COLOSSUS 2023 NIGHT TWO

The old man’s head falls to the pillow of his hospital bed, labored breaths pushing through cracked lips.

“I remember!”

A grainy flashback to Colossus VI, where Jason Snow caught Kaiser Vashaun with the Snake Eyes, knocking him out cold before he even hit the mat.

“I remember when the Original Villain held both belts up high!”

Snow looks between the Five Star Championship in one hand, and the Universal Title in the other, his eyes caught in the reflection of each.

The old man coughs, chest bucking up from the mattress.

“When the Emperor of Endings reigned over the Prince of Delusion!”

Colossus VII, in the darkest of days. Castor V. Strife falls to the mat after connecting The Director’s Cut on Vangelus Olsig. Bernie Roberts crouches down and places the Universal Title in Strife’s motionless hand.

“And I remember the end! When the Queen set the Wrecking Ball free!”

Colossus VIII. The Long Farewell. A sunset flip powerbomb from the Sovereign, countering the InHuman Being’s Downfall. Three final slaps against the mat to close the book on the ReVolution era of PRIME.

The old man collapses, mouth agape, collecting his breath in silence.

Before he bolts upright in his bed, his sheets flying forward, eyes wide.

“BUT IT WASN’T THE END!!

Colossus 2022. Hayes Hanlon vs. Cancer Jiles.

“I’LL REMEMBER THE REVIVAL! WHEN A DREAM CAME TRUE!”

The Event Horizon crushes Jiles into the mat with the Super Massive, before cutting to Nova and Brandon Youngblood hoisting the new Universal Champion to their shoulders.

And in a flurry, the scene shifts to New Orleans, and the roaring crowd inside the Superdome.

“I’LL REMEMBER THE BUTCHER, AND THE GRENDEL!”

The headshots of combatants start meeting at center screen. The snarling visage of Paxton Ray one one side, and the focused face of Rich Patterson.

“THE LEGACY! AND THE MAN BORN AGAIN!”

Eddie Cross lifts two fists with a grin, and Max Kael? smiles that wicked, wild smile.

The old man claws at his mattress, bottom row of teeth jutting forward.

“THE FUTURE’S DIAMOND! AND THE EMERALD APEX!”

Colton adjusts his letterman’s jacket, and Kerry Kuroyama turns to showcase his wide back, covered in tattoos.

“THE GLUE! AND THE MASTERS!”

Joe Fontaine and Sid Phillips brush off their own sparkly duds on one side of the screen, while Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz cheese at the camera like the hams they are.

“THE HEART!:

Jared Sykes rolls a shoulder.

“AND THE HAMMER!”

And Hayes Hanlon curls his ‘stache.

“AND…And…”

The old man coughs, his fingers flexing and extending, fighting to stay upright.

“…and the BEAR. The Bear, and the Neck Collector…”

A hard shift, back to ReVival 38. To the return of FLAMBERGE, and his defiant staredown of Ivan Stanislav. The Russian Bear.

The Intense Champ. Against the Universal.

The old man remains seated, frozen.

Until he gives out, and falls back against the pillow of the hospital bed.

He wheezes. Yet somehow…

…smiles.

“How…how could I possibly forget…”

Black.

Then the PRIME logo, followed by white letters.

COLOSSUS.

NIGHT TWO.

The old man’s head falls to the pillow of his hospital bed, labored breaths pushing through cracked lips.

“I remember!”

A grainy flashback to Colossus VI, where Jason Snow caught Kaiser Vashaun with the Snake Eyes, knocking him out cold before he even hit the mat.

“I remember when the Original Villain held both belts up high!”

Snow looks between the Five Star Championship in one hand, and the Universal Title in the other, his eyes caught in the reflection of each.

The old man coughs, chest bucking up from the mattress.

“When the Emperor of Endings reigned over the Prince of Delusion!”

Colossus VII, in the darkest of days. Castor V. Strife falls to the mat after connecting The Director’s Cut on Vangelus Olsig. Bernie Roberts crouches down and places the Universal Title in Strife’s motionless hand.

“And I remember the end! When the Queen set the Wrecking Ball free!”

Colossus VIII. The Long Farewell. A sunset flip powerbomb from the Sovereign, countering the InHuman Being’s Downfall. Three final slaps against the mat to close the book on the ReVolution era of PRIME.

The old man collapses, mouth agape, collecting his breath in silence.

Before he bolts upright in his bed, his sheets flying forward, eyes wide.

“BUT IT WASN’T THE END!!

Colossus 2022. Hayes Hanlon vs. Cancer Jiles.

“I’LL REMEMBER THE REVIVAL! WHEN A DREAM CAME TRUE!”

The Event Horizon crushes Jiles into the mat with the Super Massive, before cutting to Nova and Brandon Youngblood hoisting the new Universal Champion to their shoulders.

And in a flurry, the scene shifts to New Orleans, and the roaring crowd inside the Superdome.

“I’LL REMEMBER THE BUTCHER, AND THE GRENDEL!”

The headshots of combatants start meeting at center screen. The snarling visage of Paxton Ray one one side, and the focused face of Rich Patterson.

“THE LEGACY! AND THE MAN BORN AGAIN!”

Eddie Cross lifts two fists with a grin, and Max Kael? smiles that wicked, wild smile.

The old man claws at his mattress, bottom row of teeth jutting forward.

“THE FUTURE’S DIAMOND! AND THE EMERALD APEX!”

Colton adjusts his letterman’s jacket, and Kerry Kuroyama turns to showcase his wide back, covered in tattoos.

“THE GLUE! AND THE MASTERS!”

Joe Fontaine and Sid Phillips brush off their own sparkly duds on one side of the screen, while Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz cheese at the camera like the hams they are.

“THE HEART!:

Jared Sykes rolls a shoulder.

“AND THE HAMMER!”

And Hayes Hanlon curls his ‘stache.

“AND…And…”

The old man coughs, his fingers flexing and extending, fighting to stay upright.

“…and the BEAR. The Bear, and the Neck Collector…”

A hard shift, back to ReVival 38. To the return of FLAMBERGE, and his defiant staredown of Ivan Stanislav. The Russian Bear.

The Intense Champ. Against the Universal.

The old man remains seated, frozen.

Until he gives out, and falls back against the pillow of the hospital bed.

He wheezes. Yet somehow…

…smiles.

“How…how could I possibly forget…”

Black.

Then the PRIME logo, followed by white letters.

COLOSSUS.

NIGHT TWO.

Pyro.

And not some piddly little fireworks, either. This is night two of the biggest show of the year. All roads lead here, from the first ReVival to Culture Shock, then on to Tropical Turmoil, to UltraViolence, and everything in between.

So we use the good shit.

We’ve also got lights, and the thundering sound system. Hell, there’s probably a few smoke machines fogging off in honor of Dusk. Not in memory, though. Lucky bastard survived a very murderous RP period.

We get a wide shot of the crowd, and it is vast. Ocean vast. “Realizing that even if we’re not alone in the universe the distance between stars makes meeting another race impossible” vast. Full on existential crisis big.

We’ve also got signs.

i pooped em

I CAME TO SEE THE NEWS AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY SIGN
INSTANT LIZARD, INSTANT MEN
FLABMERGE
ITS RAINING LIZARDS / HALLELUJAH IT’S RAINING LIZARDS / RAINING LIZARDS
BEIGNETS ARE JUST ARROGANT PIZZA ROLLS
I AM FROM FRANCE NOT RUSSIA AND I AM ROOTING FOR IVAN STANISLAV I ALSO MUCH LOVE BAGUETTES WITH MY VODKA!
ANYONE KNOW WHERE THE GUY WHO WAS SEATED NEXT TO ME WENT? HE HAD THE “I CAN’T BELIEVE I MADE IT TO COLOSSUS ALIVE” SIGN LAST NIGHT. DID HE DIE?
I’M HAVING TROUBLE UNDERSTANDING FLAMBO’S ACCENT, DOES SOMEONE HAVE A LIZUAL AID?
HAS ANYONE SEEN GAMBLE? THERE’S A STACK OF TOYS THAT NEED TO BE BUILT, AND HE MISSED HIS SHIFT.
WHY HASN’T HOYT CURED JONATHAN RHINE YET

And now we get a shot of PRIME booth stalwarts, Nick Stuart and Richard Parker.

Nick Stuart: Good evening everyone and welcome to night two of Colossus! We’re coming hot on the heels of a tremendous first night, where JONATHAN CHRISTOPHER HALL became the second winner of the Almasy Memorial Tournament, and secured his shot at the Universal Championship at Culture Shock next spring!

Richard Parker: That’s right, Nick. And tonight we find out whether the other person in that match will be “The Russian Bear” Ivan Stanislav, or whether the Gluminati’s very own sword, FLAMBERGE, can collect the biggest neck of his career!

Nick Stuart: Don’t forget there’s a Golden Ticket between now and then, Richard.

Richard Parker: I’m actively trying to. Oh, hey, it’s Vince Howard! Hi, Vince Howard!

He’s right. It is Vince Howard.

Nick Stuart: Fans, we’re going to head to the ring for our opening contest.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall…

The crowd really wants to respond with “One Fall!”

They really, really do.

All eight million of them, or however many there are.

But they don’t, all except for two people. One is a Canadian Fruitopia bootlegger who’s wanted in three states for illegal juice trafficking, and the other has blue hair and some really questionable taste in women. They hate each other for some reason.

Vince Howard: Introducing first…

“They say it’s good to start a story with a tragedy.”

The chunky guitar riff of “Fistfight” by The Ballroom Thieves kicks in as Paxton Ray walks out under the PRIMEView. Paxton sneers as the fans boo, but before the song can continue, a man comes out behind him with a microphone, shouting.

Chet Fleetwood: HOLD IT HOLD IT HOLD IT! CUT THE MUSIC!

The music cuts as the fans boo Chet Fleetwood, who walks out with a big book that has the name FLEETWOOD on it. They probably have never seen him before, or if they had it was for fleeting minutes over a year ago. But they know immediately to hate them. They are right.

Nick Stuart: Did he just ask for his own wrestler’s music to be cut?

Richard Parker: Oooh, a go-getter. I might like him.

Chet Fleetwood: Can I please have your attention. Vince Howard is a known tax evader and a skirter of the law, and if he lived in this city I’d have him locked up forever. Therefore he cannot announce the arrival of my client tonight. So, without further…

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Chet Fleetwood: Shut up! I will sue every one of you! I know where most of you live!

The fans boo louder. This entire time Paxton is trying very hard not to look at Chet.

Nick Stuart: Paxton doesn’t appear happy with his new manager.

Richard Parker: He’s obviously an awful judge of character.

Chet Fleetwood: Introducing, from Lafayette, Louisiana…weighing, like, A LOT. Well, not a lot like fat, but he’s got some muscle, you know? He weighs the appropriate amount for a wrestler to weigh. Maybe a few pounds more because I mean he does live in New Orleans and the gym is catered by Emeril. But not fat like you assholes.

Paxton rolls his eyes as they both approach the ring.

Chet Fleetwood: Anyway! Representing the best gym in the world, MESSIAH Wrestling Academy! He is the Bayou Butcher, MESSIAH’s Monster, and hey he paralyzed some dude you all like…PAXTON! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Despite being visibly uncomfortable with the entrance, Paxton still raises his arm in the air before getting into the ring. Chet claps into the microphone which is incredibly unpleasant before handing the microphone off to some poor assistant.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

Lights out.

Here we go.

Wall of sound. Moving around the arena like a shockwave clear-cutting a city skyline.

Strapping Young Lad’s “All Hail the New Flesh.”

The hi-hats crash — guitar unyielding — drums pneumatic. A wordless cry comes screaming out of a vacuum, and then:

# HEY, MAN, I’M GONNA FUCK THIS SHIT UP
# NO FEAR, NO COMPROMISE, I WANT IT ALL
# I WILL NEVER BE AFRAID
# I’LL DIE FOR WHAT I BELIEVE

Suddenly the lights are up and blinding. Rich Patterson hits the stage, one side and then the other, each a moment for himself, right arm held aloft, pale eyes gazing into the audience as though he’s taking inventory of every fan, every sign, every flash of a camera.

Vince Howard: From Wonder Valley, California he weighs in tonight at two-hundred and thirty-eight pounds. He is… RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICH PATTERSSSSSSSSSSSSSON!

As Vince Howard announces his vital statistics over the heavy percussion of the song, Patterson tramps down the rampway, meeting a few outstretched hands with his own, up the steps to the apron, through the ropes, and into the squared circle.

# AND ALL YOU ARE IS ALL YOU ARE
# I’M SO SORRY FOR YOU — SORRY
# SO ALL HAIL THE NEW FLESH
# CUZ IT SUITS ME FINE

He heads to the far corner and shakes the top turnbuckle, backs into it, and settles there, awaiting the sound of the bell.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: There’s the bell, and that means that night two of Colossus is officially underway!

Paxton comes right out of the gate on all cylinders, but Patterson seems to have predicted this and is able to brace for the onslaught of the Murdergator. More than that, he returns fire and the two men trade strikes in the center of the ring. Not since the night he wrestled Jacob Mephisto over a year ago has Ray been in the ring with someone his own size, but tonight the height difference that he usually holds over his opponents is gone. And despite Paxton’s tainted history in PRIME, Patterson doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated. He asserts control early, absorbing shot after shot from the Louisiana native, and then connecting with a series of clubbing blows.

You’d think this is the kind of thing that would concern Chet Fleetwood, especially so early into the match, but Chet’s found one of the ringside cameras and has other business to attend to.

Chet Fleetwood: I’m Chet Fleetwooooooooood! I’m handsome, I’m smart, and I’m strong.

He’s singing.

Chet Fleetwood: I’m Chet Fleetwooooooooood! I li-ti-gate the law!

He hold up the large book he’s carrying – the one that bears his own name on the cover – and gives it a tap. And if that tune sounds familiar, that’s because it’s the same melody used by a certain Canadian lawman.

The Mountie. I’m talking about The Mountie.

Richard Parker: That was beautiful, Nick. A modern masterpiece.

Nick Stuart: Oh good, so this is how tonight is going to go. Great.

Paxton swings wild with a left, but misses as Patterson ducks underneath. In the process, Patterson gets an arm across Paxton’s chest, allowing him to turn the overextension into a uranage backbreaker. Before Paxton can slump to the canvas, Patterson straightens up and brings Ray with him, only to clobber him to the mat with a modified short-arm clothesline.

Nick Stuart: Rich Patterson may be new to the fans here in PRIME, but that veteran experience is coming into play here in the early going against Paxton Ray.

Richard Parker: Does he have much experience in broken necks? Because let’s not forget the things that Paxton Ray is capable of.

Nick Stuart: Well judging by the look of things, Richard, it’s Paxton Ray that needs to watch out right now.

With Paxton down on the mat, Patterson picks his target. In this case, it’s the left arm of the Bayou Butcher. Patterson first stomps on the shoulder joint. When Ray balls his arm up to protect it, Patterson is there to straighten it back out on the canvas. The second stomp is to the elbow. This time when Patterson goes to retrieve the arm he holds it at length, and then drives his knee into the shoulder joint. He keeps hold and wrenches back. Through clenched teeth, Paxton Ray snarls.

Richard Parker: I think it might be time for the illustrious Mister Fleetwood to have a sidebar with his client.

Nick Stuart: Illustrious?

Richard Parker: The man has a license to practice law in this state, Nick. I think that qualifies. Also he has the voice of an angel.

Paxton manages to power up to his feet, all the while trying to twist out of Patterson’s grip. When he gets close enough, Paxton snaps back with a headbutt. It doesn’t draw blood, but it does cause Patterson to break his grip for a moment. Redneck Einstein shakes the life back into his shoulder, and then peppers Patterson with lefts up high and rights to the body. Patterson staggers, and Paxton hits the near ropes for some momentum, then connects with a big boot.

Nick Stuart: It looks like Paxton Ray is starting to find his footing.

Richard Parker: Nicholas.

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: You know what you did. The pun? You’re never going to hear the end of this.

Clearly irritated, Paxton stomps forward and headbutts Patterson across the bridge of the nose. He grabs Patterson by the neck and tries to power him up in a two-handed choke lift, but the similarity in weight and height means he doesn’t get very far. He stumbles forward and tosses Patterson towards the corner.

Richard Parker: If Rich Patterson was any smaller, he’d be about three feet higher up in the air, and about three seconds away from suffocating.

Paxton unloads in the corner on Patterson with punch after punch. But because Patterson is against the ropes, this is cause for Elvis Nixon to try to step in and create some separation. As soon as he does this a voice echoes through the ringside area, and it’s loud.

Chet Fleetwood: Objection!

Chet then climbs onto the ring apron, and opens up his self-branded book while beckoning Elvis over. And then the cameras pick up an exchange between lawyer and referee.

Chet Fleetwood: Let the record show that my client’s feet were on the second turnbuckle, so he gets until a count of ten. That’s how ropes work.

Elvis Nixon: What? Paxton was on the ground, you saw it just like I did.

Chet gestures to the crowd.

Chet Fleetwood: We have tens of thousands of sworn witnesses.

Elvis Nixon: The hell with this.

He starts to walk away.

Chet Fleetwood: I’ll prepare a PowerPoint deck. What’s your email address?

Momentarily distracted by this, Paxton rolls his eyes at his legal counsel. He turns away from his opponent for just long enough for Patterson to regain his bearings. As soon as Ray looks to face Patterson, he’s scooped up around the waist and driven into the opposite corner. Paxton isn’t able to catch a breath. Patterson grabs hold of the middle rope on either side of his opponent and begins driving shoulder after shoulder into their midsection.

Again Elvis Nixon is forced into service, doing his level best to ignore the chirping Fleetwood outside the ring. Our woebegotten referee begins his admonishment, but Patterson takes a step back with his hands up, then readies one of his arms and bashes Ray with an elbow. An Irish whip into the corner follows. Patterson is only two steps behind, and sandwiches Paxton between himself and the turnbuckles.

He scoops Ray up over his shoulder, and for a moment it looks like he might try for a belly-to-belly piledriver, but then he takes three steps towards the center of the ring and drops Ray shoulder-first across his knee. Paxton slides to the mat. Patterson hooks the leg.

Elvis Nixon: ONE!… TWO!!

Chet Fleetwood: OBJECTION!!

Elvis Nixon’s hand is now three feet in the air, because that’s about where the rest of his body is. He’s used to having people shout things at him while he’s trying to do his job, but normally those people don’t stick their head between the ropes and shout at him at full volume from a foot away.

Nick Stuart: Well that’s an interesting way to break up the cover. You have to imagine that Fleetwood is getting ejected for sure after thi- Oh. No. He’s pointing at pages in the book again.

Richard Parker: Ah yes, the worst kind of lawyer. A rules lawyer.

Nick Stuart: Aren’t all lawyers technically rules lawyers?

Richard Parker: Don’t get all semantic with me, Nicholas. Semantic? Is that the word? Pedantic? One of the two.

Once again Elvis Nixon’s patience is being tested, as Chet Fleetwood is now pointing at Rich Patterson, and then gesturing at his own eyes, and then rapidly pointing at a page of his book. This gives Paxton Ray time to get back to his feet. He gestures for Patterson to turn around, and as soon as he does…

Nick Stuart: Big discus elbow strike! Patterson to the ropes…

The crowd boos as the Lafayette Lullaby connects. There’s not a lot of height, but the connection is solid all the same.

Elvis Nixon drops down to make the count.

Elvis Nixon: ONE!

This time, Chet Fleetwood keeps his fool mouth shut.

Elvis Nixon: TWO!

The Lafayette Lullaby sings another victim to sleep.

Elvis Nixon: THREE! RING THE BELL!

DING DING DING

Chet Fleetwood throws his arms in the air like he just won the damn lottery.

Chet Fleetwood: I won! I’m handsome, and smart, and undefeated!

Paxton Ray can only look at his manager and shake his head.

Nick Stuart: Fans, don’t go anywhere! We’ve got five huge matches left to go tonight, with our main event for the Universal Championship still to come!

We cut elsewhere.

Pyro.

And not some piddly little fireworks, either. This is night two of the biggest show of the year. All roads lead here, from the first ReVival to Culture Shock, then on to Tropical Turmoil, to UltraViolence, and everything in between.

So we use the good shit.

We’ve also got lights, and the thundering sound system. Hell, there’s probably a few smoke machines fogging off in honor of Dusk. Not in memory, though. Lucky bastard survived a very murderous RP period.

We get a wide shot of the crowd, and it is vast. Ocean vast. “Realizing that even if we’re not alone in the universe the distance between stars makes meeting another race impossible” vast. Full on existential crisis big.

We’ve also got signs.

i pooped em

I CAME TO SEE THE NEWS AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY SIGN
INSTANT LIZARD, INSTANT MEN
FLABMERGE
ITS RAINING LIZARDS / HALLELUJAH IT’S RAINING LIZARDS / RAINING LIZARDS
BEIGNETS ARE JUST ARROGANT PIZZA ROLLS
I AM FROM FRANCE NOT RUSSIA AND I AM ROOTING FOR IVAN STANISLAV I ALSO MUCH LOVE BAGUETTES WITH MY VODKA!
ANYONE KNOW WHERE THE GUY WHO WAS SEATED NEXT TO ME WENT? HE HAD THE “I CAN’T BELIEVE I MADE IT TO COLOSSUS ALIVE” SIGN LAST NIGHT. DID HE DIE?
I’M HAVING TROUBLE UNDERSTANDING FLAMBO’S ACCENT, DOES SOMEONE HAVE A LIZUAL AID?
HAS ANYONE SEEN GAMBLE? THERE’S A STACK OF TOYS THAT NEED TO BE BUILT, AND HE MISSED HIS SHIFT.
WHY HASN’T HOYT CURED JONATHAN RHINE YET

And now we get a shot of PRIME booth stalwarts, Nick Stuart and Richard Parker.

Nick Stuart: Good evening everyone and welcome to night two of Colossus! We’re coming hot on the heels of a tremendous first night, where JONATHAN CHRISTOPHER HALL became the second winner of the Almasy Memorial Tournament, and secured his shot at the Universal Championship at Culture Shock next spring!

Richard Parker: That’s right, Nick. And tonight we find out whether the other person in that match will be “The Russian Bear” Ivan Stanislav, or whether the Gluminati’s very own sword, FLAMBERGE, can collect the biggest neck of his career!

Nick Stuart: Don’t forget there’s a Golden Ticket between now and then, Richard.

Richard Parker: I’m actively trying to. Oh, hey, it’s Vince Howard! Hi, Vince Howard!

He’s right. It is Vince Howard.

Nick Stuart: Fans, we’re going to head to the ring for our opening contest.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall…

The crowd really wants to respond with “One Fall!”

They really, really do.

All eight million of them, or however many there are.

But they don’t, all except for two people. One is a Canadian Fruitopia bootlegger who’s wanted in three states for illegal juice trafficking, and the other has blue hair and some really questionable taste in women. They hate each other for some reason.

Vince Howard: Introducing first…

“They say it’s good to start a story with a tragedy.”

The chunky guitar riff of “Fistfight” by The Ballroom Thieves kicks in as Paxton Ray walks out under the PRIMEView. Paxton sneers as the fans boo, but before the song can continue, a man comes out behind him with a microphone, shouting.

Chet Fleetwood: HOLD IT HOLD IT HOLD IT! CUT THE MUSIC!

The music cuts as the fans boo Chet Fleetwood, who walks out with a big book that has the name FLEETWOOD on it. They probably have never seen him before, or if they had it was for fleeting minutes over a year ago. But they know immediately to hate them. They are right.

Nick Stuart: Did he just ask for his own wrestler’s music to be cut?

Richard Parker: Oooh, a go-getter. I might like him.

Chet Fleetwood: Can I please have your attention. Vince Howard is a known tax evader and a skirter of the law, and if he lived in this city I’d have him locked up forever. Therefore he cannot announce the arrival of my client tonight. So, without further…

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Chet Fleetwood: Shut up! I will sue every one of you! I know where most of you live!

The fans boo louder. This entire time Paxton is trying very hard not to look at Chet.

Nick Stuart: Paxton doesn’t appear happy with his new manager.

Richard Parker: He’s obviously an awful judge of character.

Chet Fleetwood: Introducing, from Lafayette, Louisiana…weighing, like, A LOT. Well, not a lot like fat, but he’s got some muscle, you know? He weighs the appropriate amount for a wrestler to weigh. Maybe a few pounds more because I mean he does live in New Orleans and the gym is catered by Emeril. But not fat like you assholes.

Paxton rolls his eyes as they both approach the ring.

Chet Fleetwood: Anyway! Representing the best gym in the world, MESSIAH Wrestling Academy! He is the Bayou Butcher, MESSIAH’s Monster, and hey he paralyzed some dude you all like…PAXTON! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Despite being visibly uncomfortable with the entrance, Paxton still raises his arm in the air before getting into the ring. Chet claps into the microphone which is incredibly unpleasant before handing the microphone off to some poor assistant.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

Lights out.

Here we go.

Wall of sound. Moving around the arena like a shockwave clear-cutting a city skyline.

Strapping Young Lad’s “All Hail the New Flesh.”

The hi-hats crash — guitar unyielding — drums pneumatic. A wordless cry comes screaming out of a vacuum, and then:

# HEY, MAN, I’M GONNA FUCK THIS SHIT UP
# NO FEAR, NO COMPROMISE, I WANT IT ALL
# I WILL NEVER BE AFRAID
# I’LL DIE FOR WHAT I BELIEVE

Suddenly the lights are up and blinding. Rich Patterson hits the stage, one side and then the other, each a moment for himself, right arm held aloft, pale eyes gazing into the audience as though he’s taking inventory of every fan, every sign, every flash of a camera.

Vince Howard: From Wonder Valley, California he weighs in tonight at two-hundred and thirty-eight pounds. He is… RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICH PATTERSSSSSSSSSSSSSON!

As Vince Howard announces his vital statistics over the heavy percussion of the song, Patterson tramps down the rampway, meeting a few outstretched hands with his own, up the steps to the apron, through the ropes, and into the squared circle.

# AND ALL YOU ARE IS ALL YOU ARE
# I’M SO SORRY FOR YOU — SORRY
# SO ALL HAIL THE NEW FLESH
# CUZ IT SUITS ME FINE

He heads to the far corner and shakes the top turnbuckle, backs into it, and settles there, awaiting the sound of the bell.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: There’s the bell, and that means that night two of Colossus is officially underway!

Paxton comes right out of the gate on all cylinders, but Patterson seems to have predicted this and is able to brace for the onslaught of the Murdergator. More than that, he returns fire and the two men trade strikes in the center of the ring. Not since the night he wrestled Jacob Mephisto over a year ago has Ray been in the ring with someone his own size, but tonight the height difference that he usually holds over his opponents is gone. And despite Paxton’s tainted history in PRIME, Patterson doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated. He asserts control early, absorbing shot after shot from the Louisiana native, and then connecting with a series of clubbing blows.

You’d think this is the kind of thing that would concern Chet Fleetwood, especially so early into the match, but Chet’s found one of the ringside cameras and has other business to attend to.

Chet Fleetwood: I’m Chet Fleetwooooooooood! I’m handsome, I’m smart, and I’m strong.

He’s singing.

Chet Fleetwood: I’m Chet Fleetwooooooooood! I li-ti-gate the law!

He hold up the large book he’s carrying – the one that bears his own name on the cover – and gives it a tap. And if that tune sounds familiar, that’s because it’s the same melody used by a certain Canadian lawman.

The Mountie. I’m talking about The Mountie.

Richard Parker: That was beautiful, Nick. A modern masterpiece.

Nick Stuart: Oh good, so this is how tonight is going to go. Great.

Paxton swings wild with a left, but misses as Patterson ducks underneath. In the process, Patterson gets an arm across Paxton’s chest, allowing him to turn the overextension into a uranage backbreaker. Before Paxton can slump to the canvas, Patterson straightens up and brings Ray with him, only to clobber him to the mat with a modified short-arm clothesline.

Nick Stuart: Rich Patterson may be new to the fans here in PRIME, but that veteran experience is coming into play here in the early going against Paxton Ray.

