s midsection. One. Two. Three—ref pulls him off.”

 

Lenny:
“He’s squeezing the breath out of him. All that fast movement Ace uses? Gone when you can’t breathe.”

 

Jackson:
“Blackheart backs up—Ace slumped in the corner—crowd trying to rally behind him! Carter checking in—AND ACE FIRES OUT OF THE CORNER! Forearm! Another!”

 

Lenny:
“He’s still in this! He’s still got heart!”

 

Jackson:
“Ace off the ropes—building speed—no! Blackheart drops to a knee and yanks the waistband of Ace’s tights! He faceplants into the mat!”

 

Lenny:
“Oh come on, man!”

 

Sinclair:
“It’s not his fault Ace wears gear without a drawstring.”

 

Jackson:
“And once again, Damian Blackheart kills the momentum before it can build! He’s dragging Ace to the center—hooks the leg—drives a knee into the back—then pulls both arms back in a surfboard stretch!”

 

Lenny:
“And just look at his face, Jackson—he’s enjoying this. This isn’t just about winning—it’s about control. Dominance.”

 

Jackson:
“The longer this match goes, the more it favors Blackheart’s style. But you can never count Ace out. Not as long as he’s breathing.”

 

Sinclair:
“And Damian’s working hard to make sure that’s temporary.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Damian Blackheart keeping that surfboard locked in tight—wrenching the arms back, knee pressed between the spine—it’s ugly, but it’s effective!”

 

Lenny Cruz :
“Ace is shaking his head, you can see it—he’s not giving in. He’s trying to fire himself back up, Jackson.”

 

Jackson:
“He’s shifting now—starting to lean forward—he’s working up to his feet! Ace plants one foot, then the other—Blackheart transitions—**tries to turn it into a headlock—**but Ace surges forward—**runs to the ropes—ducks down—**OH!!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Oh no. Oh no.”

 

Jackson:
“Blackheart goes throat-first across the top rope! That sudden momentum flipped the tables entirely!”

 

Lenny:
“THAT was instinct! That was pure, chaotic Ace!”

 

Crowd:
“LET’S GO ACE! clap clap clapclapclap”

 

Jackson:
“Ace drops to a knee, holding his ribs, trying to clear the cobwebs—but Blackheart’s gasping at the ropes now, stunned!”

 

Sinclair:
“Someone check his windpipe. That’s illegal in at least two continents.”

 

Jackson:
“Ace pulls himself upright—Blackheart stumbles off the ropes—Ace with a low sweep kick! Follows it with a standing corkscrew elbow—lands flush to the sternum!”

 

Lenny:
“Here he goes! Now we’re moving!”

 

Jackson:
“Blackheart tries to crawl away—Ace with a running knee to the side of the head! He’s striking from all directions now!”

 

Sinclair:
“This is turning into a street fight. Ref! Step in!”

 

Jackson:
“Blackheart rolls into the corner—Ace sprints in—running back elbow! Grabs the ropes—**springboards off the second buckle—**flips over Damian and lands behind—spins him—high roundhouse kick to the jaw! Blackheart’s wobbling!”

 

Lenny:
“Like a bad Victorian chandelier!”

 

Jackson:
“Ace climbs the top rope—Blackheart stumbles around—MISSILE DROPKICK! Oh! Wait—NO!”

 

Lenny:
“OH NO—he hit Carter Vale!”

 

Jackson:
“Ace’s dropkick lands—Blackheart’s body ricochets into the senior official! Vale crumples through the ropes and hits the floor!”

 

Crowd:
Gasping, murmuring—then a wave of boos begins to build.

 

Sinclair:
“Well, isn’t that poetic. The chaos Ace claims to use is now working against him. Ref’s down. The law just left the building.”

 

Jackson:
“Vale’s out cold on the outside—he hit that apron on the way down hard. And now both men are laid out—Ace sitting up slowly, hands on his head, realizing what just happened.”

 

Lenny:
“You never want to see that—Ace was on fire. He had Blackheart reeling. But now the ref’s gone… and that’s never good news in MAWL.”

 

Jackson:
“Blackheart’s slumped against the ropes, coughing and barely able to focus—but that veteran instinct, that survival instinct—it’s still there. And there’s no referee to keep him honest.”

 

Jackson Creed (PBP):
“Carter Vale is still out cold on the outside from that earlier collision—and inside the ring, Ace Anarchy is digging deep, trying to shake the cobwebs loose!”

 

Lenny Cruz (Face Color):
“He had Blackheart dead to rights before that ref bump! This is his second chance—he’s gotta make it count!”

 

Jackson:
“Blackheart is up on one knee—Ace bounces off the ropes—DOWN WITH THE SYSTEM!! A devastating pop-up cutter flattens Blackheart!”

 

Lenny:
“Lights out, Blackheart!”

 

Jackson:
“Ace doesn’t stop—he grabs Damian—hooks both arms—FULL HOUSE! A thunderous lifting double underhook DDT drills Blackheart into the canvas!”

 

Crowd:
EXPLOSION OF CHEERS.

 

Sinclair DeVille (Heel Color):
“No. No, no, no. Get up, Damian! You can’t let it end like this!”

 

Jackson:
“Ace with the cover! Hooks both legs! But—no ref! Carter Vale is still laid out on the outside!”

 

Lenny:
“Count it anyway!”

 

Crowd:
“ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN!”

 

Jackson:
“The crowd counts ten—but without Vale, it’s meaningless! Ace Anarchy just scored the visual win of a lifetime—and it’s going unrecognized!”

 

Lenny:
“Get another ref out here! Someone do something!”

 

Jackson:
“Ace finally notices—he slides out of the ring—he’s checking on Carter Vale now—trying to revive him. You can see the frustration on his face!”

 

Sinclair:
“Meanwhile… look in the ring. The scalpel is crawling.”

 

Jackson:
“Blackheart… dragging himself toward the corner—his satchel still resting ringside. He reaches out—pulls the cane into the ring!”

 

Lenny:
“No! Not like this!”

 

Jackson:
“Carter Vale is starting to stir on the outside—Ace is calling out to him—‘C’mon, ref!’—but as Ace climbs back into the ring…”

 

Sinclair:
“CLANG!”

