MAWL: FREQUENCY OF THE DAMNED

Live – Spark Arena, Auckland, New Zealand | July 23rd

 

[COLD OPEN – SHOW INTRO VIDEO]

 

Darkness. Static flickers across the screen as a distorted signal pulses through the audio. Suddenly, the sharp crack of guitar kicks in—the pounding intro of “Right Now” by Fire from the Gods erupts into life.

 

The first image flashes violently: Alastor’s red eyes snap open in the pitch black, his ever-present grin forming underneath the television static. A moment later, we cut to Balor Wolfe, standing motionless under a blood-red spotlight, dressed in a black suit and white shirt, the Infernal Crown Championship faintly reflecting the light.

 

The music surges as the pace picks up. Wildfire explodes through a curtain of sparks, screaming into the lens. The MAWLiWOOD BLONDES spin mid-suplex, flashes from their vintage cameras popping like fireworks. RADE steps forward from darkness, lifting his mask slightly to reveal crimson teeth glistening beneath. Damian Blackheart stalks through a rusted hallway dragging thick chains, his eyes empty. Lynx crouches on a turnbuckle, bathed in moonlight as her hair drifts on the breeze. Moon, Blood Drawn, El Cerrador, Uncle Insamity, Venom Cartel, and The End Begins all flash in rapid, aggressive succession—each shot more chaotic than the last.

 

Finally, the visuals slow.

 

Balor Wolfe stands alone in the center of the ring beneath a red spotlight. The Infernal Crown Championship is held high above his head, his face calm but intense. In the background, Alastor and Eros remain barely visible, flanking him like silent phantoms. The screen warps and burns into:

 

 

[LIVE – INSIDE THE ARENA]
The camera rushes through the screaming crowd of the packed Spark Arena in Auckland, New Zealand, fireworks blasting from the stage as the MAWL: Frequency of the Damned logo pulses across the screen. The shot cuts to the commentary desk, where the trio is already mid-sentence, energy high and excitement palpable.

 

 

Jackson Creed:
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to MAWL: FREQUENCY OF THE DAMNED—we are LIVE from the Spark Arena in beautiful Auckland, New Zealand!”

 

 

Lightning Lenny Cruz:
“And JACK—we are just ONE WEEK AWAY from making history! MAWL: Frequency of the Damned presents its very first Pay-Per-View event, and it’s comin’ to you loud and proud from across the sea in Sydney, Australia—Transmission: Dreamtime is almost here!”

 

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“A cultural moment, Lenny. An artistic movement. A divine broadcast. Whatever you want to call it, Transmission: Dreamtime is going to leave a permanent mark. And tonight? Tonight is the last stop before it all begins.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“And what a card we have to kick off this final countdown! We are deep into the Ether Championship Tournament, and tonight, we find out who punches their ticket to next week’s finals!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Opening things up, it’s Jay The Joker taking on Damian Blackheart—a man who, let’s be honest, looks like he hasn’t slept since the '90s.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Because he’s focused. Obsessed. Blackheart doesn’t need sleep—he needs gold. Jay better be laughing while he still has teeth.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Then it’s Wildfire vs. Lynx in the other semi-final—and folks, that one is gonna be fireworks. Speed, agility, and pure heat.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Wildfire’s been rising fast, but Lynx? That cat is unpredictable, man. She could claw her way straight into the final!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Let’s be honest—it’s just gonna be Wildfire lighting another match and hoping Lynx doesn’t blow it out.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Then we’ve got a big 6-man tag team match: High Risk and All-Star Eric Verne take on the loud, proud, and lawless crew of M.A.M.A.—Youngblood Patrick Riot, Xander Marks, Senator Sherwood, and of course, U.S. Rae.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“It’s chaos. That’s what it is. Controlled? Absolutely not. Entertaining? You better believe it.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“All-Star and High Risk are just going to be lucky if they make it to Dreamtime in one piece.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Also on tap tonight, El Cerrador squares off with Stitches the Clown in what promises to be one of the strangest, darkest matches we’ve seen in weeks.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“I don’t know who creeps me out more—Stitches, or that red mist that’s always around El Cerrador. Either way, weird vibes.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Tag Team division heats up as Venom Cartel is in action—but their opponents? A mystery team making their debut tonight.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“And if I know anything about mystery teams, Jackson—it’s that somebody in that ring is going to be surprised… and not in a good way.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“And in your main event, the demigod himself—Zagreus—takes on the Soviet strongman Ivan ‘The Red Titan’ Volkov in a colossal first-time ever clash!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“This is gonna be a collision. Fists flyin’, gods cryin’, and one man getting his soul tested before the big night next week.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Speaking of next week, Infernal Crown Champion Balor Wolfe and his partner Eros are already back in Balor’s homeland of Australia, getting everyone on the other side of the water ready for Transmission: Dreamtime.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“As they should be. You don’t walk into Dreamtime without prepping the altar. Wolfe is a god-champion, and the world’s about to see why.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“And throughout the night, folks, we’ll be showing you exclusive footage from Balor Wolfe’s press tour across Sydney, as the Infernal Crown Champion prepares to bring the fire to the Pay-Per-View stage.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“I’ve seen the footage—man’s a rockstar out there. Media, fans, wild energy. Sydney’s feelin’ it!”

 

Jackson Creed:
“And now, let’s take you to the first of those moments from Sydney—Balor Wolfe’s press tour begins now!”

 

 

[PRE-RECORDED SEGMENT – SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA – MORNING SHOW INTERVIEW]

 

The screen shifts from the electric crowd in Auckland to bright, warm morning sunshine spilling through the glass windows of a Sydney studio. A bubbly jingle plays as the Channel 9 Morning Wake-Up! logo sparkles in the corner. The camera pans across a sleek couch setup where two brightly dressed hosts beam into the lens.

 

 

HOST #1 (Mila):
“We are just ONE week away from the biggest wrestling event ever held on Aussie soil—MAWL: Frequency of the Damned Presents Transmission: Dreamtime! And with us this morning are two of the major stars from the show—including one of our own!”

 

HOST #2 (Daniel):
“He’s the reigning Infernal Crown Champion, he’s the ‘Champion for Australia’ today, and he's brought a bit of Greek mythology with him—welcome Balor Wolfe and Eros!”

 

 

[Camera cuts to Balor Wolfe and Eros seated casually.]

 

Balor is the picture of relaxed confidence. His tight green-and-gold "Champion for Australia" shirt hugs his frame, sunglasses resting lazily on his nose, and his signature long platinum hair is styled for once—clean, windswept, camera-ready. Most of his tattoos are visible, and the Infernal Crown Championship gleams over his shoulder. He looks like he’s about to walk into a beach club, not fight a war.

 

Next to him, Eros, as always, is overdressed—an immaculate black-and-emerald tailored suit, with golden trim that sparkles under the studio lights. He sits tall, hand resting lightly on Balor’s knee, cool and elegant.

 

Balor Wolfe (grinning):
"Cheers for havin' us—this couch is almost as comfy as the one we slept on in Perth airport."

 

Mila (laughing):
“We’ve got better snacks, though! Balor, let’s get right into it. This event has taken over the headlines—Dreamtime is next week at Accor Stadium. Are you feeling the pressure being the main event at home?”

 

Balor (relaxed chuckle):
"Pressure? Nah. That’s just adrenaline with manners. Look, it’s a home game—literally. I'm walking into Sydney with this on my shoulder—" (taps the title belt) "—and I’m walking out with it too. No stress."

 

Daniel:
"Let’s pull up some of those stunning promo posters for next week."

 

The screen behind them cycles through three posters:

1. Standard PPV Poster – The “Transmission: Dreamtime” title over static and stars.
   
   
2. Harbour Bridge Poster – The title displayed boldly across the Sydney Harbour Bridge.
   
   
3. "HOME GAME!" Poster – Balor Wolfe, back turned to the camera, championship visible over his shoulder, walking toward Accor Stadium. Above his head, in sharp white font:
   "HOME GAME!"
   
   

Balor leans over to look and laughs softly.

 

Balor:
*"They told me not to turn around for that third shot. I said, ‘Mate, the belt’s got the better smile anyway.’"

 

Mila (teasing):
"But Balor, you do have a challenger next week… Ivan Volkov—The Red Titan. Strong. Cold. Soviet steel. Thoughts?"

 

Balor (snorts, adjusting his glasses):
"That big boofhead beat me with eighty thousand of my own people behind me? Not bloody likely. I’m bringin’ the weight of a nation into that ring. He’s bringin’... what? Eastern European vibes?"

(grins, shrugs)

 "Fair fight if you ask me."

 

Daniel (laughing):
"And Eros, we have to ask. You two are on the road constantly—city to city, country to country. What’s it like travelling the world together as a couple and a team?"

 

Eros (with a calm smile):
"When you're with the one, home isn't a place. It's a presence. So wherever he is—that’s where I belong."
(He glances at Balor, who gives a playful smirk in return.)

 

The hosts let out a collective “awww,” before standing up with them.

 

Mila:
"Well, whether it’s love, chaos, or a little bit of bloodshed—we’ll all be watching next week. Balor Wolfe, Eros—thank you for joining us!"

 

Daniel:
"Let’s get a photo with the championship, shall we?"

 

The camera catches them all in a smiling group photo pose—Eros standing tall, Balor holding the Infernal Crown Championship out proudly while the hosts pretend to hold it up too. The flash pops.

 

 

[CUT BACK TO ARENA – SPARK ARENA, AUCKLAND – LIVE CROWD CHEERING]

OPENING MATCH – ETHER CHAMPIONSHIP TOURNAMENT: SEMI-FINAL

JAY THE JOKER vs. DAMIAN BLACKHEART

 

 

Astrid:

"The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is the Semi-Final of the Ether Championship Tournament!"

 

 

Joker walks out slowly with Purple and Green lights gleaming, Carrying his iconic crowbar everywhere he goes. Harley Quinn right behind him carrying her baseball bat.

 

 

Astrid:

"First! Accompanied by Harley Quinn, from Gotham City, weighing in at 160 pounds and at 6 foot tall, Jay the Joker!"

 

Harley points her bat at the audience as Jay enters the ring. 

 

 

Fog machine, candles and 18th century street lamps adorn the entrance way. Titantron/screen shows images of leeches, pre-20th century surgery, anatomical drawings, plus short video clips of Blackheart performing submission moves and ringing a hand bell in full plague doctor uniform.

 

 

Astrid:

"And his opponent! From the Silk Road in London, weighing in at 228 pounds and standing at 6 foot 2, THE EMPIRIC, DAMIAN BLACKHEART!"

 

 

Referee: Danny "Quickcount" Rayes

🔔 [Bell Rings]

 

 

Jackson Creed (Play-by-Play):
"And we are underway here in the first Ether Championship semi-final—Jay the Joker vs. Damian Blackheart. Two unorthodox minds with very different brands of violence. And already—JOKER with a schoolboy roll-up!"

 

 

Lenny Cruz (Color):
"Trying to end it quick! Shoulders down!"

 

Danny Rayes:
"ONE!—"

 

 

Sinclair DeVille (Heel Commentator):
"I like it. Joker knows Lynx is already on borrowed time in that other semi. Why waste energy when Wildfire might walk into the finals?"

 

Jackson:
"Blackheart kicks out at one and a half, immediately scrambles up—AND ROLLS UP JOKER! Inside cradle!"

 

Danny Rayes:
"ONE! TWO—"

 

Lenny:
"Another pin! Man, these two are coming out HOT. No feeling out, just finish fast!"

 

Sinclair:
"Exactly. Wildfire’s practically got a bye. Lynx was mauled by RADE last week—he’s gonna be dragging one leg and hoping for mercy."

 

Lenny (cutting in):
"Don't even start, Sinclair. Even at fifty percent, Lynx is better than Wildfire at a hundred. Wildfire’s explosive, sure, but Lynx? He's precise, calculated—he turns matches into puzzles, and he’s the guy holding the solution."

 

Sinclair (scoffs):
"Oh, please. Wildfire’s been blazing through this division. The only thing Lynx is calculating now is how to survive without getting folded in half again."

 

Jackson:
"Whoa, alright, gentlemen—Blackheart scrambles out of it, quick to his feet—tries another roll-up! Blackheart blocks it—wait, SUNSET FLIP by Blackheart!"

 

Danny Rayes:
"ONE!—TWO!—"

 

Lenny:
"And he kicks out! Man, this thing is going to boil over—both the match and this booth."

 

Sinclair:
"You wanna bet, Cruz? I’ll bring tissues for you when Wildfire knocks Lynx’s ears into the rafters later tonight."

 

Lenny:
"Don’t worry, I’ll bring smelling salts for you when Lynx out-wrestles your boy so bad he forgets how to light a fire."

 

Jackson (trying to refocus):
"Back in the ring, both men reset. Circle. Blackheart steps in for a collar-and-elbow but Joker ducks under—hooks a backslide!"

 

Danny Rayes:
"ONE!—TWO—"

 

Jackson:
"Blackheart kicks out again! But look at that—you see the Joker’s eyes dart to Harley at ringside? He’s already scheming."

 

Lenny:
"And look how fast Rayes is having to keep up—man’s in a squat position more than a CrossFit gym!"

 

Jackson:
"Blackheart now with a waistlock—Joker elbows out! Creates some space—goes for a drop toehold—NO, Blackheart with a jackknife cover!"

 

Danny Rayes:
"ONE!—TWO!—"

 

Jackson:
"Another kickout! These two have exchanged more pin attempts in three minutes than most matches see in ten."

 

Sinclair:
"Because they both know it’s either finish it fast... or face Wildfire with half your ribs cracked. I don’t care how good Damian’s grip is or how Joker hides brass knuckles in that jacket—you don’t beat a fresh Wildfire."

 

Lenny (gritting his teeth):
"Say it one more time like it’s gospel, and I swear I’m unplugging your mic."

 

Jackson (laughing):
"Alright, alright—referee Danny Rayes already earning his paycheck tonight, trying to keep up with these flurries!"

 

Lenny:
"He’s Quickcount for a reason—but even he’s lookin’ winded!"

 

Jackson:
"Joker swings wild—Blackheart ducks, hooks the arm, maybe looking for a backslide—NO! Joker spins out—thumb to the eye! Ref didn’t see it! Danny Rayes was just resetting!"

 

Lenny:
"Oh come on!"

 

Sinclair:
"That’s ring IQ, gentlemen. Joker’s not just crazy, he’s creative."

 

Jackson:
"Blackheart stumbles—DDT! Joker plants him face-first into the mat! And look at that—he mouths something to Harley at ringside."

 

Lenny (leans in):
"'Plan B.' Oh no. What’s Plan B, Sinclair?"

 

Sinclair:
"If it's the Joker, it's probably illegal in at least three states."

 

Jackson:
"Jay the Joker with control now—but we know the kind of chaos he thrives on. This isn’t just about wrestling—he’s already shifting into his next phase."

 

Jackson Creed (Play-by-Play):
"Back in control now, Jay the Joker circles like a vulture. Blackheart trying to push himself up from the mat—Joker with a boot to the spine! Keeps him grounded."

 

Sinclair DeVille (Heel Commentator):
"That’s how you do it. Don’t let the mad surgeon breathe—cut off the air before he starts dissecting you."

 

Lenny Cruz (Color):
"Yeah, but don’t act like Joker's doing this clean. He nearly gouged an eye earlier, and Harley’s hanging at ringside like a time bomb with pigtails."

 

Jackson:
"Joker now dragging Blackheart to the ropes—and using the bottom rope to choke him! Rayes with the count!"

 

Danny Rayes:
"ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR—"

 

Jackson:
"Joker releases right at the four. That’s vintage Joker—nasty, smug, and technically within the rules."

 

Sinclair:
"Technically is still legally, Jackson. That’s the game."

 

Lenny:
"Funny how all your favorites play the game like a kid with cheat codes."

 

Jackson:
"Now Joker strutting around the ring, crowing to the crowd—"

 

[Crowd POPS mildly. A few scattered Joker chants echo around the arena.]

 

Lenny:
"Wait, hold on... why are they cheering him?"

 

Sinclair:
"Because they hate Blackheart more. The guy walks around like a medieval coroner and smells like one too."

 

Jackson:
"Blackheart surges up! Waistlock! German suplex—no! Joker with a back kick to the shin—Blackheart stumbles—Joker hits a running neckbreaker! Perfect timing."

 

Lenny:
"Blackheart was building something! That’s the danger—he strings three, four moves together and suddenly you’re tapping out in Latin."

 

Jackson:
"But Joker’s been a step ahead, with Harley keeping the edge in his favor—"

 

[Harley suddenly hops up on the apron as Blackheart hooks Joker’s arm.]

 

Jackson:
"AND SPEAKING OF—Harley Quinn up again! Danny Rayes turning to stop her—"

 

Sinclair:
"Professional distraction artist."

 

Lenny:
"That’s one word for it. She’s got Rayes tied up, and Joker—LOW BLOW BEHIND THE REF'S BACK!"

 

[Crowd responds with a wild mixed reaction—boos, laughs, and some scattered clapping.]

 

Jackson:
"Blackheart crumples! Joker hooks him—snap DDT again! Hooks the leg!"

 

Danny Rayes:
"ONE! TWO—KICKOUT!"

 

Lenny:
"Blackheart’s still in it, but this crowd—man, this crowd is starting to enjoy Joker's chaos more than they fear it."

 

Sinclair:
"That's what happens when you give the people what they want—clown show violence!"

 

Jackson:
"Joker yanks Blackheart up again—wait, no—Blackheart counters with a STIFF rolling elbow! Joker’s rocked! He hits the ropes—"

 

Lenny:
"And Harley’s back again! This time she’s pulling on Rayes’ pant leg—"

 

Jackson:
"—and something just slid into the ring! That’s the same spray can Joker used against Zagreus in the first round!"

 

Sinclair:
"Harley just tossed the ace back in! Right there near Joker's boot!"

 

Lenny:
"But Joker didn’t call for it—he didn’t even see it!"

 

Jackson:
"Joker takes a step back—OH! HE ROLLS HIS ANKLE! He just stepped right on the can and collapsed!"

 

Lenny:
"Oh man, that didn’t sound good—he went down hard!"

 

[Crowd gasps and buzzes as Joker grabs at his ankle, writhing near the ropes.]

 

Jackson:
"He’s in real pain—he’s rolling under the bottom rope and out of the ring, calling for help!"

 

Lenny:
"The referee’s with him, but here comes MAWL’s ringside doc. Joker’s shouting—wait, he’s yelling at Harley?"

 

[Camera catches Joker shouting while clutching his ankle, red-faced.]

Joker (mouthing): "What the hell are you doing!? I didn’t say PLAN B!! Stupid!"

 

Sinclair:
"Yikes. Looks like the Queen of Chaos got a little overzealous."

 

Jackson:
"And it might cost them. Joker is furious, but he’s also hurt bad. That ankle’s not bearing weight."

 

Lenny:
"And let’s be honest—that was his misstep. Harley gave him the tool, yeah, but Joker's the one who stepped on it blind."

 

Jackson:
"Regardless, Jay the Joker is in the hands of medical staff right now—and this semi-final is in serious jeopardy."

 

Jackson Creed (Play-by-Play):
“We are at a standstill here in the first semi-final. Jay the Joker being tended to after stepping on a spray can tossed in by Harley Quinn, and it looks like he may have severely rolled or even sprained that ankle.”