Richard Parker: Does he have much experience in broken necks? Because let’s not forget the things that Paxton Ray is capable of.

Nick Stuart: Well judging by the look of things, Richard, it’s Paxton Ray that needs to watch out right now.

With Paxton down on the mat, Patterson picks his target. In this case, it’s the left arm of the Bayou Butcher. Patterson first stomps on the shoulder joint. When Ray balls his arm up to protect it, Patterson is there to straighten it back out on the canvas. The second stomp is to the elbow. This time when Patterson goes to retrieve the arm he holds it at length, and then drives his knee into the shoulder joint. He keeps hold and wrenches back. Through clenched teeth, Paxton Ray snarls.

Richard Parker: I think it might be time for the illustrious Mister Fleetwood to have a sidebar with his client.

Nick Stuart: Illustrious?

Richard Parker: The man has a license to practice law in this state, Nick. I think that qualifies. Also he has the voice of an angel.

Paxton manages to power up to his feet, all the while trying to twist out of Patterson’s grip. When he gets close enough, Paxton snaps back with a headbutt. It doesn’t draw blood, but it does cause Patterson to break his grip for a moment. Redneck Einstein shakes the life back into his shoulder, and then peppers Patterson with lefts up high and rights to the body. Patterson staggers, and Paxton hits the near ropes for some momentum, then connects with a big boot.

Nick Stuart: It looks like Paxton Ray is starting to find his footing.

Richard Parker: Nicholas.

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: You know what you did. The pun? You’re never going to hear the end of this.

Clearly irritated, Paxton stomps forward and headbutts Patterson across the bridge of the nose. He grabs Patterson by the neck and tries to power him up in a two-handed choke lift, but the similarity in weight and height means he doesn’t get very far. He stumbles forward and tosses Patterson towards the corner.

Richard Parker: If Rich Patterson was any smaller, he’d be about three feet higher up in the air, and about three seconds away from suffocating.

Paxton unloads in the corner on Patterson with punch after punch. But because Patterson is against the ropes, this is cause for Elvis Nixon to try to step in and create some separation. As soon as he does this a voice echoes through the ringside area, and it’s loud.

Chet Fleetwood: Objection!

Chet then climbs onto the ring apron, and opens up his self-branded book while beckoning Elvis over. And then the cameras pick up an exchange between lawyer and referee.

Chet Fleetwood: Let the record show that my client’s feet were on the second turnbuckle, so he gets until a count of ten. That’s how ropes work.

Elvis Nixon: What? Paxton was on the ground, you saw it just like I did.

Chet gestures to the crowd.

Chet Fleetwood: We have tens of thousands of sworn witnesses.

Elvis Nixon: The hell with this.

He starts to walk away.

Chet Fleetwood: I’ll prepare a PowerPoint deck. What’s your email address?

Momentarily distracted by this, Paxton rolls his eyes at his legal counsel. He turns away from his opponent for just long enough for Patterson to regain his bearings. As soon as Ray looks to face Patterson, he’s scooped up around the waist and driven into the opposite corner. Paxton isn’t able to catch a breath. Patterson grabs hold of the middle rope on either side of his opponent and begins driving shoulder after shoulder into their midsection.

Again Elvis Nixon is forced into service, doing his level best to ignore the chirping Fleetwood outside the ring. Our woebegotten referee begins his admonishment, but Patterson takes a step back with his hands up, then readies one of his arms and bashes Ray with an elbow. An Irish whip into the corner follows. Patterson is only two steps behind, and sandwiches Paxton between himself and the turnbuckles.

He scoops Ray up over his shoulder, and for a moment it looks like he might try for a belly-to-belly piledriver, but then he takes three steps towards the center of the ring and drops Ray shoulder-first across his knee. Paxton slides to the mat. Patterson hooks the leg.

Elvis Nixon: ONE!… TWO!!

Chet Fleetwood: OBJECTION!!

Elvis Nixon’s hand is now three feet in the air, because that’s about where the rest of his body is. He’s used to having people shout things at him while he’s trying to do his job, but normally those people don’t stick their head between the ropes and shout at him at full volume from a foot away.

Nick Stuart: Well that’s an interesting way to break up the cover. You have to imagine that Fleetwood is getting ejected for sure after thi- Oh. No. He’s pointing at pages in the book again.

Richard Parker: Ah yes, the worst kind of lawyer. A rules lawyer.

Nick Stuart: Aren’t all lawyers technically rules lawyers?

Richard Parker: Don’t get all semantic with me, Nicholas. Semantic? Is that the word? Pedantic? One of the two.

Once again Elvis Nixon’s patience is being tested, as Chet Fleetwood is now pointing at Rich Patterson, and then gesturing at his own eyes, and then rapidly pointing at a page of his book. This gives Paxton Ray time to get back to his feet. He gestures for Patterson to turn around, and as soon as he does…

Nick Stuart: Big discus elbow strike! Patterson to the ropes…

The crowd boos as the Lafayette Lullaby connects. There’s not a lot of height, but the connection is solid all the same.

Elvis Nixon drops down to make the count.

Elvis Nixon: ONE!

This time, Chet Fleetwood keeps his fool mouth shut.

Elvis Nixon: TWO!

The Lafayette Lullaby sings another victim to sleep.

Elvis Nixon: THREE! RING THE BELL!

DING DING DING

Chet Fleetwood throws his arms in the air like he just won the damn lottery.

Chet Fleetwood: I won! I’m handsome, and smart, and undefeated!

Paxton Ray can only look at his manager and shake his head.

Nick Stuart: Fans, don’t go anywhere! We’ve got five huge matches left to go tonight, with our main event for the Universal Championship still to come!

We cut elsewhere.

And so segment one begins.

The WON ACTION NEWS TEAM stage is dark save or the news desk where Max Kael? sits. He is a little different this evening, a lean cut three piece black suit with a #D60000 red silk tie. His usual wild, curly black hair was trimmed up and combed back, slick with oil. He keeps his eyes on the camera with a steady, unbroken gaze. An unpleasant grin sits on his face, not a happy grin or a cocky grin.

Sarcastic?

No, something more aggressive.

Angry.

Max Kael?: Good plebeian PRIMEians, welcome to this special Colossus edition of the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM. I am Max Kael?..

He pauses when he says that. The grin twitches, his lips pulling tight as he fights to stifle a cough.. Or maybe a giggle. His nostrils flare for a moment, his neck tensing as he fights against the involuntary action. Max clears his throat and breaks back into his angry smile.

Max Kael?: I want to talk to my opponent for later tonight. Eddie Cross. I want you to know something Eddie. Now.. let me see here..

The Questionable Kael shuffles through the papers on his desk until he finds what he is searching for. Max pulls a pair of half moon reading glasses from his pocket, slipping them over his nose as he looks down at the paper.

U.N.Couth: ..I think that shit stole my reading glasses..

Couth’s voice comes from somewhere off camera as Max once again appears to stifle a laugh. He reads the paper for a moment before a loud “Ha” finally escapes his lips. Slamming the paper down, Kael’s head tilts back up with a mirthless smile.

Max Kael?: Eddie Cross I’m going to maim you out there, blah, blah, blah, I’m going to show you the meaning of pain, blah, blah, blah..That’s what they want me to say here. Something cheesy and funny. Like a little dancing monkey, right? Hmm?

His eyes move away from the camera and appear to be focused on someone standing out of the shot. Max holds the offending paper up with a look of disgust on his face. Crumpling the paper up, it quickly finds itself sent flying off into the distance.

Max Kael?: I’m going to be very honest with you right now, Eddie. When we first met, when I didn’t know who you were beyond the weird video game guy who likes ultra processed sugar products, the plan was to use you. I was supposed to get close to you, become your friend, figure out if you could be manipulated. Find things out about you that could be perceived as vulnerabilities and target them.

Again, Max turns his accusatory glare at people off camera. His nostrils flare as he struggles to keep that grin on his face. Remembering to stay on task, Max’s eyes dart back to the camera.

Max Kael?: And I told them things about you, Eddie. I broke your trust, I wasn’t a good friend. I should have been more supportive. I should have worked harder to get you past Coral Avalon in the Almasy. I shouldn’t have stalked Ava. I did questionable things while being unquestionably obedient. And now I’ve potentially gotten you into this mess with me.

At this point U.N.Couth can be seen hobbling past the camera, her horrible knobby finger pointed toward Max. In response Max stands up, his hand smashing down loudly on the news desk. A sneer ripples across his lips like they belong to a Rankin-Bass character. It’s enough to cause Couth to stop in her tracks.

Max Kael?: Despite it all you’re still putting your freedom up to give me mine. I still remember that piece of taffy you gave me, Eddie. Nobody has ever given me anything, not without some kind of expectation. You put your freedom up, Eddie, for something that doesn’t benefit you. My freedom, it doesn’t impact your life. I couldn’t understand why, Eddie.

Couth slowly slinks back off camera as Max settles back down in his chair. His eyes don’t immediately return to the camera as he seems deep in thought. Finally, with a deep breath, Max looks back up toward the camera.

Max Kael?: And then I realized.. It’s because you’re a good person. You’re just.. A good person. As unfathomable as that is to me, it’s the only remaining possibility with the evidence I have. I’ll remember that, Eddie. On my word, Eddie Cross, I will never seek retribution against you. I will never harm or hinder you or your loved ones. This is regardless of the outcome of our match. You have earned this, you deserve this. …but..

The edges of Max’s lips curl up into a wide, toothy grin. His brow tightens then furrows into a deep U. His face risks the range of cartoonishly distorted as another giggle forces his way up his throat. This time he does not fight it.

…heh-heh..

BANG

The lights in the newsroom immediately shut off, a gunshot-like sound ringing across the stage. In the dark murk a single red light flickers to life. It blazes angrily toward the camera before the lights crackle back to life. The glowing red light lines up exactly with Max Kael’s left eye.

In the darkness a few changes have happened. Max Kael’s hair is no longer carefully combed but rather a tangled mess of curly black hair. The tie in his three piece suit has been loosened, the upper collar unbuttoned.

Maximillian Wilhelm Kael: I do love a good hero, Eddie, my boy. You might be my favorite one now.

His voice is different, a little harsher, a little deeper. Like our young boy, Max Kael?, hit villain puberty. Or picked up a bad habit of smoking and whiskey.

Maximillian Wilhelm Kael: But a hero is only as good as the villain faces. It took a couple of..shots.. To get it right but now, here we are. The villain you deserve, Eddie. I’m going to make you so proud, my boy… heh-heh.. We’re going to tell a great story! You don’t need Dave Gibson anymore, Bilbro, because you’ve got me now.

He stands, kicking the chair away as it clatters against the wall behind it. Max climbs dramatically onto the news desk, throwing his hands to either side as a chortle snorts it’s way out of his nose.

Maximillian Wilhelm Kael: For you see, my dear Eddie Cross, there is no QUESTION about it. No, no. No more Max Kael?. You helped me find my way back, you helped set me on a path where I finally got back. You helped me finally escape the cold embrace of death, Edward. At long last, my boy..

He stomps his feet excitedly before throwing his hands high into the air. His eyes are wide, manic, his pupils narrowed into tiny points. If this were a movie there would probably be really badass music playing but unfortunately this is not that. It probably actually feels very awkward but Max doesn’t seem to mind. In fact he looks like he’s having a great time.

Maximillian Wilhelm Kael: I’m UNQUESTIONABLY.. Maximillian Wilhelm Kael. Stay PRIMAL-al!

We fall into darkness with the maniacal giggling of Max Kael to sing us off.

We cut elsewhere.

And so segment one begins.

The WON ACTION NEWS TEAM stage is dark save or the news desk where Max Kael? sits. He is a little different this evening, a lean cut three piece black suit with a #D60000 red silk tie. His usual wild, curly black hair was trimmed up and combed back, slick with oil. He keeps his eyes on the camera with a steady, unbroken gaze. An unpleasant grin sits on his face, not a happy grin or a cocky grin.

Sarcastic?

No, something more aggressive.

Angry.

Max Kael?: Good plebeian PRIMEians, welcome to this special Colossus edition of the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM. I am Max Kael?..

He pauses when he says that. The grin twitches, his lips pulling tight as he fights to stifle a cough.. Or maybe a giggle. His nostrils flare for a moment, his neck tensing as he fights against the involuntary action. Max clears his throat and breaks back into his angry smile.

Max Kael?: I want to talk to my opponent for later tonight. Eddie Cross. I want you to know something Eddie. Now.. let me see here..

The Questionable Kael shuffles through the papers on his desk until he finds what he is searching for. Max pulls a pair of half moon reading glasses from his pocket, slipping them over his nose as he looks down at the paper.

U.N.Couth: ..I think that shit stole my reading glasses..

Couth’s voice comes from somewhere off camera as Max once again appears to stifle a laugh. He reads the paper for a moment before a loud “Ha” finally escapes his lips. Slamming the paper down, Kael’s head tilts back up with a mirthless smile.

Max Kael?: Eddie Cross I’m going to maim you out there, blah, blah, blah, I’m going to show you the meaning of pain, blah, blah, blah..That’s what they want me to say here. Something cheesy and funny. Like a little dancing monkey, right? Hmm?

His eyes move away from the camera and appear to be focused on someone standing out of the shot. Max holds the offending paper up with a look of disgust on his face. Crumpling the paper up, it quickly finds itself sent flying off into the distance.

Max Kael?: I’m going to be very honest with you right now, Eddie. When we first met, when I didn’t know who you were beyond the weird video game guy who likes ultra processed sugar products, the plan was to use you. I was supposed to get close to you, become your friend, figure out if you could be manipulated. Find things out about you that could be perceived as vulnerabilities and target them.

Again, Max turns his accusatory glare at people off camera. His nostrils flare as he struggles to keep that grin on his face. Remembering to stay on task, Max’s eyes dart back to the camera.

Max Kael?: And I told them things about you, Eddie. I broke your trust, I wasn’t a good friend. I should have been more supportive. I should have worked harder to get you past Coral Avalon in the Almasy. I shouldn’t have stalked Ava. I did questionable things while being unquestionably obedient. And now I’ve potentially gotten you into this mess with me.

At this point U.N.Couth can be seen hobbling past the camera, her horrible knobby finger pointed toward Max. In response Max stands up, his hand smashing down loudly on the news desk. A sneer ripples across his lips like they belong to a Rankin-Bass character. It’s enough to cause Couth to stop in her tracks.

Max Kael?: Despite it all you’re still putting your freedom up to give me mine. I still remember that piece of taffy you gave me, Eddie. Nobody has ever given me anything, not without some kind of expectation. You put your freedom up, Eddie, for something that doesn’t benefit you. My freedom, it doesn’t impact your life. I couldn’t understand why, Eddie.

Couth slowly slinks back off camera as Max settles back down in his chair. His eyes don’t immediately return to the camera as he seems deep in thought. Finally, with a deep breath, Max looks back up toward the camera.

Max Kael?: And then I realized.. It’s because you’re a good person. You’re just.. A good person. As unfathomable as that is to me, it’s the only remaining possibility with the evidence I have. I’ll remember that, Eddie. On my word, Eddie Cross, I will never seek retribution against you. I will never harm or hinder you or your loved ones. This is regardless of the outcome of our match. You have earned this, you deserve this. …but..

The edges of Max’s lips curl up into a wide, toothy grin. His brow tightens then furrows into a deep U. His face risks the range of cartoonishly distorted as another giggle forces his way up his throat. This time he does not fight it.

…heh-heh..

BANG

The lights in the newsroom immediately shut off, a gunshot-like sound ringing across the stage. In the dark murk a single red light flickers to life. It blazes angrily toward the camera before the lights crackle back to life. The glowing red light lines up exactly with Max Kael’s left eye.

In the darkness a few changes have happened. Max Kael’s hair is no longer carefully combed but rather a tangled mess of curly black hair. The tie in his three piece suit has been loosened, the upper collar unbuttoned.

Maximillian Wilhelm Kael: I do love a good hero, Eddie, my boy. You might be my favorite one now.

His voice is different, a little harsher, a little deeper. Like our young boy, Max Kael?, hit villain puberty. Or picked up a bad habit of smoking and whiskey.

Maximillian Wilhelm Kael: But a hero is only as good as the villain faces. It took a couple of..shots.. To get it right but now, here we are. The villain you deserve, Eddie. I’m going to make you so proud, my boy… heh-heh.. We’re going to tell a great story! You don’t need Dave Gibson anymore, Bilbro, because you’ve got me now.

He stands, kicking the chair away as it clatters against the wall behind it. Max climbs dramatically onto the news desk, throwing his hands to either side as a chortle snorts it’s way out of his nose.

Maximillian Wilhelm Kael: For you see, my dear Eddie Cross, there is no QUESTION about it. No, no. No more Max Kael?. You helped me find my way back, you helped set me on a path where I finally got back. You helped me finally escape the cold embrace of death, Edward. At long last, my boy..

He stomps his feet excitedly before throwing his hands high into the air. His eyes are wide, manic, his pupils narrowed into tiny points. If this were a movie there would probably be really badass music playing but unfortunately this is not that. It probably actually feels very awkward but Max doesn’t seem to mind. In fact he looks like he’s having a great time.

Maximillian Wilhelm Kael: I’m UNQUESTIONABLY.. Maximillian Wilhelm Kael. Stay PRIMAL-al!

We fall into darkness with the maniacal giggling of Max Kael to sing us off.

We cut elsewhere.

Voice: Thanks, but I have something to do before my match. I’ll catch up with you all later and do some signings!

A few Enemigo’s kindly usher away some fans that have VIP Experience tickets and were clearly part of a meet and greet with Eddie Cross. As the camera shifts from the WON Action News Broadcast and follows Eddie through the halls of The Silverdome (Brother!) in New Orleans,  the young man can be seen sitting down at a table with a plain brown box that has duct tape holding it shut.

Eddie Cross: OK, Dave, let’s see your last surprise.

He cuts open the tape and gently opens the flaps to the box. Inside there is a note which Eddie picks up and reads to himself.

His eyes glisten slightly and the youngster smiles before dapping his chest twice and pointing up.

Eddie reaches into the box and pulls out a custom cut black leather jacket with “Eddie Cross” embroidered on the back in stylized cursive silver lettering.

He then pulls out a pair of green trunks with the letters “EC” on one side and “GG” on the other. Ed smiles and puts them aside before reaching in for the last item.

He stops and loses his breath. His face betrays the fight to keep it together.

Eddie pulls out a pair of bright white wrestling boots with “DG” embroidered on them and pushes aside the box.

He hugs the boots close to him and bites his upper lip until there is a sudden knock at the door.

Tech: They’re ready for you at Argyle, Mr. Cross.

Eddie Cross: I’ll be there in a minute. Oh, hey…

Tech: Yes?

Eddie Cross: Can you find John Kaplan and tell him I changed my mind on the entrance?

Tech: Sure, Mr. Cross. But what should I tell him to do instead?

Eddie thinks about it for a minute before taking a deep breath and taking one more look at the boots.

Eddie Cross: Tell him we’re gonna go “Old School.”

We cut to ringside.

Voice: Thanks, but I have something to do before my match. I’ll catch up with you all later and do some signings!

A few Enemigo’s kindly usher away some fans that have VIP Experience tickets and were clearly part of a meet and greet with Eddie Cross. As the camera shifts from the WON Action News Broadcast and follows Eddie through the halls of The Silverdome (Brother!) in New Orleans,  the young man can be seen sitting down at a table with a plain brown box that has duct tape holding it shut.

Eddie Cross: OK, Dave, let’s see your last surprise.

He cuts open the tape and gently opens the flaps to the box. Inside there is a note which Eddie picks up and reads to himself.

His eyes glisten slightly and the youngster smiles before dapping his chest twice and pointing up.

Eddie reaches into the box and pulls out a custom cut black leather jacket with “Eddie Cross” embroidered on the back in stylized cursive silver lettering.

He then pulls out a pair of green trunks with the letters “EC” on one side and “GG” on the other. Ed smiles and puts them aside before reaching in for the last item.

He stops and loses his breath. His face betrays the fight to keep it together.

Eddie pulls out a pair of bright white wrestling boots with “DG” embroidered on them and pushes aside the box.

He hugs the boots close to him and bites his upper lip until there is a sudden knock at the door.

Tech: They’re ready for you at Argyle, Mr. Cross.

Eddie Cross: I’ll be there in a minute. Oh, hey…

Tech: Yes?

Eddie Cross: Can you find John Kaplan and tell him I changed my mind on the entrance?

Tech: Sure, Mr. Cross. But what should I tell him to do instead?

Eddie thinks about it for a minute before taking a deep breath and taking one more look at the boots.

Eddie Cross: Tell him we’re gonna go “Old School.”

We cut to ringside.

The match graphic airs. The anticipation grows.

Nick Stuart: Let’s say two years ago I told you Max Kael? was alive in 2023. Would you believe me?

Richard Parker: Nope.

Nick Stuart: What if I told you on top of Max Kael? being alive meant he could be trusted. Would you believe me?

Richard Parker: Oh, I would believe you!

Nick Stuart: Max? can be trusted?

Richard Parker: Over Eddie Cross? Absolutely! Look no further than Eddie choosing that flake Crash Jackson as a referee! How fair is THAT, Nick? I’ve seen a share of poor refereeing in my day and I have to think Crash is the worst one!

Nick Stuart: He’s never reffed a match you’ve called before! I don’t even know if he’s put on the stripes!

Richard Parker: Just calling it like it is, partner.

Nick Stuart: Look, Crash Jackson is going to be our referee, whether you like it or not. He was hand chosen by Cross to make sure this match is fair right down the middle.

Richard Parker: (Sarcasm) Okay.

Nick Stuart: Stop. We know Max likes to cheat. We know what U.N. Cloth and Violet Purple will be up to. Crash is a great call.

Richard Parker: So our referee team, our PROFESSIONAL referee team isn’t good enough?

Nick Stuart: I don’t think it has anything to do with that. Crash has played a role, tangled within Eddie and Max?. This is Eddie making sure he has a card to play, too.

Richard Parker: So then you’re insinuating Crash won’t call it down the middle-

Nick Stuart: We could go on about this all day, Richard. Let’s go to ringside.

The scene switches to the middle of the ring where Vince Howard stands.

Vince Howard: This match is for…

Vince Howard & the Crowd: ONE FALL!

The crowd eats it up!

Richard Parker: Vomit.

Vince Howard: There is a guest referee. Please at this time welcome… CRASH JACKSON!

The crowd cheers as “A Warrior’s Call” by Volbeat blares over the PA and out walks Crash Jackson, sporting his comic book-like tights, boots and elbow pads but they are black and white referee striped. He also wears an overly small referee shirt. Crash reaches the top edge of the stage, leaps in the air and stomps his feet upon landing.

Richard Parker: DO YOUR JOB! His job is NOT to get this crowd excited. A referee’s job is to, ultimately, be forgotten. A ghost.

Nick Stuart: I will agree with you there – on the role a typical referee should play.

The Northern Light hops his way down the ramp, smacking hands with fans before rolling under the bottom rope and leaping into the air once again, pounding his feet upon the canvas as he lands.

Richard Parker: Ugh. Where’s Timo?

Jackson’s theme finishes… and everyone plays the waiting game.

The lights in Caesars Superdome flicker for a moment before they shut off completely with a loud..

BANG!

The crowd immediately begin lighting up their phones, creating a sea of dancing lights. The opening piano notes of “Dreamweaver” begin to play but they sound strange, off-key and distorted. It warps and warbles, like an uneven record, unable to find an appropriate rhythm or key.

After a few moments the music cuts out as the PRIMEtron flickers to life.

Narrator: Spawned in the beautiful countryside of Kaelsalvania, a very real country in Eastern Europe that shares a border with Asia, Africa and Australia, Maximillian Wilhelm Kael was destined for greatness.

We, the viewers of the PRIMEtron, are shown a beautiful forest lining a valley between two mountains. It looks suspiciously like it was ripped from a commercial encouraging tourism to New Zealand. Also suspect is the narrator’s voice which sounds like Max having lowered his voice and speaking with a very posh sounding accent, trying his best David Attenborough impression.

Narrator: Having no father or mother, Max Kael was adopted by wolves and raised on a steady diet of raw deer and rabbit meat. Even in his adolescence he was shown to have a proclivity for leadership and wrestling.

Next the scene shifts to an eight year old, feral Max stalking a deer. As he approaches the deer, it lifts his head, certain something is wrong. Before it can react, however, Boy Max springs from the bushes and grabs the deer by the head. Hooking its back left hoof, Boy Max executes a brutal perfect plex! One of his packmakes slides in and administers a three count. The pack will eat well tonight. He is then shown leading his packmates to unionize against the local Bear 1%.

Narrator: When he reached his teenage years Max knew he must travel into the world to find his destiny. And so he set out.. Yadda, yadda, yadda. This is boring. QUE THE GRAPHIC BOYS!

We quickly speed through the Max Kael timeline as more outrageous events have been added to this new Revisionist Kael History. Though it is impossible to see exactly each event in his timeline, a few things stand out. Max riding a T-Rex. A lightsaber fight between Max Kael and Lindsay Troy on the USS Octane while it is under attack by a giant Dan Ryan. Kael receives the Congressional Medal of Freedom from President Al Gore in a weird, alternate timeline where the world is not on fire. Then we finally reach Colossus, Night Two, 2023. A live shot of the crowd gets a cheap pop cause crowds always pop for themselves. Selfish pricks.

The live feed of the crowd washes away as the name MAX KAEL? appears in its place.

BANG!

There is another loud banging noise, like a gunshot. The question mark flickers before vanishing completely.

Max Kael: Mmm it’s good to be back.. Heh-heh..

“Underground” by Tom Waits and John Powell comes crashing over the sound system. Loud horns bellow angrily over the sound system drowning out any reaction from the crowd. The Kaelsalvanian flag, whose three distinct colors are red, green and black, flutters proudly on the PRIMEtron. The Herald marches out onto the stage wearing his garish Renaissance gear though it is in the red, green and black color pallet. As per usual he has a massive Max Kael banner which he waves proudly in the air.

The heavy, thrumming beat of the music is soon joined by the harsh, unyielding voice of Tom Waits.

“Rattle big black bones in the danger zones.”

A retinue of Kaelsalvanian Soldiers march out onto the stage, each of them carrying a banner that also has Max Kael’s face though theirs is considerably smaller than the Herald’s. They march to the beat of the music, marching into flanking positions behind the Herald.

“There’s a rumblin’ groan down below.”

Stepping out onto the stage with his hands held in the air is the Unquestionable Kael, Maximilian Wilhelm Kael. He wears a smug expression on his face as the Kaelsalvania soldiers all turn and raise their flags in salute to their leader. Even more impressive is that he appears to be wearing an M.Bison cosplay complete with red leather military outfit, red leather cap and cape. It’s specifically the Raul Julia M.Bison.

“There’s a big dark town, it’s a place I’ve found.”

Ulsa N. Couth hobbles out onto the stage with a serious expression on her face. Not that that is unusual but she looks more perturbed than normal. She regards Max with a skeptical eye before moving to his left side.

“There’s a World going on underground!” 

Violent Purple joins Max at his side looking more annoyed than suspicious. She points down at the ring toward Crash and makes a heart with her hands before blowing him a kiss. The Herald produces a microphone, lifting it to his lips as the music naturally falls into a lul. Persistent, however, is the heavy march of the drums in the background.

The Herald: STANDING at SIX FOOT FOUR INCHES… weighing SEVENTEEN underfed orphans! He is the RIGHTEOUS and RASSLINOUS Maximillian Wilhelm KAEL! The Lord of Kaelsalvania, the Prime Minister of Maxopotamia, Eddie Cross’s Best Frenemy, the SEVENTH Canon Max of PRIME, the Unquestionable Kael, the Second of His Name, LONG MAY HE MAIM!

Nick Stuart: How much is seventeen underfed orphans?

Richard Parker: Here in PRIME we respect the culture of our talent and my notes tell me that underfed orphans are the National weight measurement. Roughly fourteen or fifteen pounds an orphan, I guess they’re like six months old or something? So seventeen of those.

