Hitting A New Diamond With Thermal Shock

A dreary atmosphere hung in the VVIP locker room. A number of minutes ago, Kerry Kuroyama and RIA Lockhart had been downed by the team of Nate Colton and the Anglo Luchador. Their previous clean record as a duo? Now shattered. Apart from the mad rantings of Scott Hunter, the rest of Vae Victis was mute. Clay Byrd silently prepared for the main event; he'd be working with Cecilworth Farthington against the Poor Whoresmen squad of Daytona Diamonds and Anna Daniels. Kuroyama seethed,a hand propping his leaning frame against a wall. Ami Troy tried her best to strike a balance between consoling the Emerald Apex while also giving him space. Henry Keyes… was nowhere to be found, still in pursuit of the Pop Culture Phenoms and Big Blue.

Lockhart stewed, sitting in a chair. An ice pack grabbed for her by Ami was held gingerly against her throbbing right knee. It only took one match for her to find herself in bad shape. By almost every metric, RIA would already have to fight from underneath when meeting Nate Colton at Ascension. This injury, minor as it may be? It only made the mountain steeper. Add in the fact that Colton showed no hesitation in taking advantage of any apparent weakness and that metaphorical slope seemed damn near vertical.

As the final bout for the evening drew near, the room emptied. Clay was the first to take his leave. Troy and Kuroyama checked with RIA one last time. Upon assurance on her condition, they also departed. Scott Hunter barged out of the room, screaming near obscenities down the hallway in the process. She was left alone, reflecting and ruminating. The Psychoberry's eyes fixed onto the bag of ice held to her appendage. The air felt stale. Seconds felt like minutes. This loss? It wasn't an ending. But for RIA Lockhart? It was hell.

“MOTHERFUCKER!!!”

Out of the chair she shot, hurling the pack towards the wall. A practical hale storm of ice exploded against the surface. RIA limped towards the exit. Without looking back, she withdrew, violently slamming the door shut behind her.

Congrats on winning a battle, Nate. Gotta hand it to ya, that was a nasty little reminder that you aren't lacking in killer instinct. One match back and I'm already banged up. Good news for you, huh? But as much as I've bitched about being typecast recently, it does mean something in particular; I'm used to competing banged up.

You don't make it as long as I have, getting to the heights I have, without being able to push through pain. So you wanna target my knee? Go for it. Fair warning to you… If that's what your strategy is… If you really wanna go that route… Make sure you protect your neck. Because I have zero qualms about going full vampire and sinking my fucking teeth right into your jugular!

Senior year can be a challenging time for any teenager. Cliques, homework, potential college preparation, a stress inducing limbo between the childhood’s end and entry into the adult world. On this day in May, Ria Lockhart (eighteen at the time) stood in front of the desk of one Mr. Haug.

Arnold ‘Arnie’ Haug was a sixty five year old science teacher. He had taught children of various ages, but had settled into high school training for the last eleven years. He sported an average frame, typically hidden behind sweaters or cardigans. His near white hair had receded back to the middle of his skull, outside of a tiny tuft still hanging on in the center of his hairline. Despite what the pigment of his waning follicles may tell you, Haug often carried himself with a carefree attitude.

For the last eight months or so, Mr. Haug had been the biochemistry instructor for Ria. The chunk of the school year Lockhart spent in the class was on the verge of failure; to pass the class, a student needed at least a sixty eight percent grade. Going into finals, Ria’s sat at a subpar sixty one. She never really found herself interested or invested in science of any form. Add in that young Lockhart’s weekends were consumed with her burgeoning wrestling career and it was understandable why her grade settled where it was.

“Now Rya– Er, Ria.” Haug quickly corrected himself. “You're in quite the pickle of a situation with your grade. You know what's going to happen if you don't pass, right?”

She knew. Summer classes. The threat of repeating senior year. Last summer, Lockhart felt like she had found growth as a grappler, thanks to being able to work more regularly. More freely. School work and any obligations related to it stifled the dream path she was on. The moment her diploma was in her hands, Ria could fully focus on wrestling. She could maybe even sign on as a regular somewhere.

“I'm gonna pass.” Ria stated with false confidence. “What's it gonna take?”

Haug shrugged with a wry smile.

“Lemme take a look.” He said, words far lighter than the weight Lockhart felt on her end. Haug leaned over to his computer, situated on a slightly cluttered desk. He clicked the mouse a few different times, expression nonplused. Some hunt and peck typing followed.