 

Lenny Cruz (Color):
“He can’t even stand on it, Jackson. And Harley? She’s pacing like a dog that knows it just peed on the couch.”

 

Sinclair DeVille (Heel Commentator):
“She was trying to help! Joker just didn’t look where he was stepping—if that’s anyone’s fault, it’s his.”

 

Jackson:
“Referee Danny Rayes now talking to the ringside doctor—this could be serious. He might be preparing to wave the match off.”

 

Lenny:
“If Rayes throws this out, that puts Blackheart in the finals by default.”

 

Sinclair:
“Which is the worst kind of win. I hate the guy, but even I think Blackheart deserves a fight—”

 

🎙️ [Suddenly, the lights flicker red and a crackle of old-time radio static fills the arena.]

 

🔥🎶 “Radio silence… ends now.”

 

 

[HUGE POP from the crowd as “Daisies by Black Gryph0n & Baasik” hits and ALASTOR steps through the curtain with his cane mic in hand.]

 

Jackson:
“Wait a second—that’s Alastor! That’s the Radio Demon himself, here in Sydney!”

 

Lenny:
“And listen to this crowd blow the roof off! I thought he wasn't booked tonight!”

 

Sinclair:
“He wasn’t! And if he’s out here now, it’s never just to smile and wave!”

 

[Alastor raises the mic cane, grinning wide, his red eyes flashing under the house lights.]

 

Alastor (voice echoing smoothly):
“Well, that was quite a fall you had there… Jay-Jay, wasn’t it?”

 

[Crowd LAUGHS and reacts with a mix of cheers and gasps. Joker, still on the floor, clutches his ankle and yells up the ramp.]

 

Joker (shouting):
“It’s THE JOKER! Not Jay-Jay!!”

 

Alastor (ignoring him entirely):
“But because of that other clown—and you know who you are—I was made to set a new rule for the ETHER TOURNAMENTS. A little amendment, if you will.”

 

[Crowd leans in, anticipation building.]

 

Alastor:
“The named fighter… must finish the match. Hurt or not. Limp, crawl, or beg for a stretcher—there will be no substitutions, no forfeits, no rewinds. This match will continue… until there is a pinfall or submission.”

 

[CROWD ROARS.]

 

Jackson:
“Oh my—Alastor just overrode any hope of a stoppage! This match is officially back on!”

 

Sinclair:
“That is cold-blooded! I LOVE it!”

 

Lenny:
“And look at Blackheart… he's been kneeling the whole time. Listening. Calculating.”

 

[Blackheart slowly rises to his feet, expression unreadable. Then without warning, he rolls out of the ring—approaches the doc team and SHOVES them aside.]

 

Jackson:
“Wait—Blackheart’s heading for Joker! He just tossed the doctors like garbage!”

 

Lenny:
“Get security down here! Joker’s hurt!”

 

Sinclair:
“Didn’t you hear Alastor, Lenny? This match is still going! No mercy.”

 

[Blackheart grabs Joker by the injured leg and YANKS him violently toward the steel stairs.]

 

Jackson:
“Oh NO—he’s got that ankle—SLAMS IT INTO THE STEPS! That steel echoes through the arena!”

 

[Joker SCREAMS, then LAUGHS through clenched teeth.]

 

Joker (through the pain):
“Ha-HA—okay! Okay! Ow—HAHA—okay!!”

 

Lenny:
“He's laughing!? Is he in shock?!”

 

Sinclair:
“He’s in agony—and loving it! That’s why this freak’s dangerous!”

 

[Blackheart grabs the ankle again and SLAMS it a second time, then steps onto it, pinning it to the steel while Joker writhes beneath him.]

 

Jackson:
“Blackheart standing tall—literally—on Joker’s ankle, and the Joker is howling, but laughing! This is grotesque!”

 

Lenny:
“This is exactly what people hate about Blackheart—and somehow… it’s making these fans pull for a deranged clown instead!”

 

[Camera zooms on Joker, hand clutching at Blackheart’s pant leg, his painted smile half-melted, half-maniacal.]

 

Jackson Creed (Play-by-Play):
“Blackheart has that heel hold cinched in tight—Joker’s ankle twisted painfully beneath him. You can hear the crowd holding their breath as Joker writhes, desperate for a rope break.”

 

Lenny Cruz (Color):
“This could be it! Joker’s face is contorted in agony, and Blackheart’s got him locked in like a vice.”

 

Sinclair DeVille (Heel Commentator):
“Blackheart’s methodical, merciless—and he knows exactly how to make his opponents tap. Joker’s in deep trouble.”

 

[Suddenly, the camera cuts to the stage where an unknown figure in a black hoodie darts quickly across the ramp, sprinting directly toward the production desk just off to the side.]

 

Jackson:
“Wait, what’s this? Someone’s running across the stage!”

 

Lenny:
“That’s gotta be trouble—Blackheart is all locked in on Joker, no idea what’s happening!”

 

 

[The pyro explodes at the corner buckle—red flames burst with a roar—and Blackheart’s own entrance music blasts through the arena.]

 

Sinclair:
“What the—Blackheart’s theme? What is going on here?”

 

[Security and production crew rush to grab the hooded figure, struggling to pull him away from the desk.]

 

Jackson:
“They’re trying to remove him, but it looks like it’s working—Blackheart’s letting go of the heel hold to see who it is!”

 

[The hood falls back as the figure is dragged toward the backstage curtain, revealing a wild, grinning JP Spears.]

 

 

Lenny:
“JP Spears! The man who vowed Blackheart wouldn’t win this tournament! He’s making good on that promise tonight.”

 

Sinclair:
“That’s just dirty politics—and now it’s cost Damian the match!”

 

[Blackheart’s eyes are locked on Spears as he disappears backstage, his frustration boiling over.]

 

Jackson:
“Blackheart turns back to the ring—he’s not expecting this!”

 

[Joker, sensing the moment, rolls behind Blackheart and locks in a sudden backside roll-up.]

 

Lenny:
“Joker’s making a move! He’s going for the pin!”

 

[Harley Quinn sprints around the ring, grabbing Joker’s injured ankle and yanking back hard, giving him the leverage he needs to hold Blackheart down.]

 

Jackson:
“One! Two! Three! It’s over!”

 

[The bell rings. The crowd explodes in cheers and boos.]

 

[Astrid Vale (Ring Announcer) steps into the ring with microphone in hand.]

 

Astrid Vale:
“Here is your winner—and the FIRST FINALIST in the Ether Championship Tournament… THE JOKER!”

 

 

[Joker’s music blares as he is helped up by Harley, limping but triumphant, a manic grin stretched across his face.]

 

Lenny:
“Against all odds—and through the pain—Joker has pulled it off!”

 

Sinclair:
“This isn’t over. Blackheart won’t take this lying down. But for tonight, Joker moves on!”

 

[POST-MATCH – CHAOS AND CONFRONTATION]

[Joker’s music blares through the arena as Harley Quinn helps him limp up the ramp, supporting him carefully on his bad ankle.]

 

Jackson Creed (Play-by-Play):
“Joker’s moving slow but steady, leaning on Harley to make it up the ramp. That ankle looks worse than ever.”

 

Lenny Cruz (Color):
“Harley’s got his back, but you can see the pain etched all over Joker’s face. That wasn’t just a match—this was a war.”

 

[Meanwhile, at ringside, security and production staff have stopped pulling JP Spears away, realizing the damage has been done.]

 

Sinclair DeVille (Heel Commentator):
“They’re finally letting Spears catch his breath. Mission accomplished, no doubt.”

 

[The camera cuts to Blackheart, still in the ring, leaning over the ropes, furious beyond anything anyone has seen before.]

 

Jackson:
“Look at Blackheart. He’s seething—madder than we’ve ever seen him. His eyes are burning holes right through JP Spears.”

 

Lenny:
“You can feel the rage coming off him in waves. That man was this close to victory.”

 

[JP Spears, now safe behind the barricade near the entrance ramp, calmly smiles and waves at Blackheart, unfazed by the venomous glare.]

 

Sinclair:
“JP Spears just mocking Blackheart. This isn’t over—oh no, this is just the beginning.”

 

Jackson:
“As Joker limps past JP, the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. Blackheart’s burning hatred for Spears is clear as day.”

 

Lenny:
“This tournament just got a whole lot more dangerous. And if you think Joker’s out of the woods—think again.”

[The camera lingers on Blackheart’s furious glare as JP Spears continues to smile, the screen fading out to the echoing crowd noise.]

 

 

RP1

WildFire is backstage face timing with his family on his iPad.

 

 

WildFire : “Alright, Jaina, put on Mom”

 

 

Jaina : “Ok Daddy, MOOOOOMMM!!!” yelling at someone off screen.

 

WildFire’s wife Sera is seen on screen :”Stop yelling” She says to her daughter,  annoyed “I’m right here.”

 

WildFire laughs.

 

Sera :”What, she gets it from you, you know”

 

WildFire :”No way she definitely takes after you.”

 

Sera : “Daddy’s little Princess? You wish.”

WildFire :”Nah man, Jacen’s more like me, Jaina’s  all you …”

 

Jaina (in the background) :” Love you Daddy”

 

Sera :”Pthhhhhhttt” sticks out her tongue at WildFire “Suck up “ she looks at something off screen”

 

WildFire looks serious :”Anyway, so how’s stuff there?  How are you feeling?”

 

Sera “Pretty good, it’s only been about a month, so it’s still early. And you??”

 

WildFire :”Well I got a match in the Sem-finals of the Ether Tourney tonight, against Lynx.”

 

Sera : “Who’s that?”

 

WildFire : “Some newish guy on the roster, looked him up but …I think he’s some sort of Luchador?? Maybe he’s Canadian or something??”

 

Sera : “What makes you think that?”

 

WildFire :” Uhh I think a LYNX is some sort of wild cat thing with a short stubby tail that lives in the US and Canada.”

Sera : “So you're saying he’s a Canadian Cat Man??”

 

WildFire shrugs “Maybe, could always ask him” WildFire looks around “Ok there he is …” pointing him out nearby . 

 

 

Jackson: 

…..and we’re back here at MAWL Frequency, where the action is always guaranteed to give your goosebumps, goosebumps.

 

 

Sinclair: I can't believe what we've just witnessed…. wasn't it a beauty.

 

Lenny: (voice crescendoing as he stands up) The violence, the mastery the complete and utter c…..

 

Lenny is suddenly cut off by a voice in his ear

 He reaches to his headset trying to hear clearly.

 

Lenny: Speaking of the complete and utter chaos…we're getting word of some sort of disturbance in the parking lot????!!!

 

Lenny points at the big screen as the video on the screen turns to camera men running towards the disturbance to get the scoop.

 

 

A number of security officers divide the two figures previously at war with each other. The shouts of anger come heavily from one side mixed in with the shouts of security trying to control the situation.

 

Random security 1: calm down 

 

Random security 2: sir …look at me

 

Sinclair: looks like security is already getting the situation under control.

 

 

Luciano: Don't you dare touch me!!!!!

 

Lenny: Oh…mmyyy God! That's…thats..Luciano…..look at him standing there almost sumo like ready to strike 

 

Sinclair: yeah but looks at the other side..that's the storyteller..that's Elijah!!!

 

 

Jackson: he doesn't look so good though….look we can already see blood coming from the crown of his head….looks like Luciano got the better of whatever that exchange was….

 

Luciano: (still in the sumo like striking position shouting over the voices of the security trying to calm the situation down)

 Don't you dare think you can take from me spider!!!

 

Sinclair: was…is…right…seems like this is over…

 

Jackson: What the Hell????

 

Security scampering to pull Elijah off of Luciano again

 

Jackson: All I saw was The Hair flying 

 

Sinclair: now all there was, is Elijah’s boot to Luciano's face

 

*Crowd uproars* Let them fight!!! Let them fight!!!

 

Lenny: i can't agree more

 

As security successfully pulls Elijah off of Luciano, Luciano makes his ascent to his feet quickly, fully enraged

 

Sinclair: Oh my!!! Both Luciano and Elijah are clearing out the security, slamming them into the nearby cars and the side walls.

 

Jackson: ooooh! That's gonna leave a mark…Luciano just slammed that guys into the metal gate door…and the door got dented

 

Lenny: now the two are staring at each other….we need more security out there?!!

 

Crowd: Fight fight fight!!!

 

Sinclair: Oh there at it..and they are laying those lefts and rights into each other.

 

Jackson: Looks like Luciano's got the upper hand…..he grabs Elijah and slams him into the car

 

Lenny: Oooh, now he's stomping on Elijah….where is the security??? While I love the fight…that's asphalt and concrete out there everything is magnified on terms of damage to the body 

 

Jackson: No! No! 

 

Sinclair: Luciano's raising Elijah up…lifting him up by the chin..as he shouts out 

 

Luciano: Tonight….I crush the spider!!!!

 

Sinclair: Backelbow……oh my…Elijah's gonna need surgery after that one

 

Jackson: The way his head crashed into the van…he's done for…and I believe Luciano believes so to as he's walking towards the cameraman

 

Luciano: We're not done Balor!!! *As he points back towards Elijah's direction* When I'm done cleaning up the smear on the side of the road….I'm coming for what’s mine!!!

 

Lenny: Guys!??? guys???....ummmmm

 

Jackson: Yeah I saw that too?

 

Sinclair: don't you.mean…we didn't see that???

 

Lenny: Where was Elijah, he wasn't by the car!!!??

 

As Lenny shouts this, Luciano is grabbed from behind and  lifted into the air

 

Sinclair: No! No! That's concrete out there don't do this!!!

 

Jackson: he’s going for it!!

 

Lenny: Crick- Crack!!!

 

Sinclair: Monkey break his back….Backbreaker to Luciano!!! 

 

Jackson..more like both their backs…

 

Lenny: Fuck Fuck fuck…..the two are on the ground rolling in pain 

Finally!!! More security has arrived …get them to medical!!

 

Sinclair: Are they even going to be able to have their match???

This is crazy…and I love it!!!

 

 

ETHER TOURNAMENT – SEMI-FINAL #2 WILDFIRE vs. LYNX 

 

Arena light go out as the crowd goes silent

                  The Titantron goes all white, as the name "WildFire" is displayed on the main screen, before he makes an appearance

                  "Better than the Best!!!", "!2 out of 10 !!!", "8 stars out of 5 !!!","Simply the Greatesr EVER!!!"

                  WildFire charges out of the crowd sliding into the ring

 

 

WildFire kneels in the center of the ring both arms raised

 

 Fireworks Explode from the 4 ring posts as "I Wanna Rock" by Twisted Sister plays

 

 

Astrid: First! From Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, weighing in at 225 pounds and at 6 foot 2, WILDFIRE!

 

 

The cameras catch the tail end of Lynx's entrance — the lights pulsing pink as Britney Spears blares from the speakers, the crowd clapping and laughing along to the pop chaos. WildFire is already in the ring, crouched low in a corner, expression unreadable — though the bruises from his clash with RADE last week are still fresh, especially that deep purple welt across his left shoulder blade.

 

 

Astrid:

And his opponent! From the Bialowieza Forest in Poland, weighing 205 pounds, Lynx!!

 

 

Jackson Creed:
“We are moments away from the second semi-final in the Ether Championship Tournament — WildFire waiting in the ring, clearly still battered after that brutal war with RADE last week. And Lynx—”

 

Suddenly, a blur of black barrels in from the crowd—

 

 

Lenny Cruz:
“—LYNX! LOOK OUT!”

 

Jackson Creed:
“RADE OUT OF NOWHERE! SHOULDER TACKLE INTO THE STEPS!”

 

The crowd erupts in screams and gasps as Lynx is sent tumbling, hard, into the steel steps — the top section flipping over as his body ricochets against the metal with a dull thud. RADE doesn’t stop, towering over Lynx and raining down forearms with wild, hammering force.

 

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Ohhh yes. Beautiful chaos. That’s what the Ether Tournament needed.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Are you kidding me?! Get security—get ANYONE! RADE’s not even in this match!”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Security is pouring out now, but RADE is completely unhinged—he’s just throwing bodies off him! We’ve seen what he’s capable of when he's calm, but this... this is animalistic.”

 

RADE grabs Lynx by the back of the neck and slams him against the barricade, the thud echoing through the arena. Fans recoil. Lynx tries to crawl, barely conscious. RADE stomps the back of his head, snarling. ANN "ATOMIC" LEE'S face appears on screen. 

 

 

ANN "ATOMIC" LEE:
"He who thinks himself an Apex Predator because he eludes a monster once is merely delaying the inevitable. He who wishes to hoard his blood, who does not wish to share it, is selfish. An animal that stands in the road is only a hindrance for a moment, before he becomes roadkill."

 

One security guard tries to grab his arm—RADE turns and throws him aside like a toy.

 

Lenny Cruz:
“This is disgusting! Lynx was coming in fresh, and now he’s being destroyed!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Destroyed? He’s being reminded who the real apex predator is. You don’t steal from the Blood Collector and walk away.”

 

RADE drags Lynx to the floor and lifts him, snarling louder and louder—

 

Jackson Creed:
“He’s going for it—he’s going for 7 Feet Under!”

 

The ring shakes as RADE launches Lynx into the air and drives him down with the thunderous pop-up chokeslam, right onto the floor. A collective groan ripples through the arena as Lynx’s body folds on impact.

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Stop this! He can’t fight after that!”

 

RADE stands over Lynx one last time, breathing heavy, then grabs him like a broken puppet and throws him under the bottom rope, into the ring. WildFire hasn’t moved — he’s kneeling again, grinning like he’s just unwrapped his favorite gift.

 

Jackson Creed:
“RADE finally escorted out — but the damage is done. Lynx is out cold. Referee Vanya Cross is checking—wait, wait…”

 

 

Lenny Cruz:
“She’s calling for help, right?!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Nope. She’s pointing to the timekeeper — this match is about to begin. Because, gentlemen, in case you forgot, all named fighters must compete once the bell rings. That’s the new rule. Alastor’s rule.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“This is madness…”

 

The camera zooms in on WildFire’s face — lit with a twisted joy. Lynx is barely crawling, reaching for a rope. The bell rings.

 

[DING DING DING!]

 

Jackson Creed:
“And we’re officially underway… though calling this a match feels a bit dishonest. This is an execution.”

 

WildFire, still crouched like a tiger, rises slowly, a sadistic smile spread across his face. He walks to the crumpled Lynx, soaking in the chorus of boos like it’s fuel.

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Don’t do it like this… come on…”

 

WildFire doesn’t hook the leg, doesn’t even press fully down. He just leans over, placing a single arm on Lynx’s chest, flashing a smirk straight at Vanya Cross.

 

Jackson Creed:
“The most arrogant pin you’ll see all night—”

 

ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT at 2.5!

 

The crowd ROARS as Lynx twitches free, shoulder just barely off the mat. WildFire blinks, then laughs. A loud, full-chested laugh as he slaps the mat with both hands.

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Okay, okay — credit where it’s due. That was spite-fueled stubbornness from Lynx, nothing more. He’s got no gas, just fumes and pride.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“But sometimes pride is all you need.”

 

WildFire grabs Lynx by the back of the head, muttering something inaudible as he pulls him up to his knees. Then—

 

Jackson Creed:
“BOOM 2! Those double elbows to the top of the skull—again!”

 

Lynx collapses flat, the sound of the impact sickening. WildFire doesn’t even look concerned. This time, he just drops his back across Lynx’s chest like a lounging king on a throne.

 

ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT at 2.75!

 

Lenny Cruz:
“HE GOT OUT! HE GOT OUT AGAIN!”