 

Jackson:
“BLACKHEART CRACKS THE CANE OVER ACE’S HEAD! And that was no hollow wood cane—that was reinforced! The sound alone was enough to make this arena wince!”

 

Lenny:
“It sounded like a pipe! Like he got hit with lead!”

 

Crowd:
DEAFENING BOOS.

 

Jackson:
“Blackheart hurls the cane to ringside before Vale can see it—then stumbles to his feet, lifting Ace up by the arms—PLAGUEBRINGER!! A vicious wrist-clutch brainbuster!”

 

Sinclair:
“That’s it. That’s the difference between a flier and a finisher. One does flips, the other ends careers.”

 

Jackson:
“Carter Vale rolls back in just in time—he doesn’t know what happened—he sees the cover—”

 

Carter Vale:
“One… two… THREE!”

 

[DING DING DING]

 

Crowd:
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

Lenny:
“No! That is absolute robbery! Ace had him beat! Twice!”

 

Jackson:
“Damian Blackheart advances in the Ether Championship Tournament—but there’s not a soul in this arena buying that as legitimate!”

 

Astrid Vale (Ring Announcer):
“…Ladies and gentlemen… your winner… and advancing in the Ether Championship Tournament…”

(She lowers her voice, elongating each syllable with a razor-sharp edge.)

“…Daaaamian… Blackheart.”

 

 

Crowd:
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
“BULL-SHIT! BULL-SHIT!”

 

Jackson:
“This crowd is letting him have it—but Blackheart doesn’t care. Look at that face—cold, unreadable, like this was inevitable.”

 

Lenny:
“Ace Anarchy just gave us everything—every ounce—and got robbed in front of the world. If I were him, I wouldn’t be done with Blackheart. Not by a long shot.”

 

 

The MAWLIWOOD Blondes—Mark “Red Carpet” Anderson and Winston “High Risk” Lewis—are sprawled across velvet chairs like they own the building.

 

 

They’re surrounded by half-empty bottles of sparkling water, a personal fan, and discarded snack wrappers. They immediately stand when Alastor enters, sunglasses on indoors, smirking like they’ve already won something.

 

 

Alastor (cheerfully, yet dripping in unspoken murder):

Gentlemen! What could possibly be so urgent that you’ve torn me away from shaping the future of this brand?

 

His eye twitches again as his grin widens.

 

Mark Anderson (arms wide like he’s expecting paparazzi):

Yeah, we’re gonna need to talk about this draft situation. See, we noticed something…

 

Winston Lewis (adjusting his shades):

The tournament? Yeah, big oversight, huge mistake. We’re not in it.

 

Mark:

And you know what they say—if the MAWLIWOOD Blondes aren’t in the tournament…

 

Winston (finishing the sentence):

…you don’t have a show, brother. You’ve just got people wasting airtime.

 

Alastor’s fingers drum rhythmically on his clipboard. His smile is so wide now, it’s almost painful. His left eye twitches twice.

 

Alastor (voice syrupy sweet, but his grip tightens on the clipboard):

Oh? Is that so? I could’ve sworn I heard this was the Frequency of the Damned. Not the MAWLIWOOD Showcase.

 

Mark (waving dismissively):

Nah, nah, nah—you got it all backward. We’re not just in the Frequency of the Damned. We are the frequency. We’re what people tune in for. We’re the channel. The signal. The glitter.

 

Winston:

The static? That’s just the rest of your roster scrambling for relevance. Us? We’re the clearest picture.

 

Mark:

HD, baby.

 

Alastor’s smile does not budge. His eye twitches a third time. He tilts his head just a little too far, like he’s pondering unspeakable violence.

 

Alastor (voice still pleasant, slightly strained):

Fascinating. You called me away from an actual emergency to… tell me that my show doesn’t exist without you?

 

Winston (grinning confidently):

That’s not just a fact. That’s box office.

 

Mark:

We want in. Front and center. Tournament brackets, VIP treatment, prime real estate.

 

Winston:

Red carpet entrances. Fireworks. Maybe a fog machine. Scratch that—two fog machines.

 

Mark (snapping his fingers):

And new theme music. In fact… hit it!

 

Mark pulls out his phone and starts playing their over-the-top theme song right there in the room, bobbing his head obnoxiously while Winston finger-guns to the beat.

 

Alastor’s eye twitches again. His clipboard creaks under the pressure of his tightening grip. Yet still… he smiles.

 

Alastor (with a sudden, calm exhale):

You want in? Fine. I’ll put you in the tournament. But you owe me. There will come a moment—a favour, no questions asked. And you will say yes.

 

Mark (beaming):

A favour? Pfft. Please. We grant favours just by showing up.

 

Winston (slapping Alastor’s shoulder like they’re best friends):

Yeah, we’re the gift that keeps on giving, man.

 

Alastor’s eye twitches so hard his head jolts briefly to the side. Still. Smiling.

 

Alastor (softly):

Oh, I’m counting on that.

 

Alastor points the blondes to his desk and all three sit down at it.

 

 

Alastor (still seated, one hand resting gently on a radio dial):
🎵 This way, good man, we've a deal to make!
I assure this is a good thing for both our sakes
I'm happy to provide, but remember your side
Of a bargain I know you can't refuse to take... 🎵

 

Alastor leans forward, elbows on the desk.

 

🎵 All I ask is when I boost your station... 🎵

 

He stands suddenly—arms stretched wide like a maestro conducting madness.

 

🎵 Remember who gave you this grand ovation!
If I call on you for a favour or two...
Don't forget it's now your obligation! 🎵

 

Alastor disappears from frame for a moment—then reappears dancing around the MAWLIWOOD Blondes, who somehow didn’t notice him sneak up. He snakes his arms around their shoulders. They flinch.

 

🎵 Smile like you mean it!
Take a chance and you could seize it!
I'm sure you'll do just swell, you're only down in Hell...
So come along with me and guarantee it! 🎵

 

He twirls in place. The Blondes look disoriented as the lighting shifts to a vibrant cabaret red. Shadowy figures—creatures that almost look like beautiful women—start to slink from the walls.