“These damn machines…” the teacher muttered. The moment was torturous for Lockhart, but she had an answer soon enough.

“Looks like you're going to need at least a seventy.” The instructor relayed. “Good luck.”

The comment wasn't intended to rile Ria up. The tone, Haug’s body language, all pretty innocuous. But it felt personal. This guy didn't believe in her, from Ria’s perspective.

“Guess we'll see what happens.” There was a bitter bite to her words. She hated this. She was over school, tired of wasting her time somewhere she felt like an outcast in. Lockhart was ready to trade equations and compounds of any kind for headlocks and piledrivers. That weekend, Ria lugged her biochemistry book with her as she traveled; Elizabeth, PA and Philadelphia were her destinations these two days. Part of her worried the significance of the upcoming test would affect her performance. Bringing the book wasn't only a way to prepare, but an attempted remedy to her anxiety.

A drained Ria slogged into school Monday morning. What little studying she had accomplished while on the road was compensated for with an all-night cram session deep into Sunday night. With all of an hour of sleep and running on fumes, this was do or die. She felt nervous, unprepared. Ria braced herself, taking the test before lunch. When the meal bell rang halfway through the day, the student body began herding to their next class. Lockhart instead opted for a bee line to Haug’s classroom. Seeing the elderly gentleman sitting in his usual spot, in Ria went.

“Mr. Haug, have you happened to grade my final yet?” She asked, the tiniest amount of panic sliding into her tone. Haug gave his usual sardonic smile.

“I think I have!” He sorted through a disheveled pile of papers. Spotting the one he was searching for, he pulled it up and gave the paper a dramatic shake before staring for a moment. He sat it down, looking up at Ria.

“Eighty two. Good job!”

A breath of relief Lockhart had subconsciously been holding whooshed out of her lungs. A smile graced her face, bashful but with a heavy layer of genuine happiness as well.

“Thanks, Mr. Haug!” Ria said before turning on her heels and heading for her next class. Each step she took felt lighter. She had fought off the burden of failure. The future, her future of continuing her dream unabated was a clear road for the time being.

Ya know, Nate, I think this might be the highest up I've ever been on a PRIME card. I realize that for you, it's business as usual. You're a top guy, after all. But for me, this is a big deal. This is a chance to prove what I've got, to show just what I'm capable of. So even if I didn't have what you did to Kohime as fuel, how you let me and others down as motivation, I'd still have an extra something to push me to another level.

I hear you're frustrated, possibly even angry. I'm sure you plan to use that as your own driving force, directed at me. That's fine, Nate. I welcome it. You know why? It ain't due to hatred, it's not smugness. It's because even if you say ‘It won't work out the way you think it will’, I know that the fury of my flame is TWICE what yours is! You're mad? Good! Maybe look in the fucking mirror before casting that emotion my way! I plan to burn till the end, and let you collapse to ash.

“I really don't see how Lockhart wins at Colossus. Pontiff is just a level above her. She's fought, yeah, but he's just better at what she's supposedly great at. If I'm putting money down, Sage Pontiff wins at Colossus 2022.”

An inferno raced through her veins as she listened to the podcast. Pushing off the couch in her New York hotel room, Ria stomped off towards the bathroom. Leaning forward, hands bracing her weight on the sink, Lockhart gazed into the mirror. Her previously luscious, vibrant pink and blue hair was now black and shorn into an undercut. She reached up with her left hand, pushing her parted raven locks out of her face. Behind her ear they went.

Ria’s eye socket was still discolored, an unappealing mix of yellow and purple. The bloated state of her lip had subsided, though evidence of the spilt suffered was still visually apparent. Her cheek, discreetly hiding a titanium plate underneath, was still tender to the touch. Unlike her lip, the swelling there persisted. The headbutt Lockhart had suffered in a near helpless state had done so much damage. If the physical suffering was massive, the mental toll was a close second.

The Steel Hart had convinced herself that she was alone in this fight. Despite friends reaching out and well wishes from fans, no compassion or support could pierce the armor of anger she had clad herself in. Vengeance, blood, retribution, this all consumed her. Tears of sorrow had already been shed. White hot judgement, rage given flesh, this is what awaited Sage Pontiff at Colossus 2022.