 

Crowd:
“LET’S GO LYNX! CLAP CLAP CLAPCLAPCLAP LET’S GO LYNX!”

 

WildFire sits up, stunned. His grin falters. The crowd is now fully behind Lynx, shaking the rafters with noise. Vanya Cross shows him two fingers. WildFire tilts his head, then shakes it slowly like he can’t believe what’s happening.

 

Jackson Creed:
“That’s not just a kick-out. That’s resistance. Lynx may be broken, but he’s not beaten.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Okay but like—he should be. This is bad business. Just pin him properly and move on!”

 

Snarling now, WildFire grabs Lynx again—BOOM 2! Even stiffer. Lynx’s head snaps back hard.

 

Jackson Creed:
“He hit it AGAIN! That’s three—he’s going for the cover—”

 

WildFire drops into a quick cover, this time slightly more serious, but still not fully focused.

 

ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT!! LYNX KICKS OUT AGAIN!

 

The fans erupt all over again.

Lenny Cruz:
“NO WAY! NO WAY!! HE’S STILL IN IT!!”

 

WildFire sits up, furious now. His expression snaps from disbelief to white-hot rage.

 

He storms over to the referee, jabbing a finger in Vanya’s face.

 

WildFire (screaming):
“COUNT FASTER! YOU’RE SCREWING ME, VANYA! I KNOW WHAT THIS IS!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Oh, now it’s the ref’s fault? Give me a break—he didn’t even hook the leg either time!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“The guy’s frustrated. He thought this was a bye. Instead, he’s got a corpse kicking out like it’s WrestleMania. I’d yell too!”

 

WildFire turns and stomps back toward Lynx—

 

Jackson Creed:
“WAIT—SMALL PACKAGE! SMALL PACKAGE!”

 

ONE!
TWO!
TH—NO!!

WildFire just kicks out, tumbling backward in a panic.

 

Lenny Cruz:
“HE ALMOST DID IT! HE ALMOST STOLE IT FROM UNDER HIM!”

 

WildFire’s eyes go wide. No more smirking. No more dancing. Just rage.

 

Jackson Creed:
“WildFire UP—AND THERE IT IS! BOOM 2 AGAIN! STRAIGHT DOWN ON THE SKULL!”

 

But he doesn’t stop.

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“He’s going again—ANOTHER BOOM 2!”

 

Two crushing elbow shots back-to-back. Lynx’s body jerks and goes limp. WildFire drops into a real pin this time, pressing down, hooking the leg, grinding his forearm across the face.

 

Jackson Creed:
“This has to be it…”

 

ONE!
TWO!
THREE!!

 

[DING DING DING]

 

Astrid Vale (Ring Announcer):
“Here is your winner… and advancing to the finals of the Ether Championship Tournament…
WIIIIILDFIIIIRE!!!”

 

 

“I Wanna Rock” by Twisted Sister kicks in as WildFire slowly stands, fists raised. The crowd is booing relentlessly, but it doesn’t matter — he’s soaking it in, blowing sarcastic kisses, mouthing “I told you.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“It wasn’t clean, it wasn’t right… but it’s official. WildFire joins Joker in the finals at Transmission: DreamTime.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“I hope Joker’s ankle holds up. Because WildFire’s gonna take every shortcut possible to leave with that title.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Shortcut? He just won. He’s the finalist. End of story. Get mad about it later — right now, the lion roars loudest.”

 

Camera lingers on WildFire standing over Lynx, looking directly into the hard cam, mouthing:

“This lion doesn’t sleep.”

[FADE OUT.]

 

 

RP3

A dimly lit backstage hallway, somewhere between universes—nowhere familiar, yet pulsing with static. The walls hum with old signals.

 

 

Vernon Gravewater stands hunched beneath a flickering lightbulb, his cane resting against an old radio. His eyes shimmer like pond water in moonlight. From a hallway that didn’t exist moments ago, Tragedeigh steps out, her USA-themed cape dragging like theater curtains behind her, her mask cracked but proud. The faint echo of a string quartet warps through the static.

 

Vernon Gravewater:

“Funny thing ‘bout signals, little tragedienne. They don’t die. Not really. They drift. Bounce. Interfere. Bleed into frequencies that oughta stay silent.”

 

He chuckles, slow and gurgling.

 

Vernon 

“And you know what rides on those signals, don’tcha?”

 

Tragedeigh:

“Messages. Warnings. Or... invitations in disguise.”

 

She tilts her head

 

Tragedeigh:

“You didn’t drag me across the dimensional footlights to talk about ghost signals. What do you want, Gravewater?”

 

Vernon:

“Not want. Offer.”

 

He pulls a crumpled, water-stained flyer from his coat. The ink shifts and warps like it doesn’t want to be read.

 

Vernon:

“There’s broadcast space out there—past MAWL, past WREK-TV, past the forbidden podcasts even Milo don’t dare host. Stations without dials. Frequencies without clocks. They’re hungry.”

 

Tragedeigh:

“Broadcasting to who? The dead? The unmade?”

 

Tragedeigh looks right at the camera with a smirk.

 

Tragedeigh:

“Or the ones watching from behind the fourth wall?”

 

Vernon:

“Yes.”

 

He lets the word rot in the air.

 

Vernon:

“And they love a tragedy.”

 

Tragedeigh:

“You offering me a mic or a tombstone?”

 

Vernon:

“Same thing, sometimes. But what I’m sayin’ is this: there’s airwaves out there that ain’t been claimed. Shows that need voices. Faces. Blood. You wanna reach the ones who write the script, or the ones who scream at the twist?”

 

Tragedeigh:

“I’ve already died once in front of a live audience. This time, I choose the lighting. The sound cues. The final act.”

 

Vernon:

“That’s the spirit, girl.”

 

He turns away, vanishing into the static like a dream half-remembered.

 

Vernon:

“Just remember: the multiverse ain’t got reruns. Only consequences.”

 

The hallway goes dark. Somewhere far off, a dial clicks. A broadcast begins. But no one remembers turning it on.

 

INT. MAWL BACKSTAGE – OUTSIDE A CLOSED DOOR MARKED “ALASTOR”

 

 

JP Spears paces in front of the door, fists clenching and unclenching. He’s still in sweatpants and a graphic tee, breathing steady, his face set in focused frustration. Inside, muffled conversation — Alastor speaking to a stagehand.

 

The door opens. Alastor steps out, mid-sentence, but then spots JP and raises a brow.

 

 

ALASTOR
(interrupting himself)
That’ll be all.

 

The stagehand scurries off. Alastor holds the door open.

 

ALASTOR
You’re bold, I’ll give you that.
Showing up here after that stunt in the Joker and Blackheart match?
Hijacking the music. Pyro. Using Blackheart’s own symphony against him to hand a win to a guy on one leg?

(points to him, grinning)
Points for thinking outside the box.

 

Alastor walks into the office. JP follows silently.

 

 

Alastor gestures to the chair in front of his desk but doesn’t sit.

 

ALASTOR
Have a seat… or don’t.

 

JP stands tall, voice steady.

 

JP SPEARS
I want in.
Final match.
Triple threat — me, Joker, Wildfire.

 

Alastor arches an eyebrow, then chuckles.

 

ALASTOR
You do realize you already have the first shot at whoever wins that match, right?
Why toss that aside just to make it harder on yourself?

 

JP starts to pace again.

 

JP SPEARS
Joker can barely walk, Alastor.
Wildfire’s been carried by dumb luck this whole damn tournament.
I’ve got this. Let me take the title now — on my terms.

 

Alastor turns away slowly in his chair, spinning to face the back wall.

 

JP SPEARS
You owe me.
You took that U.S. Title off me — then retired it.
I didn’t lose it… you ended it.
And I ate that, didn’t I? Took it without whining.
But now it’s time you paid me back.

 

Alastor speaks without turning around.

 

ALASTOR
We already made a deal when that happened. You got some compensation.

 

JP raises his voice, heated now.

 

JP SPEARS
Nah.
You like deals so damn much?
Then take my one-on-one title match…
and trade it for a seat in that final.

 

Long pause. Alastor hums, thinking.

 

ALASTOR
Hmmmm… not quite enough.
But — if you also agree to do me a favor.
A favor of my choosing.
No questions. No stalling.
You say “deal,” I’ll give you that final spot.

 

JP stares at the wall. Breathes. Thinks.

 

Then:

 

JP SPEARS
...Deal.

 

Alastor whirls back around dramatically, standing and extending a hand.

 

ALASTOR
Very well, Mister Spears.

The ETHER CHAMPIONSHIP TOURNAMENT FINAL…
is now a three-way match:
Jay the Joker vs. Wildfire vs. JP Spears.

To crown the first-ever Ether Champion.
I do hope this is everything you wanted.

 

JP shakes his hand, grinning.

 

JP SPEARS
Everything and then some.
Tell the crew to shine that belt up.
I’m already planning what arm it’s going on.

 

He leaves with that cocky smile. Once the door shuts behind him, Alastor slowly sits back down. From the shadows, Zagreus steps forward, arms folded.

 

 

ZAGREUS
That’s why you made that rule…
“Named fighter must compete.”
You wanted to trap him into a deal.

 

ALASTOR
(grinning)
Ohhhh... would I do that?

 

He winks, then breaks into a laugh — low and deliberate as the scene fades to black.

 

 

 6-MAN TAG TEAM CHAOS HIGH RISK & ALL-STAR ERIC VERNE vs. M.A.M.A. – Youngblood Patrick Riot, Xander Marks, Senator Sherwood & U.S. Rae

 

[Lights strobe in red, gold, and electric blue as The Klaxons' "Atlantis to Interzone" hits the speakers.]

 

 

 [The synth pulses hard—then suddenly transitions into Tinie Tempah’s “Written in the Stars.”]

 

 

Jackson Creed:
“Oh, you know who this is—High Risk and All-Star Eric Verne are in the building!”

 

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Explosive, fast, and flashy—this entrance always gets the people jumpin’!”

 

 

[Johnny Dagger bursts onto the stage first, throwing up a double fist pump before sprinting to the edge of the ramp. Taylor Tiger follows, pointing to the crowd and giving his signature “WOO!” with a flash of pyro.]

 

 

[Then—BOOM—ALLLLL-STAR Eric Verne leaps through the middle of the star fireworks that erupt at the top of the ramp, landing in front with a backflip and a grin.]

 

[All three slap hands, then charge the ring—sliding in together before hopping up to opposite turnbuckles to hype the crowd.]

 

Astrid: The following contest is scheduled for one fall! First, All Star Eric Verne and the team of Dangerous Johnny Dagger and Tenacious Taylor Tiger. 

 

 

[Jim Johnston’s “Real American” blasts through the arena as the crowd erupts in boos. Red, white, and blue spotlights sweep across the stage.]

 

Jackson Creed:
“Oh boy… here comes M.A.M.A.—and you can already feel the crowd turning sour.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Tone-deaf patriotism, foreign soil, and four walking headaches. This is gonna get ugly.”

 

 

[Xander Marks and Patrick Riot march out first, waving oversized American flags aggressively. Riot yells at the crowd, daring them to boo louder. Senator Sherwood follows, smugly shaking hands with flag-wearing plants in the front row.]

 

[Last out is U.S. Rae, slow-clapping as she smirks and lifts a megaphone, trying to start a "U-S-A" chant that dies immediately in the sea of boos.]

 

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Love ’em or hate ’em, you can’t ignore ’em. M.A.M.A. are loud, proud, and completely unfiltered.”

 

[They reach the ring together and pose at all four corners—waving flags as Sherwood blows a kiss to the cameras. U.S. Rae stands center, arms crossed, soaking in the chaos.]

 

 

Referee: Vanya Cross

🔔 DING DING DING! 🔔

 

Jackson Creed: "And here we go—six-man tag action underway with two factions who absolutely loathe each other—High Risk against the ever-controversial M.A.M.A."

 

Lenny Cruz: "Watch it—watch it! Look at ‘em! The heels are rushing the ring—M.A.M.A trying to jump the bell!"

 

Sinclair DeVille: "Smart! Start fast, set the tone. Love it."

 

Jackson: "But the faces saw it coming! Verne ducks a lariat from Xander Marks—springboard back elbow sends him reeling! Johnny Dagger with a flying leg lariat to Riot! Taylor Tiger catches Sherwood with a snap arm drag and keeps hold of the wrist!"

 

Lenny: "They’re lighting them up, Jack! High Risk turned the ambush into a whiplash clinic!"

 

Sinclair: "Flips and flops. Someone get control—oh right, that’s what Vanya Cross is paid for."

 

Jackson: "Marks and Riot roll to the outside to regroup—but no time to breathe! Taylor hits the ropes—baseball slide! Nails Marks in the shins!"

 

Lenny: "And here comes Dagger! Tope con hilo!! Takes Riot DOWN on the outside! The crowd in Auckland is losing it!"

 

[Crowd: "HIGH RISK! HIGH RISK! HIGH RISK!"]

 

Jackson: "Sherwood’s left in the ring—and it’s just him and Eric Verne, who’s dancing on the balls of his feet with a big ol’ grin on his face."

 

Lenny: "This is the matchup I didn’t know I needed. Sherwood, the crooked politician with a power game... and Verne, all heart, all hype, ALL STAR."

 

Sinclair: "Sherwood’s outnumbered three to one, this is illegal!"

 

Jackson: "Referee Vanya Cross restoring order, Taylor and Johnny head to the apron. The legal men now—All-Star Eric Verne and Senator Sherwood."

 

[Mid-match flow begins]

 

Jackson: "Verne with the quick lateral movement—Sherwood throws a big clothesline—ducked! Dropkick to the knee by Verne! Sherwood drops to one knee—Verne hits the ropes—shining wizard!"

 

Lenny: "BOOM! That's track speed right there!"

 

Jackson: "Sherwood stunned! Verne grabs him—snapmare—tags in Johnny Dagger!"

 

Sinclair: "Oh joy, the street rat’s in."

 

Jackson: "Dagger in—running basement dropkick to the spine of Sherwood! Covers—"

 

Vanya: "ONE!... TWO—"

 

Jackson: "Sherwood powers out at two. But he’s grounded and in trouble."

 

Lenny: "High Risk are treating this like a clinic. This isn’t just flash—it’s tag team fundamentals with flavor!"

 

Jackson: "Tag to Taylor Tiger now—Dagger holds Sherwood’s arm out—Tiger climbs the second rope—double axe handle right to the bicep!"

 

Sinclair: "That’s NOT in the spirit of fair competition! This is gang behavior!"

 

Jackson: "Taylor now hooks the waist—gutwrench suplex! Float over—Sherwood trying to scramble—Tiger grapevines the leg—drags him back to the corner—tags back in Verne!"

 

Lenny: "High Risk is cooking, Jack! Taylor hits the suplex, Verne’s back in, Dagger’s already on the apron calling for the next rotation. THIS is how you trap and dissect someone!"

 

Jackson: "Sherwood crawling—trying to find a tag—but Verne cuts him off—snap suplex floats over—he’s not even going for the cover! He’s setting him up—"

 

Lenny: "Setting up to fly!"

 

Jackson: "Verne hits the ropes—no! He fakes the jump—Sherwood flinches—and Verne slaps him on the back of the head!"

 

[Crowd pops huge]

 

Sinclair: "Ugh. Disrespectful. Sherwood is a Senator. He represents the American dream."

 

Lenny: "In Auckland? That man tried to pass a bill banning tofu!"

 

Jackson: "Sherwood scrambling, finally gets free—Verne tags in Taylor Tiger again! Taylor charges—"

 

Lenny: "NO! Riot pulls the middle rope down—"

 

Jackson: "TAYLOR WIPES OUT ONTO THE FLOOR!"

 

Sinclair: "Smart man! Youngblood Riot just changed the entire match with one move!"

 

Jackson: "And now both Riot and Marks pounce on Taylor like jackals—stomping away while Vanya is tied up trying to keep Dagger and Verne from getting involved!"

 

Lenny: "Come on, ref! Turn around!"

 

Sinclair: "Let 'em learn. You wanted danger? You wanted ‘grit’? That’s real tag strategy. Take out the smallest guy. Break the spine."

 

Jackson: "And on the outside, here comes U.S. Rae—clapping and—oh come on—she’s trying to start a U.S.A. chant here in New Zealand."

 

[Crowd loudly boos. Someone throws a jandal.]

 

Lenny: "Yeah, that’s going over like a lead balloon. These fans want to see action—not propaganda."

 

Sinclair: "They just don’t appreciate patriotism. That’s their fault."

 

Jackson: "Vanya Cross finally restores order—marks the legal tag—Sherwood crawls back in and immediately tags in Xander Marks. Taylor still down, and now he’s trapped deep in the enemy corner."

 

Lenny: "This is the last place you wanna be. Xander Marks, Youngblood Riot, and Sherwood? That’s a meat grinder. And Taylor Tiger’s about to feel all of it."

Jackson Creed: "Taylor Tiger trapped in the worst real estate in the ring—deep in M.A.M.A. territory—and Xander Marks is making him feel it."

 

Lenny Cruz: "We’ve entered chop-and-block territory now, Jack. Marks drops you with power, then tags out so someone else can pick the bones."

 

Sinclair DeVille: "You call it 'dirty.' I call it effective delegation. Teamwork makes the dream work. Their dream."

 

Jackson: "Marks with that heavy gutwrench slam—just folds Taylor in half! Hooks the leg!"

 

Referee Vanya Cross: "ONE!... TWO—"

 

Jackson: "Taylor kicks out at two, but he’s already taken a beating—and there’s the tag to Youngblood Patrick Riot."

 

Lenny: "This guy’s like if a boulder could vote. Look at the size of him!"

 

Jackson: "Riot in—grabs Taylor by the hair—big clubbing forearm to the back! Lifts him—short-arm clothesline! Plants him again! Riot flexing now—wasting precious seconds—"

 

Sinclair: "Let the man have his moment. He’s showing pride in his work!"

 

Jackson: "Taylor crawling, reaching for his corner—but Riot grabs the ankle—drags him back! And tags in Sherwood."

 

Lenny: "Man, M.A.M.A. is really leaning into this tag-and-smash strategy."

 

Jackson: "Sherwood lines him up—running knee to the ribs! Hooks the head—DDT! He floats over—doesn't go for the pin, instead pulls Taylor up again."

 

Sinclair: "See that? He’s not done campaigning."

 

Lenny: "No, he’s just trying to filibuster this kid’s kidneys."

 

Jackson: "Sherwood tags back out—Marks in again—measuring Taylor as Sherwood hoists him—Marks off the ropes—flying knee to the exposed ribs!"

 

Lenny: "That’s teamwork… evil, rotten teamwork!"

 

[Crowd chanting: “TAY-LOR TIGER! clap clap clapclapclap”]

 

Jackson: "Taylor trying to fight back—chops to Marks! Another one! But Marks shuts it down—BIG forearm to the jaw sends him stumbling back to the turnbuckle."

 

Sinclair: "You don’t slug it out with the Southern Discomfort unless you’re ready to get flattened."

 

Jackson: "Marks with a tag to Riot—here we go again—double team—Riot lifts Taylor—Marks hits the ropes—aided flapjack into a lariat mid-air! Taylor crashes hard!"

 

Vanya: "ONE!... TWO!... TH—NO!"

 

Jackson: "Taylor Tiger will not stay down!"

 

Lenny: "That’s that San Diego grind, baby! This kid eats punishment and keeps coming!"