 

🎵 Smile your way through it!
Grit your teeth and get right to it!
Forget the rigmarole and you can have it all...
And make it that much better when I see you fall... 🎵

 

Cut to a hazy spotlight. Husker, lounging in a smoky corner of the room with a half-empty bottle, starts singing with gravel and venom.

 

🎵 They say you reap what you sow
And in this town, you should damn well know
That what the Radio Demon wants, he's gonna take (he's gonna take it) 🎵

 

Flashes of Alastor snapping fingers, fire briefly lighting up behind him.

 

🎵 I've seen him kill Hell's greatest evils
Shake the status quo in upheaval
So if you think you're gettin' outta this? Big mistake... 🎵

 

Alastor (cutting back in with a mock gasp):
🎵 Now, now, sourpuss! 🎵
🎵 Stop f***in' around! This is takin' forever!
You always think you're real slick and clever. 🎵

 

He boops both Blondes on the forehead, playfully malicious.

 

🎵 Yet I know what you like and what makes you tick, tick, tick, (tick tock) 🎵

 

Husker (rolling his eyes):
🎵 Doin' what ya want's just the cost I pay
Enough o' this shit, we ain't got all day!
Just sign the thing so I can go get another f***in' drink... 🎵

 

Back to Alastor center stage, theatrically exaggerated pose as he breaks into a wide-legged stance like a Vegas showman:

 

🎵 Smile like you mean it!
Risk it all and we can seize it!
Until we hear that bell, we're both stuck in Hell
So roll the dice and see if you could be it! 🎵

 

The contract flutters from above like a leaf, landing neatly between the two Blondes as the music slows, like a heartbeat softening.

Alastor gently returns to his desk, tilting his head, watching.

 

🎵 So what, my friends, whatever will it be?
I can give you what you crave, just not for free...
You know what's on the line and this whole thing's on borrowed time
But you can trust the man who's wearing his one guarantee... 🎵

 

The Blondes, dazed but smiling, nod at each other and sign the contract. Alastor traces the edges of his smile as he sings:

 

🎵 Smile like you mean it!
Take a chance and you could seize it!
I'm sure you'll do just swell, you're only down in Hell 🎵

 

The shadowy figures fully surround the Blondes now—but to them, they look like beautiful, adoring women. The figures start spinning the Blondes into a waltz.

 

🎵 So come along with me and guarantee it!
Smile your way through it!
Grit your teeth and get right to it!
Forget the rigmarole and you can have it all
And make it that much better when I see you... 🎵

 

🎵 Smile like you mean it!
Risk it all and we can seize it!
Until we hear that bell, we're both stuck in Hell
So roll the dice and see if you could be it! 🎵

 

🎵 Smile your way through it!
Embrace the dark as though you knew it
You can stand up tall and act within my thrall...
And I'll be there to watch you
Yes, I'll watch you...
I will make you...
Break you as you fall... 🎵

 

The music fades. The Blondes are left breathless, smiling, clapping each other on the back.

 

Mark Anderson:
"Man, that guy’s weird as hell… but we’re in the tournament, baby!"

 

Winston Lewis:
"No idea what just happened, but I feel like we won a Grammy."

 

They walk out, laughing and bumping fists.

 

Back at the desk, Alastor is seated once again, hands together like a scheming spider, fingers tapping. His grin unbroken.

 

From the shadows behind him, a familiar voice:

 

 

Balor Wolfe:
“You have something evil planned for those two annoying jackasses, don’t you?”

 

Alastor slowly raises a single finger to his lips.
Then...

 

Alastor:
“Hehehehehehehe… AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—!”

 

The lights flicker. The segment ends.

 

 

[CAMERA OPENS on Zagreus in a dark hallway backstage. Blue-purple LED light glows from behind him. He’s in his gear, slightly breathing heavy like he just finished training or sparring. Hair damp, wrists taped, eyes locked dead into the camera.]

 

 

ZAGREUS (calm, confident):
They know me as part of Radio Silence.
Balor’s the heart.
Alastor’s the voice.
Eros lights up the world.
And Johnny and V? They set it on fire.

 

[He takes a step forward.]

 

But I’m done being just a piece of the machine.
I love my family—my chosen family—with everything I have.
But tonight?
This isn’t about them.
This isn’t about proving something to Balor. Or getting Alastor’s approval.
This is about me.
This is about the Ether Championship.
This is about staking my claim.

 

[He pulls his long wet hair back, exhaling slowly.]

 

Jay the Joker...
You come in here, swinging brass knuckles like punchlines.
You’ve got Harley skipping at your side, smiling through someone else’s pain.
You’re flashy. You’re violent.
But you’re not me.

 

[His voice lowers, but the fire builds.]

 

You’ve lived in chaos.
I was born from it.
Raised in the shadow of titans. Trained in the fires of the Underworld.
You’re a clown.
I’m a god’s son.

 

[Beat. He smirks.]

 

When I kick your head off and move one step closer to that title...
I won’t be riding anyone’s coattails.
I won’t be standing in anyone’s shadow.
Because I’m going to the finals.
I’m going to win the whole damn thing.
And when I do?

[He points straight into the lens.]

You’ll remember my name.

 

[The lights behind him brighten to white as the unmistakable intro to “Whatever It Takes” by Imagine Dragons begins to swell in.]

 

 

ZAGREUS (final line, spoken over the rising music):
Zagreus.
Future Ether Champion.
And finally—his own damn man.

 

[Fade out as the chorus kicks in.]

 

 

The Ether Championship Tournament: Round One

 Zagreus vs Jay the Joker

 

 

The arena lights flicker, syncing with the pulse of the music, creating an atmosphere thick with tension and anticipation. The camera zooms in on the stage, where Zagreus lounges on a grand ebony throne.

 

 

 His legs drape casually over the left arm, his back leaning against the right armrest, exuding cool arrogance. The throne itself, regal in design, fitting for the son of Hades.

 

As the opening line "fallen too fast" is sung, Zagreus’ eyes snap open, glowing an eerie red and purple, sending a supernatural, ominous aura across the arena. The crowd erupts at the reveal of the Prince of Hades himself.