Ria exited the bathroom, making her way back into the main room. Heading over to the couch, her eyes darted to an open cardboard box she had brought with her. The woman reached inside, pulling out a custom mask she had ordered. Gripping it in her right hand, her left brushed across the leather surface. Lockhart’s index finger traced along the intricate pink vine accents the mask bore. A heavy elastic strap along the back would ensure minimal shifting during action.

This mask was more than a cosmetic for the Steel Hart. Its significance was even beyond the physical protection offered. This mask would let her hide her heart, store away the kindness, disguise the pain. She could freely embrace hatred when it was worn; Unburdened. Uninhibited. Best of all, she had her target, a source to pour that anger towards. In Ria’s mind, Sage Pontiff was a DMW: Dead Man Walking.

By this point, the podcast blathering in Lockhart’s ear had moved onto other upcoming matches on the upcoming pay-per-view. Mere background noise at this point. She had heard what she needed to hear. Pontiff was the favorite. The Bhatwhatthefuckever had the betting odds. In Ria’s mind, only her most ardent supporters believed in her. So be it. She believed. At the end of the day, that was the most important thing.

She carried the mask over to the bed. Grabbing a small gym bag, Lockhart unzipped it. She took a set of tights and bralette she had made for the event from top of the provided dresser and shoved them into the sack. Other accoutrements and gear also found their way into the bag. Once confident that she had everything she needed, Ria reverently placed the mask on top of the pile. She paused, her stare fixated on the face covering. With a subtle nod, she slowly pulled the zipper shut.

Lockhart picked the bag up, slinging it over her shoulder via the long strap. It was time to head to Madison Square Garden. And on this chilly December night in the City That Never Sleeps, it was time to battle Sage Pontiff. It was time to prove people wrong once again.

For all the setbacks I've had in my career, I keep finding a way to move forward. Genetic misfortune, bigotry, misogyny, a lack of natural talent, injury, mental health, drug abuse… None of it has stopped me. None of it has kept me down long. I want you to think about that, Nate.

I've had to deal with shit so many on our roster wouldn't be able to comprehend. You think a sixteen year old girl was ready to have slurs thrown her way? Have her confidence constantly trampled on? Yet I'm still here. I'm a fighter, Colton. Even if I lose, I'll make sure the other person feels it the next morning. As good as you are, and you are VERY good, I don't just want you to feel it. I want you to take a lesson from it. And even if it's not my primary goal, I want my hand raised.

Maybe victory will drive the point home more than anything else.

SMACK

SMACK

SMACK

Kohime Mori couldn't help but flinch each time RIA Lockhart’s leg crashed against the kicking dummy. Where? Troy Combat Systems Vegas location. Why was Kohime here? RIA had been spending a large chunk of time in Seattle with Angel Quinley, to the point that Mori began to feel forgotten. She was elated when RIA had agreed to have Kohime accompany her friend to both the gym and to Indianapolis for the event.

“Miss Ria?” Mori timidly spoke up as the Psychoberry switched to elbowing the mannequin. She paused and glanced Kohime’s way, nodding in acknowledgement before walking over to a nearby bench. RIA snapped up a large water bottle and took a swig.

“What's up, ‘Hime?”

The Japanese woman’s gaze cast downward as she fiddled with her fingers. The question she was about to ask might cause tension, maybe even anger. But she had to ask, needed assurance that she wasn't even sure she should want.

“You are not going to hurt Nathan too badly, are you?” Kohime raised her head, looking at Lockhart as the inquiry spilled out into the open. There. She had done it. How would RIA react? The Rainbow Riot put the water bottle back down on the bench. Thankfully, she didn't seem mad. Honestly, it was hard to decipher what emotion (if any whatsoever) she was feeling. Lockhart walked over to the dummy, casually placing an arm on its vinyl coated nylon shoulder.

“I can't make any promises. You know what it's like in the ring.” RIA firmly stated. “If you're asking am I gonna go out of my way to cripple him or something? Probably not. But I won't hold back either. I'm gonna beat his ass. And I'll take it as far as I feel like I have to.”

The Moé Monster nodded glumly. The answer could have been far worse. Her unease persisted. But she could tell, this situation with Nate was different for RIA. Her training sessions in the previous year were grueling but always had some air of fun to them. Light-hearted jokes, the occasional questionable training method interspersed with the more conventional ones, those courses seemed to be designed every bit for her soul as they were her body.