 

Jackson: "Riot now locking in a grounded bearhug—just squeezing the wind out of him. Vanya asking if Taylor wants to quit—Tiger shakes his head—elbow! Another elbow!"

 

Sinclair: "He’s just making Riot mad."

 

Jackson: "Riot forces him back down—but Taylor twists, uses Riot’s weight—rolls through—and dives!"

 

Lenny: "HE’S GOT DAYLIGHT! COME ON!"

 

Jackson: "Taylor crawling—crawling—hand out—Verne reaching—JOHNNY DAGGER reaching—"

 

Sinclair: "OH, YES! BRILLIANT!"

 

Jackson: "Xander Marks and Sherwood just jumped into the ring—ILLEGAL—and yanked All-Star Eric Verne and Dangerous Johnny Dagger off the apron!"

 

Lenny: "COME ON, VANYA! That’s a DQ!"

 

Jackson: "No bell, the match continues—Taylor looks up and his corner’s empty! He doesn’t even know what just happened!"

 

Sinclair: "That’s called playing the long game! Verne and Dagger took a nap, courtesy of American efficiency!"

 

[Crowd roaring in disapproval, booing LOUDLY]

 

Jackson: "And here comes U.S. Rae—climbing up the steel steps—waving that massive American flag like this is the Fourth of July!"

 

[Crowd begins to boo louder — someone tosses a hot dog bun]

 

Lenny: "She’s trying it again?! She’s got no clue what country she’s in—"

 

U.S. Rae (yelling off-mic): “LET ME HEAR IT! U-S-A! U-S-A!”

 

[Crowd chants: “SIT DOWN! SIT DOWN!” and “THIS AIN’T AMERICA!”]

 

Jackson: "The flag’s waving, but this crowd is not buying what M.A.M.A.’s selling!"

 

Lenny: "And now Marks and Riot are posing with her while Sherwood goes back to work on poor Taylor Tiger!"

 

Jackson: "Sherwood tags back in—grabs Taylor by the hair—and now M.A.M.A. has him trapped again. This is starting to look like a political takedown—one Tiger at a time."

 

Jackson Creed: "At this point, M.A.M.A. isn’t just working over Taylor Tiger—they’re gloating about it."

 

Lenny Cruz: "Marks is out here pointing to the stars and stripes like they’re powering him up. Sherwood’s saluting the crowd—what even is this?!"

 

Sinclair DeVille: "What you’re seeing, gentlemen, is excellence with a patriotic finish. M.A.M.A. is educating this international audience in what dominance looks like."

 

Jackson: "Youngblood Riot tagged in now—he’s barking orders—Sherwood grabs Taylor’s arms, Marks lifts his legs—Riot off the ropes for a triple team assisted splash—"

 

Lenny: "NO! Taylor twists his body mid-air—uses Riot’s weight—and dumps all three of them with the torque!"

 

Jackson: "Sherwood crashes! Marks stumbles! Riot rolls through and eats canvas!"

 

[Crowd explodes with cheers as Taylor slaps the mat and starts crawling]

 

Sinclair: "Oh come on! All that teamwork—undone by a lucky wiggle?!"

 

Lenny: "That wasn’t luck, that was instinct! Taylor Tiger just broke their monopoly on momentum!"

 

Jackson: "Taylor pulls himself to the middle rope—he’s up—springboard—CROSSBODY!"

 

[Crowd ERUPTS]

 

Jackson: "*SPRINGBOARD CROSSBODY takes down all three members of M.A.M.A.!!!"

 

Lenny: "TIGER’S GOT CLAWS, JACK!"

 

Sinclair: "Referee Vanya Cross needs to get this under control! He’s not even legal!"

 

Jackson: "Taylor is the legal man—and now he’s dragging himself across the canvas—marks on his knees—Sherwood gasping—Riot not even upright yet—TAYLOR LEAPS—"

 

[TAG!]

 

Lenny: "DAGGER’S IN!"

 

Jackson: "Dangerous Johnny Dagger with the hot tag—and he’s moving like a bolt of lightning! Marks charges—spinning heel kick! Riot steps in—springboard clothesline! Sherwood tries a sneak—drop toe hold into the second buckle!"

 

Lenny: "He’s cleaning house, Jack! One. By. One."

 

Jackson: "Johnny’s not stopping—he hits the ropes—BASEBALL SLIDE DROPKICK sends Riot under the bottom rope to the outside!"

 

Sinclair: "This is chaos—someone call security!"

 

Lenny: "You know who’d love this chaos, Sinclair? The FANS!"

 

[Crowd: “LET’S GO DAG-GER! clap clap clapclapclap”]

 

Jackson: "Johnny tags in Eric Verne—All-Star up top on the far side—Taylor’s back on the apron—High Risk is about to fly!"

 

Lenny: "Call Air Traffic Control, it’s about to get crowded above the ring!"

 

Jackson: "Verne to the top—DIVES! Front flip senton wipes out Sherwood on the floor!"

 

Lenny: "Taylor vaults the opposite side—CROSSBODY on Riot!"

 

Jackson: "Johnny Dagger runs the ropes—SUICIDE DIVE TO THE OTHER SIDE—WIPES OUT MARKS!!"

 

[Crowd in a frenzy – three simultaneous dives!]

 

Sinclair: "This is an international incident!"

 

Jackson: "And look at U.S. Rae—cowering near the barricade, waving the American flag like a shield!"

 

Lenny: "Oh yeah, Rae’s backpedaling with that flag like it’s gonna deflect aerial offense. You brought the heat—now you deal with the fire!"

 

[Crowd chanting: “THIS IS AWESOME! clap clap clapclapclap”]

 

Jackson: "Bodies everywhere, High Risk has flipped the script! Taylor’s still catching his breath at ringside, Dagger pulling Sherwood back into the ring, and Verne pointing to the crowd—momentum has finally changed hands in Auckland!"

 

Jackson Creed: "Johnny Dagger tagging out now—Eric Verne, the All-Star, is back in and legal!"

 

Lenny Cruz: "And it’s go-time! You can feel it! This crowd is lit!"

 

Jackson: "Dagger fires off one last flurry—dropkick to Riot sends him over the ropes—and here comes Taylor!"

 

Lenny: "Heads up, Marks! TAYLOR’S IN THE AIR!"

 

Jackson: "SPRINGBOARD PLANCHA! Taylor Tiger wipes out Marks on the floor! And now Johnny Dagger—springboard moonsault onto Riot on the other side!"

 

[Crowd erupts as both members of High Risk land clean]

 

Sinclair DeVille: "Total chaos! Bodies flying everywhere—what is this, an airport terminal?! Ref Vanya Cross is completely distracted!"

 

Jackson: "Sherwood’s still legal for M.A.M.A. and he sees an opening—low blow! RIGHT in front of us!"

 

Lenny: "Oh COME ON!"

 

Jackson: "Sherwood just kicked All-Star below the equator—and now he’s got that smug grin—calling for Vanya—pointing at Verne like he’s doing everything by the book!"

 

Sinclair: "It’s just clever positioning! You can’t coach awareness like that!"

 

Jackson: "Sherwood calling for it—looks like he’s setting up for his finisher—but WAIT A SECOND—"

 

 

[♫ "Powerplay" by Tom Blades hits over the PA system ♫]

[Crowd loses it immediately]

 

Jackson: "WHAT?! That’s—That’s—?!"

 

 

Lenny: "IT’S POWER PLAY, BABY!"

 

Sinclair: "They’re not supposed to be out here! What the hell is this?!"

 

Jackson: "Hardball and Dodgeball—Dion and Derek Lane—Frequency of the Damned newest tag team signed to MAWL—they’ve just walked out onto the stage!"

 

[Crowd chanting: “POW-ER PLAY! POW-ER PLAY!”]

 

Jackson: "Sherwood freezes—he’s looking at the ramp like he’s seen a ghost!"

 

Lenny: "Eyes off the ball, and now he’s gonna pay for it!"

 

Jackson: "Verne rolls him up—SMALL PACKAGE!!"

 

Referee Vanya Cross:
"ONE! TWO! THREE!"

 

[Bell rings – crowd pops HUGE]

 

Astrid Vale (Ring Announcer):
“Here are your winners… High Risk and All-Star Eric Verne!”

 

[♫ All-Star Eric Verne’s theme hits as the trio immediately rolls out of the ring]

 

Jackson: "Verne steals the win after the distraction—and High Risk & All-Star are heading straight up the ramp—"

 

Lenny: "Right past Power Play, who are just clapping for 'em!"

 

Sinclair: "This is a robbery. That was a recount-worthy travesty."

 

Jackson: "Sherwood is furious—Marks and Riot are throwing chairs at ringside—US Rae is screaming something about 'patriotic sabotage'—"

 

Lenny: "But look at her—not screaming at Verne, not even looking at High Risk. She’s locked eyes with Power Play!"

 

Jackson: "The Lanes just smile—no words, just that calm confidence—while M.A.M.A. is melting down in the ring!"

 

Sinclair: "I want answers. I want security. I want justice! This is not how M.A.M.A. goes down!"

 

Jackson: "But go down they did—and the winners tonight, in Auckland, are High Risk and All-Star Eric Verne! Power Play just changed the entire landscape—and they haven’t even thrown a punch!"

 

[Camera lingers on Power Play at the top of the stage, arms crossed, nodding slowly. US Rae seething, her knuckles white around the flagpole.]

 

Lenny: "Oooooh buddy… frequency's changed. You feel that? The power just shifted."

 

 

The camera opens on the shimmering red carpet set of the MAWLiwood Lounge, with a velvet rope blocking off a gold star on the floor that simply reads “THE BLONDES.” Mark Anderson, in his signature designer shades, lounges with a glass of sparkling cider while Winston Lewis paces behind him, clearly agitated.

 

 

 

“Red Carpet” Mark Anderson:

“Y’know, Winston, I was sipping this premium non-alcoholic fizz and thinking… ain’t it wild how some folks just steal your shine?”

 

Winston “High Risk” Lewis:

(Scoffing)

“High Risk? HIGH. RISK?! That’s me, baby! That’s my brand. That’s like calling yourself ‘Red Carpet’ and showing up in Walmart flip-flops.”

 

Mark Anderson:

“Brother, we built those names. While we were flying off balconies, diving into flaming chairs and walking that gold-plated walk, some knockoff jabroni comes around calling himself ‘High Risk’? What’s next—‘Red Velvet Danger’? ‘Hollywood Mayhem’? Please.”

 

Winston Lewis:

“Oh no, this ain’t just some nickname. This is legacy. I earned High Risk after I moonsaulted off the second tier of a parking garage in '22. Ask my chiropractor—he still has a framed X-ray.”

 

Mark Anderson:

(Chiming in, mock-serious)

“We’re not just the MAWLiwood Blondes. We are the stunts. The spectacle. The main event that other people write fan fiction about. These other guys? They’re just... the matinee.”

 

Winston Lewis:

(Shrugs, smirking)

“Look, imitation’s the sincerest form of flattery. But trying to walk in my boots? That's a High Risk move in itself, pal. And trust me—most folks fall flat.”

 

Mark Anderson:

(Straight to camera)

“So to the fella out there borrowing names like clearance suits—listen up: the MAWLiwood Blondes don’t do second takes. We nail the shot on the first try.”

 

Winston Lewis:

“Roll credits.”

 

Mark Anderson:

“And fade to black.”

 

The camera lingers on the two as they clink glasses dramatically, spotlight gleaming off their perfectly groomed hair and overconfidence.

 

END SEGMENT

 

 

[PRE-RECORDED SEGMENT – BALOR WOLFE & EROS AT TARONGA ZOO, SYDNEY]

The video opens with a sweeping drone shot of the beautiful Taronga Zoo, with Sydney Harbour glimmering in the background. The camera cuts to Balor Wolfe—wearing ripped black jeans, hiking boots, and a rolled-up sleeves version of his “Champion for Australia” tee—and Eros, pristine as ever in a designer silk button-up, high-waisted black slacks, and spotless white boots.

 

 

They walk beside a pair of zookeepers, smiling as they approach the kangaroo enclosure.

 

Zookeeper #1:
"Alright, first stop—classic Aussie icons. Kangaroos and emus."

 

Balor Wolfe (pointing):
"There they are—the lads. Did you know we once lost a war to the emus?"

 

Eros (confused):
"Wait… that was real? I thought you made that up on the plane."

 

Balor (grinning):
"Nah mate, true story. Emus are chaos with feathers."

 

Cut to them petting kangaroos and watching emus strut with supreme arrogance. Balor is delighted. Eros keeps a cautious distance.

Next, they visit the koala enclosure. One of the keepers gently hands them koalas, and Eros melts.

 

Eros (cooing):
"Aww, look at the little koala bear!"

 

Zookeeper #2 (politely):
"Actually, they’re not bears—they’re marsupials."

 

Balor (nodding):
"Yeah, no relation to bears. They just look like they could beat up a teddy."

 

Eros (offended):
"That’s false advertising. I want my cuddly bear."

 

They move through various other enclosures—wombats, dingoes, and platypuses—until finally entering the Reptiles and Invertebrates Pavilion.

 

The music shifts as the camera focuses on glass tanks holding spiders and snakes. Eros freezes. Balor? He leans in, fascinated.

 

Balor (pointing to a glass case):
"Now this... this is why Ivan Volkov won't beat me. I grew up with shit like this in my backyard."

 

Zookeeper #1:
"That one there is a Sydney funnel-web—used to be the most dangerous spider on Earth."

 

Balor (raising an eyebrow):
"Used to be? What's taken the crown now?"

 

Zookeeper #2:
"That’d be the Newcastle Big Boy."

 

Balor (immediately laughing):
"Sorry, what? The Big Boy?!"

 

Eros (horrified):
"WHY would you name the world’s deadliest spider the Big Boy?! That’s not terrifying, that’s insane!"

 

Zookeeper #1 (cheerful):
"Well… it lives in Newcastle… and it do be a big boy."

 

Eros throws his arms up and storms away from the spider room, past the camera crew.

 

Eros (ranting):
"I hate this place sometimes. Big boy—ridiculous. Australia is a nightmare dressed as a continent!"

 

Balor casually strolls behind, hands in his pockets, glancing at the camera with a smirk.

 

Balor Wolfe:
"They are big boys."

 

Final shot: Balor and Eros, standing side-by-side, smiling with koalas in their arms, a scenic shot of Sydney Harbour in the background as a soft breeze rustles Eros’ hair and Balor’s shirt sleeve flaps just enough to show the Infernal Crown logo on the back.

 

 

[BACK TO SPARK ARENA – CROWD POPPING, LAUGHING FROM THE RECAP VIDEO]

 

A single hanging light bulb buzzes overhead in a windowless boiler room. The camera flickers on. There’s no music. No intro. Just breathing. Heavy. Animalistic. Then—Mal Sangre steps forward, shirtless, covered in sweat and scars. His hair is matted. His knuckles are bruised. He doesn’t speak right away. He snarls.

 

 

Mal Sangre (low, guttural, trembling with fury):

"Something in me is rotting.

And it wants out."

 

He grabs the sides of his head, dragging his fingers down his face like he’s trying to rip the skin off.

 

Mal Sangre:

"I can’t sleep. I can’t think. I can’t breathe without the noise—

The scratching.

The burning.

Like bones grindin’ together inside my skull."

 

He punches the wall hard. Bone crunches. He doesn’t care.

 

Mal Sangre:

"You ever get so mad you forget who you are?

You ever scream so loud inside your own body that your ribs start to feel like a cage?

I need... to break something.

I need to hurt someone."

 

He leans in close to the camera, eyes wild. Spit hits the lens.

 

Mal Sangre:

"Next week...

Bring me a body.

Don’t care who.

Don’t care why.

Just give me flesh.

Give me something to destroy."

 

He backs away, twitching with rage. His breathing slows... then snaps back into a yell.

 

Mal Sangre:

"IF I DON’T GET IT—

I’ll find it myself.

And I won’t stop.

Until there’s nothing left but screams."

 

He kicks over the camera stand. The screen slams into the floor. Feed cuts out mid-growl.

 

 

[Scene: MAWL: Frequency of the Damned – Christchurch, New Zealand]

 

The show’s lights stutter and cut. A rising pitch of static creeps through the speakers. On the stage, a red spotlight burns through the dark as Alastor steps out in his crimson pinstripe suit, cane slung across his shoulders. Behind him, something sits under a deep black cloth atop a podium — clearly championship-shaped.

 

The crowd reacts instantly, a mix of awe, suspicion, and anticipation.

 

 

Alastor:

"Ahh... Christchurch. Beautiful, distant, and just chaotic enough to appreciate what I’m about to give you."

 

He gestures back at the veiled object with a devilish smile.

 

Alastor:

"You see, every good signal needs interruption. A surge. A spike of noise that drowns out the rest of the feed. And in MAWL... that noise now has a name."

 

He circles the podium, tapping it with his cane like a conductor.

 

Alastor:

"So allow me to officially introduce the newest symbol of opportunity and destruction in MAWL..."

 

He yanks the cloth off — a burst of sparks rains down from above as the crowd erupts.

 

 

🩸 THE MAWL DEAD AIR CHAMPIONSHIP 🩸

The belt shines malevolently: blackened leather straps, jagged silver trim like antennae, a cracked red-glass center plate reading “DEAD AIR,” with speaker-style side plates and fractured signal lines etched across its surface.

 

Alastor holds it high as fans chant “HOLY S!**”*

 

Alastor:

"This isn’t a trophy. It’s a test. And only the deranged, the desperate, and the dangerous will survive it."

 

DEAD AIR RULES – AS SPOKEN BY THE RADIO DEMON

• The title is defended on every single episode of Frequency of the Damned.
  Only I can make exceptions. Don’t count on it.
  
  
• Hardcore Rules. Every time.
  No count-outs. No disqualifications. Bring your toys.
  
  
• 20-minute time limit on TV. 30 at Pay-Per-Views.
  If the clock beats you, you fight again next week.
  
  
• If a champion retains 10 times with a victory
  —they may vacate the belt for a shot at the Ether Championship or the Signal Tag Team Titles with a partner of their choosing.
  
  
• A time-limit draw means an automatic rematch the next week
  —no rest, no delay, no mercy.
  
  

He rests the title back onto the podium with a click, then leans on his cane.

 

Alastor:

"Now then... how do we crown our first bearer of the static?"

 

The crowd leans in.

 

Alastor:

"At DreamTime, under the lights of Accor Stadium in Sydney... we will hold a 20-man Battle Royal."

 

He smirks.

 

Alastor:

"But here’s the twist — this isn’t about just one survivor."

 

Alastor (voice lowering):

"The final two standing... will not celebrate."

"They will go straight from survival... into WAR."

 

"No pause. No prep. Once the 18 others are gone, the final two will fight immediately — Hardcore Rules — to crown the first-ever Dead Air Champion."

 

He steps forward, raising a single finger.

 

Alastor:

"This title doesn’t wait. It doesn’t reward patience. And it sure as hell doesn’t respect mercy."

"So if you want to hear your name echo through the frequencies... you'd better be ready to bleed into the broadcast."

 

He throws his head back and laughs — the arena bathed in red light as the words flash on screen:

MAWL: DEAD AIR CHAMPIONSHIP

 

“Two survive. One transmits. All suffer.”

 

SINGLES MATCH

EL CERRADOR vs. STITCHES THE CLOWN

 

 

Astrid:

"The following contest is scheduled for one fall."