 

Slowly rising, his full black tights embroidered with “Prince of Hades” in purple catch the light. The championship belt drapes casually over his shoulder, a symbol of power and claim. With gaze locked on the ring, he strides down the ramp with deliberate, focused steps.

 

As the music builds and “Whatever it takes” rings out, Zagreus performs a graceful front flip, leaping over the top rope into the ring. He rolls forward, rises, and raises the championship belt high, drawing a roaring approval.

 

He strides to the hard camera, climbs the ropes fluidly, bouncing to shake the ring and stir the crowd. Holding the title high, he basks in the moment before descending and calmly sitting cross-legged in the corner, championship resting on his lap — a silent symbol of dominance

.

 

🎙️ Ring Announcer – Astrid Vale (with excitement and reverence):

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall…
From the Island of Crete, weighing in at 210 pounds, standing 5’10” tall…
The son of Lord Hades and Lady Persephone…
The Prince of the Underworld…
ZAGREUS!!”

 

 

 The arena dims as a swirl of purple and green lights begins to pulse eerily through the smoke-filled entrance. From the mist emerges Jay the Joker, his green hair slicked back, face painted with his iconic clown makeup—a twisted smile forever etched across his visage.

 

 

He carries his weathered crowbar casually in one hand, dragging it lightly along the floor as he walks.

Behind him strides Harley Quinn, her eyes wild and playful, gripping her baseball bat tightly, ready for chaos.

 

 

Their steps are slow and deliberate, soaking in the mix of fear and fascination from the crowd. As Jay approaches, he removes his purple jacket and drops it beside the ring steps, carefully hiding the brass knuckles concealed within its lining.

 

Jay pauses at the apron, flashing a sinister grin, then slides into the ring with feline agility, ready to unleash mayhem.

 

🎙️ Ring Announcer – Astrid Vale (cool, theatrical tone):

“Making his way to the ring… from the shadows of Gotham City…
Weighing in at 160 pounds, standing 6 feet tall…
The anarchic wild card, the twisted jester of chaos…
Accompanied by the unpredictable Harley Quinn…
JAY THE JOKER!”

[DING DING DING]

 

 

Jackson Creed:
The bell rings—and Zagreus WASTES no time! HIGH-ANGLE DROPKICK right outta the gate—right to the face of Jay the Joker!

 

 

Lenny Cruz:
WHOO!! Zag’s foot kissed his jaw and sent him flying! Joker didn’t even blink and he’s already halfway to the floor!

 

Sinclair DeVille:
Oh, come on! He wasn’t even ready! Where’s the sportsmanship—?

 

Jackson:
Zagreus on the move—SUICIDE DIVE THROUGH THE ROPES!
He connects flush and drives Jay into the barricade! The fans are roaring already!

 

Lenny:
That’s how you send a message! “I’m not just the fast one from Radio Silence—I’m coming to win!”

 

[Zagreus pops to his feet, slapping the barricade, roaring with adrenaline. “Let’s go!” chants fire up from the crowd as Harley Quinn hurries around the corner, barking at him.]

 

Sinclair:
Harley! Do something! Your man’s getting worked like a college freshman at his first bar fight!

 

Jackson:
Zagreus isn’t letting up—grabs Jay by the hair and—OOH! THROWS HIM INTO THE POST!

 

[Jay’s back arches as he slams into steel. Jenny Caldwell warns from the ring, but counts steadily. The crowd counts along with each impact.]

 

Lenny & Crowd:
“ONE!”
“TWO!”
“THREE!”

 

Jackson:
Three straight shots into that unforgiving steel! Jay the Joker looks rattled, and Zagreus tosses him back in like yesterday’s trash!

 

Lenny:
He’s not trying to entertain tonight, Jackson. He’s trying to end this—FAST.

 

Sinclair:
Oh sure, because nothing says noble athlete like trying to get a ten-second win by hurling someone into a metal pole three times.

 

Jackson:
Zagreus climbs the turnbuckle now... he’s up top... the crowd’s on their feet—
WAIT! Harley Quinn! She yanks Jay out under the bottom rope at the last second!

 

[The crowd erupts in boos. Jenny Caldwell immediately turns and starts yelling at Harley, motioning for her to get out of the way.]

 

Lenny:
Of course! Of course she pulls him out! The ref’s giving her hell but the damage’s already done!

 

Sinclair:
Smart strategy! It’s called ring awareness, Lenny. Maybe if you had some, your career wouldn’t have ended with a stretcher and a discount t-shirt deal.

 

Jackson:
Hold on—Jay just THUMBED ZAGREUS IN THE EYE! While Jenny’s distracted, Joker takes the shortcut!

 

Lenny:
Dirty! That’s a straight-up gouge! Classic Jay the Joker—take a punch, throw a thumb!

 

[Zagreus reels back from the top rope, holding his face. Jay slides back in with a wicked smile and charges—]

 

Jackson:
BIG CLOTHESLINE! Jay takes his head off! Zagreus goes down hard!

 

Sinclair:
See? That’s why Joker’s still standing. Doesn’t matter how fast you are if you don’t protect the eyes, sweetheart.

 

[Jay struts in a half-circle around Zagreus, slicking back his green hair, grinning like the devil himself. Harley claps and skips around ringside, twirling her bat like it’s a ballet ribbon.]

 

Lenny:
That momentum swing was gross. Harley’s not even trying to hide it! Ref Jenny needs eyes in the back of her head tonight.

 

Jackson:
Zagreus came in hot—nearly ended it in the first minute. But now the Joker’s slowed things way down. We'll see if the Radio Demon’s protégé can bounce back…

Jackson Creed:
Zagreus came out like a bolt of lightning, but right now? Jay the Joker’s got him grounded—and he’s loving every second of it.

 

Lenny Cruz:
This isn’t just a wrestling match for Joker. This is a slow-motion humiliation. He wants to turn Z into the punchline.

 

Sinclair DeVille:
As he should! You don’t let a twitchy little high-flier flip his way into a win. You stomp the wings off and let gravity do the rest.