Nick Stuart: That is horrifying, Richard. Just horrifying.

All the soldiers and the Herald step to the side allowing free access for Max to walk down the ramp. As the march thunders away, Unquestionably Max Kael saunters his way toward the ring. The Herald rallies the soldiers at the ramp and leads them into the back leaving Violent Purple and U.N.Couth with the Lord of Kaelsalvania. Max ascends into the ring where he slithers between the ropes before posing.

Nick Stuart: I’m not entirely sure what we just saw.

Richard Parker: Art? I guess?

Nick Stuart: Sure, art. That’s quite a list of names.

Richard Parker: Yeah but have you seen Sid Philips bio?

Nick Stuart: That’s fair, Richard.

Once Max finishes he quickly moves to his corner to remove the cape and upper portion of his M.Bison cosplay, though he looks to be wrestling in the pants and boots. Max winks at Crash Jackson and offers to let him check his body for weapons with a sly grin.

Nick Stuart: Where do you sit on the Crash situation, Richard? Do you think Violent Purple has managed to win Crash over to Team Max?

Richard Parker: Win him over? Do you mean did Violent Purple help Crash get some morals and ethics to call this match right down the middle for Max Kael? I do!

Nick Stuart: Down the middle for Max Kael? Give me a break.

U.N. Couth and Violent Purple take their places in Max’s corner as the arena fades into darkness.

Thousands of pinpricks of light pop up in the audience followed by the unmistakable guitar opening of Paradise City by Guns n’ Roses plays and after a few seconds a spotlight illuminates a pair of white wrestling boots with “DG” embroidered on the side.

RAAAAAAAAA!

Nick Stuart: Those are Dave Gibson’s wrestling boots!

Richard Parker: You got that right! The bad guy who made every move look good!

The first spotlight is followed by a second roughly four seconds later, and then another until after twenty seconds and the fifth spotlight, the music begins to fade and transition into another song.

Heavy guitar licks and Chester Bennington singing Cross off the days gone…

The fifth spotlight fades and three seconds later another, then another…

Cross off the days gone…

The final spotlight fades and the arena is dark once again. The fans buzz in the silence.

GOOOONE BYYYYYYYYYYY!

The feral roar of Chester Bennington is accompanied by a screaming cacophony of heavy metal and blasting pyrotechnics and lights. Standing at the top of the ramp wearing a custom cut leather jacket, green trunks, and Dave Gibson’s white boots is none other than “n1ghtcraw1er” Eddie Cross.

He stares a hole at Max from the ramp, knowing everything is on the line.

Vince Howard: And his opponent… standing six feet four inches tall and weighing in at two-hundred-twenty-five pounds… from Charlotte, North Carolina…  EDDIEEEEEEEEE CROOOOOOOOOSS!!!

As the music blasts over the PA, Eddie makes his way to the ring, slapping hands as he goes. He is clearly uneasy about having to face his “friend”, and he pauses at the top of the ring steps. The young man wipes his mentor’s boots and points to the sky before stepping through the ring ropes.

And Max Kael is on the attack!

Crash Jackson can do nothing more than call for the bell.

DING DING

Kael delivers axe blows, working Cross down on his knees to a chorus of boos. What looks like the upperhand, however, quickly turns around as Eddie fights to his feet and delivers a forearm straight into Kael’s face. The crowd roars in support as Cross hurls Kael into the ropes and then delivers a clothesline, followed by lifting Kael to his feet and performing an atomic drop. Eddie bounces off the ropes-

No!

Cloth trips him up!

Eddie spins around and points to Cloth at the apron.

Nick Stuart: Crash didn’t see it!

Richard Parker: Useless! Useless refereeing already! Where’s Timo!?

In storms Unquestionably Max Kael with a short arm clothesline. He once again follows through with axe smashes to keep Cross on his knees.

Nick Stuart: I can tell Max Kael? is a little reluctant here. He’s not viciously attacking Cross and yet he came at him RIGHT as Eddie entered the ring.

Richard Parker: Better to hurt your “friend” first, before he hurts you, am I right? Second, it’s not Max Kael? anymore. It’s Unquestionably Max Kael! Or Max Kael! Or Maximillion W-

Nick Stuart: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll make the change on the calls from now on. This is besides the point. I’m just saying, it was a clever play for Max to find Eddie the second he entered the ring. However, I can’t help but feel he’s pulling his punches, if not just a little. At least compared to other Unquestionably Max Kael matches…

Richard Parker: There you go. Call the man by his beautiful adopted name!

Cross keeps trying to fight to his feet so Kael delivers a blow under the gamer’s jaw with an Arkham uppercut, followed by another. Kael works Cross into a corner and then hurls Eddie towards the buckle across the way.

Cross hits the padding but SHOOTS right off it and crushes Unquestionably Max Kael with a clothesline, flipping the former world champion from elseworlds inside-out and to the mat!

Nick Stuart: Both men are the same height. Both almost the exact same weight. There won’t be any advantage here regarding power and abilities.

Richard Parker: Right but Eddie is and always was the underling. Man has accomplished way less than Kael.

Nick Stuart: Eddie Cross is twenty one years old.

Richard Parker: Maximillian Wilhelm Kael was born on June 1st of THIS year!

Meanwhile, Cross puts the boots to Max!

Nick Stuart: (Heavy sigh) So then Max has no previous accomplishments?

Richard Parker: Yes.

More boots!

Nick Stuart: But you said he did.

Richard Parker: Sure.

MOAR BOOTS!

Nick Stuart: I’d love some guest commentary right now to distract me from you. Maybe we can get Cloth over here.

Richard Parker: What!?

ALL OF THE BOOTS.

Cross finally peels Kael off the mat and scoop slams him back in the center of the ring. Cross with a measured leg drop and a cover.

ONE.

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: I’m sure that pinfall was not to capture the victory, it was to keep Kael on his toes.

Nick’s correct, as EC is ready the moment the kickout happens to snatch Unquestionably Max Kael’s leg and work him into a figure four!

Nick Stuart: Smooth! Dead center of the ring, make Max suffer!

Richard Parker: You can hear U.N. Cloth from over here. It’s a voice that’ll keep you up at night, no doubt.

While U.N. Cloth yells, Violent Purple tries to flirt. With Crash, of course.

Jackson kinda blushes but he has to be in position for the call and potential submission!

Maximillian Wilhelm Kael is working towards the ropes but Eddie keeps the hold locked in. The former dead man does, however, get close but his shoulders are down and Crash is on it.

ONE.

TWO.

SHOULDER UP!

Nick Stuart: What a great call by Jackson. He saw the shoulders, he made the count. Sometimes even the professional referees overlook this disposition. Plus, Jackson never took Purple’s bait!

Richard Parker: Whatever. Talk to me when Crash sees interference the next time.

Speak of the devil… Kael reaches out for the ropes but since he’s still a little too far away…

Violent Purple suddenly hops onto the apron and the second she does, Cloth is there to push the bottom rope closer to Max!

In a strange TWIST of EVENTS… at first… Maximillian Wilhelm Kael looks at the rope. He doesn’t take it!

Richard Parker: Max, snatch the rope!

As a result, Eddie Cross is able to use this to his advantage and drag MWK further to the middle of the ring!

Nick Stuart: Max didn’t take the ropes!? He is apprehensive about this match, I knew it. I saw it in his earlier offense!

Richard Parker: Maybe MWK didn’t see the rope was being pushed towards him.

Parker’s excuse aside, Purple has hopped off the apron and Max tries to work out of the figure four again.

His shoulders are down!

ONE.

TWO.

SHOULDERS ARE UP!

Unquestionably Maximillian Wilhelm Kael pulls at his ratty hair, trying to find that fight towards making it into the ropes legitimately. He starts to slide them both across the mat… he’s almost back there… he reaches out…

Can’t get them!

Violent Purple jumps onto the apron and the exact same song and dance takes place. She bats her eyes wildly at Crash Jackson. Crash kinda blushes but he knows he has a job to do, so he asks her to get down!

Oh she ain’t going anywhere.

Cloth pushes the bottom rope towards Max. He CLEARLY sees it… he starts to move his hands over…

He DOES take the rope!

Purple leaves the apron so Crash turns around and sees the rope break!

Eddie looks frustrated but drops the hold nonetheless and doesn’t argue. Instead, he marches over and peels Kael off the mat… working him into a high angle brainbuster.

SLAM!

Another cover.

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: Kael has been outmatched in the early going. No way to sugarcoat this. Eddie’s come to play, he’s collected all the pinfalls so far.

Cross methodically pulls Kael off the canvas and works him into a headlock. Eddie clenches the hold tightly across MWK’s neck with no other current gameplan. Eddie is planning to wring Kael’s neck and suck the air right out of him.

U.N. Cloth once again starts screaming demands into the center of the ring. She also isn’t happy with Crash’s refereeing, claiming the move is illegal. Jackson knows better, he tries to ignore it but dear god is her voice ear piercing.

Violent Purple, however, adores Crash’s refereeing! She is now standing beside Cloth. As Cloth is going apeshit insane with anger, Purple is twirling her hair. She’s REALLY digging Crash’s ability to call a contest.

Richard Parker: There’s more shit happening here than my little mind can comprehend.

Nick Stuart: Now that’s something we agree on.

Kael tries to fight out. He fires a few right hands into Eddie’s side before breaking free. Kael hits the ropes and hooks both arms around the top one so he isn’t knocked silly by Cross’ incoming high knee strike. Kael removes himself from the ropes, spins around and delivers a Roaring Hellbow to Eddie’s temple.

The gamer is knocked for a loop. It’s the opening Unquestionably Maximillian Wilhelm Kael needs! He lifts Eddie Cross up and then drops Cross RIGHT ON HIS HEAD.

The sound Eddie’s head makes upon impact sends a sickening hush across the audience.

Max goes for a pin.

ONE.

TWO.

BARELY A SHOULDER UP.

Nick Stuart: I honestly thought the match was over!

Richard Parker: Me too!

Even Crash looks surprised. Of course he had to make the count but it looked like Eddie was DOA.

Maximillian Wilhelm Kael hoists Eddie onto his shoulders and performs a fireman’s carry, tossing Cross on his back in the center of the ring. U.N. shouts additional instructions as Max drops a measured knee across Cross’ head.

…Then proceeds to UNLOAD a variety of punches and kicks while mounting his former “friend”.

Nick Stuart: The viciousness of Maximillian Wilhelm Kael is seemingly coming out now.

Nick’s right. With each punch and kick it grows more… intense.

Richard Parker: Has to take the match to another level, Nick. Has to! He’s been outmatched so far!

Nick Stuart: You’re agreeing with me?

Kael tosses Cross into the ropes and races in with a clothesline knocking them both up and over the ropes, onto the apron and to the ground below.

…Right beside Violent Purple’s feet.

Crash asks for Purple to move away and, surprisingly, she does. It’s only due to the fact she has eyes for… HIM.

As both men get to their feet- it’s Eddie Cross who blocks a right forearm by Kael and responds with a palm strike to the middle of Kael’s forehead. For a second there, maybe MWK’s mind flipped into a different realm and he went back to Max Kael? or someone else entirely because his eyes look completely shot. Cross pushes Kael into the ring and then he goes to enter himself-

When Violent Purple has Eddie by the right leg!

Nick Stuart: Oh, c’mon!

Crash Jackson spins around but not in time as Violent Purple has already let go of Eddie’s leg and is blowing more kisses. So clever! Unfortunately for the good guy, the lights are back in Max’s eyes, as he’s the bad guy. MWK smiles sadistically and races to the ropes, shoulder blocking Eddie Cross off the apron and all the way onto the guardrail!

CRASH! And not the CRASH of Jackson, either.

The crowd is white hot in boos, as Kael exits the ring, collects the fallen body of the gamer and throws him under the bottom rope.

Cloth demands perfection as Kael steps through the middle and bottom rope-

Double knee facebreaker by Cross!

Nick Stuart: Out of nowhere!

Both men are down!

Nick Stuart: This was clearly a desperation move by Eddie, he has nothing left in him.

The crowd starts rallying their feet…

BBBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

It’s Maximillian Wilhelm Kael who’s up first!

Kael snatches Cross by the head and flips him into a pump handle slam when Eddie escapes, bounces off the ropes and-

WHAM!

Trigger Warning!

The stadium comes alive! However, they are JUST AS quick to boos when U.N. Cloth is on the apron this time and Crash Jackson races over to the elder lady.

Violent Purple slips into the ring-

RRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

Nick Stuart: CRASH TURNS AROUND! HE SEES HER, HE SEES IT ALL!

Crash might’ve been fooled in the early stages of the match but he’s caught on now. He sees Violent Purple in the middle of the ring, ready to strike Eddie Cross down. Purple’s face goes, well, a shade of purple. She drops Eddie Cross without striking a blow…

And then blows kisses at Jackson.

The fans want to see it.

And by want to see it they DON’T want to see Jackson take the bait. They want Violent Purple out of there!

MORE KISSES going Crash’s way! So many of them! It would make all the sense in the world, look at how smitten Violent Purple is. She’s not getting violent. She stopped the violence for him!

Crash looks down at Eddie, then back up at Purple.

Down at Eddie.

Up at Purple.

Down.

Up.

DOWN.

UP.

UP UP DOWN DOWN.

Richard Parker: Jesus Christ make a choice already.

Jackson smirks. He knew the choice all along. He shakes his head. He looks at Purple. He looks at Cloth.

He EJECTS them both!

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH MOTHER FUCKING RRRAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Richard Parker: NO! NO, you can’t do that!

Nick Stuart: Pretty sure he just did! What a hell of a referee! He wasn’t going to come across as a fool again! You know what, I can’t even blame Crash at the beginning of the match. Being a referee is an overwhelming process! He’s trying his best!

The crowd loves what they are seeing and their cheers, thankfully and mercifully drown out U.N. Cloth working on a god damn heart attack. Violent Purple exits the ring and her lust for the ref also evaporates into thin air, too. Funny how that works.

Nick Stuart: Crash is DEMANDING both of them leave ringside right now or he’ll throw the contest out!

Slowly but surely, the Kael entourage walk up the rampway, albeit backwards so they can express their displeasure towards Crash. Cloth keeps screaming, Purple only cracks her knuckles.

Inside the ring…

Well, you may have been wondering what’s happening in there? During this entire ordeal Eddie Cross was a mere spectator. Max Kael, on the other hand, was slithering in the corner, waiting for his time to strike.

That time is…

…

…

NOW!!!

Undoubtedly Maximillian Wilhelm Kael with a ROLL UP OF DOOM TO EDDIE CROSS!

Crash sees the pin!

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

Both men are on their feet. Cross and Kael start offering blow-for-blow!

Nick Stuart: Kael did NOT cheat on the roll-up. But then again, taking advantage of the situation-

Richard Parker: Is completely WITHIN the rules!

As Parker finishes Stuart’s sentence, Eddie Cross has gained the upper hand in the brawl out so he Irish whips Kael to a corner of the squared circle. Eddie races in and connects with a clothesline. Then he props Kael to sit on the top buckle before going up there with him.

The crowd is on their feet!

Eddie Cross stands on the top buckle with Unquestionably Max Kael along with him…

SUPER.

PLEXXXXX!!!

Both men hit the mat hard, as Eddie Cross floats over and makes a cover!

ONE.

TWO.

LAST SECOND KICKOUT!

The crowd sighs but Eddie pulls to his feet. He rallies his arms up and down, perhaps looking to end the match when he drags Max to his feet-

Kael looks to go for an eye poke but Eddie Cross slaps it away. Kael’s face grows concerned… then sad… then a rush of other emotions no other human being can process in a millisecond.

Nick Stuart: That was the first real cheap attempt Kael took in this match and it failed. Cross has thrown a lot at him…

Kael goes for a low blow but Cross pinches his legs together, trapping Kael’s leg. Cross elbows Kael in the crown of his head and then hurls Unquestionably Max Kael into the ropes, following in with a knee to the stomach. Cross walks Kael to the center of the ring and connects with a side Russian leg sweep.

Cross is back on his feet. He delivers an elbow into Kael’s right knee. Then another elbow. Cross drags Kael’s leg to the ropes and drapes it across the bottom… before leaping in the air and crushing all his weight down upon the leg.

Nick Stuart: Eddie worked on the knee at the beginning of this contest with the figure four. It only makes sense here, too.

Cross flips Kael onto his back and applies a Texas cloverleaf!

Nick Stuart: Fool’s Gallows is locked in and this time there’s nobody at ringside to help Max!

Richard Parker: Nooooo.

Crash slides into position to call for the bell… but Kael is trying to fight it. Max is trying to kick free with his other leg because he hasn’t been completely flipped over just yet. As Cross leans down in an attempt to widen his base and get Unquestionably Maximillian Wilhelm Kael over-

Kael seemingly pokes him in the eyes!

The move was so lightning quick, Crash wasn’t sure what took place. Not that it would be enough for a disqualification, anyway.

Unfortunately for Eddie Cross, he has to drop the cloverleaf. Meanwhile Kael is crawling his way over to the ropes, hammering his right knee in the process, trying to get blood flow going back into it. Max pulls himself up with the use of the bottom, middle and then top rope. He turns around at the exact second Eddie Cross does.

Question Mark Kick via Max.

Cross is OUT.

Kael falls on top of him.

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

The crowd pops as Maximillian Wilhelm Kael looks up at Crash Jackson with a frown. Max suddenly starts seething and drills Cross in the temple with a forearm. Max pulls Eddie to his feet…

Lightning fast belly-to-belly suplex.

Kael holds on.

Vertical suplex.

Kael holds on.

Running release suplex, throwing Cross into the turnbuckle as he lets go of the hold!

Eddie’s body language suggests he is once again dead to rights, as he seemingly dangles in the corner on his own two feet.

Richard Parker: U.N. Cloth is going to have a GREAT NIGHT tonight! Too bad Crash Jackson has to watch the beginning of the end…

Maximillian Wilhelm Kael props Cross onto his knees in the middle of the ring. It’s clear the former dead guy is looking for The Dreamweaver as he bounces off the ropes-

Cross ducks at the absolute last second. He spins Kael around and lands an implant DDT! Both men are down!

The crowd stomps their feet. If U.N. Cloth was here, she’d be screaming and yelling but we can always pretend.

Nick Stuart: We’re right back to where we started!

Richard Parker: Are we? Max Kael can barely walk! I’d say he would’ve hit that Dreamweaver if Eddie wasn’t working on a knee. Poor Maximillian Wilhelm Kael.

Nick Stuart: Get over it.

Kael is in the ropes on one end of the ring. Cross in at the ropes on the other. Both men get to their feet and move towards the center of the ring.

Cross goes for a chop block to that knee but Kael moves at the very last second. Cross bounces off the ropes and goes for a chop block again and this time he hits it, just barely!

Max wobbles on one leg, he’s yet to be put down. Eddie marches over with a fury in his eyes. He hoists Kael into the air and performs a falcon arrow suplex into a pin.

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

The gamer nods with passion. He’s feeling it now. He knows he has Unquestionably Maximillian Wilhelm Kael on edge. He’s going for another submission, this much is known…

When Kael jabs Cross in the eyes for a second time!

MWK also connects with a clever low blow, standing in front of Crash Jackson, with Eddie Cross behind the both of them.

Nick Stuart: No way Jackson could see that!

With Eddie Cross doubled over, one hand over his eyes and one hand on his crotch, he’s dead to rights.

THE DREAMWEAVER.

Nick Stuart: Dammit.

Kael covers. For good measure he hooks a leg and captures the other one with his own leg to block it.

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

DING DING DING

Richard Parker: He did it all by himself!

The crowd jeers as Vince speaks up.

Vince Howard: Here is your winner… UNQUESTIONABLY MAXIMILLIAN WILHELM KAEL!

Kael rolls to a corner of the ring, as U.N. Cloth and Violent Purple emerge from the entranceway. Gone is the interest Purple ever had for Jackson. They are merely present to collect their most precious family member and escort him to the back, which they do.

Nick Stuart: A valiant effort by Eddie. He wrestled a hell of a contest.

Richard Parker: But Kael outsmarted everyone. How’s that for being only six months old?

Nick Stuart: I can’t.

Crash Jackson checks on Eddie Cross in the middle of the ring, while a stumbly and bumbly Max Kael works his way up the ramp with Cloth and Purple. Colossus goes to commercial.

The match graphic airs. The anticipation grows.

Nick Stuart: Let’s say two years ago I told you Max Kael? was alive in 2023. Would you believe me?

Richard Parker: Nope.

Nick Stuart: What if I told you on top of Max Kael? being alive meant he could be trusted. Would you believe me?

Richard Parker: Oh, I would believe you!

Nick Stuart: Max? can be trusted?

Richard Parker: Over Eddie Cross? Absolutely! Look no further than Eddie choosing that flake Crash Jackson as a referee! How fair is THAT, Nick? I’ve seen a share of poor refereeing in my day and I have to think Crash is the worst one!

Nick Stuart: He’s never reffed a match you’ve called before! I don’t even know if he’s put on the stripes!

Richard Parker: Just calling it like it is, partner.

Nick Stuart: Look, Crash Jackson is going to be our referee, whether you like it or not. He was hand chosen by Cross to make sure this match is fair right down the middle.

Richard Parker: (Sarcasm) Okay.

Nick Stuart: Stop. We know Max likes to cheat. We know what U.N. Cloth and Violet Purple will be up to. Crash is a great call.

Richard Parker: So our referee team, our PROFESSIONAL referee team isn’t good enough?

Nick Stuart: I don’t think it has anything to do with that. Crash has played a role, tangled within Eddie and Max?. This is Eddie making sure he has a card to play, too.

Richard Parker: So then you’re insinuating Crash won’t call it down the middle-

Nick Stuart: We could go on about this all day, Richard. Let’s go to ringside.

The scene switches to the middle of the ring where Vince Howard stands.

Vince Howard: This match is for…

Vince Howard & the Crowd: ONE FALL!

The crowd eats it up!

Richard Parker: Vomit.

Vince Howard: There is a guest referee. Please at this time welcome… CRASH JACKSON!

The crowd cheers as “A Warrior’s Call” by Volbeat blares over the PA and out walks Crash Jackson, sporting his comic book-like tights, boots and elbow pads but they are black and white referee striped. He also wears an overly small referee shirt. Crash reaches the top edge of the stage, leaps in the air and stomps his feet upon landing.

Richard Parker: DO YOUR JOB! His job is NOT to get this crowd excited. A referee’s job is to, ultimately, be forgotten. A ghost.

Nick Stuart: I will agree with you there – on the role a typical referee should play.

The Northern Light hops his way down the ramp, smacking hands with fans before rolling under the bottom rope and leaping into the air once again, pounding his feet upon the canvas as he lands.

Richard Parker: Ugh. Where’s Timo?

Jackson’s theme finishes… and everyone plays the waiting game.

The lights in Caesars Superdome flicker for a moment before they shut off completely with a loud..

BANG!

The crowd immediately begin lighting up their phones, creating a sea of dancing lights. The opening piano notes of “Dreamweaver” begin to play but they sound strange, off-key and distorted. It warps and warbles, like an uneven record, unable to find an appropriate rhythm or key.

After a few moments the music cuts out as the PRIMEtron flickers to life.

Narrator: Spawned in the beautiful countryside of Kaelsalvania, a very real country in Eastern Europe that shares a border with Asia, Africa and Australia, Maximillian Wilhelm Kael was destined for greatness.

We, the viewers of the PRIMEtron, are shown a beautiful forest lining a valley between two mountains. It looks suspiciously like it was ripped from a commercial encouraging tourism to New Zealand. Also suspect is the narrator’s voice which sounds like Max having lowered his voice and speaking with a very posh sounding accent, trying his best David Attenborough impression.

Narrator: Having no father or mother, Max Kael was adopted by wolves and raised on a steady diet of raw deer and rabbit meat. Even in his adolescence he was shown to have a proclivity for leadership and wrestling.

Next the scene shifts to an eight year old, feral Max stalking a deer. As he approaches the deer, it lifts his head, certain something is wrong. Before it can react, however, Boy Max springs from the bushes and grabs the deer by the head. Hooking its back left hoof, Boy Max executes a brutal perfect plex! One of his packmakes slides in and administers a three count. The pack will eat well tonight. He is then shown leading his packmates to unionize against the local Bear 1%.

Narrator: When he reached his teenage years Max knew he must travel into the world to find his destiny. And so he set out.. Yadda, yadda, yadda. This is boring. QUE THE GRAPHIC BOYS!

We quickly speed through the Max Kael timeline as more outrageous events have been added to this new Revisionist Kael History. Though it is impossible to see exactly each event in his timeline, a few things stand out. Max riding a T-Rex. A lightsaber fight between Max Kael and Lindsay Troy on the USS Octane while it is under attack by a giant Dan Ryan. Kael receives the Congressional Medal of Freedom from President Al Gore in a weird, alternate timeline where the world is not on fire. Then we finally reach Colossus, Night Two, 2023. A live shot of the crowd gets a cheap pop cause crowds always pop for themselves. Selfish pricks.

The live feed of the crowd washes away as the name MAX KAEL? appears in its place.

BANG!

There is another loud banging noise, like a gunshot. The question mark flickers before vanishing completely.

Max Kael: Mmm it’s good to be back.. Heh-heh..

“Underground” by Tom Waits and John Powell comes crashing over the sound system. Loud horns bellow angrily over the sound system drowning out any reaction from the crowd. The Kaelsalvanian flag, whose three distinct colors are red, green and black, flutters proudly on the PRIMEtron. The Herald marches out onto the stage wearing his garish Renaissance gear though it is in the red, green and black color pallet. As per usual he has a massive Max Kael banner which he waves proudly in the air.

The heavy, thrumming beat of the music is soon joined by the harsh, unyielding voice of Tom Waits.

“Rattle big black bones in the danger zones.”

A retinue of Kaelsalvanian Soldiers march out onto the stage, each of them carrying a banner that also has Max Kael’s face though theirs is considerably smaller than the Herald’s. They march to the beat of the music, marching into flanking positions behind the Herald.

“There’s a rumblin’ groan down below.”

Stepping out onto the stage with his hands held in the air is the Unquestionable Kael, Maximilian Wilhelm Kael. He wears a smug expression on his face as the Kaelsalvania soldiers all turn and raise their flags in salute to their leader. Even more impressive is that he appears to be wearing an M.Bison cosplay complete with red leather military outfit, red leather cap and cape. It’s specifically the Raul Julia M.Bison.

“There’s a big dark town, it’s a place I’ve found.”

Ulsa N. Couth hobbles out onto the stage with a serious expression on her face. Not that that is unusual but she looks more perturbed than normal. She regards Max with a skeptical eye before moving to his left side.

“There’s a World going on underground!” 

Violent Purple joins Max at his side looking more annoyed than suspicious. She points down at the ring toward Crash and makes a heart with her hands before blowing him a kiss. The Herald produces a microphone, lifting it to his lips as the music naturally falls into a lul. Persistent, however, is the heavy march of the drums in the background.

The Herald: STANDING at SIX FOOT FOUR INCHES… weighing SEVENTEEN underfed orphans! He is the RIGHTEOUS and RASSLINOUS Maximillian Wilhelm KAEL! The Lord of Kaelsalvania, the Prime Minister of Maxopotamia, Eddie Cross’s Best Frenemy, the SEVENTH Canon Max of PRIME, the Unquestionable Kael, the Second of His Name, LONG MAY HE MAIM!

Nick Stuart: How much is seventeen underfed orphans?

Richard Parker: Here in PRIME we respect the culture of our talent and my notes tell me that underfed orphans are the National weight measurement. Roughly fourteen or fifteen pounds an orphan, I guess they’re like six months old or something? So seventeen of those.

Nick Stuart: That is horrifying, Richard. Just horrifying.

All the soldiers and the Herald step to the side allowing free access for Max to walk down the ramp. As the march thunders away, Unquestionably Max Kael saunters his way toward the ring. The Herald rallies the soldiers at the ramp and leads them into the back leaving Violent Purple and U.N.Couth with the Lord of Kaelsalvania. Max ascends into the ring where he slithers between the ropes before posing.

Nick Stuart: I’m not entirely sure what we just saw.