 

 

 Lighting: The arena is bathed in warm golden and red lights, colors that symbolize strength, passion, and Mexican pride. As the song builds, flickers of green, white, and red (the colors of the Mexican flag) pulse across the arena, giving the entrance a nationalistic touch while highlighting his connection to his roots.

Smoke & Fog: As the music picks up, a thick fog fills the entrance ramp.

Through the haze, El Cerrador emerges.

 

 

His silhouette is now visible—tall, powerful, and purposeful. Appearance: El Cerrador steps out wearing a traditional luchador mask, with intricate designs symbolizing his heritage, featuring silver and gold accents. His attire includes a red and black gear combination with traditional Mexican symbols—such as an eagle or serpents—emblazoned across his chest. The mask is a reminder of his humble beginnings in lucha libre, but also his intense pride for the sport.

 

Astrid:

"First! From Tepito, Mexico City, weighing in at 245 pounds, ELLLLL CERRRRADOR!"

 

 

The tron flickers with corrupted carnival footage. A spotlight hits the entrance ramp where Stitches stands perfectly still, head tilted.

 

 

Astrid:

"And his opponent! From the Big Top of the Damned, weighing in at 285 pounds and standing at 6 foot 6, STITCHES THE CLOWN!"

 

Balloons drop from the ceiling, and as he moves forward, each step echoes with clown giggles over a distorted bass line.

 

 

Referee: “Classic” Jenny Caldwell

🔔 Bell Rings

 

 

Jackson Creed:
“HERE WE GO—LOOK OUT!”

 

 

Lenny Cruz:
“They’re not wasting a second—BOTH MEN RUSHING RIGHT INTO IT!”

 

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“This isn’t a match, it’s a prison riot!”

 

Both El Cerrador and Stitches The Clown explode out of their corners, colliding in the middle of the ring—and instantly start throwing fists like hockey enforcers. They each grab a handful of the other’s gear and just start blasting each other, knuckles flying with no regard for technique or defense.

 

Jackson:
“Just a few weeks ago, Stitches took out Uncle Insamity and stole his spot in the Ether Championship Tournament… and then he cheated to beat El Cerrador two weeks ago right here on Frequency!”

 

Lenny:
“Yeah, and El made him pay for it last week—cost him his match against Damian Blackheart! These two hate each other now!”

 

Sinclair:
“Sounds like poor management to me. Uncle Insamity got what he deserved. And if El couldn’t win clean, that’s on him.”

 

The hockey fight continues, fists flying until Stitches lands a brutal right hook that rocks El Cerrador back into the ropes. The crowd gasps. Stitches lunges forward, grinning wide—but El grabs him in a headlock and starts driving fists into his face, over and over!

 

Lenny:
“He’s not backing down! El’s got him locked and is just swinging away—this isn’t lucha, this is war!”

 

Jackson:
“El Cerrador turning that headlock into a beatdown! Look at those punches—he’s clinging to Stitches and firing off like he’s still in Tepito back alleys!”

 

Stitches finally slips loose and throws an elbow. El fires one right back. The two stumble sideways, trading forearms and fists, one after the other like they’re scrapping in a schoolyard fight—bumping chests, throwing elbows with no rhythm, just rage.

 

Sinclair:
“This is embarrassing. Where’s the technique? Where’s the strategy?”

 

Lenny:
“You want wristlocks? Tune in later. Right now this is hate in motion!”

 

Jackson:
“Referee Jenny Caldwell at a count of three—she’s letting them go for now, but if they don’t clean it up soon, she might start separating them!”

 

The two crash into the ropes, still flailing, still shouting, still trying to tear each other apart. Caldwell jumps in, prying them apart to keep it from spilling outside the ring.

 

Lenny:
“These two don’t want to win—they want to end each other!”

 

Jackson:
“And with the history between them? Can you blame them?”

 

The crowd is electric as both men are still slugging away, even as Caldwell tries to separate them. El Cerrador lands a stiff forearm that knocks Stitches back a step—but the Clown lunges forward again and—

 

Jackson Creed:
“THUMB TO THE EYE! COME ON!”

 

Lenny Cruz:

“BOOOO! Get that trash outta here!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Now that’s strategy, boys. Eyes are a legal gray area—it’s not ballet, it’s combat.”

 

Stitches jams a thumb right into El Cerrador’s eye while Caldwell is angled out of view, drawing massive heat from the crowd. El stumbles back, clutching his face.

 

Jackson:
“Referee didn’t catch it—and now El is wide open!”

 

Stitches wastes no time. He hooks El around the waist and lifts him effortlessly—

 

THUD!
“BIG body slam!” Jackson calls.

 

El tries to sit up—SLAM! Another body slam.

 

Sinclair:
“Ohhh, this is beautiful. Listen to the thud. He’s driving that spine into the canvas like a tent spike.”

 

Lenny:
“He’s like a rabid carnival gorilla right now—somebody stop him!”

 

THIRD slam! The ring shakes as Stitches plants El again, holding onto him like a ragdoll between each throw. The audience groans in unison with every crash.

 

Jackson:
“That’s THREE straight slams—and now Stitches…”

 

Stitches stands tall, arms stretched out wide like a circus performer finishing his act. He throws his head back and lets out that signature guttural, echoing laugh—somewhere between a clown and a monster.

 

Stitches:
“AH–HA… HAAAH… HAAAHAHAHAAAH!”

 

Lenny:
“That laugh’s enough to make your blood run cold.”

 

Sinclair:
“It’s the sound of dominance, Cruz. Learn to appreciate a little theatre with your wrestling.”

 

Stitches now paces slowly around El’s prone body, occasionally nudging him with his boot like a cat with a wounded bird. He squats beside him, tilting his head and grinning wide.

 

Jackson:
“Right now, Stitches is in full control… and enjoying every second of it.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“El Cerrador in a bad way after those brutal slams… and now Stitches is winding up—this could be it!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“He’s got that look! He’s going for the end right here!”

 

Stitches stalks behind El, who’s just starting to stir. The Clown lets out another maniacal laugh before lunging forward—
BOOM!
“POP GOES THE WEASEL!”
That brutal bicycle knee cracks El Cerrador right in the face!

 

Jackson:
“Signature knee connects! El Cerrador might be out!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Hook the leg, clown. Let’s get this circus rolling into the win column again.”

 

Stitches hooks the leg deep—
Jenny Caldwell slides in—
ONE!
TWO!
KICK OUT!!

 

Lenny (yelling):
“HE KICKED OUT! HE KICKED OUT!”

 

The crowd erupts as Stitches sits up, eyes wide and blood boiling. He slams both fists on the mat, then grabs El by the mask and drags him up again.

 

Jackson:
“He’s going for the Final Stitch! This is it—wait—NO!”

 

ROLL-UP!
El Cerrador rolls through, hooking the legs tightly—

ONE!
TWO!
THREE!!!

🔔🔔🔔

 

Astrid Vale (ring mic):
"HERE IS YOUR WINNER… EL CERRADOOOOR!"

 

 

[🎶 Cielito Lindo (Rock Version) blasts out of the speakers]

 

Sinclair:
“NO! No, no, no—he kicked out! His shoulder was up!”

 

Lenny:
“That was clean as it gets, Sinclair! El caught him sleeping and STOLE that win!”

 

El Cerrador rolls out of the ring, holding the back of his head, grinning through the pain as the crowd roars. Stitches explodes to his feet in the ring.

 

Jackson:

“The Clown is furious!”

 

Stitches kicks the bottom rope, then screams at Referee Jenny Caldwell, jabbing a finger at his shoulder and stomping around the ring.

 

Stitches:
"HE KICKED OUT! I KICKED OUT! YOU’RE BLIND, CALDWELL!"

 

The music starts to fade as Stitches continues his tantrum, grabbing the ropes and snarling at ringside fans. Suddenly—

 

 

[🎶 "Daisies" begins to play]

 

The entire arena shifts tone. The lights dim slightly. The red hue returns.

 

Jackson:
“Uh-oh…”

 

Lenny:
“That’s Alastor’s music. Things are about to get… interesting.”

 

Sinclair (gleeful):
“Order is arriving. Bless that crimson menace.”

 

 

[On stage: Alastor appears, standing still, hand in his coat pocket. He raises one hand calmly to silence the crowd chants before speaking into a mic.]

 

Alastor:
"Hmmm... we seem to have a problem."
“Two wrestlers... each claiming they were robbed... by the other.”

 

The crowd starts buzzing, a few cheers building.

 

Alastor (mock thinking, pacing slowly):
"Now what could I possibly do to fix this... hmmmm..."

 

Lenny:
“You can see the wheels turning... and that’s NEVER good.”

 

Alastor (smiling wide):
"OH! I know!"

 

Crowd pops.

 

Alastor:
"El Cerrador… Stitches the Clown… next week… MAWL: Transmission – DREAMTIME…"

 

He raises a single gloved finger.

 

Alastor:
"Two. Out. Of. Three. Falls."
(beat)
"Have fun, gentlemen."

 

Alastor breaks into a devilish chuckle as “Daisies” plays again, the screen fading on Stitches pacing like a caged beast in the ring while El Cerrador stands halfway up the ramp, nodding in approval.

 

Jackson:
“Transmission: DREAMTIME is about to get unforgettable!”

 

Lenny:
“A war is coming. Two out of three falls? That’s not a match… that’s a statement.”

 

Sinclair:
“It’s justice. And next week, the clown gets his crown.”

 

A split-screen replay begins to roll, showing RADE’s brutal post-match assault on Lynx from earlier in the night: the vicious strikes, the chilling stare behind that twisted metal mask, and Lynx being left motionless as officials scrambled in.

 

Jackson Creed:
“What you’re watching is the aftermath of a chilling and calculated act. RADE didn’t just win a match — he sent a message. One that was written in pain, not points.”

 

“Lightning” Lenny Cruz:
“Lynx gave it everything he had, man. He’s the kind of guy who gets back up no matter how bad it hurts — but that? That wasn’t a wrestling finish, that was an execution.”

 

The footage fades out, full screen returning to the commentators.

 

Jackson Creed:
“Well… as this situation escalates, we’ve just received word. Alastor has a statement from his office.”

 

“Lightning” Lenny Cruz:
“And when he speaks, things change.”

 

 

[Cut to: Alastor’s Office]

The scene shifts to Alastor, seated behind his velvet-draped desk, a warm glow cast by a single flickering lamp. The Radio Demon’s crimson eyes gleam with satisfaction as he steeples his fingers and leans slightly forward.

 

Alastor:
“Well, well, well… what fun we’ve had tonight. Blood, brutality, and beautiful mayhem. But it seems one little feud has boiled over — and I, for one, adore when things get messy.”

 

He smiles, thin and dangerous.

 

Alastor:
“So, allow me to make it official. At TRANSMISSION: DREAMTIME, RADE and Lynx will settle this... the only way that makes sense: Last Man Standing. No pinfalls. No submissions. Just violence — until one of you can’t stand up.”

 

He lifts a finger, as if conducting invisible strings.

 

Alastor:
“And the prize? Oh, it’s not just vengeance. No, no. The winner will receive a one-on-one match for the Infernal Crown Championship.”

 

Leaning back now, his voice lowers — more calculated.

 

Alastor:
“And as for RADE… the Board has requested a test of your endurance. Your appetite for carnage. You will compete against two other fighters in the lead-up to Dreamtime — including Ace Anarchy and one from our esteemed sister program MADNESS... a man who thrives in chaos… Nero.”

 

Alastor chuckles softly, the sound distorting like static through an old radio.

 

Alastor:
“Sweet dreams… or nightmares. That part’s up to you.”

 

The camera cuts to static, then fades to black.

 

 

Flickering fluorescent lights, blood-stained wall poster behind them, low static hum in the background. Veronica looks composed. 

 

 

VERONICA VALE (brightly, mic in hand): “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome my guest at this time — making his first and possibly last appearance here on Frequency… the so-called ‘Psycho Supreme’ himself… Nero.”

Fluorescent lights still flicker. Veronica still looks composed. Camera pans as Nero steps into frame, slow and deliberate. He towers next to her, eyes scanning the hallway like a predator casing its territory.

 

 

VERONICA (still chipper): “Good evening Nero. Before we get into tonight’s match, I have to ask—because everyone’s been talking—Jassy’s recent actions have shocked a lot of people. She aligned herself with Zora and the ZLI, and turned her back on Psycho Supremacy. Any thoughts on—”

 

Nero’s jaw tightens. A small twitch in the cheek. His eyes drop away, nostrils flaring. He grits his teeth, looks away from the camera. One long, steady breath. He raises a hand as if to stop the words from hanging longer than they should.

 

NERO (quiet, but sharp): “…Next question.”

 

Beat. Veronica stutters slightly, surprised.

 

VERONICA: “Okay lets change the topic. You’ve been arranged somehow to compete on Frequency of the Damned, and I mean somehow, because I’m not sure of all the details of it, but I do know you're set to face two of Frequency’s most biggest names — Ace Anarchy, and Rade, who you’ve never gone one on one against either of them. Do you have any thoughts about either of these men, and what’s your game plan?

 

Nero slowly leans toward the mic with a smirk, then slowly takes it from her hand like a predator playing with its food.

 

NERO (calm, cold): “Well like you said, I’ve never gone toe to toe with either of these men before. But I have seen the carnage they can cause. Rade thirsts for blood. Just like me. Ace Anarchy yearns for chaos, also a thing I breathe. So that means that being in the ring, and fighting these two, is going to be like a breath of fresh air. A welcomed change where we can all feel at home. Where it could almost feel like I'm fighting a brother.

He pauses, letting the line hang like smoke in the stale hallway air. The camera catches a flash of something behind Nero’s eyes—nostalgia, maybe, or something like sorrow—but it vanishes as quickly as it came, buried beneath a cold smile.

VERONICA: “It sounds like you feel highly about Rade and Ace Anarchy.”

Nero doesn’t respond right away. He slowly turns his head toward Veronica, the smirk widening just a little, the kind that makes your skin crawl. It’s not admiration in his eyes anymore. It’s appetite.

NERO: “Don’t get me wrong. I speak praises, and show respect. But if you’d like, I can be more deranged and sick with my delivery…”

 

His voice dips into a twisted purr, almost theatrical in its cruelty. It’s no longer just a response — it’s a warning wrapped in mockery. He gets up close and personal with the camera.

“Tonight I'm going to get in the ring, and then treat my two opponent’s like unwanted pregnancies!. Kick them both down a flight of stairs, and dump them out back in a back alley dumpster with rats chewing their faces.”

Veronica’s face turns incomposed, and shocked.

Crowd: You sick freak! You sick freak!

Nero raises an eyebrow, and smiles as he hears the crowd chant. He backs away from the camera, pleased with his remarks.

VERONICA VALE (visibly shaken, but staying professional): “O…kay. Right. Well—Nero…”

 

Nero cuts Veronica off. He seems to have more to add, and is impatient. He moves back into the camera like he’s trying to transfer his head through the screens he's projecting onto.

 

NERO: “Don’t get it twisted Rade or Ace Anarchy. Tonight we can tear this arena up, and go to war. But in the end, I'm putting you both down.”

Nero turns slowly toward Veronica, and tosses the mic lazily into Veronica’s hands, stares at her for one last long moment, then walks off into the flickering hallway light.

 

VERONICA VALE (barely audible): “…Back to you.”

 

 

TAG TEAM MATCH 

VENOM CARTEL vs. ???

 

 

Astrid:

"The following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall!"

 

[The arena lights suddenly cut out—plunging the space into darkness.]

 

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Oh no… you feel that? That chill? That’s not the A/C. That’s Venom Cartel.”

 

 

 

[Green digital code rains down across the Titantron in Matrix-style animation as Rage Against the Machine’s “Wake Up” hits first. A green spotlight cuts through the dark—

 

 

revealing Donna Matrix emerging from the shadows, clad in black and neon leather, cracking her ethernet cord whip across the stage.]

 

 

Lenny Cruz:
“I don’t know if we’re about to see a match or if we’ve been plugged into a simulation!”

 

[Midway through the ramp, the music suddenly switches to Eminem’s “Venom.”

 

 

A low rumble of bass shakes the arena as Bowen Baneclaw walks out-

 

 

—hoodie up, gold chain glinting in the light. He stands still just past the curtain, head lowered, arms locked at his sides… until the beat hits.]

 

 

Jackson Creed:
“And there he is—stone cold, Queens-born violence wrapped in silence. Bowen Baneclaw is a storm walking.”

 

[Bowen lifts his head, steps forward with slow menace. Donna leads the way to the ring, circling it like a predator, while Bowen climbs the steps, turns to the crowd, and raises a single hand.]

 

Astrid:

"First! The team of Bowen Baneclaw and Donna Matrix - THE VENOM CARTEL!"

 

[Inside the ring, Donna coils her whip and leans in the corner smirking, while Bowen sheds his hoodie and hat, placing them carefully in the corner like ritual offerings.]

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“You can hear the venom in the crowd. They might not say it out loud… but they fear these two. And that’s power.”

 

VENOM CARTEL—Bowen & Donna Matrix—stand in the ring. Donna coils her ethernet-cord whip around her wrist, while Bowen leans on the ropes, unimpressed. The crowd’s buzzing. Commentary team—Jackson Creed & Lightning Lenny Cruz—are tense.

 

LENNY CRUZ:
"Alright, we’ve heard the rumors. We’ve seen the cryptic posts. But now it’s time. Who is the Mystery Team?"

 

[LIGHTS OUT]

The arena drops to black.

 

Suddenly, soft piano keys begin to echo through the arena—melancholic, haunting.

 

 

🎵 “Daisies” by Black Gryph0n & Baasik begins to play
Green mist seeps along the stage as the screen glitches to static, then slowly shifts into flickering daisies and twisted neon sigils.

 

JACKSON CREED:

"Oh my god… That’s Daisies. That means only one thing."

 

A red spotlight swirls slowly as ALASTOR steps onto the stage—slowly twirling his cane. That wicked smile carved across his face. The crowd pops instantly, torn between awe and discomfort.

 

 

He doesn’t speak at first. He simply raises a gloved hand as the music swells, letting the eerie calm build.

 

ALASTOR (into mic):
"Ah, Venom Cartel. You’ve poisoned your way through this division. You bite… you sting… you strut. But tonight? Tonight… you choke."

He tips his hat with a little nod, then gestures dramatically toward the entrance tunnel.

 

ALASTOR:
"Please welcome… the newest team signed to MAWL's Frequency of the Damned… the ones who believe winning isn’t a game, it’s a Power Play…"

 

 

[CUE: “Powerplay” by Tom Blades hits!]

 

The crowd explodes as Hardball and Dodgeball burst through the curtain—one flexing, one sprinting in place—full 80s attitude, snapbacks, neon, and hype.

 

 

They stop just beside Alastor. He extends his hand. Both brothers shake it confidently.

 

JACKSON CREED:
"IT’S THEM! IT’S OFFICIAL! Hardball and Dodgeball—POWER PLAY—are here in MAWL!"

 

LENNY CRUZ:
"Born in Detroit, forged in the gym, and dripping with retro swagger—look at the faces on Venom Cartel! They didn’t see this coming!"

 

Alastor gives one final flourish of his cane and gestures toward the ring.

 

The brothers nod—then sprint full speed down the ramp, diving under the ropes, staring down Venom Cartel.

 

Bowen steps forward slowly, tilting his Yankees cap sideways with an ice-cold glare. Donna’s eyes narrow as she coils her whip tighter.