 

Jackson:
And Joker doing just that—now with a foot choke in the corner, blatantly pushing the five-count! Ref Jenny Caldwell is laying into him!

 

[Zagreus coughs in the corner as Joker drapes his boot across the throat, one arm raised innocently while he smirks through his smeared clown makeup. Jenny counts to four before Joker finally backs off with exaggerated hands-up innocence.]

 

Lenny:
He’s acting like he’s doing charity work! Come on!

 

Sinclair:
He’s just showing restraint, Lenny. Be grateful!

 

Jackson:
Zagreus pulled to his feet—and snapped back down with a snap DDT! Joker covers!

 

Jenny Caldwell:
“ONE! TWO—”

 

Jackson:
Kickout at two!

 

[Joker slaps the mat with a scowl, the grin cracking just a bit as Harley pounds the mat outside, rallying her man.]

 

Lenny:
Z’s still got fight in him—but he needs space. He needs momentum.

 

[Joker yanks Z up, but Zagreus fires back! A quick spinning sole kick to the ribs—followed by a low dropkick to the knee! Joker drops—Z hits the ropes—]

 

Jackson:
Here comes Zagreus—SLING BLADE! That’s the spark he needs!

 

[The crowd pops as Zagreus pops back up, breathing heavy, jaw tight.]

 

Sinclair:
Oh no, no, no—shut that down!

 

Lenny:
Zag’s building steam! Let’s go!!

 

[Z hits the ropes again—but Harley grabs his ankle from the outside!]

 

Jackson:
Wait a second! Harley with the interference—Z trips—and Joker blindsides him with a jumping knee to the jaw!

 

Lenny:
Come on, Jenny! You didn’t see that?! She yanked him right off rhythm!

 

Sinclair:
You can’t prove that! Maybe the ring shifted! Maybe gravity betrayed him. Ever think of that?

 

[Zagreus is down again. Joker wastes no time—grabbing the arm—LOCKS IN THE ARMBAR!]

 

Jackson:
He’s got it deep! Jay the Joker with that signature armbar, torqueing the elbow hard—Z is reaching for the ropes!

 

Lenny:
You’ve gotta shift your hips, Z! Get the angle—!

 

[Z does just that—twisting under, pressing Joker’s shoulders down!]

 

Jenny Caldwell:
“ONE! TWO—”

 

Jackson:
Almost had him rolled up! Joker breaks the hold—tries to reset—

BUT ZAGREUS KICKS HIM RIGHT IN THE FACE! ROUNDHOUSE STAGGERS HIM!

 

Lenny:
He’s alive! He’s still in it!!

 

[Zagreus scrambles up—Jay tries to clothesline again—Z ducks—SPRINGBOARD ELBOW—NO! Joker sidesteps and shoves him chest-first into the corner! Joker rolls him up from behind—feet on the ropes!]

 

Jenny Caldwell:

“ONE! TWO—HEY! OFF THE ROPES!”

 

[Jenny catches it—slaps the ropes—breaks the count as the fans cheer! Joker throws his hands up in fury.]

 

Sinclair:
This is outrageous. She’s supposed to count, not judge! What is she, a referee or a moral compass?

 

Jackson:
Jenny Caldwell doing what she does best—calling it fair! But this match is slipping into chaos by the second!

 

[Jay stomps the mat in frustration. Harley hops up on the apron, blowing a kiss at Jenny, who quickly turns to warn her again. Joker uses the moment—pulling out a hidden tape roll from his boot—but ZAGREUS catches his wrist! The crowd pops huge!]

 

Lenny:
He saw it! Z knew it was coming!

 

Jackson:
Z’s eyes are lit up, folks! This might be the opening he needs...

 

Jackson Creed:
ZAGREUS CAUGHT HIM! He’s had enough of the clown tricks!

 

Lenny Cruz:
Let’s go!! Zag is done being the punchline!

 

[Z yanks the hidden tape from Joker’s hand, tosses it to Jenny, and BLASTS Joker with a spinning sole kick that sends him staggering.]

 

Jackson:
That kick landed flush—and now Zagreus is cooking! Off the ropes—RUNNING TILT-A-WHIRL DDT!

 

Sinclair DeVille:

This is getting out of hand! He’s not even pacing himself—someone stop this kid before he flips Jay out of existence!

 

Lenny:
That DDT planted him like a weed! Joker doesn’t know which way is the mat!

 

[Zagreus pops up and points to the crowd—who responds in kind. He hits the ropes again—SPRINGBOARD DROPKICK right to Joker’s chest!]

 

Jackson:
Zagreus is chaining it all together now! Speed, precision, and fire! Jay the Joker has no answer!

 

Sinclair:
Well maybe if the ref would STOP INTERFERING every time Harley tries to lend a hand—

 

[As if on cue, Harley slams her hands on the mat and runs around ringside, looking for an opening. Z hits a springboard arm drag that launches Joker across the ring.]

 

Lenny:
She can’t even catch him! He’s moving like he’s got Mercury’s sandals on!

 

Jackson:
Zagreus to the top—looking for something big—Harley AGAIN reaching up—GRABS HIS ANKLE!

 

[Crowd immediately erupts in boos—but this time Jenny Caldwell TURNS and catches her red-handed!]

 

Jenny Caldwell (shouting):
“I SAW IT! YOU’RE OUTTA HERE!”

 

[Massive pop from the crowd as Jenny throws her arm toward the ramp. Harley freezes mid-excuse—then starts screaming in protest, stomping the floor with her bat.]

 

Lenny:
YES! She’s outta here! Finally some real justice!

 

Sinclair:
This is discrimination against accessories! She wasn’t even armed this time!

 

Jackson:
Harley Quinn is being ejected from ringside! Jay the Joker just watched his greatest weapon get ripped away—and he is furious!

 

[Harley screams as two security guards appear and start to walk her up the ramp. Joker's eyes go wide—then narrow in rage.]

 

Lenny:
This is it! This is Zagreus’s moment! Joker’s unarmed, unguarded—and on the ropes!

 

[Zagreus turns to charge again—BUT JOKER BLINDSIDES HIM! A wicked, desperation jumping neckbreaker drops Z to the mat hard.