Richard Parker: Art? I guess?

Nick Stuart: Sure, art. That’s quite a list of names.

Richard Parker: Yeah but have you seen Sid Philips bio?

Nick Stuart: That’s fair, Richard.

Once Max finishes he quickly moves to his corner to remove the cape and upper portion of his M.Bison cosplay, though he looks to be wrestling in the pants and boots. Max winks at Crash Jackson and offers to let him check his body for weapons with a sly grin.

Nick Stuart: Where do you sit on the Crash situation, Richard? Do you think Violent Purple has managed to win Crash over to Team Max?

Richard Parker: Win him over? Do you mean did Violent Purple help Crash get some morals and ethics to call this match right down the middle for Max Kael? I do!

Nick Stuart: Down the middle for Max Kael? Give me a break.

U.N. Couth and Violent Purple take their places in Max’s corner as the arena fades into darkness.

Thousands of pinpricks of light pop up in the audience followed by the unmistakable guitar opening of Paradise City by Guns n’ Roses plays and after a few seconds a spotlight illuminates a pair of white wrestling boots with “DG” embroidered on the side.

RAAAAAAAAA!

Nick Stuart: Those are Dave Gibson’s wrestling boots!

Richard Parker: You got that right! The bad guy who made every move look good!

The first spotlight is followed by a second roughly four seconds later, and then another until after twenty seconds and the fifth spotlight, the music begins to fade and transition into another song.

Heavy guitar licks and Chester Bennington singing Cross off the days gone…

The fifth spotlight fades and three seconds later another, then another…

Cross off the days gone…

The final spotlight fades and the arena is dark once again. The fans buzz in the silence.

GOOOONE BYYYYYYYYYYY!

The feral roar of Chester Bennington is accompanied by a screaming cacophony of heavy metal and blasting pyrotechnics and lights. Standing at the top of the ramp wearing a custom cut leather jacket, green trunks, and Dave Gibson’s white boots is none other than “n1ghtcraw1er” Eddie Cross.

He stares a hole at Max from the ramp, knowing everything is on the line.

Vince Howard: And his opponent… standing six feet four inches tall and weighing in at two-hundred-twenty-five pounds… from Charlotte, North Carolina…  EDDIEEEEEEEEE CROOOOOOOOOSS!!!

As the music blasts over the PA, Eddie makes his way to the ring, slapping hands as he goes. He is clearly uneasy about having to face his “friend”, and he pauses at the top of the ring steps. The young man wipes his mentor’s boots and points to the sky before stepping through the ring ropes.

And Max Kael is on the attack!

Crash Jackson can do nothing more than call for the bell.

DING DING

Kael delivers axe blows, working Cross down on his knees to a chorus of boos. What looks like the upperhand, however, quickly turns around as Eddie fights to his feet and delivers a forearm straight into Kael’s face. The crowd roars in support as Cross hurls Kael into the ropes and then delivers a clothesline, followed by lifting Kael to his feet and performing an atomic drop. Eddie bounces off the ropes-

No!

Cloth trips him up!

Eddie spins around and points to Cloth at the apron.

Nick Stuart: Crash didn’t see it!

Richard Parker: Useless! Useless refereeing already! Where’s Timo!?

In storms Unquestionably Max Kael with a short arm clothesline. He once again follows through with axe smashes to keep Cross on his knees.

Nick Stuart: I can tell Max Kael? is a little reluctant here. He’s not viciously attacking Cross and yet he came at him RIGHT as Eddie entered the ring.

Richard Parker: Better to hurt your “friend” first, before he hurts you, am I right? Second, it’s not Max Kael? anymore. It’s Unquestionably Max Kael! Or Max Kael! Or Maximillion W-

Nick Stuart: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll make the change on the calls from now on. This is besides the point. I’m just saying, it was a clever play for Max to find Eddie the second he entered the ring. However, I can’t help but feel he’s pulling his punches, if not just a little. At least compared to other Unquestionably Max Kael matches…

Richard Parker: There you go. Call the man by his beautiful adopted name!

Cross keeps trying to fight to his feet so Kael delivers a blow under the gamer’s jaw with an Arkham uppercut, followed by another. Kael works Cross into a corner and then hurls Eddie towards the buckle across the way.

Cross hits the padding but SHOOTS right off it and crushes Unquestionably Max Kael with a clothesline, flipping the former world champion from elseworlds inside-out and to the mat!

Nick Stuart: Both men are the same height. Both almost the exact same weight. There won’t be any advantage here regarding power and abilities.

Richard Parker: Right but Eddie is and always was the underling. Man has accomplished way less than Kael.

Nick Stuart: Eddie Cross is twenty one years old.

Richard Parker: Maximillian Wilhelm Kael was born on June 1st of THIS year!

Meanwhile, Cross puts the boots to Max!

Nick Stuart: (Heavy sigh) So then Max has no previous accomplishments?

Richard Parker: Yes.

More boots!

Nick Stuart: But you said he did.

Richard Parker: Sure.

MOAR BOOTS!

Nick Stuart: I’d love some guest commentary right now to distract me from you. Maybe we can get Cloth over here.

Richard Parker: What!?

ALL OF THE BOOTS.

Cross finally peels Kael off the mat and scoop slams him back in the center of the ring. Cross with a measured leg drop and a cover.

ONE.

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: I’m sure that pinfall was not to capture the victory, it was to keep Kael on his toes.

Nick’s correct, as EC is ready the moment the kickout happens to snatch Unquestionably Max Kael’s leg and work him into a figure four!

Nick Stuart: Smooth! Dead center of the ring, make Max suffer!

Richard Parker: You can hear U.N. Cloth from over here. It’s a voice that’ll keep you up at night, no doubt.

While U.N. Cloth yells, Violent Purple tries to flirt. With Crash, of course.

Jackson kinda blushes but he has to be in position for the call and potential submission!

Maximillian Wilhelm Kael is working towards the ropes but Eddie keeps the hold locked in. The former dead man does, however, get close but his shoulders are down and Crash is on it.

ONE.

TWO.

SHOULDER UP!

Nick Stuart: What a great call by Jackson. He saw the shoulders, he made the count. Sometimes even the professional referees overlook this disposition. Plus, Jackson never took Purple’s bait!

Richard Parker: Whatever. Talk to me when Crash sees interference the next time.

Speak of the devil… Kael reaches out for the ropes but since he’s still a little too far away…

Violent Purple suddenly hops onto the apron and the second she does, Cloth is there to push the bottom rope closer to Max!

In a strange TWIST of EVENTS… at first… Maximillian Wilhelm Kael looks at the rope. He doesn’t take it!

Richard Parker: Max, snatch the rope!

As a result, Eddie Cross is able to use this to his advantage and drag MWK further to the middle of the ring!

Nick Stuart: Max didn’t take the ropes!? He is apprehensive about this match, I knew it. I saw it in his earlier offense!

Richard Parker: Maybe MWK didn’t see the rope was being pushed towards him.

Parker’s excuse aside, Purple has hopped off the apron and Max tries to work out of the figure four again.

His shoulders are down!

ONE.

TWO.

SHOULDERS ARE UP!

Unquestionably Maximillian Wilhelm Kael pulls at his ratty hair, trying to find that fight towards making it into the ropes legitimately. He starts to slide them both across the mat… he’s almost back there… he reaches out…

Can’t get them!

Violent Purple jumps onto the apron and the exact same song and dance takes place. She bats her eyes wildly at Crash Jackson. Crash kinda blushes but he knows he has a job to do, so he asks her to get down!

Oh she ain’t going anywhere.

Cloth pushes the bottom rope towards Max. He CLEARLY sees it… he starts to move his hands over…

He DOES take the rope!

Purple leaves the apron so Crash turns around and sees the rope break!

Eddie looks frustrated but drops the hold nonetheless and doesn’t argue. Instead, he marches over and peels Kael off the mat… working him into a high angle brainbuster.

SLAM!

Another cover.

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: Kael has been outmatched in the early going. No way to sugarcoat this. Eddie’s come to play, he’s collected all the pinfalls so far.

Cross methodically pulls Kael off the canvas and works him into a headlock. Eddie clenches the hold tightly across MWK’s neck with no other current gameplan. Eddie is planning to wring Kael’s neck and suck the air right out of him.

U.N. Cloth once again starts screaming demands into the center of the ring. She also isn’t happy with Crash’s refereeing, claiming the move is illegal. Jackson knows better, he tries to ignore it but dear god is her voice ear piercing.

Violent Purple, however, adores Crash’s refereeing! She is now standing beside Cloth. As Cloth is going apeshit insane with anger, Purple is twirling her hair. She’s REALLY digging Crash’s ability to call a contest.

Richard Parker: There’s more shit happening here than my little mind can comprehend.

Nick Stuart: Now that’s something we agree on.

Kael tries to fight out. He fires a few right hands into Eddie’s side before breaking free. Kael hits the ropes and hooks both arms around the top one so he isn’t knocked silly by Cross’ incoming high knee strike. Kael removes himself from the ropes, spins around and delivers a Roaring Hellbow to Eddie’s temple.

The gamer is knocked for a loop. It’s the opening Unquestionably Maximillian Wilhelm Kael needs! He lifts Eddie Cross up and then drops Cross RIGHT ON HIS HEAD.

The sound Eddie’s head makes upon impact sends a sickening hush across the audience.

Max goes for a pin.

ONE.

TWO.

BARELY A SHOULDER UP.

Nick Stuart: I honestly thought the match was over!

Richard Parker: Me too!

Even Crash looks surprised. Of course he had to make the count but it looked like Eddie was DOA.

Maximillian Wilhelm Kael hoists Eddie onto his shoulders and performs a fireman’s carry, tossing Cross on his back in the center of the ring. U.N. shouts additional instructions as Max drops a measured knee across Cross’ head.

…Then proceeds to UNLOAD a variety of punches and kicks while mounting his former “friend”.

Nick Stuart: The viciousness of Maximillian Wilhelm Kael is seemingly coming out now.

Nick’s right. With each punch and kick it grows more… intense.

Richard Parker: Has to take the match to another level, Nick. Has to! He’s been outmatched so far!

Nick Stuart: You’re agreeing with me?

Kael tosses Cross into the ropes and races in with a clothesline knocking them both up and over the ropes, onto the apron and to the ground below.

…Right beside Violent Purple’s feet.

Crash asks for Purple to move away and, surprisingly, she does. It’s only due to the fact she has eyes for… HIM.

As both men get to their feet- it’s Eddie Cross who blocks a right forearm by Kael and responds with a palm strike to the middle of Kael’s forehead. For a second there, maybe MWK’s mind flipped into a different realm and he went back to Max Kael? or someone else entirely because his eyes look completely shot. Cross pushes Kael into the ring and then he goes to enter himself-

When Violent Purple has Eddie by the right leg!

Nick Stuart: Oh, c’mon!

Crash Jackson spins around but not in time as Violent Purple has already let go of Eddie’s leg and is blowing more kisses. So clever! Unfortunately for the good guy, the lights are back in Max’s eyes, as he’s the bad guy. MWK smiles sadistically and races to the ropes, shoulder blocking Eddie Cross off the apron and all the way onto the guardrail!

CRASH! And not the CRASH of Jackson, either.

The crowd is white hot in boos, as Kael exits the ring, collects the fallen body of the gamer and throws him under the bottom rope.

Cloth demands perfection as Kael steps through the middle and bottom rope-

Double knee facebreaker by Cross!

Nick Stuart: Out of nowhere!

Both men are down!

Nick Stuart: This was clearly a desperation move by Eddie, he has nothing left in him.

The crowd starts rallying their feet…

BBBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

It’s Maximillian Wilhelm Kael who’s up first!

Kael snatches Cross by the head and flips him into a pump handle slam when Eddie escapes, bounces off the ropes and-

WHAM!

Trigger Warning!

The stadium comes alive! However, they are JUST AS quick to boos when U.N. Cloth is on the apron this time and Crash Jackson races over to the elder lady.

Violent Purple slips into the ring-

RRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

Nick Stuart: CRASH TURNS AROUND! HE SEES HER, HE SEES IT ALL!

Crash might’ve been fooled in the early stages of the match but he’s caught on now. He sees Violent Purple in the middle of the ring, ready to strike Eddie Cross down. Purple’s face goes, well, a shade of purple. She drops Eddie Cross without striking a blow…

And then blows kisses at Jackson.

The fans want to see it.

And by want to see it they DON’T want to see Jackson take the bait. They want Violent Purple out of there!

MORE KISSES going Crash’s way! So many of them! It would make all the sense in the world, look at how smitten Violent Purple is. She’s not getting violent. She stopped the violence for him!

Crash looks down at Eddie, then back up at Purple.

Down at Eddie.

Up at Purple.

Down.

Up.

DOWN.

UP.

UP UP DOWN DOWN.

Richard Parker: Jesus Christ make a choice already.

Jackson smirks. He knew the choice all along. He shakes his head. He looks at Purple. He looks at Cloth.

He EJECTS them both!

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH MOTHER FUCKING RRRAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Richard Parker: NO! NO, you can’t do that!

Nick Stuart: Pretty sure he just did! What a hell of a referee! He wasn’t going to come across as a fool again! You know what, I can’t even blame Crash at the beginning of the match. Being a referee is an overwhelming process! He’s trying his best!

The crowd loves what they are seeing and their cheers, thankfully and mercifully drown out U.N. Cloth working on a god damn heart attack. Violent Purple exits the ring and her lust for the ref also evaporates into thin air, too. Funny how that works.

Nick Stuart: Crash is DEMANDING both of them leave ringside right now or he’ll throw the contest out!

Slowly but surely, the Kael entourage walk up the rampway, albeit backwards so they can express their displeasure towards Crash. Cloth keeps screaming, Purple only cracks her knuckles.

Inside the ring…

Well, you may have been wondering what’s happening in there? During this entire ordeal Eddie Cross was a mere spectator. Max Kael, on the other hand, was slithering in the corner, waiting for his time to strike.

That time is…

…

…

NOW!!!

Undoubtedly Maximillian Wilhelm Kael with a ROLL UP OF DOOM TO EDDIE CROSS!

Crash sees the pin!

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

Both men are on their feet. Cross and Kael start offering blow-for-blow!

Nick Stuart: Kael did NOT cheat on the roll-up. But then again, taking advantage of the situation-

Richard Parker: Is completely WITHIN the rules!

As Parker finishes Stuart’s sentence, Eddie Cross has gained the upper hand in the brawl out so he Irish whips Kael to a corner of the squared circle. Eddie races in and connects with a clothesline. Then he props Kael to sit on the top buckle before going up there with him.

The crowd is on their feet!

Eddie Cross stands on the top buckle with Unquestionably Max Kael along with him…

SUPER.

PLEXXXXX!!!

Both men hit the mat hard, as Eddie Cross floats over and makes a cover!

ONE.

TWO.

LAST SECOND KICKOUT!

The crowd sighs but Eddie pulls to his feet. He rallies his arms up and down, perhaps looking to end the match when he drags Max to his feet-

Kael looks to go for an eye poke but Eddie Cross slaps it away. Kael’s face grows concerned… then sad… then a rush of other emotions no other human being can process in a millisecond.

Nick Stuart: That was the first real cheap attempt Kael took in this match and it failed. Cross has thrown a lot at him…

Kael goes for a low blow but Cross pinches his legs together, trapping Kael’s leg. Cross elbows Kael in the crown of his head and then hurls Unquestionably Max Kael into the ropes, following in with a knee to the stomach. Cross walks Kael to the center of the ring and connects with a side Russian leg sweep.

Cross is back on his feet. He delivers an elbow into Kael’s right knee. Then another elbow. Cross drags Kael’s leg to the ropes and drapes it across the bottom… before leaping in the air and crushing all his weight down upon the leg.

Nick Stuart: Eddie worked on the knee at the beginning of this contest with the figure four. It only makes sense here, too.

Cross flips Kael onto his back and applies a Texas cloverleaf!

Nick Stuart: Fool’s Gallows is locked in and this time there’s nobody at ringside to help Max!

Richard Parker: Nooooo.

Crash slides into position to call for the bell… but Kael is trying to fight it. Max is trying to kick free with his other leg because he hasn’t been completely flipped over just yet. As Cross leans down in an attempt to widen his base and get Unquestionably Maximillian Wilhelm Kael over-

Kael seemingly pokes him in the eyes!

The move was so lightning quick, Crash wasn’t sure what took place. Not that it would be enough for a disqualification, anyway.

Unfortunately for Eddie Cross, he has to drop the cloverleaf. Meanwhile Kael is crawling his way over to the ropes, hammering his right knee in the process, trying to get blood flow going back into it. Max pulls himself up with the use of the bottom, middle and then top rope. He turns around at the exact second Eddie Cross does.

Question Mark Kick via Max.

Cross is OUT.

Kael falls on top of him.

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

The crowd pops as Maximillian Wilhelm Kael looks up at Crash Jackson with a frown. Max suddenly starts seething and drills Cross in the temple with a forearm. Max pulls Eddie to his feet…

Lightning fast belly-to-belly suplex.

Kael holds on.

Vertical suplex.

Kael holds on.

Running release suplex, throwing Cross into the turnbuckle as he lets go of the hold!

Eddie’s body language suggests he is once again dead to rights, as he seemingly dangles in the corner on his own two feet.

Richard Parker: U.N. Cloth is going to have a GREAT NIGHT tonight! Too bad Crash Jackson has to watch the beginning of the end…

Maximillian Wilhelm Kael props Cross onto his knees in the middle of the ring. It’s clear the former dead guy is looking for The Dreamweaver as he bounces off the ropes-

Cross ducks at the absolute last second. He spins Kael around and lands an implant DDT! Both men are down!

The crowd stomps their feet. If U.N. Cloth was here, she’d be screaming and yelling but we can always pretend.

Nick Stuart: We’re right back to where we started!

Richard Parker: Are we? Max Kael can barely walk! I’d say he would’ve hit that Dreamweaver if Eddie wasn’t working on a knee. Poor Maximillian Wilhelm Kael.

Nick Stuart: Get over it.

Kael is in the ropes on one end of the ring. Cross in at the ropes on the other. Both men get to their feet and move towards the center of the ring.

Cross goes for a chop block to that knee but Kael moves at the very last second. Cross bounces off the ropes and goes for a chop block again and this time he hits it, just barely!

Max wobbles on one leg, he’s yet to be put down. Eddie marches over with a fury in his eyes. He hoists Kael into the air and performs a falcon arrow suplex into a pin.

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

The gamer nods with passion. He’s feeling it now. He knows he has Unquestionably Maximillian Wilhelm Kael on edge. He’s going for another submission, this much is known…

When Kael jabs Cross in the eyes for a second time!

MWK also connects with a clever low blow, standing in front of Crash Jackson, with Eddie Cross behind the both of them.

Nick Stuart: No way Jackson could see that!

With Eddie Cross doubled over, one hand over his eyes and one hand on his crotch, he’s dead to rights.

THE DREAMWEAVER.

Nick Stuart: Dammit.

Kael covers. For good measure he hooks a leg and captures the other one with his own leg to block it.

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

DING DING DING

Richard Parker: He did it all by himself!

The crowd jeers as Vince speaks up.

Vince Howard: Here is your winner… UNQUESTIONABLY MAXIMILLIAN WILHELM KAEL!

Kael rolls to a corner of the ring, as U.N. Cloth and Violent Purple emerge from the entranceway. Gone is the interest Purple ever had for Jackson. They are merely present to collect their most precious family member and escort him to the back, which they do.

Nick Stuart: A valiant effort by Eddie. He wrestled a hell of a contest.

Richard Parker: But Kael outsmarted everyone. How’s that for being only six months old?

Nick Stuart: I can’t.

Crash Jackson checks on Eddie Cross in the middle of the ring, while a stumbly and bumbly Max Kael works his way up the ramp with Cloth and Purple. Colossus goes to commercial.

The camera cuts to what can be generously described as a Winter Wonderland.

We are in a large room the size of a small banquet hall, bigger than a dressing room but smaller than California. So somewhere in between those two.

The floor is covered in white fluffy fake snow. There is a large gingerbread house against the back wall in front of which Santa Claus is meeting with small children. Santa has several people dressed as elves helping him, and there are other people, about fifteen by my count and yours, milling about, all wearing ugly Christmas sweaters. Everybody seems to simply be having a wonderful Christmastime.

There is a small light fixture somewhere in the room displaying an effect of falling snow all over the room and everybody in the room, like a holly jolly disco.

Music is playing loudly.

It is Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas”, but for some reason it is being sung by George Michael. What this means is that everyone is wondering if they have lost Whamageddon and the No Mariah Carey challenge all at one time.

This is disturbing most everyone in the room except for Scott Hunter, who is standing by the main entrance with a big stupid grin on his face. He’s wearing a sweater that says “MY MILKSHAKE BRINGS ALL THE TOYS TO THE YARD” over and below a dancing shirtless Santa Claus.

A lady who is dressed as Mrs. Claus walks by and looks at the shirt, and gets excited. She moves on and we don’t see her again.

The camera zooms suddenly in to Scott Hunter who is standing in a Peter Pan pose for some reason.

Scott smiles and a gold tooth glistens in the light of the room.

Scott Hunter: Hello everyone and welcome to the fabulous Superdome in New Orleans, Louisiana, home of jazz, crawfish and a voodoo woman named Phyllis, who once starred in a movie with Adam Sandler called “Phyllis the Voodoo Woman”. I think she played a farmer. Nevertheless, you’re probably all wondering what I’m doing here tonight. Well, I don’t have a match, but I am still here to support Kerry Kuroyama in his efforts to defeat Nate Coulier, I think, who was the funny uncle on Full House. Now then…

Scott straightens himself up.

Scott Hunter: You may be wondering how things have been going with me lately. If you didn’t then please kill yourself. If you did, I love you, but I still feel the need to see other people. Also, it is my distinct pleasure to inform you that I have been promoted within Vae Victis from “errand boy” to “errand man”. This is, of course a high honor, which I attained when that weird guy that hangs out with the group named Butch fell off a roof and I put on his coat, therefore taking his place.

Scott jumps as the camera zooms out a bit to show Craig Massey standing next to him, holding a small glass of egg nog, and wearing a Christmas sweater on which we see Darth Vader wearing a Santa Claus hat and pointing, with the words “I FIND YOUR LACK OF CHEER DISTURBING” across the front of the sweater.

Scott Hunter: Dear God, I mean Craig, you startled me!

Craig Massey: I’ve literally been standing here the entire time.

Scott Hunter: Yeah well, I was expecting you to be sitting, so I’m sure you understand how this could be shocking to me.

Craig Massey: No, actually, I don’t understand that at all, nor would any sane human being.

Scott Hunter: Well it just so happens that I am not any sane human being. In fact, my mental faculties are the source of much supposition, such that my genuflection over yuletide gatherings might seem mellifluous, but are in fact unquestionably efficacious. Furthermore my perspicacious observations are of great import, much like the philosophers of yore.

Craig Massey: That was… so many syllables for you. Do you even know what you just said??

Scott takes Craig’s egg nog and takes a swig, then hands it back.

Scott Hunter: Not the first clue. But I think it had something to do with ham.

Craig Massey: Well your proclivities for pork notwithstanding, I am not comfortable with all of this festive nonsense. I appreciate the invite, but there is business to attend to. I’m sure you… probably don’t understand, but even so, that’s what I must do.

Scott Hunter: Alright fine, go ahead and leave. Please do not forget to pay the caterer before you go and also go get a haircut because you look stupid.

Craig rolls his eyes.

Craig Massey: Sure thing, kid.

Craig places a hand on Scott’s shoulder and gives him a wink and a very patronizing pat of his hand, then walks away.

Scott Hunter: Where was I?

Scott looks confused for a moment, but then shakes it off and turns sharply toward the camera with a very stern ‘this means business’ expression on his face.

Scott Hunter: The match between my very best friend Kerry Kuroyama and Nappy McDougal. I just want to make it absolutely clear the Pacific Parishioner, the Emerald Eagle, Seattle Slew, the Paragon of Poppy Seed Bagels, Kerry Kuroyama, will have no trouble this evening wiping the floor with Nathan Culpepper’s face. And when he is done wiping the floor with his face, he will mop up the floor with his face, then dry the floor, then probably make some popcorn and watch TV. But before that will be the wiping and mopping! What this means to smart people like me is that he will absolutely destroy this weirdo and move onward and upward until he is finally, once and for all, the Universal Champion, which I have been told is important.

Scott nods his up, loosening up noticeably.

Scott Hunter: Now, if all of you fine New Orleanians would excuse me, I need to give Santa Claus a piece of my mind about the gift he gave me last year, and also that female elf over there keeps winking at me. A very Happy Holidays to you all, and God bless us every one….

Scott smiles the most insincere smile imaginable as we cut to ringside.

The camera cuts to what can be generously described as a Winter Wonderland.

We are in a large room the size of a small banquet hall, bigger than a dressing room but smaller than California. So somewhere in between those two.

The floor is covered in white fluffy fake snow. There is a large gingerbread house against the back wall in front of which Santa Claus is meeting with small children. Santa has several people dressed as elves helping him, and there are other people, about fifteen by my count and yours, milling about, all wearing ugly Christmas sweaters. Everybody seems to simply be having a wonderful Christmastime.

There is a small light fixture somewhere in the room displaying an effect of falling snow all over the room and everybody in the room, like a holly jolly disco.

Music is playing loudly.

It is Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas”, but for some reason it is being sung by George Michael. What this means is that everyone is wondering if they have lost Whamageddon and the No Mariah Carey challenge all at one time.

This is disturbing most everyone in the room except for Scott Hunter, who is standing by the main entrance with a big stupid grin on his face. He’s wearing a sweater that says “MY MILKSHAKE BRINGS ALL THE TOYS TO THE YARD” over and below a dancing shirtless Santa Claus.

A lady who is dressed as Mrs. Claus walks by and looks at the shirt, and gets excited. She moves on and we don’t see her again.

The camera zooms suddenly in to Scott Hunter who is standing in a Peter Pan pose for some reason.

Scott smiles and a gold tooth glistens in the light of the room.

Scott Hunter: Hello everyone and welcome to the fabulous Superdome in New Orleans, Louisiana, home of jazz, crawfish and a voodoo woman named Phyllis, who once starred in a movie with Adam Sandler called “Phyllis the Voodoo Woman”. I think she played a farmer. Nevertheless, you’re probably all wondering what I’m doing here tonight. Well, I don’t have a match, but I am still here to support Kerry Kuroyama in his efforts to defeat Nate Coulier, I think, who was the funny uncle on Full House. Now then…

Scott straightens himself up.

Scott Hunter: You may be wondering how things have been going with me lately. If you didn’t then please kill yourself. If you did, I love you, but I still feel the need to see other people. Also, it is my distinct pleasure to inform you that I have been promoted within Vae Victis from “errand boy” to “errand man”. This is, of course a high honor, which I attained when that weird guy that hangs out with the group named Butch fell off a roof and I put on his coat, therefore taking his place.

Scott jumps as the camera zooms out a bit to show Craig Massey standing next to him, holding a small glass of egg nog, and wearing a Christmas sweater on which we see Darth Vader wearing a Santa Claus hat and pointing, with the words “I FIND YOUR LACK OF CHEER DISTURBING” across the front of the sweater.

Scott Hunter: Dear God, I mean Craig, you startled me!

Craig Massey: I’ve literally been standing here the entire time.

Scott Hunter: Yeah well, I was expecting you to be sitting, so I’m sure you understand how this could be shocking to me.

Craig Massey: No, actually, I don’t understand that at all, nor would any sane human being.

Scott Hunter: Well it just so happens that I am not any sane human being. In fact, my mental faculties are the source of much supposition, such that my genuflection over yuletide gatherings might seem mellifluous, but are in fact unquestionably efficacious. Furthermore my perspicacious observations are of great import, much like the philosophers of yore.

Craig Massey: That was… so many syllables for you. Do you even know what you just said??

Scott takes Craig’s egg nog and takes a swig, then hands it back.

Scott Hunter: Not the first clue. But I think it had something to do with ham.