 

Crowd chants:
“POW-ER-PLAY! POW-ER-PLAY!”

 

JACKSON CREED:
"And this isn’t just a debut—this is a statement! The Frequency of the Damned has new blood… and it just might run straight through the Cartel!"

 

The bell rings, 

and the atmosphere in the arena instantly crackles with tension as Bowen Baneclaw and Dodgeball square off in the center of the ring.

 

Jackson Creed (PBP):
“And we are underway here tonight with Venom Cartel on the back foot immediately. Power Play come out strong, taking command of the pace.”

 

Bowen circles cautiously but Power Play’s Dodgeball wastes no time, springing forward with a rapid-fire sequence of chops and leg sweeps that keep Bowen off balance. Bowen blocks a quick strike but Dodgeball pivots, forcing him back into the corner.

 

Lightning Lenny Cruz (Face):
“These two have already made a massive statement tonight. All Star Eric Verne and High Risk took down M.A.M.A., and now Power Play are showing why they belong in this division, dominating the reigning Venom Cartel!”

 

Bowen pushes back, catching Dodgeball with a sharp elbow to the ribs, but Dodgeball ducks and tags in Hardball. Hardball explodes into the ring, hammering Bowen with precise strikes that force him to cover up.

 

Sinclair DeVille (Heel):
“Look at that! The teamwork here is exquisite. Power Play knows how to dismantle their opponents piece by piece, making Venom Cartel look like amateurs on the opening night.”

 

Bowen barely manages to reach his corner and tags in Donna Matrix, who storms into the ring with whip-like strikes to Hardball’s midsection. Hardball stumbles, and Donna presses the advantage with a quick arm drag, then a snap suplex.

 

The momentum shifts slightly, but Hardball counters a knee strike and quickly tags Dodgeball back in. Dodgeball bursts into action with high-energy offense, hitting Bowen with a flying forearm and a springboard leg sweep.

 

Jackson Creed:
“Even when Venom Cartel manage to tag out, Power Play barely lets up. They’re pacing themselves, showing off just how well-oiled this machine really is.”

 

Donna returns to the ring, stepping over the ropes with a smug grin, but Dodgeball tags Hardball, who hits a hard clothesline that sends Donna reeling.

 

Lightning Lenny Cruz:
“Their chemistry is unbelievable—watch how they seamlessly tag in and out to keep fresh legs in the ring. It’s a clinic in tag team wrestling!”

 

Venom Cartel finds themselves on the ropes, their usual stoic composure slowly unraveling under the relentless pressure. Bowen and Donna share a frustrated look from the apron as Power Play methodically picks them apart.

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Venom Cartel’s been on the back foot the entire time—Power Play’s control is absolute. The crowd’s loving it, but the Cartel needs a game plan and fast.”

 

Jackson Creed (PBP):
“Power Play has kept Venom Cartel on the back foot since the opening bell. Hardball and Dodgeball are working like a well-oiled machine, but… wait—what’s this?”

 

Donna Matrix, positioned near her corner, reaches for a tag from Bowen, but Bowen pulls back at the last second—a fake tag! Donna steps back, confused, as Bowen stays legal in the ring.

 

Lightning Lenny Cruz (Face):
“Oh, that’s crafty! Bowen faked the tag to throw off Power Play’s timing. It bought them a split second they desperately needed.”

 

Hardball, expecting the fresh opponent, turns to Dodgeball near the apron, but Bowen ducks under a clothesline and immediately starts targeting Hardball’s legs, planting hard kicks and stomps.

 

Sinclair DeVille (Heel):
“Look at that sneaky move. Venom Cartel’s not giving up without a fight. Targeting Hardball’s legs to slow down his speed—that’s smart wrestling.”

 

Bowen drags Hardball to the corner and tags in Donna Matrix, who enters with vicious knee strikes and a quick snapmare, keeping Hardball isolated in the corner.

 

Jackson Creed:
“Venom Cartel finally carving out some control here. They’re working over Hardball with precision—cutting off the ring and cutting off his options.”

 

Donna keeps the heat on with a relentless assault—forearms, a whip into the ropes, then a crushing shoulder block that sends Hardball down.

 

Hardball tries to rally, but Donna locks in a tight headlock, grinding away at his stamina.

 

Lightning Lenny Cruz:
“Venom Cartel have switched gears and now it’s all about wearing down Hardball. If they can keep this up, they might turn this match around.”

 

Hardball fights to his feet, but Bowen tags in suddenly—catching Hardball with a sudden snap suplex that leaves him dazed.

 

The crowd starts to sense a shift as Venom Cartel looks more composed, the momentum just a bit more even.

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Still, Power Play’s in control overall. But the Cartel’s showing some fight—can they keep it going?”

 

Jackson Creed (PBP):
“Donna Matrix has Hardball trapped, but wait—Hardball is fighting back! He’s powering up, refusing to stay down!”

 

Hardball suddenly shrugs off Donna’s chinlock and pushes her away, tagging in Dodgeball with a fierce look.

 

Lightning Lenny Cruz (Face):
“Here comes Dodgeball—time for Power Play to show why they’re the hottest new team in MAWL!”

 

Dodgeball explodes into the ring, hitting Donna with a lightning-fast spinning kick followed by a springboard dropkick that sends her reeling into the corner.

 

Bowen tags in, and together they launch a coordinated assault—bowling over Donna and then turning their attention to Bowen’s stunned opponent.

 

Sinclair DeVille (Heel):
“They’re picking their spots, and now Power Play is hitting their stride—watch out!”

 

Bowen grabs Donna for a whip into the ropes, but she counters—only to run straight into a devastating double clothesline from Hardball and Dodgeball.

 

The crowd roars as Power Play climbs the ropes for their signature finish.

 

Jackson Creed:
“This is it—their combo finisher coming up!”

 

Dodgeball leaps off the top rope with a high-velocity 540° spin kick, connecting perfectly as Hardball hoists their opponent onto his shoulders in a powerbomb position.

 

Lightning Lenny Cruz:
“That’s the Power Play Special! One of the slickest tag finishers in the game!”

 

Hardball slams the opponent down hard to the mat as Dodgeball lands the spinning kick—impact rattling the ring.

 

The referee slides in for the cover.

 

Senior Official Carter Vale:
“One… Two… Three!”

 

Jackson Creed (excited):
“And that’s the match! Power Play takes it in impressive fashion, dominating Venom Cartel tonight!”

 

Sinclair DeVille (smirking):
“They made a statement tonight. Power Play are the real deal—don’t count them out anytime soon.”

 

Astrid Vale:
“Your winners… and still making waves in MAWL, the newest team on the block… POWER PLAY!”

 

 

Power Play’s theme music, “Powerplay,” hits as Hardball and Dodgeball pump up the crowd, high-fiving fans and soaking in the cheers.

—

[Cut backstage to M.A.M.A.’s watching the match on a big screen, tense and focused.]

 

 

US Rae (grim):
“These two… yeah, they’re gonna be a problem.”

—

[Cut back to the ring]

Power Play continues their celebration, energized and feeding off the crowd’s roaring support, as the segment fades out.

 

 

The camera fades in to the iconic white sails of the Sydney Opera House gleaming under a crisp blue sky. Tourists bustle around the steps, but the focus is squarely on Balor Wolfe and Eros. This time, both men are dressed sharply—Balor in a well-fitted charcoal blazer, open-collar white shirt, and dark slacks (his platinum hair still wild but clearly brushed), while Eros wears an immaculate navy three-piece suit with gold accessories that shimmer in the sunlight.

 

 

 

They’re standing with a tour guide, who’s pointing out the angles of the structure as the group walks toward the inner halls.

 

Tour Guide (off-camera):
"…and as you can see, each sail was constructed to form a perfect sphere when combined. It’s one of the most distinct feats of modern architecture—"

 

Eros (genuinely awed):
"It’s breathtaking. This entire place is alive with artistic history. The acoustics, the structure… I mean, this is sacred ground."

 

The camera briefly cuts to Balor, a few steps behind. He’s barely paying attention—eyes glued to his phone, thumb scrolling rapidly. Occasionally, he grimaces or smirks. It’s obvious he’s not exactly in awe.

 

Eros (glancing back, annoyed):
"Balor."
(No response.)
"Balor!"

 

He walks over quickly, catching him still glued to his screen. Eros leans over, sees what’s playing, sighs dramatically, and storms off muttering:

 

Eros (under his breath):
"Of course you are."

 

The camera operator steps up beside Balor and peeks at his phone screen—*

LIVE AFL MATCH – Sydney Swans vs. North Melbourne Kangaroos.

 

Balor Wolfe (without looking up):

"I told Alastor to have us do press at the SCG, not here."

 

Eros (from the distance, to the tour guide and camera):
"I apologise on behalf of my sports-obsessed partner for choosing socks and shorts chasing a ball over one of the most beautiful architectural marvels on Earth."

 

Balor (suddenly yelling):
"OOOOOHHH ERROL!!!"

 

He jumps slightly, fist pumping the air, startling a few tourists near him. The tour guide flinches. Eros closes his eyes, exhales slowly.

 

Eros:
"Boys."

 

The final shot is the two standing in front of the Opera House steps. Eros stands tall and posed, one hand on Balor’s shoulder. Balor, now more relaxed, smirks with his hands in his pockets, the Infernal Crown Championship draped over his arm, as the wind kicks up behind them.

 

The logo for MAWL: Frequency of the Damned Presents Transmission: Dreamtime fades in over the scene.

 

 

[BACK TO SPARK ARENA – CROWD CHEERS!]

 

 

The camera flickers to life in a shadowed hallway deep inside the building.

 

 

Zagreus leans against the cold wall, almost blending into the darkness. His face is mostly hidden — only one glowing red eye is visible, burning like embers in the night. He doesn’t look at the camera, just scans the darkness ahead with cold, ruthless focus.

 

Zagreus (voice low, gravelly, almost a whisper):
“Ivan… you putus… infamis… You crawl around with Vik like you’re untouchable, but you’re nihil. Just a gutless fures hiding behind that rusty lead pipe, hoping to snuff out Balor’s flame while he’s not looking. A coward’s move, a pulcher little act of desperation.”

 

He shifts slightly, the glow of his eye intensifying, but still doesn’t face the camera.

 

“Balor isn’t here tonight. Lucky for you. You think that means you’re safe? Furcifer, you don’t know what’s coming.”

 

Slowly, Zagreus tilts his head and finally locks his glowing red eye onto the camera, revealing a jagged grin beneath the shadows — a predator ready to strike.

 

“Unlucky for you…”

 

His voice drops, ice-cold and deadly.

 

“Princeps Inferni — the prince of HADES — is here.”

 

He steps forward out of the darkness, the red eye burning fiercer as he leans in.

 

“I’m going to show you what real pain means, exsecratio. I’m going to stuff you so full of regret and agony that Taurus will look like a f**king lullaby, a bedtime story for children. You’ll scream in ways you didn’t think possible.”

 

He chuckles, dark and menacing.

 

“And if you think Balor’s absence makes you safe tonight… think again. You might just find something waiting for you in Sydney next week.”

 

Zagreus turns, the red glow fading as he melts back into the shadows, his voice echoing.

 

“Morituri te salutant, Ivan. Prepare to be swallowed by the darkness.”

 

The screen cuts to black.

 

 

RADE vs ACE vs NERO

 

 

Astrid:

"The following contest is scheduled for one fall!"

 

The lights go completely out. The arena is filled with sounds of owls hooting and clocks ticking.

 

 

Red smiley faces show in hologram around the arena in time with the bell. Ann "Atomic" Lee steps out to the stage, illuminated only by the red glow in the dark mask that she removes from her face. Astrid Vale immediately holds her microphone down. 

 

 

Her smirk is illuminated by the glow of the mask. The music has kept in the ticking of the clock and bell, not so much as a skip but as a purposely extended opening.

 

Ann:

"And the Demon of Days Gone By, his relevance waning in the advent of increasing advances of technology, the Pirate who fashions himself a God because he aligns with a coterie of similar suffers of grandiose delusions, sets forth what he labels a punishment for the being for doing what he was hired to do."

 

"The Demon of Days Gone By, so convinced of his cleverness, imagines that he is wagging his finger at a monster, taming a beast, by putting that monster into the very situation he seeks."

 

"Two samples of blood not previously in the collection of Der Blutsammler? That’s a reward."

 

"So whether by intention or not, he has set forth punishment, but for the man who fiddled as his family burned and the man who has to convince everyone he is against the very system that has put championships among his waist."

 

The Demon of Days Gone By, so convinced of his devilishness and deviousness, has accidentally saved a populace by containing the Monster’s mission to two individuals. 

 

"Perhaps corporate life has dulled the wits of the Demon. He ran from destruction while I left that world and embraced destruction."

 

"Destruction of a man convinced of his own supremacy as he is surpassed by everyone in his circle. Destruction of a man who plays chaos agent but does everything in his power to maintain calm."

 

"Destruction by a living embodiment of the Black Forest. Destruction by the man the size of the tree who is the weight of the oppressive night air. He is Der Blutsammler."

 

"HE. IS."

 

The keyboards kick back up.

 

"RADE."

 

 

Rade enters the arena. They walk with danger and intent in the ring, mostly illuminated by the glow of the masks. Once in the ring, Rade spits up blood into the sky, and Ann laughs as she basks in the rain of it.

 

 

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.

 

Astrid:

"And his opponents! First, from the Outback, Australia, weighing in at 225 pounds and standing at 6 foot 2, the Thunder from Down Under, AAAAACE ANARCHY!"

 

 

MAROON FOG BELLOWS FROM THE STAGE AREA, AND PURPLE FOG FALLS FROM THE RAFTERS AS 'DESTROY EVERYTHING' BY HATEBREED BLASTS. A SIGIL OF THE PSYCHO SUPREMACY FLOATS ON THE TITAN-TRON SCREEN. IMAGES OF BLOOD FILLED RIVERS, AND BURNING TREES FLASH ON THE SCREEN ALSO.

 

'A NEW LIFE BEGINS!'

 

THE BASS GUITAR AND DRUMS RAGE LOUD OVER THE ARENA SPEAKERS. 

 

THE RED SPOT LIGHTS BEGINS TO STROBE IN SYNC WITH THE MUSIC.

 

'ARGGGGGGGGGHHH'

 

 

NERO SLOWLY STEPS THROUGH THE FOG WEARING HIS WHITE SUIT AND SPIKED SHOULDER ARMOR. 

 

HE STANDS STILL AT THE TOP OF THE RAMP, HEAD LOWERED.

 

'DESTROY EVERYTHING!'

 

NERO SNAPS HIS HEAD UP, ONE EYE GLOWING PURPLE, THE OTHER SOULLESS AND BLACKENED.  HE EXTENDS BOTH ARMS UP AND OUT TO THE SIDES AS IF COMMANDING CHAOS.

 

HE LETS OUT A GUTTURAL ROAR AS THE FOG DISSIPATES, AND RED PYRO EXPLODE LIKE A WAR-ZONE.

 

THE TITAN-TRON GLITCHES WITH A HALF HUMAN HALF DEMONIC FACE, AND IMAGES OF WAR, BURNING EMPIRES, CRUMBLING BUILDINGS, AND AN EMPTY CRACKED STONE THRONE SHOW ON SCREEN.

 

NERO MAKES HIS WAY TO THE RING, WALKING WITH MILITANT CONTROL.

 

FANS REACH OUT, BUT HE NEVER ACKNOWLEDGES THEM. HIS EYES ARE LOCKED ON THE RING OR HIS PREY INSIDE.

 

THE CAMERA OCCASIONAL CUTS BEHIND HIM WHERE A FAINT PURPLE FOG WAFTS FOLLOWING LIKE DEATH AND ETHER.

 

AS HE REACHES RINGSIDE, HE ASCENDS THE STEPS AND STANDS ON THE APRON, THEN THROWS BACK THE HOOD BEFORE ENTERING.

 

NERO WALKS TO THE CENTER OF THE RING, KNEELS ON ONE KNEE, AND POUNDS THE CANVAS. THE RINGS SHAKES. HE THEN RISES. AND MOVES TO THE CORNER LOOKING COMMANDING.

 

Astrid:

"And! From the Scottish Highlands, weighing 305 pounds, PSYCHO SUPREME NERO!"

 

 

Referee – Danny “Quickcount” Rayes

 

DING DING DING!

 

Jackson Creed:
“Triple threat action underway, and look at this — all three men circling like wolves. No sudden moves yet. Everyone’s eyes locked in.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“I don’t blame ’em! You got a freakin’ monster like RADE, a chaotic wildcard like Ace Anarchy, and then Nero Maddness — who somehow convinced management to let him back into a MAWL ring.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“I call that charisma, Cruz. The kind of star power you can’t keep out no matter how many bridges he burns.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“RADE now locking eyes with Ace Anarchy… and—wait a minute—both of them glance toward Nero—OH! They charge together!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Ohhh! Nero’s in trouble!”

 

Jackson Creed:
“RADE with a thunderous boot to the midsection—Ace follows with a jumping knee to the face! Nero staggers back into the ropes!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“See, this is what happens when you show up uninvited. Nero didn’t read the room — or the locker room bulletin.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“They whip him off the ropes—double team effort—RADE scoops him into the air—Ace with a flying clothesline to finish the combo! Nero is launched across the ring and rolls right under the bottom rope to the outside!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“That’s not teamwork, that’s mutual hatred. The locker room’s been vocal — nobody wants Maddness around. Can’t blame them after the stunts he pulled last year.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Those ‘stunts’ were ratings gold. And let’s not forget: this is MAWL. If you can survive, you belong.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“RADE now turning his head toward Ace—ohhh boy, cooperation’s over.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“And here we go!”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Anarchy swings first—RADE ducks—catches him by the waist—DEADLIFT GERMAN SUPLEX! Ace just bounced off the canvas!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“And just like that, the Blood Collector stands alone.”

 

RADE slowly rises, cracking his neck. The camera zooms in on his glowing red smiley face as he stares down Ace’s writhing body on the mat. The crowd buzzes with a mixture of awe and unease.

 

Lenny Cruz:
“That was raw power. Ace is no small man, and RADE just chucked him like a ragdoll.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Danny Rayes checking on Ace Anarchy, but RADE isn’t done—he’s looming over him now as Nero clutches his ribs on the outside. Folks, this one’s heating up fast.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“One down. One limping. That’s how RADE likes it.”

 

Jackson Creed:
Nods sharply “Back here live, folks, and RADE has been steamrolling since that earth-shattering slam on Ace Anarchy—but don’t count out Nero or Ace just yet. These two are resourceful… and right now, desperate.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Desperate might be the only thing that can stop RADE! The dude’s a walking demolition site, and Ace just got reacquainted with the pavement!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“RADE is dominant. Powerful. Efficient. And may I add—finally bringing some discipline back to this place. Nero and Ace? They’re running on fumes and attitude.”

 

RADE stalks forward like a machine—expression unreadable behind the glowing red mask. Nero stirs on the apron, clutching his ribs, while Ace scrambles up in the corner, shaking the cobwebs loose.

 

Nero suddenly springboards back in—missile dropkick to RADE’s chest! The big man stumbles a half-step but doesn't go down.

 

Jackson Creed:
“There’s the speed of Nero! A missile dropkick but RADE barely budges—he’s still upright!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“He’s like a horror movie boss fight, Jackson! You hit him, you think you’ve got him—then he keeps coming!”