]

Jackson:
Outta nowhere! Joker hits him with that neckbreaker—but WAIT! He’s not even going for the cover!

 

[Instead, Joker immediately storms to his feet and starts SCREAMING at Jenny Caldwell, red in the face.]

 

Jay the Joker (off-mic, screaming):
“You had no right! That was my match! My plan! Who do you think you are?!”

 

Sinclair:
Hey! He’s got a point! Harley was just trying to fix his boot or something—this is an overreach by the official!

 

Lenny:
Or maybe Joker just knows he can’t win this clean and he’s LOSING IT!

 

Jackson:
Zagreus is stirring—Jay’s too busy screaming! Jenny Caldwell holding her ground—but you can feel this crowd ready to explode if Zagreus gets back up!

 

[Back in the ring, Jay the Joker is still raging at Jenny Caldwell, shouting down at her like a madman as she stands firm, unmoved.]

 

Jackson Creed:
Jay the Joker is melting down! Still yelling at Jenny Caldwell, but he’s completely lost track of the match!

 

Lenny Cruz:
This ain’t Gotham, Joker—you turn your back on someone like Zagreus, and you pay!

 

[Behind him, Zagreus KIPS UP to his feet in one fluid motion. The crowd ERUPTS as Joker’s still barking at the ref, unaware.]

 

Jackson:
ZAGREUS IS UP! HE’S BEHIND HIM!

 

Lenny:
DO IT, KID!!

 

[Z takes a quick step—SUPERKICK TO THE SIDE OF THE HEAD! Joker crumples to a knee, dazed and wide-eyed.]

 

Sinclair DeVille:
No no no NO—this isn't fair! He was filing an official complaint! You can’t—ACK!

 

Jackson:
Z grabs the ropes—springboard—HUNTING LIKE ARTEMIS!! That ELBOW landed clean between the shoulders! COVER!!

 

Jenny Caldwell:
“ONE! TWO! THR—NO!!”

 

Lenny:
HE KICKED OUT?! HE KICKED OUT?! That was a headshot from Olympus and Joker still had something left!

 

Jackson:
Zagreus doesn’t hesitate—he’s already lining it up—he’s calling for it!

 

Lenny:

That’s it! Blessing of Persephone time, baby! Send this clown back to the circus!

 

[Zagreus climbs onto the apron and then springboards up, lining up his final shot. The crowd is deafening with anticipation—until chaos breaks loose.]

 

Jackson:
Wait a second—Harley Quinn just BROKE FREE from security! She’s sprinting down the ramp again! Jenny Caldwell jumps out of the ring to intercept!

 

Sinclair:
Yes!! She's not done yet! Gotham’s Queen of Chaos is BACK!

 

Lenny:
Get her out of here again! Ref Jenny is distracted and Z has NO idea!

 

[Zagreus doesn’t see it—he nails the Blessing of Persephone PERFECTLY! Joker crashes to the mat and Z hooks the leg!]

 

Crowd:
“ONE! TWO! THREE!”

 

[But there’s no ref. Jenny is still on the floor, struggling with Harley, trying to keep her off the apron.]

 

Jackson:
HE’S GOT HIM! ZAGREUS HAD HIM BEAT! THE CROWD COUNTED THREE!

 

Lenny:
He just beat Jay the Joker CLEAN and there’s no justice! This is criminal!

 

[As Z gets up and looks around in confusion—Harley, grinning like a devil, rolls a small silver bottle across the mat to Joker.]

 

Sinclair:
Hey… hey hey hey. What’s that?

 

Jackson:
Wait a minute—what the hell did she just slide in?

 

[Z walks toward the ropes, waving at Jenny to get back in—but as he turns back—JOKER SPRAYS MIST INTO ZAGREUS’S EYES!! It’s not red… not green… it’s silver. The crowd GASPS.]

 

Lenny:
SOME KIND OF SPRAY?! What is that?! CLEANER? PEPPER SPRAY?! WHAT DID SHE GIVE HIM?!

 

Jackson:
Z is blinded—stumbling—SMALL PACKAGE FROM JOKER!

 

Jenny (sliding back in):
“ONE! TWO! THREE!”

 

[DING DING DING!!!]

Ring Announcer – Astrid Vale:
“Here is your winner… advancing in the Ether Championship Tournament… JAY! THE! JOKERRRR!”

 

 

[The boos are immediate and deafening. Joker rolls out of the ring faster than a thief, Harley yanking him by the arm as they dash backward up the ramp laughing hysterically.]

 

[Scene resumes in the ring. The boos are still echoing after Joker and Harley’s screwjob win. Jenny Caldwell is helping Zagreus sit upright in the corner, his back against the bottom turnbuckle, blinking rapidly, his forearms shielding his still-watering eyes.]

 

Jackson Creed:
Zagreus was robbed—but he’s still in that ring. Still trying to see. And Jay the Joker… I don’t like the look Harley’s giving him right now.

 

Lenny Cruz:
Oh no. Don’t tell me they’re not done…

 

[On the stage, Harley is tugging at Joker’s arm, whispering something excitedly in his ear. Joker tilts his head… smirks… and nods.]

 

Sinclair DeVille:
That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Double down! You’ve got the advantage—finish the job!

 

Jackson:
Come on! He can’t even see! Don’t tell me we’re doing this!

 

[Joker and Harley strut back to the ring to a sea of boos. Joker throws his jacket off, crowbar in hand again. Harley slaps the apron like she’s winding him up.]

 

Lenny:
No no no—Z doesn’t know he’s behind him!

 

[Zagreus stumbles to his knees, hands still on his face—AND JOKER POUNCES! CLUBBING FOREARMS** to the back of the head! He shoves Jenny Caldwell aside as he starts stomping away!]**

 

Jackson:
This is disgusting! Joker attacking him again—Zagreus can barely protect himself!

 

[Joker lifts Zagreus up—BIG RELEASE SUPLEX sends Z crashing back down, clutching his spine. Joker crawls to the corner, crowbar in hand, lining up—smiling.]

 

Sinclair:
Finish it, baby! End the myth of Zagreus once and for all!