Hyper focus. Pinpoint strikes. Kohime had never seen her friend quite like this. She was driven, bordering on obsessed. Vexed, even. RIA had greeted her warmly when she arrived back at their shared apartment. She even joked on the way to TCS that Ami would throttle her if she wasn't careful with her sore knee. But once she locked in, Lockhart acted almost inhuman.

The question shone a spotlight on the truth; hurt and mournful as she may be, Kohime still cared about Nate, still loved him. She didn't want to see him suffer. Even worse, it wasn't just Nate she worried about. Lockhart resumed aggressively striking the training equipment.

“Please do not push yourself too hard, Miss Ria.” Mori cautioned. The vigorous workout wasn't the only area she felt concern towards Lockhart’s well being. She knew what Nate was capable of. She had seen the men he took down, including deadly threats in Ivan Stanislav and FLAMBERGE. She wanted Nate safe, but that feeling also extended to RIA. Kohime felt fractured, torn.

Lockhart didn't acknowledge her friend's words initially. She wasn't ignoring Mori. Even at her worst, no matter how bad of a mood she was in, RIA could never blow Kohime off. Mori was too sweet. Too kind. Too caring. Thinking about her usually filled Lockhart with adoration, joy. But at this moment, with all that had happened, she could feel the rage bubbling in the pit of her stomach. There was no medication that could cure this case of oncoming heartburn. Violence was the only treatment.

“It's not me you need to worry about, Kohime.” Words sharper than a dagger came from RIA. “This is comeuppance. The sooner him and I get in the ring, the sooner I can whip the shit outta him. How we move on after is up to Nate. The lesson is my main goal, but I don't plan to lose. This is a test of will, conviction. My methods might be questionable, but I know I'm in the right here. And at the end of the night, I'll have made sure Colton knows that too.”

Like talking to a brick wall. Kohime’s mind began to wander. She knew she was a huge factor in why Lockhart was fighting this fight. But Mori had watched the ReVivals leading up to this point. RIA had outright admitted there was more to this than just defending Kohime's honor. Her frustration over hitting a wall in PRIME had been placed onto Nate. The New Diamond was the embodiment of that stalled progress in Lockhart's eyes.

Mori knew that wasn't fair. Colton had always been supportive towards RIA. Friendly. Caring. Prior to this ugliness, the two had shared nothing but positivity. The Colton Family as a whole treated Lockhart incredibly well, a relationship RIA was doing her best to keep together despite the war with Nate. Kohime was doing the same as well, even with her (hopefully) temporary separation from the New Diamond.

Even if he had messed up, even if he had acted carelessly, did he deserve the harsh treatment from RIA? Kohime didn't see Nate Colton as a bad person. She genuinely thought he was a good, perhaps even great, man. His mistake hurt, but she wanted to believe the man she fell in love with was his truest form.

She watched RIA continue to work over the dummy. Each kick, every elbow, all were imbued with bitterness. Kohime could share her feelings with her friend, but she felt it would be pointless. The Psychoberry had her mind made up. Nate Colton and RIA Lockhart were set for combat. Words could do nothing now. All Mori could do at this point was wait… Wait and hope neither one would suffer serious harm.

RIA exhaled, stepping away from the equipment. Her gaze moved to Mori. The Japanese woman looked so unlike herself, so… defeated.

“Hey, ‘Hime.”

Mori’s eyes moved up to Lockhart.

“I know this sucks for you and I'm sorry. But I gotta do this. And I promise, no matter what, things are gonna be better after I'm done. You got my word.”

Kohime nodded, trying to force a smile. It was a skill she had never really developed. As much as she hated things right now, she made a choice, one made many times before.

Kohime needed to, and would, put her faith in RIA.

The time for talk is over. Even with the minor resentment I've held deep inside, I never expected to stand across the ring from you with a heart full of anger. I'm not happy about this, Nate. I don't like feeling like this, especially not towards someone I held in such high esteem. Maybe I'm being unfair, maybe I'm being irrational. At this point, it doesn't matter. We are where we are, ready to wage war against each other. But even with all the ill feelings we have right now, I plan to do you a favor, Nathan.

I'm gonna ease a burden you've been carrying for awhile. For one night, I'm gonna erase your reputation of being Coral Avalon's bitch. Instead, you're gonna be mine.