 

Ace capitalizes—charging full steam from behind—chop block to the knee! RADE drops to one leg!

 

Nero spins around, running the ropes—springboard knee to the head!

 

RADE rocks—but still won’t fall.

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“This is ridiculous! RADE just took a jumping knee to the skull and still looks like he’s thinking about lunch.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“But look at this—Ace is lining up again!”

 

Ace rebounds off the ropes and drives a second chop block low. RADE finally tumbles forward to a knee, and Nero jumps onto his back—sleeper hold! His arms wrench in tight.

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Oh man, they're actually working together?! That’s a headline right there!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Temporary alliances never last, Lenny. Watch closely.”

 

RADE rises, even with both men on him—Ace hits the ropes and leaps—

BOOM!
Flying forearm! RADE’s legs give out—he falls flat to the canvas!

The crowd pops, half in shock, half in awe.

 

Jackson Creed:
“RADE is down! I repeat—RADE. IS. DOWN!”

 

Nero and Ace glance at each other for a heartbeat…

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Whoa whoa—what’s this? Are they gonna—?”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Oh good. Here comes the betrayal. That didn’t take long.”

 

Ace explodes forward—Flying Knee right to Nero’s jaw!

Nero spins mid-air and crashes hard to the mat, groaning. Ace doesn’t waste a second—hoists Nero high in a gutwrench, his teeth grit from RADE’s earlier offense—

SLAM!
Ace drives Nero down onto RADE’s chest with a vicious power slam!

 

Jackson Creed:
“GOOD LORD! That was a two-for-one special! Nero just cratered RADE's torso!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Ace Anarchy showing zero hesitation! He might be an unpredictable wild card—but he knows exactly when to cash in!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Well, I’ll give him this… he just made an impact. Let’s see if his spine survives the next minute.”

 

Ace crawls to his knees, arms wide, roaring at the crowd—half-war cry, half-catharsis. RADE lies beneath Nero, unmoving for now. Referee Danny Rayes hovers nearby, checking if a pin’s being attempted—there isn’t. Not yet.

 

Jackson Creed:
“Bodies down, impact felt—and Ace Anarchy is the last one standing... for now.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“Nero just barely managed to roll out of the ring after that brutal slam by Ace Anarchy. He’s clutching his jaw and trying to catch his breath on the outside. Meanwhile, Ace and RADE are left to settle their score inside.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“That’s right, Jackson. RADE’s the kind of beast who doesn’t need much recovery time. Look at him—slowly rising, eyes locked on Ace. You can feel the tension crackling!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“RADE is a monster, no doubt. But Ace Anarchy’s been through worse and always comes back swinging. I can’t wait to see who gets the upper hand.”

RADE pushes off the mat, shaking off the pain. Ace staggers up, wiping sweat from his brow, and they lock eyes once more. The arena seems to hold its breath.

 

Jackson Creed:
“RADE lunges first—a huge clothesline! Ace ducks at the last second and counters with a wild forearm—RADE staggers, but then...”

 

RADE recovers with brutal power, hoisting Ace off the ground for a crushing slam!

 

Lenny Cruz:
“That’s the power of RADE! Ace hit the deck hard!”

 

Jackson Creed:
“RADE is gearing up to deliver more punishment when—WAIT! The crowd’s buzzing—Nero’s back!”

 

Nero climbs onto the apron, eyes wild and desperate. Suddenly, he pulls a steel chair from under the ring—his fingers gripping it like a weapon of vengeance.

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Finally! Someone bringing some chaos to this match. And boy, does Nero look mad.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Looks like Nero’s done playing nice!”

 

With a scream that echoes through the arena—a guttural, primal yell—Nero swings the chair hard.

First, it crashes down on Ace Anarchy, who’s still trying to get up from RADE’s slam. Ace goes down hard, the impact shaking the ring.

Before Ace can react, Nero turns and delivers a savage chair shot to RADE’s skull, the sound ringing loud.

 

Jackson Creed:
“Chair shots to both men! Nero is unloading everything he’s got!”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“That was savage! Nero’s telling everyone in no uncertain terms that he’s not here to lose!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Exactly the kind of brutality I expect from ‘The Psycho Supreme’. This isn’t wrestling — it’s war.”

 

Both Ace Anarchy and RADE lay motionless on the mat, dazed from the chair assault.

 

Nero stands tall, panting, chair raised high, screaming:
“THIS IS MY RING! MY BLOOD! MY CHAOS!”

 

The crowd roars, a mixture of shock, awe, and tension, as referee Danny Rayes rushes to check on the fallen men.

 

Jackson Creed:
“Absolutely brutal! Nero just shifted the momentum violently in his favor. But is this the beginning of a full-scale war… or just the calm before the storm?”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Either way, this match just exploded.”

 

Jackson Creed:
Nero’s in total control now after that brutal chair assault. Ace Anarchy and RADE are both struggling to recover, but Nero’s stalking like a predator ready to finish this fight.

 

Lenny Cruz:
“You can see the rage in Nero’s eyes. He’s methodical but merciless. No fancy moves, just raw destruction.”

 

Nero turns his attention to Ace, who is slowly stirring. Nero charges, unleashing his signature move—the Spine Malign, a vicious double knee backbreaker. Ace screams out but manages to kick out at two!

 

Jackson Creed:
“Two! Ace Anarchy kicks out just before the three-count! That was close!”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“He’s tough, I’ll give him that. But Nero’s just getting warmed up.”

 

Nero quickly runs to the ropes, rebounds, and goes for a running knee strike to Ace—but before he can connect—

 

Jackson Creed:
“WAIT! RADE intercepts him—caught him mid-run!”

 

RADE lifts Nero high, executing the devastating 7 Feet Under pop-up chokeslam! The crowd roars as Nero crashes hard onto the mat.

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Wow! RADE just snatched control from under Nero’s nose with that monster chokeslam!”

 

RADE moves to cover Nero for the pin, but suddenly—

 

Jackson Creed:
“Hold on! Ace Anarchy grabs RADE from behind!”

 

Ace lifts RADE into position and slams him down with the Full House—his lifting double underhook DDT!

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Full House! Ace is not done fighting!”

 

RADE lands hard but his size shows—he’s slow to react and powers out of any pin attempt. Instead, he grimaces, pushes himself up, and rolls out of the ring under the bottom rope to catch a breath.

 

Ace and Nero are left inside, both gasping for air.

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“This fight is brutal. They’re all spent, but none of them are willing to stay down.”

 

All three men lie motionless around the ring after the chaos, the referee beginning his count.

 

Jackson Creed:
“Danny Rayes is counting—one… two… three… all three men are down! What a grueling opening segment to this match.”

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Man, these guys are warriors! This is what MAWL’s all about.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Only one question remains — who will rise first?”

 

RADE slowly pushes himself up first, towering and imposing in the center of the ring.

 

Jackson Creed:
“RADE is the first to his feet—an absolute monster in control here.”

 

Ace Anarchy follows closely, wiping sweat from his brow, and rushes RADE—

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Ace is fired up! Here he comes—”

 

Jackson Creed:
“But RADE catches him with a brutal 7 Feet Under chokeslam mid-charge!”

 

RADE shoves Ace out of the ring, turning his attention to Nero, who is stirring on the mat.

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“RADE’s taking no prisoners tonight.”

 

Suddenly, the arena darkens and Britney Spears’ ‘...Baby One More Time’ echoes through the speakers.

 

 

Lenny Cruz:
“That’s Lynx’s music! Remember, RADE viciously attacked Lynx earlier tonight, trying to end his Ether Tournament semi-final hopes.”

 

Jackson Creed:
“And here comes Lynx now—bandaged, clearly in pain, but burning with rage.”

 

 

Lynx limps into the ring, clutching a steel chair. He stalks RADE silently before swinging the chair hard across RADE’s back from behind!

 

Jackson Creed:
“Whoa! Chair shot from Lynx! RADE didn’t see that coming!”

 

RADE stumbles forward, dazed, as Lynx wastes no time.

 

Lynx springs into position, executing APEX—his handstand cutter—right onto the chair and RADE’s stunned body!

 

Lenny Cruz:
“APEX! Lynx just drove RADE into that chair with brutal precision!”

 

Lynx stands over RADE, shouting—

 

Lynx (yelling):
“SEE YOU NEXT WEEK, YOU MOTHERF***ER!”

 

He spits on RADE and limps out of the ring, leaving a statement of pure defiance.

 

Nero smirks, picking up the chair Lynx left behind. He eyes RADE, who’s still dazed.

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“Nero’s not missing this opportunity. Time to put RADE down for good.”

 

Nero lifts RADE and hits The Psycho Driver—a devastating piledriver—using the chair for added impact!

 

Jackson Creed:
“Psycho Driver! That’s gotta be it! Cover—ONE! TWO! THREE!”

 

The referee calls the match.

 

Ring Announcer Astrid Vale:
“And your winner… Nero!”

 

 

The camera stays on Lynx’s face in the crowd—burning with hatred and resolve.

 

Lenny Cruz:
“Lynx may be battered, but his fire is far from gone.”

 

Sinclair DeVille:
“This rivalry is just heating up. The war is far from over.”

 

The segment fades with Nero’s victorious music playing and Lynx’s fierce glare locked on RADE.

 

 

Backstage. The camera cuts to a poorly lit corner of the arena where Viktor Dragovich sits in a folding chair, a thick neck brace around his throat. His face is twisted with fury and indignation. Ivan Volkov stands behind him — arms crossed, jaw clenched, towering like a shadow of violence waiting to fall.

 

 

Viktor Dragovich (raging):
“How could you?!”

He slams a fist on the chair arm.

“You dare put your hands on me?! I’m not a fighter, I’m a manager! I don’t step in that ring to wrestle — I guide! I strategize! I build legacies! And how do you repay me, Balor? Zagreus?! You hit me with that damn move like I’m some street rat off the curb?!”

 

He points an accusing finger at the camera, his voice cracking with fury.

“You broke me! You broke my neck! Look at me! LOOK AT ME! And for what? To make a statement? You think this proves you're better?! No… no. This only proves that you’re afraid.”

 

Viktor glances up at Ivan, then back to the lens, venom building in every word.

“You know what happens when you corner a wolf? He bares his fangs. Ivan is not just my monster—he’s my executioner. And tonight, Zagreus, my prince, you get exactly what you deserve. Ivan will make you pay for what you did to me. Every bruise. Every vertebra. Every second I’ve spent in this brace will be returned with pain ten times over.”

 

Viktor’s breathing grows heavier, but his voice drops, cold and deliberate.

“Tonight, the prince of Hades falls. And next week? We finish what we started.”

 

He slowly looks over his shoulder at Ivan… who finally steps forward. Ivan stares into the camera with dead, unforgiving eyes.

 

Ivan Volkov (low and menacing):
“Zagreus… In my country, we take out royalty.”

He cracks his knuckles, each pop loud in the silence.

“Tonight, I will do the same. And I will show you… you’re nothing but Wolfe’s sidekick.”

A long pause. Then his voice turns to stone.

“And a warning… when I see Balor next week, I take that title from him. With your broken body still fresh in his mind.”

 

Ivan steps back into the shadows as Viktor glares at the camera, seething. The screen fades to black.

 

MAWL: Frequency of the Damned Presents
Transmission: Dreamtime card

🎙️ Jackson Creed (Play-by-Play):

"Before our final match tonight, it’s time. The world is watching. This Sunday—Transmission: Dreamtime—live from Sydney’s Accor Stadium, and it is absolutely stacked. Let’s run through the full card for what might be the most important event in MAWL history."

🔥 Opening Match

📺 [GRAPHIC: DEAD AIR CHAMPIONSHIP – 20-PERSON BATTLE ROYAL]

Flickering static silhouettes stand in a ring surrounded by warped televisions. A crimson title fades into view with a corrupted transmission squeal.

 

🎙️ Jackson Creed:
"The Dead Air Championship kicks off the night. Twenty competitors. The last two will go head-to-head immediately to crown the first champion."

 

 

🗣️ Lenny Cruz:
"Pure chaos! You can’t prepare for this—too many moving parts! High-flyers, brawlers, maybe even a few surprises."

 

 

😈 Sinclair DeVille:
"And when the dust settles? Somebody’s gonna be famous—and someone’s gonna be face-down in the wires."

 

🎭 Match 2 – Two Out of Three Falls

 

 

📺 [GRAPHIC: EL CERRADOR vs STITCHES THE CLOWN]
A split image: chess pieces on one side, splattered circus paint on the other. Lightning crackles down the center.

 

🎙️ Jackson Creed:
"Order meets madness. El Cerrador and Stitches the Clown. Two out of three falls. No gimmicks—just grit."

 

🗣️ Lenny Cruz:
"Stitches thrives in chaos, but Cerrador? He’s a machine. Cold, calculated—he’ll take your leg if it helps win a round."

 

😈 Sinclair DeVille:
"Let’s be honest—if the lights flicker wrong, Stitches might bite someone. And that’s ratings."

 

🜨 Match 3 – Ether Championship Tournament Final (Triple Threat)

 

 

📺 [GRAPHIC: WILDFIRE vs JAY THE JOKER vs JP SPEARS]
Flames explode from the left, glitching neon lights from the right. A title hovers mid-screen in a sea of data static.

 

🎙️ Jackson Creed:
"Three warriors. One belt. Wildfire. The Joker. JP Spears. This is the final of the Ether Championship tournament."

 

🗣️ Lenny Cruz:
"You’ve got fire, unpredictability, and pure malice. This match is gonna move at warp speed."

 

😈 Sinclair DeVille:
"And all it takes is one second of hesitation for JP Spears to wrap it up like a gift to himself. Don’t blink."

 

🐾 Match 4 – Last Man Standing

 

 

📺 [GRAPHIC: LYNX vs RADE]
Dark trees stretch across the screen as a heartbeat thunders. RADE's glowing red mask flickers in the shadows while Lynx crouches, teeth bared.

 

🎙️ Jackson Creed:
"Two primal forces. The forest stalker vs. the blood collector. No pinfalls. No submissions. The match ends when only one can stand."

 

🗣️ Lenny Cruz:
"Lynx fights like a wild animal—but RADE is something... else. I don’t think pain means the same thing to him."

 

😈 Sinclair DeVille:
"He doesn’t want to win—he wants to end someone. And that someone is Lynx."

 

📡 Match 5 – Signal Tag Team Championship Final

 

 

📺 [GRAPHIC: MAWLiwood Blondes vs Bird of Play]
Old-school cinema reel transitions to neon feathers mid-air. A cracked championship signal glows behind them.

 

🎙️ Jackson Creed:
"The Signal Tag Team Titles are on the line. MAWLiwood Blondes vs. Bird of Play."

 

🗣️ Lenny Cruz:
"These teams are evenly matched in speed, style, and swagger. Expect tandem chaos from bell to bell!"

 

😈 Sinclair DeVille:
"I don’t care who wins—just make it loud, fast, and full of ego. That’s tag team wrestling, baby."

 

⚔️ Match 6 – One-on-One

 

 

📺 [GRAPHIC: ELIJAH vs LUCIANO]
Shattered glass flies across the screen. Behind it, Elijah’s eyes burn with determination. Luciano’s silhouette crackles with energy.

 

🎙️ Jackson Creed:

"Elijah and Luciano—two men with something to prove. No titles. No gimmicks. Just pride and pain."

 

🗣️ Lenny Cruz:
"They’ve traded words, now it’s time to trade fists. I love matches like this—pure will versus pure fire."

 

😈 Sinclair DeVille:
"And by the end? Someone’s gonna have their soul cracked wide open. This is career-shifting."

 

🌑 Match 7 – #1 Contender Four-Way (Ether Championship)

 

📺 [GRAPHIC: MAGNUS vs MOON vs JAMES D vs SHADOW KAWASHIMA]
The camera spins wildly around a static ring as faces blur in and out. Moonlight filters through mist and lightning.

 

🎙️ Jackson Creed:
"Four fighters enter. One walks away with a guaranteed shot at the Ether Title."

 

🗣️ Lenny Cruz:
"Everyone’s dangerous here. Shadow with the kicks. James D with that intensity. Magnus is a brick wall. Moon’s unpredictable."

 

😈 Sinclair DeVille:
"Who do I like? The one who’s willing to bend the rules until they snap. Let’s see who gets desperate."

 

👑 MAIN EVENT – INFERNAL CROWN CHAMPIONSHIP

📺 [CINEMATIC GRAPHIC PLAYS]

The screen goes black. A low rumble echoes like distant thunder. The transmission glitches violently—then resolves.

 

The camera pans over a sweeping digital rendering of Accor Stadium, engulfed in violet smoke and flickering firelight. On screen, a crown forged from flame, steel, and bone spins slowly.

 

BALOR WOLFE emerges first—mask on, head bowed beneath violet lighting. Behind him, Eros, cloaked in shadow, radiates focus. A glowing map highlights Sydney, Australia, pulsing red.

 

IVAN “THE RED TITAN” VOLKOV stomps through rising ash and Soviet red, the titanic silhouette forming beneath black rain. Vik follows like a commander flanking a tank.

 

The words distort into frame as the fire crown slams down:

 

 

MAIN EVENT

INFERNAL CROWN CHAMPIONSHIP
BALOR WOLFE (Champion – from Sydney, Australia – with Eros)
vs.
IVAN “THE RED TITAN” VOLKOV (with Vik)

 

🎙️ Jackson Creed (tone hushed, reverent):
"Balor Wolfe returns home to defend the Infernal Crown… in the same city where he first laced up his boots. This isn’t just a title match—it’s personal. It’s Sydney. It’s Australia. And it’s Balor’s house."

 

🗣️ Lenny Cruz:
"Look, Ivan Volkov’s a monster. But this? This is different. You don’t just walk into a man’s backyard and expect to take his kingdom. Balor’s defending everything he’s built—in front of the people who made him."

 

😈 Sinclair DeVille (slow smile):
"Sure. Hometown crowd. Hometown pressure. You know what that does? It makes people desperate. Balor’s pride might cost him the one thing he treasures more than this city—the Infernal Crown."

 

🎙️ Jackson Creed (final word):
"One fall. One champion. One city watching. Next week… at Transmission: Dreamtime… we find out who survives."

 

 

MAIN EVENT ZAGREUS vs. IVAN “THE RED TITAN” VOLKOV

 

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

 

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

 

As the opening line "fallen too fast" is sung, Zagreus' eyes snap open. His eyes glow an eerie red and purple, giving off a supernatural, ominous aura. The crowd erupts in excitement at the reveal of the Prince of Hades himself.

 

Slowly, he stands from the throne, his full black tights, embroidered with "Prince of Hades" in purple down his right leg, catching the light as he moves. The championship belt drapes casually over his shoulder, a symbol of his claim to power. With his gaze locked on the ring, Zagreus walks down the ramp with deliberate steps, never breaking his focus.

 

As the music builds and the line “Whatever it takes” rings out, he performs a graceful front flip, effortlessly leaping over the top rope into the ring. Upon landing, he rolls forward, quickly rising to his feet and raising the championship title high above his head in defiance. The crowd roars with approval, their energy building in response to his presence.

 

Zagreus strides to the hard camera side, climbing the ropes with fluid motion, bouncing on them to shake the ring and stir the crowd. Holding the title high, he lets the crowd bask in the moment before he descends, calmly walking to the corner. He sits down, cross-legged, staring down the entrance ramp, the championship resting on his lap, a silent statement of his dominance and focus.