Craig Massey: Well your proclivities for pork notwithstanding, I am not comfortable with all of this festive nonsense. I appreciate the invite, but there is business to attend to. I’m sure you… probably don’t understand, but even so, that’s what I must do.

Scott Hunter: Alright fine, go ahead and leave. Please do not forget to pay the caterer before you go and also go get a haircut because you look stupid.

Craig rolls his eyes.

Craig Massey: Sure thing, kid.

Craig places a hand on Scott’s shoulder and gives him a wink and a very patronizing pat of his hand, then walks away.

Scott Hunter: Where was I?

Scott looks confused for a moment, but then shakes it off and turns sharply toward the camera with a very stern ‘this means business’ expression on his face.

Scott Hunter: The match between my very best friend Kerry Kuroyama and Nappy McDougal. I just want to make it absolutely clear the Pacific Parishioner, the Emerald Eagle, Seattle Slew, the Paragon of Poppy Seed Bagels, Kerry Kuroyama, will have no trouble this evening wiping the floor with Nathan Culpepper’s face. And when he is done wiping the floor with his face, he will mop up the floor with his face, then dry the floor, then probably make some popcorn and watch TV. But before that will be the wiping and mopping! What this means to smart people like me is that he will absolutely destroy this weirdo and move onward and upward until he is finally, once and for all, the Universal Champion, which I have been told is important.

Scott nods his up, loosening up noticeably.

Scott Hunter: Now, if all of you fine New Orleanians would excuse me, I need to give Santa Claus a piece of my mind about the gift he gave me last year, and also that female elf over there keeps winking at me. A very Happy Holidays to you all, and God bless us every one….

Scott smiles the most insincere smile imaginable as we cut to ringside.

Vince Howard: The following match is one fall! Introducing first…

The lights dim. Thunder rumbles. The barometric pressure in the room plummets.

Caesar’s Superdome becomes awash in rich, robust GREEN when the massive PRIMEview lights up with a view of a raging stormfront rolling in over the Gulf of Mexico, sending shockwaves of terror and dredging up horrific flashbacks for thousands of tempest-battered New Orleanians.

Floodlights fill the entry-way, outlining the silhouette of a man with his head held down and back to the crowd. On cue, a beat hits.

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

“Blouses Blue” thumps. Silver and green fountain pyros erupt across the stage. The spotlight hits the entry-way, revealing “The Emerald Apex” KERRY KUROYAMA the moment he twirls around, punches the air, and begins his descent down the rampway.

No doubt that I’m skeptical, l and I don’t sweat nothin’ technical
When I’m in the zone, bumpin’ methadone, doin’ prednisone, feelin’ hella torqued!
Always comin’ respectable, ’cause my momma she taught me to bless the food
So I came through, playin’ silver spoons, ’til I pinched the fork and I’m blessin’ you!
And I’m FEASTIN’! Muthafucka, I’m BEASTIN’!
Wanna know all my secrets? It ain’t nothin’ special–I’m eatin’ all of my vegetables,
And I’m takin’ all of you tater-head, carrot-top, Cabbage Patch Kids,
Sit you down on my granite top, you ain’t sayin’ shit but we chop it up!

The Pacific Blitzkrieg strides down the aisle with a defined balance of conviction and swagger. He moves like a man ready to go to war. The wrestling faithful of New Orleans, still lingering from the hurt of his leaving that other red and black brand, give him a villain’s welcome and deride him as a sell-out.

Over the PA, the booming voice of ring announcer Vince Howard heralds his approach.

Vince Howard: Coming to the ring, hailing from Seattle, Washington, and weighing in at two-hundred and fifty-four pounds… the EMERALD APEX… KEERRRRYYYYYYYYY KUUUUROOOOYAAAAAAMAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

And we get the stash and we lock it up, get the keys jump in the whip,
Then we dip where they whippin’ keys, wholesale the rock and we split the brick!
Pussy-ass ain’t sayin’ shit! Pussy-ass ain’t sayin’ nothin’!
Lotta cats done came and went, but we still bangin’! Still thuggin’!
Still bangin’, makin’ hits! Still bangin’ with your bitch!
Still bangin’ extra clips! Toe taggin’ just for kicks!
Toe taggin’ for the hell of it, ngga! Man, I be toe taggin’, leavin’ hella dead, ngga!
And if you gon’ drag me to the pearly gates, I’ll bring a thirty-eight, and make a hell of it just like–

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

Hurricane Kerry makes landfall at ringside and does a loop around the ring, DEFIANTly (pun extremely intended) staring down the jeering fans on the other side of the barricade with absolute repugnance.

G-G-G-G-G-G-G-Gettin’ neck while I bottle the whiii-SKY! Show no respect,
But I know for a sec nobody goin’ diss P! Pop that tech, you probably gon’ miss me!
Fuckin’ livid, ’cause I fuckin’ live it! Y’all fuckin’ with it, ’cause y’all get it:
No fuckin’ gimmick! BITCHES!
I see deceit in your speech when it leak through your teeth
You better reap what you sow, or sew all the holes in your cheek
These folks goin’ creep through the door, but they too focused on me
My bro goin’ reach for your dome and have you soaked to your feet! I MEAN IT!

After achieving a full orbit, Kuroyama scales the steps to the apron. From there, he scales up the turnbuckle and raises himself up for the world to see him. He slowly scans the stadium from north to south, his face bearing the smirk of a man living his moment.

I handle mine, this is something you can’t deny!
Hand to hand transaction, this ass whoopin’ you can’t decline!
Skinny ngga toothpick appetite of a mastermind,*
And I’m fuckin’ your bitch–sorry, I had to pass the time!
WOO! Y’all too focused on your image!
Put your life behind these bars, but you can’t live out your whole sentence!
Homie, tell me what’s the business! Put your money where your mouth is!
Flip these pancakes and these honeys, while I’m yellin’ out blouses–I’m out!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

In a flash, Kerry pinches the shoulder of his robe and tears it aside. Doing so signals the epic reveal of the grinning green storm dragon of ambition painted across his sculpted back. His fist pierces the air, and the crack of thunder booms over the PA once more.

Nick Stuart: We’ve got a doozy of a match coming up here!

Richard Parker: The final evisceration of Nate Colton.

Nick Stuart: Not even close.

Richard Parker: A person can hope, right?

The lights of Caesars Superdome once again go out. The fans erupt in anticipation, and soon their energy is rewarded as the PRIMEView springs to life. On a field of white, three words appear:

THE

NEXT

DIAMOND

These fade away, replaced by a logo. It’s the letter C in the shape of a diamond, with a smaller N inside. The logo is framed by the name.

NATE

COLTON

A classic rock riff signals the beginning of “Tryin’” by the Eagles, and the PRIME faithful of New Orleans give out a raucous cheer. Moments later, Nate Colton emerges from the curtain, targeted by multiple spotlights. He turns his back to the ring and holds his arms out wide, all to show off something that’s been missing for a while, but is finally back where it needs to be.

The blue satin ring jacket tells you everything you need to know.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

The lights come back up just as the lyrics begin. Nate Colton jogs down the long ramp toward the ring, smiling and pointing out fans as he goes, or waving his arms to pump up the crowd.

I’m just arrivin’ in the city and there’s music on my mind

Nate circles around the right side of the ring, grabbing the outstretched hands of the fans in the front row. Their smiles are almost as big as his.

Lookin’ for my destination and my home is far behind

After getting about halfway around the ring, he circles back to the ring steps, wipes his feet on the apron, and steps into the ring.

‘Cause it’s a long road ahead
And you can make it in the end
I’m gonna make it with my friends

The spotlights still follow him as he takes his position in the middle of the ring, and the house lights go back down. With all eyes upon him, Colton holds his right arm above his head. He first taps, then grabs his right wrist with his left hand, the same motion his father used to call for the Colton Clutch.

RRRAAAAAAAHHH!!

His eyes are full of excitement, but also determination. Nate Colton is focused on his goals, and ready to execute his plan. Step one: find the biggest light in the world, stand in the center…and shine.

And I’m tryin’

As the music fades and the lights return to normal, Nate Colton goes to his corner. He hands his ring jacket to an attendant, then stretches against the ropes for a moment.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…hailing from Evasnville, Indiana! Standing at six feet and four inches tall, weighing in at two hundred and forty pounds. He is the Next Diamond! He is… NAAAAAAAAAAAAATE! COLTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Colton soaks in the cheers from the crowd, then turns to his opponent…and can you believe it, his smile grows wider than ever.

DING DING

Nate extends his hand and Kerry eyes it before accepting the handshake.

Nick Stuart: Such great sportsmanship.

Richard Parker: Kuroyama playing great mind games.

Both men move cautiously towards one another before they circle the ring, eyes locked upon one another. Colton moves in first, looking for a collar-and-elbow tie-up, but Kuroyama ducks underneath it and gets behind Nate before wrapping his arms around his midsection. Kerry tries to lift Colton up, but Nate slams his fist into the clinched hands of Kerry before prying them apart. Colton spins around and narrowly ducks a forearm shot from Kuroyama.

Nate uses the momentum to spin Kuroyama around and hoists him up for a Saito Suplex. Kuroyama, though manages to land on his feet behind The Next Diamond. He quickly closes the gap with Colton, wrapping his left arm around the neck and throat of his opponent. Nate quickly grabs the wrist of the Emerald Apex and puts him into a wristlock, pressing it against his back.

Nick Stuart: These two are giving everything they’ve got at one another right out of the gate as Kuroyama just reaches back and grabs Colton’s head before tossing him over his shoulder and onto the mat!

Richard Parker: Kuroyama is playing with his food, and it’s a glorious sight to see.

Nick Stuart: I’m not certain how you came to that conclusion.

Richard Parker: You’re sub-Apex, you wouldn’t get it.

Nick Stuart: You’re not Apex level, either.

Richard Parker: Oh, yes, I am.

Colton scrambles to his feet to see Kuroyama coming for him and immediately connects with a drop toe hold. Kerry slams face first into the mat and Nate scrambles up his back before locking in a bulldog choke. Kerry remains patient, flattening himself up on the mat before he rolls to his left hip, scooping Colton into a quick pin!

ONE!

Nick Stuart: And Colton manages to get his left shoulder up.

Richard Parker: Like I said, Kuroyama is just toying with his food.

Nick Stuart: Well, his food just got back up to his feet and connected with a boot to Kuroyama’s midsection.

Richard Parker: All a part of his plan.

Nick Stuart: Not a sound plan if it requires the air being driven out of you, but sure.

Nate then slams his forearm across the shoulder blades of the Emerald Apex before standing him up and pushing him into the ropes. He whips Kuroyama into the ropes before connecting with a body slam that shakes the ring. Colton bounces back to his feet and bounces off the ropes before attempting a knee across the face and throat of the Emerald Apex, but Kerry rolls away at the last second. Kuroyama rises to his feet as Nate does the same, limping. Kerry sneaks up behind him before connecting with a Russian Leg Drop. Kuroyama rolls through it to his feet and nails a leg drop across Colton’s throat.

Richard Parker: Just. Like. I. Said.

Nick Stuart: If I’m Kuroyama, I’m not wasting my time, playing with my food. I’m putting someone of Colton’s caliber flat on the mat as quickly as possible.

Richard Parker: Where’s the fun in that?

Nick Stuart: Well, getting victories, I hear, is pretty fun.

Richard Parker: Victories are a dime a dozen for someone like Kuroyama. Getting to humiliate Colton is significantly better.

Colton, rising to his feet, is helped the rest of the way by Kuroyama, who connects with a knife-edge chop that stings the chest of the Next Diamond. With Colton stunned, Kuroyama connects with a Northern Lights Suplex…

CRUNCH!

And another…

CRUNCH!

And a third one, bridging it into a pinfall.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: And Colton manages to kick out of it!

Richard Parker: Man, Colton should have just let the match end right then and there.

Nick Stuart: Did you think that was a viable option for Colton?

Richard Parker: Maybe?

Colton rolls onto his knees and is met with a kick to his ribs by Kuroyama, flipping Colton onto his back near the corner. Kuroyama then leaps onto the second turnbuckle and springboards off of it into a knee to the face of Colton. Except Nate rolls out of the way at the last second. Colton pops back up to his feet and as Kuroyama rises to his, Colton connects with a Saito Suplex that drops Kerry on the back of his neck. Nate then bounces back up to his feet and sizes the rising Kuroyama up before blasting him with a clothesline that sends the Emerald Apex crashing to the mat.

Richard Parker: What is Ashley Barlow doing?! Colton is out there, cheating!

Nick Stuart: …how do you figure?

Richard Parker: You know, the bionic forearm!

Nick Stuart: …what? Colton doesn’t have a bionic forearm.

Richard Parker: Oh. Nevermind.

Kuroyama slowly rises to his feet and Colton rushes at him. Kerry connects with an elbow to The Next Diamond’s midsection, stunning him. Kuroyama straightens up and connects with an open-handed palm strike to the chest of his opponent. Nate stumbles backwards and Kuroyama rushes at him only for Colton to dip his shoulder, lift Kuroyama into the air, and drops him jaw first across the nearby top turnbuckle. Colton then bounces off the ropes and connects with a stiff forearm to the back of the Emerald Apex’s neck and skull.

Nick Stuart: Colton starting to pick up the intensity and look at his eyes…

Richard Parker: …yes, he looks high.

Nick Stuart: No he doesn’t! He looks like he’s enjoying this a bit.

Richard Parker: …but, no high?

Nick Stuart: NO!

Colton grabs Kuroyama by the back of the head and helps him up to his feet before Kerry slams his elbow into Colton’s midsection. Kerry lifts Colton and connects with a backbreaker, driving his knee into the lower back of Nate. He holds him there, pushing down on his chin to worsen the pain. Colton grimaces in pain until Kerry lets him fall to the mat. Kuroyama rises to his feet, shaking his head, before reaching down and grabbing Colton by his waistband before pulling him up to his feet and connecting with a stiff forearm to the back of Colton’s neck.

Richard Parker: Yeah, baby!

Nick Stuart: You have this very perverse view of this match.

Richard Parker: Kuroyama is absolutely killing it. He’s showing everyone why he is the best wrestler in PRIME and I’m here for it.

Nick Stuart: He’s not going to invite you for drinks and cigars after the show, Richard.

Richard Parker: Pfft. That’s… not what I want.

Nick Stuart: Okay.

Richard Parker: …do you think there’s a chance?

Kerry drags Colton up to his feet and slams his knee into Nate’s midsection. He then puts him into a front facelock and tries to hoist Nate up for a vertical suplex, but The Next Diamond blocks it. Kuroyama retaliates with a series of right fists to the ribs of Colton. He then hoists him up in the air and holds him there before moving to the near corner and crotching him across the top turnbuckle.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!

Nick Stuart: Well, I guess Colton isn’t in the best of moods after that.

Richard Parker: That should dry up his chances of marrying a chick. Can’t have kids!

Nick Stuart: Oh, stop it.

Richard Parker: Then tell me Kuroyama is going to invite me out for drinks and cigars.

Nick Stuart: No.

Richard Parker: …ass.

Kuroyama climbs up to the second turnbuckle only for Colton to slam his fist into Kerry’s face repeatedly. The Emerald Apex is fazed by the shots, but retaliates with a headbutt that nearly knocks Colton off the turnbuckle and to the outside. Kuroyama grabs him though and hoists him up to a standing position. He then climbs up to the top rope as well before hooking both arms of The Next Diamond before connecting with a Super Butterfly Suplex!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!

Nick Stuart: COLTON MIGHT BE BROKEN IN HALF!

Richard Parker: Okay, calm down. You’re a bit much right there with the hyperbole. He’s clearly not broken in half.

Nick Stuart: Thanks, Richard.

Richard Parker: Just passing along my observations.

Nick Stuart: Well, Colton is not heading in the right direction.

Richard Parker: Of course he isn’t, he’s got the Emerald Apex in the ring! Super Butterfly Suplexes are the least of Colton’s worries.

Kuroyama stalks Colton who is trying to make his way to his feet. As he does, Kerry spins him around and drives his shoulder into his midsection, driving him into the nearby corner. Kuroyama grabs Colton by the wrist and goes to whip him to the opposite corner, but Colton blocks it and slams his boot into Kerry’s stomach. Colton then hops onto the second turnbuckle before leaping forward and connecting with an elbow to the back of his neck. Kuroyama drops to one knee as Colton bounces back to his feet and connects with a running forearm shot to the upper back of the Emerald Apex.

Richard Parker: Whoa! He was defenseless!

Nick Stuart: This isn’t the NFL! What a shiver sent down Kuroyama’s spine there as he is on the mat and in a world of pain.

Richard Parker: Yeah, well if Colton has to take cheap shots, then Kuroyama should do the same.

Nick Stuart: Sure, but that wasn’t a cheap shot!

Colton brings Kuroyama back to his feet and whips him into the ropes before connecting with a Discus Elbow. The shot sends Kerry stumbling back into the ropes and Colton rushes at him. As he does, Kerry dips his shoulder and sends Colton over the top rope and landing on the ring apron. Kuroyama spins around and is met with a forearm shot from Colton. Kerry stumbles backwards while Colton begins to re-enter the ring. As Colton is doing so, Kerry rushes at him and connects with a Yakuza Kick to the crown of Colton’s skull.

With Colton draped across the middle rope, Kerry puts him into a front facelock and plants him with a DDT. He then drags Nate off the rope and hooks both legs as Ashley Barlow begins her count.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: Oh come on Ashley! That was a slow count!

Nick Stuart: Definitely not a slow count. Kuroyama though with a sickening DDT. He’s keeping the pressure up on Colton. These two are putting on a clinic.

Richard Parker: No, Kuroyama is putting on a clinic. The only clinic Colton is putting on is how to get your ass kicked.

Nick Stuart: Sure, Richard, keep telling yourself that.

Kuroyama rises to his feet and brings Colton with him where he connects with an open-handed palm strike. The shot drops Colton to one knee and Kuroyama grabs Colton’s wrist before whipping him into the ropes. He connects with a standing dropkick that sends Colton the mat. As Colton sits up, Kuroyama slips behind him and puts him into a rear chinlock. Colton pushes himself up to his feet, feeling the pressure against his throat, and slams his elbow into the stomach of the Emerald Apex, which is enough to break the hold. Colton then bounces off the ropes and connects with a shoulder tackle that sends Kuroyama crashing to the mat.

Colton bounces off the ropes and Kuroyama lays there as Colton hops over him. Kerry then bounces up to his feet only for Colton to connect with a Lou Thesz Press and wails away with a series of right hands before Kuroyama manages to push Colton off of him. As both men rise, Colton connects with a swift kick to the midsection and follows that up with a swinging neckbreaker. He then covers Kuroyama.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: And Kuroyama almost saw his night ended just like that.

Richard Parker: What match are you watching, Nick? Do you think a swinging neckbreaker is going to put away someone like Kuroyama?

Nick Stuart: Anything is possible.

Richard Parker: Get your head out of your ass, Nick! Get it out of there!

Kuroyama makes his ways to his knees, feeling the effects of the match, and as Colton comes upon him, Kuroyama trips him onto the mat. Before Colton can register what is happening, Kuroyama floats over and gets him into a stepover toehold sleeper!

Nick Stuart: Cascadian Clutch! Kuroyama is tightening his hold and Barlow is checking on Colton.

Richard Parker: If Kuroyama squeezes any tighter, Colton’s eyes are going to pop out. I think this is something I want to see.

Nick Stuart: You are a sick human being.

Richard Parker: No kink shaming.

Colton shakes his head as Kuroyama’s focus tightens on The Next Diamond and drives his forearm into Colton’s neck. Nate reaches out for the bottom rope, but is simply inches away from being able to grab it. Colton inches forward, but as he does, Kuroyama breaks the hold and drags Colton back to the middle of the ring. Before Kerry can lock it back in though, Colton spins around and plants both of his boots into the Emerald Apex’s chest and kicks him to the mat.

Colton rises to his feet and catches a rising Kuroyama with a reverse atomic drop. With Kuroyama stunned, Nate bounces off the ropes and connects with a running forearm that sends Kuroyama stumbling backwards and he crashes through the middle and top rope to land on the ring apron. Colton catches a rising Kuroyama with a right strike and goes to follow it up with a left only for Kerry to block it and connect with a headbutt.

Nick Stuart: These two are just going back and forth with each other.

Richard Parker: Colton keeps cheating and I’m sick and tired of it.

Nick Stuart: I need you to get your eyes checked.

Richard Parker: I can smell the cheating.

Kuroyama tries with an open hand palm strike, but Colton blocks it. He then wraps his arm around the chest of Kerry before he connects with an Exploder Suplex over the top rope and back into the ring. He immediately covers Kuroyama and Barlow begins counting.

ONE!

TWO!

THR— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Colton almost ended it right then and there!

Richard Parker: Kuroyama was just resting.

Nick Stuart: Riiiight.

Richard Parker: Look, you couldn’t fathom the level of intelligence this man has.

Nick Stuart: Riiiiight.

Colton grabs Kuroyama by the back of his neck and pulls him up to his feet before he whips him into the ropes. Colton bends over, looking for a back body drop, but Kuroyama manages to plant his boot into Colton’s chest. Nate shoots up from the shot, but then Kuroyama kicks him in the midsection, doubling him over. Kuroyama then hooks both arms and connects with a double-underhook backbreaker!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!

Colton rolls around on the mat in pain as Kuroyama yanks him to his feet and whips Colton into the ropes before connecting with a discus lariat! He then covers Colton and Barlow begins her count.

ONE!

TWO!

THR— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Close call there for Colton! The Black Tahoma Brekaer into the Squall Line Lariat!

Richard Parker: I need to file a formal complaint with Bolamba. This is ridiculous.

Nick Stuart: I need you to get your eyes checked.

Richard Parker: My eyes? My ears are listening to her hand against the canvas. They are uneven at best!

Nick Stuart: Your brain is uneven.

Kuroyama rises to his feet and plants his boot into the side of Colton’s skull. Nate rolls over from the shot, smarting as he rises to his knees. Kuroyama closes the gap and Nate fires off a right to the abdomen of the Emerald Apex. Kerry is barely phased as he yanks Colton up to his feet and goes to whip him into the ropes. Colton reverses it though into a backslide. Barlow quickly slides into position and begins the count.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: Backslides? We’ve resorted to backslides?!

Nick Stuart: There is nothing wrong with that!

Kuroyama rushes back to his feet after the near fall and takes Colton’s legs out from under him. He grabs both legs and connects with a front flip, with Barlow beginning her count again.

ONE!

TWO!

TH— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Colton bridges up, wrapping his arms around Kuroyama’s waist, and stands up, turning Kerry around in the process. He then lifts him up for a gutwrench slam, but Kuroyama rotates faster than expected and lands on his feet before he pulls Colton into a small package.

ONE!

TWO!

TH— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Colton manages to shift the angle and now he has Kuroyama in a small package.

ONE!

TWO!

TH— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: And Kuroyama manages to kick out this time!

Richard Parker: What is going on? My head is about to split in two.

Both men scramble to their feet and Kuroyama connects with a stiff forearm shot to the face of Colton before whipping him in the ropes. Kuroyama bends over a back body drop, but Colton flips over him and goes for a sunset flip. Kuroyama’s arms flail wildly as he tries to keep his balance before he manages to fall forward, pinning Colton’s shoulders to the mat with his knees.

ONE!

TWO!

THR— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Colton then manages to bring his legs up and hooks them around Kuroyama’s arms before shifting him backward and Barlow begins her count again.

ONE!

TWO!

THR— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: Shoot me now.

Nick Stuart: These two are countering each other at every turn!

Colton and Kuroyama race to their feet. Colton rushes at Kuroyama, who goes for a clothesline. The Next Diamond though ducks underneath, grabbing the outstretched arm and swings his legs up around Kuroyama’s arm before pulling him down for a crucifix pin!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Kuroyama kicks out.

DING DING DING

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: WHOA!

Richard Parker: You have to be kidding me! What a farce!

Nick Stuart: Not even close. That was fair and square!

Colton rises to his feet, surprised the crucifix pin managed to keep Kuroyama down. Ashley Barlow quickly grabs his left wrist and holds it up in victory.

Vince Howard: Your winner… NATE! COLTON!

Colton puts his hands on his hips, a smile on his face, and shakes his head.

Kuroyama sits on the mat, disappointed in the outcome. He rises to his feet and locks eyes with Colton.

Nick Stuart: Hard fought match between these two. They should run this back again.

Richard Parker: Hit him in the face Kerry, kill him!

Nick Stuart: Richard—

Kerry though, extends his arm to Colton. Nate, cautiously, accepts it before Kuroyama exits the ring. Kuroyama walks up the ramp, hands on hips while Colton looks on before he resumes celebrating the victory.

Nick Stuart: Crazy turn of events.

Richard Parker: This whole night is weird.

Nick Stuart: Sure. Before we continue our night, let’s hear from our sponsors!

We cut to commercial.

Vince Howard: The following match is one fall! Introducing first…

The lights dim. Thunder rumbles. The barometric pressure in the room plummets.

Caesar’s Superdome becomes awash in rich, robust GREEN when the massive PRIMEview lights up with a view of a raging stormfront rolling in over the Gulf of Mexico, sending shockwaves of terror and dredging up horrific flashbacks for thousands of tempest-battered New Orleanians.

Floodlights fill the entry-way, outlining the silhouette of a man with his head held down and back to the crowd. On cue, a beat hits.

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

“Blouses Blue” thumps. Silver and green fountain pyros erupt across the stage. The spotlight hits the entry-way, revealing “The Emerald Apex” KERRY KUROYAMA the moment he twirls around, punches the air, and begins his descent down the rampway.

No doubt that I’m skeptical, l and I don’t sweat nothin’ technical
When I’m in the zone, bumpin’ methadone, doin’ prednisone, feelin’ hella torqued!
Always comin’ respectable, ’cause my momma she taught me to bless the food
So I came through, playin’ silver spoons, ’til I pinched the fork and I’m blessin’ you!
And I’m FEASTIN’! Muthafucka, I’m BEASTIN’!
Wanna know all my secrets? It ain’t nothin’ special–I’m eatin’ all of my vegetables,
And I’m takin’ all of you tater-head, carrot-top, Cabbage Patch Kids,
Sit you down on my granite top, you ain’t sayin’ shit but we chop it up!

The Pacific Blitzkrieg strides down the aisle with a defined balance of conviction and swagger. He moves like a man ready to go to war. The wrestling faithful of New Orleans, still lingering from the hurt of his leaving that other red and black brand, give him a villain’s welcome and deride him as a sell-out.

Over the PA, the booming voice of ring announcer Vince Howard heralds his approach.

Vince Howard: Coming to the ring, hailing from Seattle, Washington, and weighing in at two-hundred and fifty-four pounds… the EMERALD APEX… KEERRRRYYYYYYYYY KUUUUROOOOYAAAAAAMAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

And we get the stash and we lock it up, get the keys jump in the whip,
Then we dip where they whippin’ keys, wholesale the rock and we split the brick!
Pussy-ass ain’t sayin’ shit! Pussy-ass ain’t sayin’ nothin’!
Lotta cats done came and went, but we still bangin’! Still thuggin’!
Still bangin’, makin’ hits! Still bangin’ with your bitch!
Still bangin’ extra clips! Toe taggin’ just for kicks!
Toe taggin’ for the hell of it, ngga! Man, I be toe taggin’, leavin’ hella dead, ngga!
And if you gon’ drag me to the pearly gates, I’ll bring a thirty-eight, and make a hell of it just like–

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

Hurricane Kerry makes landfall at ringside and does a loop around the ring, DEFIANTly (pun extremely intended) staring down the jeering fans on the other side of the barricade with absolute repugnance.

G-G-G-G-G-G-G-Gettin’ neck while I bottle the whiii-SKY! Show no respect,
But I know for a sec nobody goin’ diss P! Pop that tech, you probably gon’ miss me!
Fuckin’ livid, ’cause I fuckin’ live it! Y’all fuckin’ with it, ’cause y’all get it:
No fuckin’ gimmick! BITCHES!
I see deceit in your speech when it leak through your teeth
You better reap what you sow, or sew all the holes in your cheek
These folks goin’ creep through the door, but they too focused on me
My bro goin’ reach for your dome and have you soaked to your feet! I MEAN IT!