 

[Suddenly—]

 

 

🎵 “You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid” – The Offspring BLASTS THROUGH THE SPEAKERS.

 

Crowd:
“WOOOOOLFE! WOOOOOLFE!”

 

 

[The camera whips to the stage—Balor Wolfe explodes from behind the curtain, shirtless in slacks, The Infernal Crown Championship in one hand, ripping off his suit jacket with the other.]

 

Jackson:
HERE COMES THE CHAMP! BALOR WOLFE IS SPRINTING TO THE RING!

 

Lenny:
NO hesitation! That’s not the leader of Radio Silence walking—that’s the Champion of the Gods charging into war!

 

[Joker stares in shock—but too late! Balor slides in under the ropes—TACKLES JOKER TO THE MAT—and starts unloading with rights and lefts!]

 

Jackson:
Wolfe is UNLOADING! Just raining down fists! The crowd is on FIRE!

 

[Harley shrieks from the floor, reaching under the ropes with her bat—but Balor boots it away. He scoops Joker onto his shoulders—crowd rising—]

 

Lenny:

He’s going for it! LIGHTS OUT!!

 

Sinclair:
No—NO!

 

[Just as Balor turns to deliver it—Harley grabs Joker’s foot and YANKS him off Balor’s shoulders! The two collapse to the floor and scramble out under the ropes.]

 

Jackson:
Harley saves Joker again—but BARELY!

 

[Harley pulls Joker up the ramp, half-carrying him. Joker’s makeup is smeared, crowbar long gone, face twisted in rage as he’s held back by Harley. The crowd belts a loud “YOU GOT LUCKY!” chant at him as Balor glares down from the ring.]

 

Lenny:
He had Joker DEAD TO RIGHTS. And Harley pulls him out like a con artist escaping the final act.

 

[Back in the ring, Zagreus is still in the corner, knees up, head down. Balor turns slowly. The adrenaline wears off. He takes a breath… and approaches.]

 

Jackson:
And now… the heart of it. This isn’t about the Joker anymore.

 

[Balor kneels beside Zagreus, reaching a hand out to help him. But Z swats it away. He pushes up on his own, wiping his eyes, wobbly but proud.]

 

Lenny:
Z’s pride is hurting worse than his ribs right now. He wanted this win to be his, not rescued.

 

[Balor holds out his hand again. They exchange words—quiet, close, only for each other. Zag looks away at first… but finally nods.]

 

[Balor extends his hand a final time. Z takes it. The two hug tightly in the center of the ring—then Balor lifts his arm into the air, pointing at him with the other.]

 

Jackson:
That’s what this is about. Brotherhood. Respect. And no matter what Jay the Joker pulled tonight… Zagreus still stood tall.

 

[The crowd chants “ZAG-RE-US! ZAG-RE-US!” as the camera zooms out. Balor with one arm raised, pointing to his brother in arms, Zagreus finally standing tall.]

 

Sinclair (bitter):
All this just to lose again in round two.

 

Lenny:
Even in loss, that man just made a legacy.

 

Jackson:
Tonight, Zagreus didn’t win the match—but he earned the people. And that’s a power Harley and Joker can’t cheat their way into.

 

[FADE OUT as the camera lingers on Z’s face—hurt, tired, but still burning bright.]

 

 

Jaguar King and Lionheart lean against a brick wall. Police sirens go off in the back.

 

Jaguar: You know what the difference between you two and us two is, Blondes? 

 

Lionheart: Authenticity. We are these streets day in and day out. We don’t stop acting tough when the director yells cut.

 

Jaguar: In fact we don’t start acting because it’s not an act. This is 24/7 authentic. We breathe the danger here and we thrive in it. We don’t retreat to our trailers and have our assistants spritz us. I’ve slept in sweat that would run your mascara. 

 

Lionheart: Nothing about you two is authentic. One of you isn’t even blonde. You’re a cardboard cut out of a team. You’re a poster of talent, two dimensional and easily ripped. 

 

Jaguar: You stand no chance in the ring with us. Better call in your stunt doubles so you don’t break a nail, Hollywood. 

 

The two scoff and walk off. As they do, the camera sits for a moment on body of the thug they had beat down just before cutting this.

 

 

MAWL DRAFT – ROUND SEVEN (FINAL ROUND)

 

 

🎤 ASTRID VALE:
"We have 12 names remaining… and this will be our final round of the MAWL Draft. One pick at a time. MADNESS selects first! Let’s close this out!"

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #1 – Screech

 

 

CREED:
"The jittery technician. He fights like he's mid-electric shock."

 

 

DEVILLE:
"This is reaching a bit… but he’s a unique wildcard."

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #1 – Xander Marks (picked by Eros)

 

 

EROS:
"He talks like a used car ad and hits like a train. Give me Xander Marks."

 

 

CRUZ:
"I think this will be a good pick. He fits the madness that is Frequency perfectly."

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #2 – Capybara

 

 

CREED:
"A gentle powerhouse… until he isn’t."

 

DEVILLE:
"Should’ve been picked before now. That’s danger in disguise."

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #2 – Sanity In Ring

 

 

(Brick Benson, Lou Bison, Manda Miento, Pam Arnasdóttir – militant faction against freaks and costumed types and weirdos)

 

EROS:
"Give me the creepy corporate ones. Sanity In Ring — you’re hired."

 

CRUZ:
"That’s a big win for Frequency’s trios division."

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #3 – Hazel Clarke

 

 

CREED:
"Hazel calls herself the Port Maria Platypus and much like a Platypus she's adaptable in all situations."

 

DEVILLE:
"As dangerous in the air as she is in the ground."

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #3 – Danielle Fishel

 

 

EROS:
"Poise, precision, pain. That’s my kind of three-piece suit."

 

CRUZ:
"Not only a three piece suit but she comes with a three-piece team, Tia Mowry, Melissa Joan Hart, and Jodie Sweetin."

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #4 – Marla Anderson

 

 

CREED:
"A powerful striker, glacier-paced but devastating."

 

DEVILLE:
"This is reaching a bit… but Madness could mold her into a monster."

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #4 – Crash Course Craig Convery

 

 

EROS:
"Speed? Check. Chaos? Check. Bad decisions? Double check."