 

 

The lights drop into a cold blue as a deep symphonic metal anthem blasts through the arena. Ominous chanting echoes with each beat.

Smoke pours from the entrance as Viktor Dragovich steps out first, neck brace on, gripping his cane, sneering at the crowd.

 

Jackson Creed:
"And here comes Ivan Volkov — with his ever-scheming handler, Viktor Dragovich."

 

Emerging behind him like a walking slab of granite, Ivan Volkov steps through the smoke, eyes like ice, jaw clenched. He wears a black, fur-lined trench coat as he slowly marches toward the ring.

 

 

Lenny Cruz:
"That’s a machine built for destruction right there. No wasted motion. No emotion. Just brutality."

 

Ivan climbs the stairs and steps over the top rope with ease, never breaking his stare from the center of the ring. He raises one arm coldly as four white pyro blasts fire from each corner.

 

Viktor shouts orders from ringside, pointing his cane at the camera.

 

Sinclair Deville:
"Balor, I hope you're watching. Because this — this is your reckoning."

 

(The camera cuts to the center of the ring. The lighting dims slightly as a single spotlight drops on Astrid Vale, standing poised in a sleek, black velvet blazer with a crimson choker mic. The crowd buzzes. Her eyes flick toward the hard cam—cool, confident. A faint smile. Then she lifts the mic.)

 

 

Astrid Vale:
“This… is your MAWL main event of the evening.”

 

(Crowd reaction builds as the camera shifts between Zagreus pacing in his corner with intensity and Ivan standing like a monolith, arms crossed, with Viktor Dragovich just behind him.)

 

Astrid (cool, rising cadence):
“Introducing first… standing to my right… representing Radio Silence... from the Island of Crete… he is the Son of the Underworld, the Prince of Hades...
ZAAAG—REUSSSSSS!”

 

(The crowd cheers—his name echoed back by the front row as Zagreus raises a fist, expression sharp and unshaken. His feet bounce with anticipation.)

 

Astrid (smooth pivot, her tone now lower—heavier):
“And his opponent… standing to my left… accompanied by Viktor Dragovich... from the frozen wastes of Siberia… weighing in at three-hundred and fifteen pounds of cold fury... he is the SIBERIAN TITAN...
IVAAANNNNN VOLKOOOOOV!!!”

 

(Boos from the crowd—Volkov doesn’t flinch. He simply rolls his neck and cracks his knuckles, glaring at Zagreus while Dragovich barks commands from ringside. Astrid lowers the mic slowly as the tension settles in like fog.)

 

[The bell rings.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"And we are underway in our main event—ZAGREUS has launched like a missile!"

 

[Zagreus explodes out of his corner, sprinting across the ring at full speed.]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Look at the Prince go! He's all fire and fury, Creed—Volkov didn’t even finish blinking before Zag was in his face!"

 

[Zagreus barrels into Ivan with a flurry of stiff forearms to the chest, alternating with rapid-fire kicks to the thighs and ribs. Each strike lands with sickening precision, the crowd roaring louder with each one.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Zagreus is unloading! Punches, elbows, kicks—he’s chopping down the Siberian Titan like he’s hunting frostbitten lumber!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"Someone tell the referee this isn’t a bar fight in Hades! Where’s the order, the discipline? Carter Vale, do your job!"

 

[Zagreus drives a sharp knee into Ivan’s ribs, then leaps with his full body weight, smashing Ivan back-first into the corner.]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"That’s all 210 pounds flying like a meteor! Zagreus isn’t just striking—he’s weaponizing himself!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"And Volkov’s feeling it—he’s staggering, he’s down to a knee!"

 

[Zagreus lands a sharp downward kick to the back of Ivan’s head, bringing the big man down further. Ivan crawls for the ropes, managing to drape his upper body across the bottom strand.]

 

 

Carter Vale:
"Back it up, Zag. He’s in the ropes! One—two—three—"

 

Jackson Creed:
"And Senior Official Carter Vale steps in—Zagreus has to break, and does, but look at the eyes! There’s no calm in the Prince of Hades tonight!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"That’s payback in those eyes, Creed! For that lead pipe shot to Balor—Zag’s not fighting a match, he’s delivering a message!"

 

[Ivan rolls out of the ring, winded and shaken, limping toward the apron on Viktor’s side. The crowd boos as the two huddle up—Viktor still in his neck brace, gesturing in frustration.]

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"Oh great, now they're booing an injured man giving his client strategic advice? Typical Kiwi crowd!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Strategic advice? He ran off last week and left Viktor to take that ‘Officially Silenced’ combo alone! Neck brace or not, that man’s got some nerve showing up tonight!"

 

Jackson Creed:
"And Ivan’s taking his time, catching a breather while the ref leans over the ropes, demanding he return to the ring—"

 

[Just as Carter leans forward to shout at Ivan, Zagreus bounces off the opposite ropes and sprints forward, a blur.]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"WAIT—ZAGREUS IS GONNA FLY—"

 

[Zagreus leaps over Carter Vale’s back and soars through the ropes—CRASHING into both Ivan and Viktor at ringside with a spectacular crossbody, sending all three crashing into the barricade! The crowd absolutely erupts.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"HE FLIES THROUGH THE REFEREE’S WINDOW!!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"UNREAL! Zagreus just used Carter Vale like a springboard runway and took out both Volkov and Dragovich!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"That’s assault! That’s managerial endangerment! Someone file a lawsuit!"

 

[The crowd is on their feet, chanting “ZAG-RE-US! ZAG-RE-US!” as the camera cuts to Viktor in a heap on the floor, clutching his neck brace and groaning. Ivan rolls onto his side, gasping, eyes wide with disbelief.]

 

Jackson Creed:

"The Prince of Hades isn’t waiting for justice—he’s delivering it! And Auckland is loving every second!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"After everything Ivan and Viktor pulled? This is divine retribution, baby!"

 

[Zagreus rises slowly, a wild, laughing grin on his face as he stares down at the chaos he’s just created. Carter Vale slides out, checking on everyone as the crowd buzzes louder.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Well, that was a statement from Zagreus—taking no prisoners tonight."

 

Lenny Cruz:
"You know, Creed, it really feels like Zag took that whole lead pipe attack on Balor personally. He’s not just fighting for himself—he’s fighting for all of Radio Silence."

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"Mess with one member of Radio Silence, and you mess with them all. But maybe Zag’s getting a little too cocky here…"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"You’re right about one thing—no one messes with Radio Silence and gets away clean."

 

[Zagreus hauls a dazed Ivan back into the ring. The crowd is electric as Zag charges the ropes, launching into a picture-perfect springboard 450 splash—landing flush onto Ivan’s back. The arena shakes.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Springboard 450! That’s gotta take the wind out of Ivan Volkov!"

 

[Zag wastes no time. He scrambles up the turnbuckle and launches into a top rope shooting star press, crashing down on Ivan with brutal impact.]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Back-to-back aerial assaults! The Prince is in full control, showing the Siberian Titan what speed really means."

 

[Without hesitation, Zagreus flies off the ropes again—another springboard move, this time a twisting moonsault, followed by climbing the ropes for another top rope meteora double knee drop to Ivan’s chest.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"One, two, three! Consecutive strikes from the skies—Zag is relentless!"

 

[Zagreus climbs up for a third top rope move, preparing to seal the deal… when suddenly Ivan grabs referee Carter Vale by the shirt, pulling him close as if needing help to stand.]

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"Classic distraction! Ivan’s playing the victim to buy time."

 

Jackson Creed:
"Wait—Viktor’s sliding in now…"

 

[Viktor Dragovich, still in his neck brace, sneaks behind Zagreus and brings down his cane hard across Zagreus’ back.]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"OH, NO! The cane cracks across Zag’s back—he staggers off the top rope!"

 

[Before Zag can regain balance, Ivan explodes with a brutal clothesline, knocking Zagreus sideways. Ivan follows quickly with a crushing powerbomb, slamming Zag onto the mat.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Powerbomb! And Ivan is back in this match with authority!"

 

[Ivan leans on the ropes, gasping for breath, clearly drained but still in control.]

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"Looks like the Siberian Titan just reminded everyone why he’s a force to be reckoned with."

 

[The camera lingers on Ivan catching his breath, a cold, calculated look in his eyes as the crowd roars.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Volkov’s got the momentum now—he’s feeding off the energy, and you can see it in every move!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"That Siberian strength is real, Creed. Zag’s going to have to dig deep to come back from this."

 

[Ivan wastes no time. He hoists Zagreus high with a powerful gorilla press slam, dropping him hard to the mat. The crowd gasps at the sheer force of the move.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Gorilla press slam! Volkov’s sending a message loud and clear!"

 

[Ivan immediately hooks Zagreus’s leg and goes for the pin.]

 

Carter Vale:
"One! Two—"

[Zagreus kicks out at two, barely.]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"That’s some fight left in the Prince of Hades! He’s not going down that easy!"

 

[Ivan grabs Zag, lifts him for a gutwrench suplex, and executes it with brutal power. The ring shakes again from the impact.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Gutwrench suplex, and Ivan is working Zagreus over with those power moves!"

 

[Again, Ivan hooks the leg and slides into a cover.]

 

Carter Vale:
"One! Two—"

[Zag kicks out once more, refusing to stay down.]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"These pin attempts are close, but Zag’s got the heart to keep fighting!"

 

[Ivan, now confident, lifts Zagreus for a pumphandle fallaway slam, spinning him before slamming him down hard.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Pumphandle fallaway slam—wow! Ivan’s just dominating this portion of the match!"

 

[Ivan quickly transitions into a cover.]

 

Carter Vale:
"One! Two—"

[Zag kicks out again, barely moving but still fighting.]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"He’s running on pure willpower right now!"

 

[Ivan glares down at Zagreus, clearly frustrated but still methodical. The crowd is on their feet, sensing the momentum shift and waiting to see if Zag can turn this around.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Ivan Volkov is showing why he’s called The Siberian Titan—big moves, precision, and power. But don’t count out the Prince just yet."

 

[The crowd is buzzing as Ivan Volkov looks to finish Zagreus off after his series of punishing power moves and near pins.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Ivan Volkov’s got Zag right where he wants him. This could be it!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Volkov’s about to unleash his signature storm—watch out, this is gonna be brutal!"

 

[Ivan steps back, measuring Zagreus for his devastating spinning lariat—Red Blizzard. He whips around with brutal force, connecting flush and knocking Zagreus off his feet.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Red Blizzard connects—sending a message with that spinning lariat!"

 

[Ivan hooks the leg, sliding into the pin.]

 

Carter Vale:
"One! Two—"

[Zagreus barely kicks out again, right at two.]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"So close! Zag’s still fighting—he’s got some fight left in him!"

[Ivan doesn’t hesitate. He lifts Zagreus high for the Titan Slam, the sit-out powerbomb that drives opponents deep into the mat.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Titan Slam—wow! That slam shook the entire ring!"

 

[Ivan hooks the leg for the pin attempt.]

 

Carter Vale:
"One! Two—"

 

[Zag kicks out just before the three-count, leaving Ivan frustrated.]

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"Come on, that should’ve been it! This kid’s got some sort of steel in his bones."

 

[Ivan, eyes blazing, goes for the Red Winter Execution—lifting Zagreus for the vertical suplex, ready to slam him into oblivion.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"This is it—the Red Winter Execution!"

 

[But Zagreus suddenly twists in mid-air, countering the move into a swift superkick—Music Like Apollo—right to Ivan’s jaw.]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"OH! Music Like Apollo connects clean! What a counter!"

 

[Zagreus, fueled by the momentum, charges the ropes and hits a springboard elbow smash to the back of Ivan’s head—Hunting Like Artemis.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"And Hunting Like Artemis lands with precision! That could do it!"

 

[Zag hooks the leg for a pin.]

 

Carter Vale:
"One! Two—"

 

[Ivan powers out at two and a half, barely beating the count.]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Close call! Both men are running on pure adrenaline now!"

 

[The crowd is on the edge of their seats as the momentum swings back toward Zagreus, the Prince of Hades refusing to stay down against the Siberian Titan.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Zag’s going for the Blessing of Persephone—this could be the match-ender!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"If this hits, Ivan Volkov is done tonight!"

 

[Zagreus launches off the top rope, flying through the air with full velocity—springboard Flatliner inbound.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Here it comes—"

 

[But suddenly Ivan’s hands shoot up, catching Zagreus mid-air with a thunderous Iron Curtain—the delayed vertical suplex transitioned into a sit-out chokeslam.]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"OH MY! Iron Curtain! What a counter by the Siberian Titan!"

 

[Ivan hooks Zagreus’s leg and slides into a pin.]

 

Carter Vale:
"One! Two—"

[Suddenly, Zagreus thrusts his foot out, finding the bottom rope—breaking the pin.]

Jackson Creed:
"Foot on the rope! That breaks the count!"

 

[Ivan immediately jumps up, yelling at the referee.]

 

Ivan Volkov:
"That was three! That should’ve been the match!"

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"Typical—trying to steal the win on a technicality. I’d be mad too if I lost to a kid flying around like a maniac."

 

[Ivan turns away from the referee, furious and frustrated. Zagreus, eyes blazing, quickly recovers and surprises everyone by grabbing the much larger Ivan and hoisting him up.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Wait—Zag’s picking him up? I don’t believe it! That’s some serious strength!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"The Prince of Hades showing he’s not just speed and agility—he’s got power too!"

 

[With a sudden burst, Zagreus spins Ivan around and drives him face-first into the mat with The Fire of Hades—the fireman’s carry cutter.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"The Fire of Hades! What impact!"

 

[Zagreus goes for the cover.]

Carter Vale:
"One! Two! Three—"

 

[Just as the referee is about to call for the bell, Viktor Dragovich suddenly reaches into the ring and grabs Ivan’s leg, pulling it onto the bottom rope.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Wait—Viktor’s grabbing Ivan’s leg! That’s illegal! The rope break!"

 

[The referee looks down, sees the foot on the rope, and waves off the count.]

 

Carter Vale:
"Sorry, the foot’s on the rope—no contest here!"

 

[Zagreus looks up at the referee, frustrated but knowing the call is final.]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Tough break for Zag. Sometimes in this game, it’s not just skill or heart—it’s the little things."

 

 

[The crowd buzzes loudly, sensing the match is far from over as Zagreus and Ivan both catch their breath.]

 

[The crowd is roaring as Zagreus slowly rises, sweat dripping, eyes blazing with determination.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Zagreus is not done yet! Look at him, soaking in the energy of this crowd!"

 

Lenny Cruz:
"This is exactly what you want from your hero! Zag’s feeding off the fans like a true champion!"

 

[Zag charges forward and connects with a lightning-fast Music Like Apollo superkick, stunning Ivan. Without hesitation, he follows up with a springboard elbow smash—Hunting Like Artemis—striking Ivan hard.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Music Like Apollo! Hunting Like Artemis! Zag’s combo is on fire!"

 

[Instead of going for the pin, Zagreus quickly rolls out to the apron, leans down, gripping the ropes, and stares Ivan down, stalking his opponent.]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Zag’s playing the game now—he’s stalking the Siberian Titan, ready to finish this on his terms."

 

[Zag climbs to the top rope, preparing to launch for the Blessing of Persephone. The crowd rises, anticipation thick in the air.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Here it comes! The Blessing of Persephone!"

 

[Ivan staggers to his feet, but as he does, he bumps into referee Carter Vale, who nearly falls. Ivan catches him.]

 

Sinclair DeVille:
"That’s no accident—he’s looking for a way to slow this down."

 

Jackson Creed:
"And Zag’s already airborne—wait!"

 

[Zag’s feet hit the top rope, and suddenly Viktor Dragovich swings his cane, tripping Zagreus viciously. Zag crashes hard to the mat, landing awkwardly and grimacing in pain.]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"NO! That’s dirty—DIRTY from Viktor!"

 

[Ivan rushes over, seizing the moment, and executes his devastating Red Winter Execution—the sit-out powerbomb followed by the spinning slam.]

 

Jackson Creed:
"Red Winter Execution! This has gotta be it!"

 

[Ivan covers Zagreus.]

Carter Vale:
"One! Two! Three!"

 

Ring Announcer Astrid Vale:
"Here is your winner — IVAN VOLKOV!"

 

[Ivan’s ominous music hits, the crowd booing loudly, chanting “You cheated! You cheated!” Ivan stands tall, chest heaving as Viktor drags him back to the corner.]

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Ivan Volkov stole that one, and I’m pissed! That was a clean fight until Viktor ruined it."

 

Sinclair DeVille (smirking):
"Let me save you some breath, Lenny. This momentum will only help Volkov when he faces Balor Wolfe at Dreamtime next week. A win like this? Perfect setup for Ivan’s rise."

 

Lenny Cruz:
"Don’t buy it, Sinclair! Dirty tactics won’t win hearts or respect."

 

[POST-MATCH – MAWL: FREQUENCY OF THE DAMNED]

 

With Ivan standing tall after the cheap win, Viktor Dragovich storms into the ring, cane still in hand, and shouts with venom in his voice:

 

Viktor Dragovich:
"AGAIN!"

 

Ivan grunts and yanks Zagreus up by the hair, dragging the limp prince toward the center of the ring for another Red Winter Execution. The crowd roars in protest — but before Ivan can strike, the arena lights flicker—

 

 

"NEVER FADE AWAY!"
– The Edge Runners's theme hits.

 

 

The Edge Runners, Johnny and V, explode onto the ramp and sprint down to the ring.

Lenny Cruz (furious):
"YOU MESS WITH ONE OF RADIO SILENCE, YOU MESS WITH ALL OF THEM!"

The crowd erupts as Johnny barrels into Ivan, tackling him to the mat. He and V begin pounding Ivan with stiff shots, driving him out under the bottom rope. Johnny follows, mounting him on the outside, throwing fists as Ivan tries to shield himself. Ivan finally goes limp, slumped against the barricade.

Inside the ring, V stands guard beside Zagreus, helping him sit up.

But the cheers get LOUDER.

The camera pans... and standing behind Viktor Dragovich is...

 

 

 

Balor Wolfe.

The Infernal Crown Champion.

No music. No fanfare. Just fury.

 

Balor towers over Vik, who hasn't noticed yet — still holding his neck and backing away, muttering pleas under his breath.

 

Sinclair Deville (yelling):
"NO, NO, NO! HE WAS MEANT TO BE IN SYDNEY ALREADY! WHAT’S HE DOING HERE?! RADIO SILENCE ARE LYING SCUM!"

 

Vik stumbles back right into Johnny and V, who grin like wolves circling prey. Vik slowly turns, eyes widening in horror.

 

Viktor Dragovich (begging):
"I-I’m just a manager! I’m nothing—nobody—!"

 

But the Edge Runners chuckle and yeet him straight into Balor Wolfe, who catches him clean into the Fireman’s Carry.

Lenny Cruz (shouting):
"THERE GOES IVAN’S X-FACTOR!!"

 

LIGHTS OUT.

Balor spikes the knee right into Vik’s jaw with thunderous precision. Vik crumbles to the canvas.

 

The crowd explodes.

 

The Edge Runners grab Vik by the limbs and toss him out of the ring like trash. Meanwhile, Zagreus is slowly back on his feet, leaning on the ropes, mouthing:

 

Zagreus:
“Bit late, aren’t we, Bal?”

 

Just as Balor smirks, Eros slides into the ring, Infernal Crown Championship in hand.

 

 

He passes it to Balor, who holds it high in the air as his entrance theme finally kicks in.