After achieving a full orbit, Kuroyama scales the steps to the apron. From there, he scales up the turnbuckle and raises himself up for the world to see him. He slowly scans the stadium from north to south, his face bearing the smirk of a man living his moment.

I handle mine, this is something you can’t deny!
Hand to hand transaction, this ass whoopin’ you can’t decline!
Skinny ngga toothpick appetite of a mastermind,*
And I’m fuckin’ your bitch–sorry, I had to pass the time!
WOO! Y’all too focused on your image!
Put your life behind these bars, but you can’t live out your whole sentence!
Homie, tell me what’s the business! Put your money where your mouth is!
Flip these pancakes and these honeys, while I’m yellin’ out blouses–I’m out!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!

In a flash, Kerry pinches the shoulder of his robe and tears it aside. Doing so signals the epic reveal of the grinning green storm dragon of ambition painted across his sculpted back. His fist pierces the air, and the crack of thunder booms over the PA once more.

Nick Stuart: We’ve got a doozy of a match coming up here!

Richard Parker: The final evisceration of Nate Colton.

Nick Stuart: Not even close.

Richard Parker: A person can hope, right?

The lights of Caesars Superdome once again go out. The fans erupt in anticipation, and soon their energy is rewarded as the PRIMEView springs to life. On a field of white, three words appear:

THE

NEXT

DIAMOND

These fade away, replaced by a logo. It’s the letter C in the shape of a diamond, with a smaller N inside. The logo is framed by the name.

NATE

COLTON

A classic rock riff signals the beginning of “Tryin’” by the Eagles, and the PRIME faithful of New Orleans give out a raucous cheer. Moments later, Nate Colton emerges from the curtain, targeted by multiple spotlights. He turns his back to the ring and holds his arms out wide, all to show off something that’s been missing for a while, but is finally back where it needs to be.

The blue satin ring jacket tells you everything you need to know.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

The lights come back up just as the lyrics begin. Nate Colton jogs down the long ramp toward the ring, smiling and pointing out fans as he goes, or waving his arms to pump up the crowd.

I’m just arrivin’ in the city and there’s music on my mind

Nate circles around the right side of the ring, grabbing the outstretched hands of the fans in the front row. Their smiles are almost as big as his.

Lookin’ for my destination and my home is far behind

After getting about halfway around the ring, he circles back to the ring steps, wipes his feet on the apron, and steps into the ring.

‘Cause it’s a long road ahead
And you can make it in the end
I’m gonna make it with my friends

The spotlights still follow him as he takes his position in the middle of the ring, and the house lights go back down. With all eyes upon him, Colton holds his right arm above his head. He first taps, then grabs his right wrist with his left hand, the same motion his father used to call for the Colton Clutch.

RRRAAAAAAAHHH!!

His eyes are full of excitement, but also determination. Nate Colton is focused on his goals, and ready to execute his plan. Step one: find the biggest light in the world, stand in the center…and shine.

And I’m tryin’

As the music fades and the lights return to normal, Nate Colton goes to his corner. He hands his ring jacket to an attendant, then stretches against the ropes for a moment.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…hailing from Evasnville, Indiana! Standing at six feet and four inches tall, weighing in at two hundred and forty pounds. He is the Next Diamond! He is… NAAAAAAAAAAAAATE! COLTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Colton soaks in the cheers from the crowd, then turns to his opponent…and can you believe it, his smile grows wider than ever.

DING DING

Nate extends his hand and Kerry eyes it before accepting the handshake.

Nick Stuart: Such great sportsmanship.

Richard Parker: Kuroyama playing great mind games.

Both men move cautiously towards one another before they circle the ring, eyes locked upon one another. Colton moves in first, looking for a collar-and-elbow tie-up, but Kuroyama ducks underneath it and gets behind Nate before wrapping his arms around his midsection. Kerry tries to lift Colton up, but Nate slams his fist into the clinched hands of Kerry before prying them apart. Colton spins around and narrowly ducks a forearm shot from Kuroyama.

Nate uses the momentum to spin Kuroyama around and hoists him up for a Saito Suplex. Kuroyama, though manages to land on his feet behind The Next Diamond. He quickly closes the gap with Colton, wrapping his left arm around the neck and throat of his opponent. Nate quickly grabs the wrist of the Emerald Apex and puts him into a wristlock, pressing it against his back.

Nick Stuart: These two are giving everything they’ve got at one another right out of the gate as Kuroyama just reaches back and grabs Colton’s head before tossing him over his shoulder and onto the mat!

Richard Parker: Kuroyama is playing with his food, and it’s a glorious sight to see.

Nick Stuart: I’m not certain how you came to that conclusion.

Richard Parker: You’re sub-Apex, you wouldn’t get it.

Nick Stuart: You’re not Apex level, either.

Richard Parker: Oh, yes, I am.

Colton scrambles to his feet to see Kuroyama coming for him and immediately connects with a drop toe hold. Kerry slams face first into the mat and Nate scrambles up his back before locking in a bulldog choke. Kerry remains patient, flattening himself up on the mat before he rolls to his left hip, scooping Colton into a quick pin!

ONE!

Nick Stuart: And Colton manages to get his left shoulder up.

Richard Parker: Like I said, Kuroyama is just toying with his food.

Nick Stuart: Well, his food just got back up to his feet and connected with a boot to Kuroyama’s midsection.

Richard Parker: All a part of his plan.

Nick Stuart: Not a sound plan if it requires the air being driven out of you, but sure.

Nate then slams his forearm across the shoulder blades of the Emerald Apex before standing him up and pushing him into the ropes. He whips Kuroyama into the ropes before connecting with a body slam that shakes the ring. Colton bounces back to his feet and bounces off the ropes before attempting a knee across the face and throat of the Emerald Apex, but Kerry rolls away at the last second. Kuroyama rises to his feet as Nate does the same, limping. Kerry sneaks up behind him before connecting with a Russian Leg Drop. Kuroyama rolls through it to his feet and nails a leg drop across Colton’s throat.

Richard Parker: Just. Like. I. Said.

Nick Stuart: If I’m Kuroyama, I’m not wasting my time, playing with my food. I’m putting someone of Colton’s caliber flat on the mat as quickly as possible.

Richard Parker: Where’s the fun in that?

Nick Stuart: Well, getting victories, I hear, is pretty fun.

Richard Parker: Victories are a dime a dozen for someone like Kuroyama. Getting to humiliate Colton is significantly better.

Colton, rising to his feet, is helped the rest of the way by Kuroyama, who connects with a knife-edge chop that stings the chest of the Next Diamond. With Colton stunned, Kuroyama connects with a Northern Lights Suplex…

CRUNCH!

And another…

CRUNCH!

And a third one, bridging it into a pinfall.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: And Colton manages to kick out of it!

Richard Parker: Man, Colton should have just let the match end right then and there.

Nick Stuart: Did you think that was a viable option for Colton?

Richard Parker: Maybe?

Colton rolls onto his knees and is met with a kick to his ribs by Kuroyama, flipping Colton onto his back near the corner. Kuroyama then leaps onto the second turnbuckle and springboards off of it into a knee to the face of Colton. Except Nate rolls out of the way at the last second. Colton pops back up to his feet and as Kuroyama rises to his, Colton connects with a Saito Suplex that drops Kerry on the back of his neck. Nate then bounces back up to his feet and sizes the rising Kuroyama up before blasting him with a clothesline that sends the Emerald Apex crashing to the mat.

Richard Parker: What is Ashley Barlow doing?! Colton is out there, cheating!

Nick Stuart: …how do you figure?

Richard Parker: You know, the bionic forearm!

Nick Stuart: …what? Colton doesn’t have a bionic forearm.

Richard Parker: Oh. Nevermind.

Kuroyama slowly rises to his feet and Colton rushes at him. Kerry connects with an elbow to The Next Diamond’s midsection, stunning him. Kuroyama straightens up and connects with an open-handed palm strike to the chest of his opponent. Nate stumbles backwards and Kuroyama rushes at him only for Colton to dip his shoulder, lift Kuroyama into the air, and drops him jaw first across the nearby top turnbuckle. Colton then bounces off the ropes and connects with a stiff forearm to the back of the Emerald Apex’s neck and skull.

Nick Stuart: Colton starting to pick up the intensity and look at his eyes…

Richard Parker: …yes, he looks high.

Nick Stuart: No he doesn’t! He looks like he’s enjoying this a bit.

Richard Parker: …but, no high?

Nick Stuart: NO!

Colton grabs Kuroyama by the back of the head and helps him up to his feet before Kerry slams his elbow into Colton’s midsection. Kerry lifts Colton and connects with a backbreaker, driving his knee into the lower back of Nate. He holds him there, pushing down on his chin to worsen the pain. Colton grimaces in pain until Kerry lets him fall to the mat. Kuroyama rises to his feet, shaking his head, before reaching down and grabbing Colton by his waistband before pulling him up to his feet and connecting with a stiff forearm to the back of Colton’s neck.

Richard Parker: Yeah, baby!

Nick Stuart: You have this very perverse view of this match.

Richard Parker: Kuroyama is absolutely killing it. He’s showing everyone why he is the best wrestler in PRIME and I’m here for it.

Nick Stuart: He’s not going to invite you for drinks and cigars after the show, Richard.

Richard Parker: Pfft. That’s… not what I want.

Nick Stuart: Okay.

Richard Parker: …do you think there’s a chance?

Kerry drags Colton up to his feet and slams his knee into Nate’s midsection. He then puts him into a front facelock and tries to hoist Nate up for a vertical suplex, but The Next Diamond blocks it. Kuroyama retaliates with a series of right fists to the ribs of Colton. He then hoists him up in the air and holds him there before moving to the near corner and crotching him across the top turnbuckle.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!

Nick Stuart: Well, I guess Colton isn’t in the best of moods after that.

Richard Parker: That should dry up his chances of marrying a chick. Can’t have kids!

Nick Stuart: Oh, stop it.

Richard Parker: Then tell me Kuroyama is going to invite me out for drinks and cigars.

Nick Stuart: No.

Richard Parker: …ass.

Kuroyama climbs up to the second turnbuckle only for Colton to slam his fist into Kerry’s face repeatedly. The Emerald Apex is fazed by the shots, but retaliates with a headbutt that nearly knocks Colton off the turnbuckle and to the outside. Kuroyama grabs him though and hoists him up to a standing position. He then climbs up to the top rope as well before hooking both arms of The Next Diamond before connecting with a Super Butterfly Suplex!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!

Nick Stuart: COLTON MIGHT BE BROKEN IN HALF!

Richard Parker: Okay, calm down. You’re a bit much right there with the hyperbole. He’s clearly not broken in half.

Nick Stuart: Thanks, Richard.

Richard Parker: Just passing along my observations.

Nick Stuart: Well, Colton is not heading in the right direction.

Richard Parker: Of course he isn’t, he’s got the Emerald Apex in the ring! Super Butterfly Suplexes are the least of Colton’s worries.

Kuroyama stalks Colton who is trying to make his way to his feet. As he does, Kerry spins him around and drives his shoulder into his midsection, driving him into the nearby corner. Kuroyama grabs Colton by the wrist and goes to whip him to the opposite corner, but Colton blocks it and slams his boot into Kerry’s stomach. Colton then hops onto the second turnbuckle before leaping forward and connecting with an elbow to the back of his neck. Kuroyama drops to one knee as Colton bounces back to his feet and connects with a running forearm shot to the upper back of the Emerald Apex.

Richard Parker: Whoa! He was defenseless!

Nick Stuart: This isn’t the NFL! What a shiver sent down Kuroyama’s spine there as he is on the mat and in a world of pain.

Richard Parker: Yeah, well if Colton has to take cheap shots, then Kuroyama should do the same.

Nick Stuart: Sure, but that wasn’t a cheap shot!

Colton brings Kuroyama back to his feet and whips him into the ropes before connecting with a Discus Elbow. The shot sends Kerry stumbling back into the ropes and Colton rushes at him. As he does, Kerry dips his shoulder and sends Colton over the top rope and landing on the ring apron. Kuroyama spins around and is met with a forearm shot from Colton. Kerry stumbles backwards while Colton begins to re-enter the ring. As Colton is doing so, Kerry rushes at him and connects with a Yakuza Kick to the crown of Colton’s skull.

With Colton draped across the middle rope, Kerry puts him into a front facelock and plants him with a DDT. He then drags Nate off the rope and hooks both legs as Ashley Barlow begins her count.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: Oh come on Ashley! That was a slow count!

Nick Stuart: Definitely not a slow count. Kuroyama though with a sickening DDT. He’s keeping the pressure up on Colton. These two are putting on a clinic.

Richard Parker: No, Kuroyama is putting on a clinic. The only clinic Colton is putting on is how to get your ass kicked.

Nick Stuart: Sure, Richard, keep telling yourself that.

Kuroyama rises to his feet and brings Colton with him where he connects with an open-handed palm strike. The shot drops Colton to one knee and Kuroyama grabs Colton’s wrist before whipping him into the ropes. He connects with a standing dropkick that sends Colton the mat. As Colton sits up, Kuroyama slips behind him and puts him into a rear chinlock. Colton pushes himself up to his feet, feeling the pressure against his throat, and slams his elbow into the stomach of the Emerald Apex, which is enough to break the hold. Colton then bounces off the ropes and connects with a shoulder tackle that sends Kuroyama crashing to the mat.

Colton bounces off the ropes and Kuroyama lays there as Colton hops over him. Kerry then bounces up to his feet only for Colton to connect with a Lou Thesz Press and wails away with a series of right hands before Kuroyama manages to push Colton off of him. As both men rise, Colton connects with a swift kick to the midsection and follows that up with a swinging neckbreaker. He then covers Kuroyama.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: And Kuroyama almost saw his night ended just like that.

Richard Parker: What match are you watching, Nick? Do you think a swinging neckbreaker is going to put away someone like Kuroyama?

Nick Stuart: Anything is possible.

Richard Parker: Get your head out of your ass, Nick! Get it out of there!

Kuroyama makes his ways to his knees, feeling the effects of the match, and as Colton comes upon him, Kuroyama trips him onto the mat. Before Colton can register what is happening, Kuroyama floats over and gets him into a stepover toehold sleeper!

Nick Stuart: Cascadian Clutch! Kuroyama is tightening his hold and Barlow is checking on Colton.

Richard Parker: If Kuroyama squeezes any tighter, Colton’s eyes are going to pop out. I think this is something I want to see.

Nick Stuart: You are a sick human being.

Richard Parker: No kink shaming.

Colton shakes his head as Kuroyama’s focus tightens on The Next Diamond and drives his forearm into Colton’s neck. Nate reaches out for the bottom rope, but is simply inches away from being able to grab it. Colton inches forward, but as he does, Kuroyama breaks the hold and drags Colton back to the middle of the ring. Before Kerry can lock it back in though, Colton spins around and plants both of his boots into the Emerald Apex’s chest and kicks him to the mat.

Colton rises to his feet and catches a rising Kuroyama with a reverse atomic drop. With Kuroyama stunned, Nate bounces off the ropes and connects with a running forearm that sends Kuroyama stumbling backwards and he crashes through the middle and top rope to land on the ring apron. Colton catches a rising Kuroyama with a right strike and goes to follow it up with a left only for Kerry to block it and connect with a headbutt.

Nick Stuart: These two are just going back and forth with each other.

Richard Parker: Colton keeps cheating and I’m sick and tired of it.

Nick Stuart: I need you to get your eyes checked.

Richard Parker: I can smell the cheating.

Kuroyama tries with an open hand palm strike, but Colton blocks it. He then wraps his arm around the chest of Kerry before he connects with an Exploder Suplex over the top rope and back into the ring. He immediately covers Kuroyama and Barlow begins counting.

ONE!

TWO!

THR— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Colton almost ended it right then and there!

Richard Parker: Kuroyama was just resting.

Nick Stuart: Riiiight.

Richard Parker: Look, you couldn’t fathom the level of intelligence this man has.

Nick Stuart: Riiiiight.

Colton grabs Kuroyama by the back of his neck and pulls him up to his feet before he whips him into the ropes. Colton bends over, looking for a back body drop, but Kuroyama manages to plant his boot into Colton’s chest. Nate shoots up from the shot, but then Kuroyama kicks him in the midsection, doubling him over. Kuroyama then hooks both arms and connects with a double-underhook backbreaker!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!

Colton rolls around on the mat in pain as Kuroyama yanks him to his feet and whips Colton into the ropes before connecting with a discus lariat! He then covers Colton and Barlow begins her count.

ONE!

TWO!

THR— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Close call there for Colton! The Black Tahoma Brekaer into the Squall Line Lariat!

Richard Parker: I need to file a formal complaint with Bolamba. This is ridiculous.

Nick Stuart: I need you to get your eyes checked.

Richard Parker: My eyes? My ears are listening to her hand against the canvas. They are uneven at best!

Nick Stuart: Your brain is uneven.

Kuroyama rises to his feet and plants his boot into the side of Colton’s skull. Nate rolls over from the shot, smarting as he rises to his knees. Kuroyama closes the gap and Nate fires off a right to the abdomen of the Emerald Apex. Kerry is barely phased as he yanks Colton up to his feet and goes to whip him into the ropes. Colton reverses it though into a backslide. Barlow quickly slides into position and begins the count.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: Backslides? We’ve resorted to backslides?!

Nick Stuart: There is nothing wrong with that!

Kuroyama rushes back to his feet after the near fall and takes Colton’s legs out from under him. He grabs both legs and connects with a front flip, with Barlow beginning her count again.

ONE!

TWO!

TH— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Colton bridges up, wrapping his arms around Kuroyama’s waist, and stands up, turning Kerry around in the process. He then lifts him up for a gutwrench slam, but Kuroyama rotates faster than expected and lands on his feet before he pulls Colton into a small package.

ONE!

TWO!

TH— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Colton manages to shift the angle and now he has Kuroyama in a small package.

ONE!

TWO!

TH— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: And Kuroyama manages to kick out this time!

Richard Parker: What is going on? My head is about to split in two.

Both men scramble to their feet and Kuroyama connects with a stiff forearm shot to the face of Colton before whipping him in the ropes. Kuroyama bends over a back body drop, but Colton flips over him and goes for a sunset flip. Kuroyama’s arms flail wildly as he tries to keep his balance before he manages to fall forward, pinning Colton’s shoulders to the mat with his knees.

ONE!

TWO!

THR— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Colton then manages to bring his legs up and hooks them around Kuroyama’s arms before shifting him backward and Barlow begins her count again.

ONE!

TWO!

THR— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: Shoot me now.

Nick Stuart: These two are countering each other at every turn!

Colton and Kuroyama race to their feet. Colton rushes at Kuroyama, who goes for a clothesline. The Next Diamond though ducks underneath, grabbing the outstretched arm and swings his legs up around Kuroyama’s arm before pulling him down for a crucifix pin!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Kuroyama kicks out.

DING DING DING

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: WHOA!

Richard Parker: You have to be kidding me! What a farce!

Nick Stuart: Not even close. That was fair and square!

Colton rises to his feet, surprised the crucifix pin managed to keep Kuroyama down. Ashley Barlow quickly grabs his left wrist and holds it up in victory.

Vince Howard: Your winner… NATE! COLTON!

Colton puts his hands on his hips, a smile on his face, and shakes his head.

Kuroyama sits on the mat, disappointed in the outcome. He rises to his feet and locks eyes with Colton.

Nick Stuart: Hard fought match between these two. They should run this back again.

Richard Parker: Hit him in the face Kerry, kill him!

Nick Stuart: Richard—

Kerry though, extends his arm to Colton. Nate, cautiously, accepts it before Kuroyama exits the ring. Kuroyama walks up the ramp, hands on hips while Colton looks on before he resumes celebrating the victory.

Nick Stuart: Crazy turn of events.

Richard Parker: This whole night is weird.

Nick Stuart: Sure. Before we continue our night, let’s hear from our sponsors!

We cut to commercial.

We cut to Sid Phillips.

Witness his majesty.

He stands before the audience in the backstage area. No one is around him. His hair blows majestically in the wind despite there being no known source of wind anywhere in the area. There is a look in his eyes. You know the look. Everyone knows the look. It’s the look that sends your heart aflutter, carried by cupids that don’t so much shoot you with arrows of love as they do powerbomb your heart into a love-struck oblivion.

His eyebrow raises.

Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me? There is a smolder here like no other. The temperature in the room rises several degrees despite no evidence that anyone has messed with the thermostat. His mouth begins to curl up into a smirk, moving in slow motion. Come to think of it, everything feels like it’s in slow motion.

Something registers in his eyes, as though everything has clicked at once. Before, he’d been a mere himbo. Now, he’s a himbo who acknowledges your presence.

He smolders like a man who doesn’t realize that he could smolder like he does. His sheer sexual energy could register on the Richter scale, which isn’t even meant to register such energy and really we’re just playing Calvinball with the whole thing at this point.

When he speaks, his voice is like a choir of baritone angels. Smoother than silk. Jason Snow, wherever he is now, wishes he could sound like this man.

So, what does he say?

Sid Phillips: Hey.

Oh.

Oh dear.

You might need to check with your doctor. You may be with child now. We’re getting all hot and bothered now. Emphasis on “hot”. Emphasis on “bothered”. Possibly even emphasis on “and”.

Then his attention is diverted.

Two men approach. One of them, a man in a golden mask and a cheap suit. The other is the most annoying man you’ve ever met, with a voice that is definitely lower on the Jason Snow registry for orgasmic voices.

Things turn cold. Ice cold.

The moment has passed.

Joe Fontaine: Hey, bb! You ready?

Sid only nods to Joe.

He pays another glance to the camera.

It’s a promise that this won’t be the last time he’ll smolder for his audience.

For now, powerbombs await.

We cut to Sid Phillips.

Witness his majesty.

He stands before the audience in the backstage area. No one is around him. His hair blows majestically in the wind despite there being no known source of wind anywhere in the area. There is a look in his eyes. You know the look. Everyone knows the look. It’s the look that sends your heart aflutter, carried by cupids that don’t so much shoot you with arrows of love as they do powerbomb your heart into a love-struck oblivion.

His eyebrow raises.

Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me? There is a smolder here like no other. The temperature in the room rises several degrees despite no evidence that anyone has messed with the thermostat. His mouth begins to curl up into a smirk, moving in slow motion. Come to think of it, everything feels like it’s in slow motion.

Something registers in his eyes, as though everything has clicked at once. Before, he’d been a mere himbo. Now, he’s a himbo who acknowledges your presence.

He smolders like a man who doesn’t realize that he could smolder like he does. His sheer sexual energy could register on the Richter scale, which isn’t even meant to register such energy and really we’re just playing Calvinball with the whole thing at this point.

When he speaks, his voice is like a choir of baritone angels. Smoother than silk. Jason Snow, wherever he is now, wishes he could sound like this man.

So, what does he say?

Sid Phillips: Hey.

Oh.

Oh dear.

You might need to check with your doctor. You may be with child now. We’re getting all hot and bothered now. Emphasis on “hot”. Emphasis on “bothered”. Possibly even emphasis on “and”.

Then his attention is diverted.

Two men approach. One of them, a man in a golden mask and a cheap suit. The other is the most annoying man you’ve ever met, with a voice that is definitely lower on the Jason Snow registry for orgasmic voices.

Things turn cold. Ice cold.

The moment has passed.

Joe Fontaine: Hey, bb! You ready?

Sid only nods to Joe.

He pays another glance to the camera.

It’s a promise that this won’t be the last time he’ll smolder for his audience.

For now, powerbombs await.

We cut from that ridiculousness to something a little more typical. A backstage area, Lindsay Troy speaking to someone, and that someone receiving a big cheer.

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!

That someone is New Orleans’ own Jonathan Rhine. The New Life sits forward in his wheelchair, looking up at PRIME’s CEO with a sad look.

Jonathan Rhine: I don’t really know what to do, Lindsay. Gray’s was home to me.

The Queen of the Ring sighs and nods, solemnly.

Lindsay Troy: I know. You’re not one to give up though, Jon, and I’ll do whatever I can to help if you want it.

Rhine looks down at his lap for a moment.

Jonathan Rhine: Well you know how much I hate asking for help…but I would gladly take it in this case. Something needs to be done about…

Rhine stops as he notices Lindsay stare past him down the hall. Slowly, Rhine wheels himself around so he can see who is coming.

The camera pans so that we too can see who it is. And when we do, the fans boo.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Paxton Ray is toweling himself off, recently finishing a win against Rich Patterson. He smiles when he sees the pair at the other side of the hall.

Paxton Ray: Ah, Jon. Jus’ the guy I wanted t’see.

Jonathan opens his mouth to respond, but before he can Lindsay steps in front of him.

Lindsay Troy: Don’t take another step. There’s no way you’re getting within 10 feet of Jon after what you did the last time you wanted to “see him” in an arena in this city.

The Boss is, of course, referring to ReVival 23 when Paxton tried to throw Jon Rhine off the entrance ramp in the Smoothie King Center. It was The New Life’s first appearance back in PRIME since the Bayou Butcher paralyzed him at UltraViolence 2022; a shocking betrayal which left Rhine confined to a wheelchair.

Lindsay snatches her walkie-talkie from her hip and keeps her eyes glued on Paxton.

Lindsay Troy: Dam, I’ve got a situation with Chet’s Boy over by his locker room.

Dametreyus: (after a couple seconds of static) His dumbass kid?

Lindsay Troy: No, the dumbass adult he’s managing.

Dametreyus: Copy. On my way.

Paxton looks from Lindsay to Jon and holds his hands up.

Paxton Ray: Nah, boss, it ain’t like that. I’m done with that. I’m sure you’ve seen me apologizin’ to people the last few months. Figured I’d give the biggest apology left.

Jonathan wheels himself from behind Lindsay and crosses his arms.

Jonathan Rhine: Yeah. I’ve seen your hollow words. I saw Nate accepted them. Jared texted me to say he’s done the same. And I can’t tell my friends how to live their lives or who to forgive and who not to forgive, but I can make my own decisions, and I’ve already made mine.

Footsteps from behind the Queen and the New Life signal the arrival of the cavalry. Dametreyus and a cluster of Enemigos take their positions, with Dam standing to the front right of Jon and the Enemigos gathering on either side of him and the Boss. Bringing up the rear is the Bad Dog, Wade Elliott. A flinty scowl crosses his face as he stands next to Lindsay.

Safe to say that Dam thought it’d be a good idea for him to come along.

Paxton Ray: So I’m guessin’ that’s a no on forgiveness?

Jonathan Rhine: You’re working in a gym that you stole from me with one of the most evil men on the planet. That’s a “fuck you” on forgiveness, Pax.

Paxton Ray: Ya don’t understand. I…

Then the Bayou Butcher shakes his head.

Paxton Ray: Never mind. It don’t matter what the situation is. A friend tol’ me that not every apology gets forgiven, an’ I gotta be okay with that. So we can leave it at that.

He then looks to Lindsay Troy.

Paxton Ray: So now it’s your turn.

Wade instinctively steps in front of her, crossing both arms across his chest.

Wade Elliott: You oughtta think ‘bout slowin’ yer roll, son.

In spite of everything Paxton has been doing recently to try and appear more civilized, he still clenches his fists in response to Wade.

Paxton Ray: First off, I ain’t gonna apologize t’ya, Wade, ‘cause you’re an asshole and I ain’t got the chance t’do nothin’ t’ya, thanks to this one here.

Wade Elliott: (lifting an eyebrow) …thanks fer clearin’ that up. Don’t remember askin’ fer one in th’first place, but hell, if I’m such an asshole…

The Bad Dog drops his arms, and opens his palms.

Wade Elliott: …here’s yer chance.

The Bayou Butcher snarls, and for a moment looks like he may take the offer. He spits to the side, however, and carries on.

Paxton Ray: I ain’t startin’ nothin.’ I’m jus’ tryin’ t’tell my boss and your boss that she ain’t gotta worry ‘bout me tryin’ t’hurt anyone anymore. Jus’ in the ring from now on. An’ that I’m sorry for all the ibuprofen she had t’get ‘cause of the headaches I caused her.