 

CRUZ:
"I think this will be a good pick. He’s going to hurt people—and himself."

 

🟦 MADNESS PICK #5 – SugarKoma (trio)

 

 

CREED:
"That’s a whole lot of chaos packed into three glitter bombs."

 

DEVILLE:
"Three-for-one chaos unit. I think this is a great pick."

 

🔴 FREQUENCY PICK #5 – Hoy Sumer

 

 

EROS:
"The Middle East North Star."

 

DEVILLE:
"His smile will be wiped up fairly quickly."

 

🟦 MADNESS FINAL PICK – Hadron

 

 

CREED:
"That’s a strong final pick for Madness. Quantum presence and brute force."

 

CRUZ:
"Should’ve been picked before now. Major sleeper threat."

 

🔴 FINAL PICK OF THE MAWL DRAFT – JOY ADDITION (Devon Delight & Good Dude Greg Arias – tag team)

 

 

ASTRID VALE:
"And to close the 2025 MAWL Draft… Frequency of the Damned selects… JOY ADDITION!"

 

CREED:
"Alastor started this with Radio Silence, and ends it with Joy Addition. That’s full-circle storytelling."

 

DEVILLE:
"First pick. Last pick. Somehow, he always gets the final word."

 

✅ THE MAWL DRAFT IS COMPLETE!

 

 

[Final shot: the camera catches GM Colin McRae and Eros shaking hands at the base of the ramp, both smiling, both proud. The crowd gives a standing ovation as they walk side by side up the ramp, off mic, off-script — fading into the glow of the LED stage.]

 

 

Location: Backstage interview zone. Black MAWL backdrop with silver Madness and Frequency logos. VERONICA VALE stands center frame, elegant in a sleek emerald green dress, mic in hand.

 

 

She turns slightly toward the towering figure beside her: SM HEARTBREAKER — suited in tailored violence, MAWL Asylum Title slung across his shoulder.

 

 

VERONICA VALE (poised and professional)
SM HeartBreaker… first overall pick for MAWL: Madness, and the reigning Asylum Champion. A moment of pride, surely — how does it feel to be the face of your brand?

 

SM HEARTBREAKER (with a confident smirk, chin raised)
It feels right, Veronica. Feels like reality finally caught up with the truth.
I’m not Frequency. I’m not some circus demon’s pet project. I’m Madness — raw, real, dominant. The kind of champion that doesn’t need shadows, gimmicks, or backup dancers.

 

[Just as Vale begins to lift her mic for a follow-up, she pauses—eyes narrowing slightly. The camera pans, revealing BALOR WOLFE stepping into frame, The Infernal Crown Championship glinting under the lights on his shoulder. The crowd watching on the arena screen erupts in “OHHHH!”]

 

 

BALOR WOLFE (cold, calm, eyes locked on SM)
Hello, old friend.

 

[SM’s smirk fades just a touch. His body shifts—alert, tense.]

 

BALOR WOLFE
Seems the draft reminded everyone what we already knew. You and me — top names.
But just like always… I’ve been in front of you.

You can have your little brand, wear your nice belt, call yourself the main guy — but let’s be clear:

This is the A Show.
And I am the guy on the A Show.

 

[Balor adjusts the Infernal Crown slightly, letting it glint just enough to feel like a slap in the face. SM takes a slow breath, eyes narrowed.]

 

SM HEARTBREAKER (stepping forward, almost nose to nose)
Funny. I don’t remember needing a demon’s leash to carry gold.
But if you ever feel like proving you're not just the top name on paper...
I’m not hard to find.

 

[The tension crackles — then, from just off-camera, a slow, deliberate clap echoes.]

 

[Enter ALASTOR, still grinning, stepping into frame like a shadow becoming flesh.]

 

 

ALASTOR (mocking cheer)
Bravo. Truly touching. But let’s not stain the carpet with broken teeth tonight.

 

SM HEARTBREAKER (dry, venomous)
Alastor… creepy as ever. Always lurking behind your meat suit.

 

ALASTOR (chuckles, not even offended — like he barely registered it)
You should remember who I am, Hearty Boy.
If you need a reminder… Elise Mae He is still in the ER.

 

[A long beat. SM looks between Alastor and Balor — disgust curling at the corner of his lip. He adjusts his Asylum Title, giving both men a slow, burning stare.]

 

SM HEARTBREAKER
Enjoy the A Show.
But remember… I don't stay in second place for long.

 

[He turns and walks off, tension in every step. Alastor watches him leave, still grinning. Balor? Silent — but his eyes follow SM the entire way out of frame.]

 

[Fade to black.]

 

 

A voice over similar to David Attenborough can be heard as a parrot flies over the head of a peacock. We don’t yet see the ground.

 

Narrator (VO): Behold the majestic birds of the rainforests of Brazil enjoying a breezy beautiful bright day. They engage with grace in their frivolity, involved in an activity of recreation. 

 

 

The parrot and the peacock squawk at each other. At first it seems contentious-

 

Narrator (VO): Ah, it seems that they have riled each others’ attentions, and the serene sounds of spirited socializing may soon be supplanted by the sour strikes of sharpened beaks. 

 

The birds slowly turn to face the camera, and by extension the narrator. As we zoom down we see they have built a nest with the Signal Tag Belts. The narrator barely has time to utter “Wha” before they strike the camera, which goes down and lands again on the title belts, which the birds nest on.

 

 

The Ether Championship Tournament: Round One

 Magnus Vs Shadow Kawashima

 

 

Magnus steps into the arena wearing a dark tactical long coat that flows behind him like a shadow.

 

 

Beneath the coat, his muscular frame is clad in a black sleeveless shirt or tactical vest, revealing his heavily tattooed arms. Black leather gloves grip his hands, and heavy combat boots thud steadily on the ramp. His black cargo pants and tactical belt complete the militaristic, unstoppable force look. The industrial orchestral music pulses through the arena as cold, mechanical lighting casts harsh shadows across his form.

 

He moves with purpose, eyes locked forward, not wasting a moment on theatrics. The crowd senses the raw power and ruthlessness he brings to the ring.