He smiles.

Paxton Ray: She ain’t gotta accept it either, jus’ like he ain’t. But I gotta say it so I can move on. So there it is.

Lindsay Troy: Do you think moving on is as simple as giving an apology, Paxton? After all this?

She steps around Wade, who begrudgingly backs off a bit.

Lindsay Troy: It’s not only what you did to Jon, and it’s not that you caused me headaches. I put my reputation and this company’s reputation on the line by allowing you back after I fired you, and that’s not something I do lightly. Quite frankly, I don’t know if it was worth it. I don’t know if you were worth it, because this apology tour of yours so far has been a lot of talk and not a lot of action.

A couple more steps and she’s eye-to-eye with Paxton.

Lindsay Troy: Nate Colton wasn’t wrong when he told you that you had to prove you were sorry. You’re still a long way off from doing that.

Paxton Ray: That’s fair enough. And I’ll take it and try t’show ya more action. But I do gotta say this. I appreciate ya puttin’ your name on the line. I didn’t before, but I get it now. And in 2024 and goin’ forward, I’m gonna put my name on the line – as a wrestler, as a man, and as a father.

Jonathan Rhine: As a father?

The New Life scoffs.

Jonathan Rhine: You don’t deserve Nora.

Paxton snarls for half a second before smiling and nodding his head.

Paxton Ray: Ya ain’t wrong, Jonny boy. But I’m gonna keep workin’ till one day I might deserve her. Y’all have a good rest’a your night.

Paxton nods to the wall of people between him and Jonathan, then walks back in the other direction. Rhine looks back up at Troy.

Jonathan Rhine: I don’t buy any of it.

Lindsay Troy: Hm.

She taps the walkie-talkie against the side of her leg and watches Paxton disappear. Wade and Dam step closer to her and Jon.

Lindsay Troy: I’m not sure I do either…but I also think something else is going on.

Wade Elliott: If it smells like horse shit, it’s prob’bly horse shit. May wanna keep an extra set’ve eyes on that one, Dam.

Dametreyus nods at his former Co-Head of Security, and Wade offers him another sharp glance.

Wade Elliott: An’ you know where t’find me.

We cut to ringside.

We cut from that ridiculousness to something a little more typical. A backstage area, Lindsay Troy speaking to someone, and that someone receiving a big cheer.

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!

That someone is New Orleans’ own Jonathan Rhine. The New Life sits forward in his wheelchair, looking up at PRIME’s CEO with a sad look.

Jonathan Rhine: I don’t really know what to do, Lindsay. Gray’s was home to me.

The Queen of the Ring sighs and nods, solemnly.

Lindsay Troy: I know. You’re not one to give up though, Jon, and I’ll do whatever I can to help if you want it.

Rhine looks down at his lap for a moment.

Jonathan Rhine: Well you know how much I hate asking for help…but I would gladly take it in this case. Something needs to be done about…

Rhine stops as he notices Lindsay stare past him down the hall. Slowly, Rhine wheels himself around so he can see who is coming.

The camera pans so that we too can see who it is. And when we do, the fans boo.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Paxton Ray is toweling himself off, recently finishing a win against Rich Patterson. He smiles when he sees the pair at the other side of the hall.

Paxton Ray: Ah, Jon. Jus’ the guy I wanted t’see.

Jonathan opens his mouth to respond, but before he can Lindsay steps in front of him.

Lindsay Troy: Don’t take another step. There’s no way you’re getting within 10 feet of Jon after what you did the last time you wanted to “see him” in an arena in this city.

The Boss is, of course, referring to ReVival 23 when Paxton tried to throw Jon Rhine off the entrance ramp in the Smoothie King Center. It was The New Life’s first appearance back in PRIME since the Bayou Butcher paralyzed him at UltraViolence 2022; a shocking betrayal which left Rhine confined to a wheelchair.

Lindsay snatches her walkie-talkie from her hip and keeps her eyes glued on Paxton.

Lindsay Troy: Dam, I’ve got a situation with Chet’s Boy over by his locker room.

Dametreyus: (after a couple seconds of static) His dumbass kid?

Lindsay Troy: No, the dumbass adult he’s managing.

Dametreyus: Copy. On my way.

Paxton looks from Lindsay to Jon and holds his hands up.

Paxton Ray: Nah, boss, it ain’t like that. I’m done with that. I’m sure you’ve seen me apologizin’ to people the last few months. Figured I’d give the biggest apology left.

Jonathan wheels himself from behind Lindsay and crosses his arms.

Jonathan Rhine: Yeah. I’ve seen your hollow words. I saw Nate accepted them. Jared texted me to say he’s done the same. And I can’t tell my friends how to live their lives or who to forgive and who not to forgive, but I can make my own decisions, and I’ve already made mine.

Footsteps from behind the Queen and the New Life signal the arrival of the cavalry. Dametreyus and a cluster of Enemigos take their positions, with Dam standing to the front right of Jon and the Enemigos gathering on either side of him and the Boss. Bringing up the rear is the Bad Dog, Wade Elliott. A flinty scowl crosses his face as he stands next to Lindsay.

Safe to say that Dam thought it’d be a good idea for him to come along.

Paxton Ray: So I’m guessin’ that’s a no on forgiveness?

Jonathan Rhine: You’re working in a gym that you stole from me with one of the most evil men on the planet. That’s a “fuck you” on forgiveness, Pax.

Paxton Ray: Ya don’t understand. I…

Then the Bayou Butcher shakes his head.

Paxton Ray: Never mind. It don’t matter what the situation is. A friend tol’ me that not every apology gets forgiven, an’ I gotta be okay with that. So we can leave it at that.

He then looks to Lindsay Troy.

Paxton Ray: So now it’s your turn.

Wade instinctively steps in front of her, crossing both arms across his chest.

Wade Elliott: You oughtta think ‘bout slowin’ yer roll, son.

In spite of everything Paxton has been doing recently to try and appear more civilized, he still clenches his fists in response to Wade.

Paxton Ray: First off, I ain’t gonna apologize t’ya, Wade, ‘cause you’re an asshole and I ain’t got the chance t’do nothin’ t’ya, thanks to this one here.

Wade Elliott: (lifting an eyebrow) …thanks fer clearin’ that up. Don’t remember askin’ fer one in th’first place, but hell, if I’m such an asshole…

The Bad Dog drops his arms, and opens his palms.

Wade Elliott: …here’s yer chance.

The Bayou Butcher snarls, and for a moment looks like he may take the offer. He spits to the side, however, and carries on.

Paxton Ray: I ain’t startin’ nothin.’ I’m jus’ tryin’ t’tell my boss and your boss that she ain’t gotta worry ‘bout me tryin’ t’hurt anyone anymore. Jus’ in the ring from now on. An’ that I’m sorry for all the ibuprofen she had t’get ‘cause of the headaches I caused her.

He smiles.

Paxton Ray: She ain’t gotta accept it either, jus’ like he ain’t. But I gotta say it so I can move on. So there it is.

Lindsay Troy: Do you think moving on is as simple as giving an apology, Paxton? After all this?

She steps around Wade, who begrudgingly backs off a bit.

Lindsay Troy: It’s not only what you did to Jon, and it’s not that you caused me headaches. I put my reputation and this company’s reputation on the line by allowing you back after I fired you, and that’s not something I do lightly. Quite frankly, I don’t know if it was worth it. I don’t know if you were worth it, because this apology tour of yours so far has been a lot of talk and not a lot of action.

A couple more steps and she’s eye-to-eye with Paxton.

Lindsay Troy: Nate Colton wasn’t wrong when he told you that you had to prove you were sorry. You’re still a long way off from doing that.

Paxton Ray: That’s fair enough. And I’ll take it and try t’show ya more action. But I do gotta say this. I appreciate ya puttin’ your name on the line. I didn’t before, but I get it now. And in 2024 and goin’ forward, I’m gonna put my name on the line – as a wrestler, as a man, and as a father.

Jonathan Rhine: As a father?

The New Life scoffs.

Jonathan Rhine: You don’t deserve Nora.

Paxton snarls for half a second before smiling and nodding his head.

Paxton Ray: Ya ain’t wrong, Jonny boy. But I’m gonna keep workin’ till one day I might deserve her. Y’all have a good rest’a your night.

Paxton nods to the wall of people between him and Jonathan, then walks back in the other direction. Rhine looks back up at Troy.

Jonathan Rhine: I don’t buy any of it.

Lindsay Troy: Hm.

She taps the walkie-talkie against the side of her leg and watches Paxton disappear. Wade and Dam step closer to her and Jon.

Lindsay Troy: I’m not sure I do either…but I also think something else is going on.

Wade Elliott: If it smells like horse shit, it’s prob’bly horse shit. May wanna keep an extra set’ve eyes on that one, Dam.

Dametreyus nods at his former Co-Head of Security, and Wade offers him another sharp glance.

Wade Elliott: An’ you know where t’find me.

We cut to ringside.

The lights go out.

It’s been a very, very long time since anyone’s heard Oingo Boingo’s “Dead Man’s Party” in PRIME, but that’s what’s playing on the PA system in the Superdome.

The spotlights hitting the stage are in three colors: red, green, and gold. The three men standing within their respective spotlights are back-to-back-to-back. Smoke rolls up to their knees as the three men pose and the camera starts to rotate around them.

First up, in the red spotlight, is Sid Phillips. Sid gives the camera a cheeky wink as it passes him by. The camera rotates around to the man in the golden spotlight, none other than the Fabulous Gold Mask. He flexes for the camera, as though we’re supposed to be impressed by muscles that we can’t see because of his cheap ash gray business suit. Finally, the camera rotates towards the man in the green spotlight. He is dabbing because there is no kind and loving god on this planet or else he would have smote Joe Fontaine on the spot for even attempting it.

When the camera makes its full rotation, the spotlights dim and the house lights come on, and the Glue Man Group start making their way to the ring.

Vince Howard: The following contest is a…

Vince Howard audibly sighs in the microphone.

Vince Howard: …Best of One Fall Match…

Vince Howard looks up at the ceiling of the Superdome, truly wishing that he could go back to the time when his card usually reads something stupid like a “total combined height” or whatever.

Vince Howard: …scheduled for… oh, you know. Introducing first! Being accompanied to the ring by the mysterious and handsome Fabulous Gold Mask… (I swear that’s what the card said…) From Phoenix Arizona, they come here tonight at a total combined weight of four hundred and eight-six pounds! JOE FONTAINE! SID PHILLIPS! THE GLUE! MAN! GROOOOOOOUUUUUPPPPP!!!!

Fontaine slides under the ring while Sid Phillips marches up the steps with the weight of three hundred pounds of powerbombing potential. Fabby walks around to the side of the ring facing the hard cam, and when the Glues go to pose on the turnbuckles, he poses on the ring apron.

Richard Parker: Hey, Nick.

Nick Stuart: Yeah?

Richard Parker: Do you have any idea who that strange masked man is?

Nick Stuart: I was going to ask you if you had any clue.

Richard Parker: I can tell you who it isn’t.

Nick Stuart: Who?

Richard Parker: Anyone who isn’t a member of the Glueminati, duh! He’s covered in gold! Ain’t nobody who’s Glue has ever been goldless!

A trap remix of the Soviet Anthem begins to play, signaling the arrival of the Masters of the Moscowverse to a bunch of booing from the crowd…about as much for the simple fact they’re aligned with Ivan Stanislav as anything else, but it doesn’t help that Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz come to the ring holding giant Soviet Union flags, waving them around to raise the ire of the crowd even further.

Vince Howard: Representing the Red Army, at a combined weight of 336 pounds…

Vince stops as a stagehand at ringside hands him a notecard, forcing the announcer to give him a cold stare before reading the card with a sigh while the Masters make their way toward the ring with Alexei walking close behind, rooting them on.

Vince Howard: …and at a combined height of 11 feet and 7 inches, they are the team of Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz…the MASTERS OF THE MOSCOWVERSE!

The crowd boo the fact that some poor intern had to do math to figure that number out, as Kenny and Randall wave their flags one more time before handing them off to Alexei. The duo step into the ring, taunting the crowd some more as Alexei safely carries the Soviet flags to the back.

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: Joe Fontaine and Randall Schwartz start us off in the ring.

Richard Parker: And I’m sure The Masters of the Moscowverse will try to keep it that way. Nobody wants to deal with Sloth that learned to powerbomb over there.

Nick Stuart: That comment is awful on many levels. Here we go, folks, the two lock up with Fontaine taking the early momentum pushing Schwartz towards Sid Phillips in Glue Man Group’s corner.

Fontaine lays a number of elbows into the face of Randall Schwartz. A disgusting number. Probably like five.

Richard Parker: I see Fontaine has really expanded his move base. Great to see.

Nick Stuart: And Jimmy Turnbull is getting in there to break it up. Fontaine puts his hands out and begins to back away.

Richard Parker: About time Jimmy earned his paychec-WHOA! Big kick to the stunads from Fontaine.

Sid reaches his hand out for the tag and Fontaine is just about to make contact when Freeman charges with a running dropkick from across the ring. Both members of the MotM slip out of the ring as Sid charges in the ring, looking to powerbomb. He looks at Jimmy Turnbull and his head cocks to the side, like that of a dog questioning an intruder. The ref’s eyes get wide and he wags his finger at Sid.

Richard Parker: Ah, look at the dejected Powerbomb Daddy leaving the ring like a dog who crapped on the floor.

Nick Stuart: Fontaine back to his feet now as Schwartz re-enters the ring and they lock up again. Schwartz tugs Fontaine off into a headlock, wearing his stamina down with each…

Richard Parker: He does what to him?

Nick Stuart: Well, right now he’s dragging him over to tag in Freeman. And there it is. Schwartz holds Fontaine while Freeman delivers a succession of blows to the ribs. They’re really wearing Fontaine down.

As Schwartz exits the ring, Randall Freeman tosses Joe Cool into the ropes looking for a standing lariat. At the last second Fontaine hits the splits and lands a vicious blast to the manhood of The Entertainer.

Richard Parker: Fontaine handing out nard punches like a Soviet bread line tonight! Peace, land, and nard punches.

Nick Stuart: Smooth Joe Cool bounces off the ropes for a springboard body press. Quick recovery by Freeman but Fontaine is quicker, going for a kick to the stomach. Nope! Freeman caught it.

They dance around the ring for a few seconds, Randall holding onto Joe’s foot trying to maneuver him and Joe bouncing on one foot. It’s evident Randall is trying to bring Freeman over to Schwartz for the tag and some type of double team maneuver.

Nick Stuart: There’s the tag.. OH NO! Joe Fontaine lands a swift enziguri when Freeman looks to his partner for the tag. He’s following it up with a fury of low blows.

Richard Parker: He’s using Freeman’s crotch like a speed bag. The speed he’s landing those shots is just insane.

Nick Stuart: Ooh, Fontaine is laid out with a kick to the chest from Schwartz. It looks like Jimmy Turnbull is saying the tag was made. Fontaine was rocked by that kick and he’s trying to make his way over to Sid for a tag.

Giant Sid Phillips stands on the bottom rope, leaning in the ring with his hand and shaking it up and down. Fontaine reaches out and takes a few steps forward, just to have Randall Schwartz grab him into a sleeper hold from behind.

Nick Stuart: Sid Phillips just barely missed that tag and we can see the big man is just dying to get in dole out some powerbomb love.

Richard Parker: I swear it seems like all these Moscow guys do is rest. Every offensive move is just them leaning on the other person panting.

Nick Stuart: Fontaine is trying to fight the sleeper, but Randall really has his hands locked in on the windpipe. It looks like his eyes are starting to roll back and he’s down on one knee now.

Schwartz pulls back with all of his momentum, trying his best to crush the windpipe of Dick Puncher the Invincible. The fans are screaming for Fontaine to get up because even the Gluemanati is more loved than communism in New Orleans.

Nick Stuart: It looks like this might be over, folks. Fontaine is nearly out.

Fontaine raises a fist in the air and the fans erupt in cheers. Randall Schwartz moves his head East and West in disbelief. As the fans cheer and scream Fontaine seems to be charging the hand up, shaking.

Richard Parker: And Fontaine comes to life, grabbing onto the State Diamond Fund of Randall the Red!

Nick Stuart: As Schwartz lets go of the sleeper trying to protect himself and Fontaine capitalizes, reaching back to pull Randall’s head into his shoulder. With a running start he ladders up the turnbuckle and twists off the top! OH MY GOD!

Like a leaf falling into a river Fontaine moves through the air, nailing a perfect jawbreaker. Upon impact Schwartz bounces to a near stand before falling face first again. Fontaine is slow to recover given all of the dick punching he has done. Both men lay on the ground, which cues the ever dramatic slow count by Jimmy Turnbull.

1…

2…

3…

Almost immediately, like at a 4 count so not really immediately, but almost – both Sid and Kenny try to enter the ring. Turnbull tries his damndest to stop the pandemonium, but really focuses his efforts on stopping the Powerbomb Gorilla as he knows no good can come from unleashing the Thermonuclear Powerbomber. Freeman uses this opportunity to help Schwartz to his feet.

Nick Stuart: The Peasants’ Army picks up Joe Fontaine and toss him into the ropes together to set up a double clothesline.

Richard Parker: DOUBLE NUT KICK! Fontaine telegraphed it and dropped down for a little redux of the Nutcracker!

Nick Stuart: All three men are down now. Sid is dying in the corner. He’s leaning all the way over, leg looped in the rope to keep himself falling in. Turnbull tries to tell Sid he needs to get back and somehow Fontaine has managed to get up. Freeman to his knees now and Fontaine charges!

With style and grace, Joe Fontaine leaps in mid air and dabs, almost in slow motion. Think McQueen flying through the wreckage in Cars ™ .

Richard Parker: Fontaine of Youth! This has got to be it.

Nick Stuart: And there it is, The Chocolate Fontaine! No, wait! Alexei has pulled Sid Phillip’s legs out from underneath him. Oooh, a vicious powerbomb to Alexei and Turnbull is trying to maintain some semblance of order.

Richard Parker: Schwartz is up on his feet and laying boots into the face of Joe Fontaine. That’s it, Fontaine is out. Freeman up on his feet and he locks in the Kenny Freeman Special.

The ref turns around just as Freeman slides out of the ring. Fontaine is in a world of pain, writhing and screaming. He holds his hand up, trying to will himself not to tap.

Richard Parker: Call in the dogs and put out the fire, this is over.

Just as it looks like Fontaine is going to tap, Sid somehow manages to reach far enough to make contact with Joe’s hand.

Nick Stuart: There it is! Freeman was so focused on getting the move locked in that he didn’t see how close they were to the corner.

Richard Parker: The Guns of the Navarone are loaded with powerbombs and they’re about to reign hellfire down on Moscow.

A sadistic smile crosses Sid’s face as he climbs into the ring. Poor Kenny has not realized that the tag happened. Alexei and Schwartz point and scream, trying to warn their comrade. But, alas, it is to no avail. Everyone in the arena waits with bated breath in anticipation as Sid charges and…

Nick Stuart: Oh my god! Sid lands an elbow smash?

Richard Parker: Was that a question?

Nick Stuart: There it is. Powerbomb for Freeman who bounces off the mat. He reaches out and tags Schwartz in, who waves it off saying no thanks. Jimmy Turnbull is yelling at Schwartz that this was a legal tag and he needs to get in the ring.

Knowing the iron resolve of communists, Sid doesn’t wait for Schwartz to concede to diplomacy. Instead he steps on to the ring apron and delivers Schwartz into the ring with a powerbomb over the ropes. For the next three minutes Sid goes back and forth between the MotM. Russians are flying everywhere. More bombs are dropping on the MotM than at Stalingrad.

Nick Stuart: It looks like The Powerbomb Train has run out of steam. Sid is panting as he makes his way to tag in Fontaine. As Fontaine moves into the ring, moonwalking his way to Schwartz mind you, Sid delivers one last powerbomb to remove Freeman from the ring.

Richard Parker: Chocolate Fontaine. At this point he’s just adding salt to the wound.

Nick Stuart: It doesn’t take long, there’s the tap. Jimmy Turnbull calls for the bell.

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Your winners by One Fall….. Theeeeee GLUE MAN GROUP!

We then cut to commercial.

The lights go out.

It’s been a very, very long time since anyone’s heard Oingo Boingo’s “Dead Man’s Party” in PRIME, but that’s what’s playing on the PA system in the Superdome.

The spotlights hitting the stage are in three colors: red, green, and gold. The three men standing within their respective spotlights are back-to-back-to-back. Smoke rolls up to their knees as the three men pose and the camera starts to rotate around them.

First up, in the red spotlight, is Sid Phillips. Sid gives the camera a cheeky wink as it passes him by. The camera rotates around to the man in the golden spotlight, none other than the Fabulous Gold Mask. He flexes for the camera, as though we’re supposed to be impressed by muscles that we can’t see because of his cheap ash gray business suit. Finally, the camera rotates towards the man in the green spotlight. He is dabbing because there is no kind and loving god on this planet or else he would have smote Joe Fontaine on the spot for even attempting it.

When the camera makes its full rotation, the spotlights dim and the house lights come on, and the Glue Man Group start making their way to the ring.

Vince Howard: The following contest is a…

Vince Howard audibly sighs in the microphone.

Vince Howard: …Best of One Fall Match…

Vince Howard looks up at the ceiling of the Superdome, truly wishing that he could go back to the time when his card usually reads something stupid like a “total combined height” or whatever.

Vince Howard: …scheduled for… oh, you know. Introducing first! Being accompanied to the ring by the mysterious and handsome Fabulous Gold Mask… (I swear that’s what the card said…) From Phoenix Arizona, they come here tonight at a total combined weight of four hundred and eight-six pounds! JOE FONTAINE! SID PHILLIPS! THE GLUE! MAN! GROOOOOOOUUUUUPPPPP!!!!

Fontaine slides under the ring while Sid Phillips marches up the steps with the weight of three hundred pounds of powerbombing potential. Fabby walks around to the side of the ring facing the hard cam, and when the Glues go to pose on the turnbuckles, he poses on the ring apron.

Richard Parker: Hey, Nick.

Nick Stuart: Yeah?

Richard Parker: Do you have any idea who that strange masked man is?

Nick Stuart: I was going to ask you if you had any clue.

Richard Parker: I can tell you who it isn’t.

Nick Stuart: Who?

Richard Parker: Anyone who isn’t a member of the Glueminati, duh! He’s covered in gold! Ain’t nobody who’s Glue has ever been goldless!

A trap remix of the Soviet Anthem begins to play, signaling the arrival of the Masters of the Moscowverse to a bunch of booing from the crowd…about as much for the simple fact they’re aligned with Ivan Stanislav as anything else, but it doesn’t help that Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz come to the ring holding giant Soviet Union flags, waving them around to raise the ire of the crowd even further.

Vince Howard: Representing the Red Army, at a combined weight of 336 pounds…

Vince stops as a stagehand at ringside hands him a notecard, forcing the announcer to give him a cold stare before reading the card with a sigh while the Masters make their way toward the ring with Alexei walking close behind, rooting them on.

Vince Howard: …and at a combined height of 11 feet and 7 inches, they are the team of Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz…the MASTERS OF THE MOSCOWVERSE!

The crowd boo the fact that some poor intern had to do math to figure that number out, as Kenny and Randall wave their flags one more time before handing them off to Alexei. The duo step into the ring, taunting the crowd some more as Alexei safely carries the Soviet flags to the back.

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: Joe Fontaine and Randall Schwartz start us off in the ring.

Richard Parker: And I’m sure The Masters of the Moscowverse will try to keep it that way. Nobody wants to deal with Sloth that learned to powerbomb over there.

Nick Stuart: That comment is awful on many levels. Here we go, folks, the two lock up with Fontaine taking the early momentum pushing Schwartz towards Sid Phillips in Glue Man Group’s corner.

Fontaine lays a number of elbows into the face of Randall Schwartz. A disgusting number. Probably like five.

Richard Parker: I see Fontaine has really expanded his move base. Great to see.

Nick Stuart: And Jimmy Turnbull is getting in there to break it up. Fontaine puts his hands out and begins to back away.

Richard Parker: About time Jimmy earned his paychec-WHOA! Big kick to the stunads from Fontaine.

Sid reaches his hand out for the tag and Fontaine is just about to make contact when Freeman charges with a running dropkick from across the ring. Both members of the MotM slip out of the ring as Sid charges in the ring, looking to powerbomb. He looks at Jimmy Turnbull and his head cocks to the side, like that of a dog questioning an intruder. The ref’s eyes get wide and he wags his finger at Sid.

Richard Parker: Ah, look at the dejected Powerbomb Daddy leaving the ring like a dog who crapped on the floor.

Nick Stuart: Fontaine back to his feet now as Schwartz re-enters the ring and they lock up again. Schwartz tugs Fontaine off into a headlock, wearing his stamina down with each…

Richard Parker: He does what to him?

Nick Stuart: Well, right now he’s dragging him over to tag in Freeman. And there it is. Schwartz holds Fontaine while Freeman delivers a succession of blows to the ribs. They’re really wearing Fontaine down.

As Schwartz exits the ring, Randall Freeman tosses Joe Cool into the ropes looking for a standing lariat. At the last second Fontaine hits the splits and lands a vicious blast to the manhood of The Entertainer.

Richard Parker: Fontaine handing out nard punches like a Soviet bread line tonight! Peace, land, and nard punches.

Nick Stuart: Smooth Joe Cool bounces off the ropes for a springboard body press. Quick recovery by Freeman but Fontaine is quicker, going for a kick to the stomach. Nope! Freeman caught it.

They dance around the ring for a few seconds, Randall holding onto Joe’s foot trying to maneuver him and Joe bouncing on one foot. It’s evident Randall is trying to bring Freeman over to Schwartz for the tag and some type of double team maneuver.

Nick Stuart: There’s the tag.. OH NO! Joe Fontaine lands a swift enziguri when Freeman looks to his partner for the tag. He’s following it up with a fury of low blows.

Richard Parker: He’s using Freeman’s crotch like a speed bag. The speed he’s landing those shots is just insane.

Nick Stuart: Ooh, Fontaine is laid out with a kick to the chest from Schwartz. It looks like Jimmy Turnbull is saying the tag was made. Fontaine was rocked by that kick and he’s trying to make his way over to Sid for a tag.

Giant Sid Phillips stands on the bottom rope, leaning in the ring with his hand and shaking it up and down. Fontaine reaches out and takes a few steps forward, just to have Randall Schwartz grab him into a sleeper hold from behind.

Nick Stuart: Sid Phillips just barely missed that tag and we can see the big man is just dying to get in dole out some powerbomb love.

Richard Parker: I swear it seems like all these Moscow guys do is rest. Every offensive move is just them leaning on the other person panting.

Nick Stuart: Fontaine is trying to fight the sleeper, but Randall really has his hands locked in on the windpipe. It looks like his eyes are starting to roll back and he’s down on one knee now.

Schwartz pulls back with all of his momentum, trying his best to crush the windpipe of Dick Puncher the Invincible. The fans are screaming for Fontaine to get up because even the Gluemanati is more loved than communism in New Orleans.

Nick Stuart: It looks like this might be over, folks. Fontaine is nearly out.

Fontaine raises a fist in the air and the fans erupt in cheers. Randall Schwartz moves his head East and West in disbelief. As the fans cheer and scream Fontaine seems to be charging the hand up, shaking.

Richard Parker: And Fontaine comes to life, grabbing onto the State Diamond Fund of Randall the Red!

Nick Stuart: As Schwartz lets go of the sleeper trying to protect himself and Fontaine capitalizes, reaching back to pull Randall’s head into his shoulder. With a running start he ladders up the turnbuckle and twists off the top! OH MY GOD!

Like a leaf falling into a river Fontaine moves through the air, nailing a perfect jawbreaker. Upon impact Schwartz bounces to a near stand before falling face first again. Fontaine is slow to recover given all of the dick punching he has done. Both men lay on the ground, which cues the ever dramatic slow count by Jimmy Turnbull.

1…

2…

3…

Almost immediately, like at a 4 count so not really immediately, but almost – both Sid and Kenny try to enter the ring. Turnbull tries his damndest to stop the pandemonium, but really focuses his efforts on stopping the Powerbomb Gorilla as he knows no good can come from unleashing the Thermonuclear Powerbomber. Freeman uses this opportunity to help Schwartz to his feet.

Nick Stuart: The Peasants’ Army picks up Joe Fontaine and toss him into the ropes together to set up a double clothesline.

Richard Parker: DOUBLE NUT KICK! Fontaine telegraphed it and dropped down for a little redux of the Nutcracker!

Nick Stuart: All three men are down now. Sid is dying in the corner. He’s leaning all the way over, leg looped in the rope to keep himself falling in. Turnbull tries to tell Sid he needs to get back and somehow Fontaine has managed to get up. Freeman to his knees now and Fontaine charges!

With style and grace, Joe Fontaine leaps in mid air and dabs, almost in slow motion. Think McQueen flying through the wreckage in Cars ™ .

Richard Parker: Fontaine of Youth! This has got to be it.

Nick Stuart: And there it is, The Chocolate Fontaine! No, wait! Alexei has pulled Sid Phillip’s legs out from underneath him. Oooh, a vicious powerbomb to Alexei and Turnbull is trying to maintain some semblance of order.

Richard Parker: Schwartz is up on his feet and laying boots into the face of Joe Fontaine. That’s it, Fontaine is out. Freeman up on his feet and he locks in the Kenny Freeman Special.

The ref turns around just as Freeman slides out of the ring. Fontaine is in a world of pain, writhing and screaming. He holds his hand up, trying to will himself not to tap.

Richard Parker: Call in the dogs and put out the fire, this is over.

Just as it looks like Fontaine is going to tap, Sid somehow manages to reach far enough to make contact with Joe’s hand.

Nick Stuart: There it is! Freeman was so focused on getting the move locked in that he didn’t see how close they were to the corner.

Richard Parker: The Guns of the Navarone are loaded with powerbombs and they’re about to reign hellfire down on Moscow.

A sadistic smile crosses Sid’s face as he climbs into the ring. Poor Kenny has not realized that the tag happened. Alexei and Schwartz point and scream, trying to warn their comrade. But, alas, it is to no avail. Everyone in the arena waits with bated breath in anticipation as Sid charges and…

Nick Stuart: Oh my god! Sid lands an elbow smash?

Richard Parker: Was that a question?

Nick Stuart: There it is. Powerbomb for Freeman who bounces off the mat. He reaches out and tags Schwartz in, who waves it off saying no thanks. Jimmy Turnbull is yelling at Schwartz that this was a legal tag and he needs to get in the ring.

Knowing the iron resolve of communists, Sid doesn’t wait for Schwartz to concede to diplomacy. Instead he steps on to the ring apron and delivers Schwartz into the ring with a powerbomb over the ropes. For the next three minutes Sid goes back and forth between the MotM. Russians are flying everywhere. More bombs are dropping on the MotM than at Stalingrad.

Nick Stuart: It looks like The Powerbomb Train has run out of steam. Sid is panting as he makes his way to tag in Fontaine. As Fontaine moves into the ring, moonwalking his way to Schwartz mind you, Sid delivers one last powerbomb to remove Freeman from the ring.

Richard Parker: Chocolate Fontaine. At this point he’s just adding salt to the wound.

Nick Stuart: It doesn’t take long, there’s the tap. Jimmy Turnbull calls for the bell.

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Your winners by One Fall….. Theeeeee GLUE MAN GROUP!

We then cut to commercial.

The screen fades up from black to show the smiling face and bespoke outfit of “Rock & Roll” Johnny Belmont, beloved wrestling legend.

Then, a voice-over.

“The founder of our organization, Jonathan Belmont, had two great loves in his life…professional wrestling, and rock & roll music.”

His personal history says otherwise, but that’s not something we’re going to get into for this commercial.

“At their heart, these things are very similar. They are the pursuit of a dream.”

Another still, this time of Johnny at the height of his popularity. Shaking hands with rock stars, actors, and…is that the Pope?

“The dream of performing in front of thousands of screaming fans, to gain the love and adoration of millions all over the world. Not just to live, but to be larger than life. A taste of immortality.”

The night of his final match, Belmont stands in the ring in the middle of the Los Angeles Coliseum, his arms outstretched, soaking in the cheers from the massive crowd.

“In two weeks, we will announce the field for this year’s tournament. Thirty-two hopeful souls who will get the chance to live that dream.”

Pictures from the first few years of the Belmont Classic, where the charismatic legend shook hands and smiled with many of the young hopefuls who competed in those years.

“At the end of the year, they will gather…and whoever wants it the most, whoever is willing to shed their blood, sweat, and tears, whoever can show the most skill, talent, determination and heart…they will see that dream come true.”

THE BELMONT CLASSIC

Chaifetz Arena

St. Louis, MO

December 28-30, 2023

The heart of rock & roll is still beating.

The screen fades up from black to show the smiling face and bespoke outfit of “Rock & Roll” Johnny Belmont, beloved wrestling legend.

Then, a voice-over.

“The founder of our organization, Jonathan Belmont, had two great loves in his life…professional wrestling, and rock & roll music.”

His personal history says otherwise, but that’s not something we’re going to get into for this commercial.

“At their heart, these things are very similar. They are the pursuit of a dream.”

Another still, this time of Johnny at the height of his popularity. Shaking hands with rock stars, actors, and…is that the Pope?

“The dream of performing in front of thousands of screaming fans, to gain the love and adoration of millions all over the world. Not just to live, but to be larger than life. A taste of immortality.”

The night of his final match, Belmont stands in the ring in the middle of the Los Angeles Coliseum, his arms outstretched, soaking in the cheers from the massive crowd.

“In two weeks, we will announce the field for this year’s tournament. Thirty-two hopeful souls who will get the chance to live that dream.”

Pictures from the first few years of the Belmont Classic, where the charismatic legend shook hands and smiled with many of the young hopefuls who competed in those years.

“At the end of the year, they will gather…and whoever wants it the most, whoever is willing to shed their blood, sweat, and tears, whoever can show the most skill, talent, determination and heart…they will see that dream come true.”

THE BELMONT CLASSIC

Chaifetz Arena

St. Louis, MO

December 28-30, 2023

The heart of rock & roll is still beating.

WHEN MY BACK’S TO THE WALLLL!!!

I!! 

WILL!!

CON!!

QUER!!

In an evening full of over-the-top entrances, the battering, explosive noise from “Daggers” stays true to many nights before. The PRIME*View showcases a shaking camera, being pulled toward a gargantuan black hole as planets and stars burst and implode. Blinding flash bulbs erupt one by one, bathing the Superdome in white light.

And yet, it’s somehow heavier. Hits the ears harder. The bass thundering into the chest deeper.

Vince Howard: New Orleans, welcome to our next match!!

“I SEE THE MOUNTAIN AHEAD, I FEEL THE THUNDER ROAR!
I HEAR THE FURY WITHIN, BUT LOUDER THAN BEFORE!”

Emerging from a wall of white light at the top of the ramp, the broad silhouette of the Comeback Kid.

Vince Howard: From West Linn, Oregon!

Stepping forward, Hayes Hanlon, dark-eyed with a stoic, thousand-mile stare.

And curiously, wearing a black “Fighting for Jonathan” t-shirt, not seen since ReVival 16.

He makes way. A steady march, mustache locked in place, ignoring the cacophony of noise. If the building is booing the young man, you’d never know.

Nick Stuart: It’s been a long and winding road for the Event Horizon. A rookie year chock full of gold, and sophomore season coming up short.

Richard Parker: And for the better, Nick. Hayes has shown us his true colors, and what he’s willing to do to get back on top. Only a matter of time before he does.

Nick Stuart: Maybe, but will his new friends in Glue make room?

Stepping into the ring, normally Hayes would climb the buckle. Instead, he stands center-ring, and stands powerful against the flickering lights.

Vince Howard: Former Five Star Champion! Former two-time Universal Champion! Standing six feet, three inches tall and weighing in at two-hundred and sixty-five pounds! The Comeback Kid! The Event Horizon!

“DRAW! THE! DAGGER!!

Vince Howard: HAAAAYYYYEESSSSSSSS…

No fist in the air. No dragging the thumb across the neck.

Vince Howard: HAAANNNLLLONNNNN!!!!!

Just eyes on the entrance ramp. Waiting for Sykes. Then, darkness.

The steady pulse of a heartbeat sounds through the Superdome, accompanied by white line art of a heart on the screen, still dripping and looking like it was freshly pulled from someone’s chest. It throbs in time with the sounds coming through the arena speakers, rapidly building until the last beat sounds in time with a single note that rumbles through the building.

Northlane. “Plenty.”

In that same moment, the blue outline of a claw appears on the screen and punctures the heart with its talons, as the rest of the monster takes shape. This dragon is wingless, and more lithe and serpentine than what fantasy has trained us on, with a heavy chitin shell over its brow and along its jaws. Two ridges of bony spines jut from its back where wings should be. Its body slithers around the heart, clutching it close in a greedy embrace.

The notes of the song fade, soon replaced by a synth line over a steady electronic pulse.

The Browning. “Skybreaker.”

And then, just as it did in Madison Square Garden last year, it begins snowing in the Superdome over the entrance.

Lost dreams not forgotten
They lie just beyond fear

Jared Sykes appears first as a shadow in the storm. There’s no grand entrance, no special ring gear. The hood of his sweatshirt is pulled up over his head, eyes peering out underneath in between wayward strands of pink. His hands are buried firmly in his pockets as he walks to the ring. Beneath the sweatshirt peeks out a grey tee, faded from age. Much of the printing has flecked away over time, but what remains shows a muscular cowboy with a powerful mustache and a shiny silver sheriff’s badge.

Vince Howard: And his opponent… Accompanied to the ring by Justine Calvin, and hailing from Boston, Massachusetts, he weighs in tonight at an even two-hundred pounds…

Held down by corruption
Never be controlled by fear
(Shatter the sky, shatter the sky)

Beside Jared appears Justine Calvin. She whispers something to her partner as they walk down the aisle, but the camera doesn’t pick it up. Jared simply nods, never taking his eyes off of the ring, or the man inside it.

Without failure we cannot evolve
We rise from the fall

Vince Howard: He is one half of THE longest-reigning tag team champions in PRRRRRRRRRRIME history…

With your back against the wall
We will rise above them all
(Shatter the sky, shatter the sky)

Jared hops onto the ring apron in a single bound and leans over the top rope, letting his arms hang free.

Failure is not fatal
Through struggle we fight, survival
Success is not final
Shatter the sky, shatter the sky
SKYBREAKER!!!!

And then, an eruption of light and sound. The arena is bathed in white, and in a flash the sweatshirt and tee are off, revealing a black band around his bicep. Written in white letters is “KOS” followed by a crudely-drawn crown and the letters “DG”, in memory of Dave Gibson.

Vince Howard: JARRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED SYYYYYYYYYYYYKES!!!!!

The music finally fades out, and leaves only the roaring New Orleans crowd. The two men are in the center of the ring, staring each other down.

And after many, many tense moments, Hayes reaches down and slowly pulls off his “Fighting for Jonathan” shirt. Sykes doesn’t give him an inch, and Hayes holds the shirt loose in his hands.

Nick Stuart: That’s the fighting for Jonathan shirt…

That is, until he drops it at the feet of the Dragonslayer.

Richard Parker: Yeah, to hell with that shirt!

Jared glances down at the canvas, recognizing the shirt at his feet for what it is. What it signifies. He purses his lips, offers a slow nod, and mouths the words, “Okay then.”

Nick Stuart: Hayes Hanlon turned his back on Jared Sykes at UltraViolence.

Richard Parker: And into the waiting arms of GLUE! Cecilworth Farthington pulled off the greatest coup in professional wrestling when he was able to bring Hayes Hanlon in.

Nick Stuart: Well, I think last night Cecilworth Farthington found out what it was like to be surprised just like everyone else.

Richard Parker: Go fuck yourself, Nick.

DING DING 

Nick Stuart: Glad we’re on Pay-Per-View.

Richard Parker: It’s been a long weekend, somehow I ended up out on the town wearing a pig mask walking around New Orleans.

Nick Stuart: Oh… Don’t tell people that.

Don’t worry folks, you’re not missing much in the ring. Just Hayes Hanlon and Jared Sykes staring literal holes through each other’s eyeballs. It’s like a Cyclops mirror match and the two men are just standing there trying to see who’s laser beam glare is more powerful.

SYKES! SYKES SYKES! 

Richard Parker: His name is Jarry god damnit, you heard the boss. Tell these idiots to shut up.

Nick Stuart: Don’t they pay our wages?

Richard Parker: And they like it when I yell at them Nick, get with the program.

Hanlon breaks the staring match first going for a quick single leg but Sykes deftly dodges the betrayal this time and pauses for a moment. Hayes regroups and smirks, walking towards the center of the ring. Hanlon’s lips begin moving aggressively at Jared as he walks to the center of the Colossus logo and points. He waves Sykes forward, but Sykes just returns a grin.

Richard Parker: Look at the cowardly Jared Sykes. Standing across the ring and mocking Hayes’ attempt to fight him.

Nick Stuart: I think walking to the center of the ring and trading fists with a man that outweighs you by 64 pounds is a smart decision, and for Jared a marked improvement at the game of staying alive.

Richard Parker: So you’re saying he’s an idiot?

Nick Stuart: I’m saying that Jared Sykes fears nothing, Richard. He’s just being smart about his approach here.

Sykes brushes his hair out of his face, and removes his hand just in time to see Hayes stepping forward going for another takedown. This time Sykes side-steps and then lunges forward looking for a knee to the side of Hanlon’s skull. The Event Horizon manages to turn away at the last second and Sykes’ knee brushes by Hayes’ hair, an inch away from connecting. Hanlon spins around and shows his explosiveness to accelerate into Sykes and push him backwards into the corner.

Richard Parker: Finally trapped him.

Hanlon keeps his shoulder planted in Sykes’ midsection, he pulls himself backward, then lunges forward with a heavy shoulder to the PRIME tag team champion’s midsection. Hanlon lunges a second time, then a third. He steps back to the center of the ring and comes sprinting in looking for a fourth shoulder slam but Sykes moves to the side like a bullfighter and sends Hayes bucking into the turnbuckle. Hayes spins around and rushes towards Sykes, but Jared once again maneuvers away from the former Universal Champion.

Nick Stuart: Sykes is just a step ahead of Hayes this evening.

Richard Parker: He hasn’t even hurt him yet.

Hayes spins himself out of the corner and catches a dropkick to the chest that sends him right back into the turnbuckle. Sykes is up in a hurry, and slams a blistering chop across Hanlon’s chest.

OOOOH!

Nick Stuart: What a chop from Sykes.

Then a second.

OOOOOOOOH! 

Nick Stuart: Hasn’t hurt him, did you hear the sound of that?

Richard Parker: Hayes Hanlon is solid lean muscle now that he’s glue, he’s like a living terminator. He’ll be fine.

Sykes winds up for a third, but Hanlon looks to fire back with a forearm. Jared manages to duck out of the way and sends the big man stumbling down the ropes grasping at air. Sykes trots away backwards and readies himself for the next assault. Hayes regroups in the far corner, he adjusts his boots before making his way back to the center of the ring.

Richard Parker: Sykes’ is running, Hayes is in the center of the ring, effectively cutting half of the ring off from Jarry.

Nick Stuart: Yes, yes he is. A little more deliberate strategy for Hayes this time.

Hayes waits, Sykes waits, the two stare each other down for a second time. Jared begins to pace along the ropes and Hayes takes a step towards Sykes who backs away, Hanlon takes a step forward on his way into the corner but Sykes manages to go around the immovable thicc boi that is Hayes Hanlon who is left swinging a forearm at the ghost of Jared Sykes.

Nick Stuart: Jared is really running Hayes around tonight.

Richard Parker: Jarry is a coward, we already know that.

Hayes comes back away from the ropes and manages to block another attempted knee from the Golden Ticket holder. This time with the rising knee Hayes manages to catch it with his chest and yank Jared in closer, he spins and plants Jared to the canvas with a spinebuster.

Richard Parker: There we go! Caught him for real that time!

Nick Stuart: Big spinebuster by Hanlon let’s see how he capitalizes.

Hayes immediately is up and delivers a boot into Sykes’ rib cage. Jared rolls away from Hanlon, but Hayes grabs him by the hair and yanks him up to his feet. He finally drives a forearm into Sykes’ chest and neck that sends Jared reeling backwards. The Event Horizon rushes forward with a violent and mat shuddering spear. He drives Sykes into the canvas and pushes himself on top of Sykes. Barlow slides in for the count.

ONE!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think you get to finish Jared Sykes off that easy.

KICKOUT!

Hayes smirks and gets to his feet, but Sykes follows him. Hanlon fires a forearm but Sykes absorbs it and fires two back into Hanlon’s chest. Hayes stumbles backwards, and Sykes drives a left hook into Hanlon’s liver that sends him wobbling. Calvin punches the air with a second hook on the outside as she shouts, and Sykes drives another left hook to the body home. Hanlon collapses backwards into the corner and Jared heads to the Colossus logo in the center, he takes a few steps and explodes into the corner with a running forearm.

Nick Stuart: Big forearm!

Jared grabs Hanlon by the arm and whips him, but Hanlon reverses and instead sends Sykes into the corner. Hanlon follows behind, but Sykes gets to the corner and elevates himself using the top rope as a brace while Hanlon crashes into the corner. Sykes lands behind Hayes, rips him out of the corner and drops him to the canvas with a quick neckbreaker.

Nick Stuart: And the neckbreaker, Jared Sykes is just way ahead of Hayes Hanlon tonight. You have to imagine the Glulission is still looming in his mind.

Richard Parker: Did you just invent a word?

Nick Stuart: It says it’s called Glulission right here in these notes I have.

Richard Parker: Lemme see those.

Sykes is back up to his feet and Hayes follows behind him, holding his neck. Jared rips off another chop to Hayes’ chest.

OOOOOOOOH! 

Hayes stumbles backwards, he fires off a forearm to Sykes that connects. Jared pulls back for another chop but Hanlon kicks him right in the stomach sending Sykes doubling over. Hayes follows it up by grabbing Sykes around the waist, and sending him skidding across the canvas with a gutwrench suplex.

Richard Parker: One, these are my notes, and Joe Fontaine wrote that. So take that however you want. Two, did you see that suplex? Fantastic.

Nick Stuart: I’m mortified I read a word Joe Fontaine came up with live on air. What a suplex though, ouch. Sykes was sent halfway across the ring.

Hayes doesn’t let Sykes catch a breath. He jumps to his feet and drops a leg drop onto Sykes and covers.

ONE!

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: Second kick out at one tonight for Sykes.

Richard Parker: Can’t believe the leg drop didn’t do it.

Nick Stuart: You can’t believe the leg drop wasn’t enough?

Richard Parker: I’ve seen a lot of matches end with a leg drop, what can I say?

Hayes is right back up while Sykes isn’t far behind but holding his back. Hanlon wraps Sykes around the waist, Hayes pulls back on Jared, but Jared leans forward and squats, managing to drop his center of gravity. Hayes hunkers down and yanks Sykes again, but Jared manages to grab the ropes to keep from going over. Hayes sets Sykes back on the ground and ignores Barlow’s request to release Sykes and drives him forward into the corner. Barlow begins to count.

1!

Hanlon clubs Sykes on the back of the neck with a forearm.

2!

Sykes drops to his knee and Hanlon smashes his face off of the middle turnbuckle.

3!

Hanlon turns and walks away from Sykes. Barlow starts to admonish Hayes and he turns right back around, driving a boot across Jared’s face. Ashley is furious with the retreating Hammerin’ Hayes while Sykes makes his way to his feet in the corner.

Nick Stuart: What do you think she’s saying to him?

Richard Parker: That he has a magnificent mustache.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think it’s that.

Barlow finally allows the match to continue, and Hanlon storms right back in at Jared. Hayes lunges and Jared ducks under, he grabs Hayes by the head on the way by and drops him to the mat with another neckbreaker.

Nick Stuart: Second neckbreaker tonight from Sykes.

Richard Parker: Oh, another neckbreaker for Jarry…

Sykes regroups for a moment, before getting back up to his feet. He reaches down and grabs Hayes by the hair and drags him up to his feet. Hayes holds his neck and Jared sends him sprinting into the ropes. Hayes hits the ropes and comes back taking a big swing with a clothesline. Jared ducks under and follows him into the ropes. Hayes comes back off of them, but Sykes manages to catch him, and jumps onto his shoulders. He whips him to the ground with a poison rana, spiking Hayes’ skull off the mat. Sykes covers and Barlow slides in.

Nick Stuart: Poison Rana for Jared! He got all of it! Hayes looks like he just got hit with a stun gun! Sykes hooks the leg!

ONE!

Richard Parker: Jarry is trying to break his neck. He’s trying to break his neck and injure Hayes Hanlon.

TWO!

Nick Stuart: After what Farthington, FLAMBERGE, and Hanlon did to Jared Sykes, I’d be trying to break necks too.

KICKOUT!

Hayes military presses Sykes off of his chest and sits up. He reaches for his neck, Sykes manages to land on his feet other than his left hand on the ground. Jared explodes forward and plants a knee across Hanlon’s face. He drops back down and covers Hayes again.

ONE!

Nick Stuart: What a knee by Sykes, almost decapitated Hanlon there.

Richard Parker: He’s trying to murder a person.

TWO!

Nick Stuart: That is what combat sports are…

KICKOUT!

There’s no military press this time, Hayes just kicks out by throwing his shoulder into the air. Jared is right back up to his feet, he reaches down and grabs Hayes by both sides of his magnificent mustache. He pulls Hayes up to his knees, and suddenly yanks Hayes downwards by the mustache.

Richard Parker: That’s a violation of a man’s facial hair. That’s illegal.

Nick Stuart: Violating facial hair is illegal?

Richard Parker: I’m texting Farthington to find out, I’m sure it’s in the rulebook.

Hayes is down on the mat and Jared walks backwards, hitting the ropes and comes forward looking for a punt kick. Hayes pushes himself up and out of the way of the near life altering kick attempt. Sykes turns around with a discus punch that staggers Hayes as he gets to his feet. Hanlon uses the momentum and spins himself all the way around to fire back with a discus punch of his own that catches Sykes flat footed.

Nick Stuart: Big right hand from Hayes that rocks Sykes.

Richard Parker: Jarry is wobbling!

Nick Stuart: Why do you keep calling him that?

Richard Parker: He hates it.

Hayes whips Sykes into the ropes and as he bounces back to him, Hayes sends Jared crashing to the mat with a rotating power slam. Hayes slowly makes his way to his feet as Jared begins to drag himself across the canvas. Hayes primps his mustache as Sykes makes the ropes. Hanlon flies in with an attempt at a knee to Jared’s skull, but Sykes yanks the top rope and drops to the mat letting Hayes spill over the top rope and out to the apron.

Nick Stuart: Hayes to the outside.

Richard Parker: Another attempt on poor Hayes’ life. Someone fine Sykes, Lindsay Troy, if you have a heart, you will fine Jared Sykes.

Jared and Hayes both stumble back up to their feet. Hanlon fires a right hand across the ropes to Sykes, Sykes fires one back to Hanlon, Hanlon fires back at Sykes, Sykes back to Hanlon, and Hayes ends the exchange with a huge right elbow that finally backs Sykes off. Hayes explodes from the canvas and launches himself from the apron into the ring looking for a shoulder block. Sykes moves, but Hayes manages to get his feet under him at the last second. He stumbles a few steps forward and turns around towards Jared. One half of the longest reigning tag team champions in PRIME history delivers a boot to Hanlon’s stomach. He grabs him and twists Hayes so they are back to back. One hand wrapped around Hanlon’s neck, the other trying to make his mustache his new unibrow. Jared sits out and Hanlon crashes to the mat, a victim of the third neckbreaker.

Richard Parker: What a vile human being Jarry is. What kind of grown man assaults another grown man by the facial hair.

Nick Stuart: I think that was more insult than injury Richard, Hanlon is holding his neck not his mustache.

Sykes is right back to his feet and brings Hanlon with him. He sends Hayes into the ropes, Jared takes a swing with a lariat but Hayes manages to duck underneath this time. Jared sprints to the far ropes as Hayes continues running the opposite direction the two men collide with the ropes and come back to the center of the ring. Hayes ducks low for a back body drop but Sykes kicks him square in the mouth.

Nick Stuart: Great kick!

Sykes wraps an arm around Hayes’ enormous upper body. He rotates with Hayes way up in the air, and smashes him to the canvas with a sit-out uranage.

Nick Stuart: RHINE REWIND! RHINE REWIND IN NEW ORLEANS!

Richard Parker: NO!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

ONE!

TWO!

…

…………

………………………

…………………………………….

………………………………………………….

…………………………………………………………..

Yeah we makin’ pyramids at Colossus………………….

THR!…

Nick Stuart: NO! HANLON GOT A FOOT TO THE ROPES AT THE LAST SECOND! BARLOW SAW IT!

Richard Parker: THANK GOD! THANK GOD!

Sykes runs the palms of his hands down his face and looks absolutely shocked. He takes a deep breath and looks to his corner to Justine Calvin clapping her hands together and pounding the mat. He gets to his feet and drags Hayes up with him.

Nick Stuart: This is it, Sykes is setting him up for Omega-13!

Sykes has Hayes tilted backwards and pauses for a moment before he goes for the lift. As he brings Hanlon into the air, Hayes delivers a right hand to Sykes’ throat.

Nick Stuart: WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!

Richard Parker: He punched him where his beard should have been. Don’t you know that men can grow facial hair because it’s our natural armor. Turtles have shells, MEN HAVE BEARDS!

Sykes stumbles backwards holding his throat as Hanlon is let go and falls mostly harmlessly to the mat. Jared has to catch his breath in the corner, while Hayes slowly makes his way up to his feet.

Nick Stuart: Barlow didn’t see that punch to the throat Richard, this could change the entire match.

Richard Parker: In the best way possible.

Jared holds his throat while Hayes marches across the ring with his right hand still supporting his neck. He plants a boot to Sykes’ midsection again, as Sykes doubles over, Hayes smashes him into the corner, and begins choking him with the middle rope. He presses down and grimaces while Barlow counts.

1!

2!

3!

Hayes smirks at Barlow and nods.

4!

Hayes lets go just as Barlow begins to hit 5 and Barlow once again is furious with Hanlon.

Richard Parker: HE TRIED TO HURT YOUR STACHE! KILL HIM!

Nick Stuart: Barlow’s about had enough of Hayes today, Richard. And I’ve about had enough of you.

Jared gets to his feet again, and this time is met with a huge splash from Hanlon in the corner. Hayes stays tight to Sykes, and whips him across the ring into the far turnbuckle. Jared smashes into it and stumbles out to the center of the ring and Hayes Hanlon plants Jared Sykes on the canvas with Flashpoint. Hanlon looks down at Sykes and sneers, he brings Jared to his feet and sends him into the ropes. Sykes comes off, and Hanlon grabs Jared by his throat, lifting him high in the air. Sykes begins kicking his feet, and catches Hanlon in the mouth with a knee. Hayes drops Sykes to the ground and Jared stumbles to the ropes, still clutching his throat.

Nick Stuart: Sykes is having trouble breathing.

Richard Parker: Absolutely Jarry is. It’s what he deserves.

Jared stumbles to the center of the ring still grimacing from attempting to swallow. Jared makes his way to Hanlon and yanks him up against the ropes. He pulls back for a right hand but Hanlon reaches up and grabs Sykes just above the eyes and rakes his nails across. Jared grabs his eye, but Hayes has other ideas and whips Jared into the turnbuckle. Hayes follows it this time with a short arm clothesline that takes Sykes up off of his feet.

Nick Stuart: Hanlon with a big clothesline. He swung for the fences there.

Richard Parker: Of course he did, Nick. He’s hammerin’ Jarry out here!

Hayes spins Sykes around and sits him up on the top rope. He gets onto the middle rope and gets Jared up onto his shoulders.

Nick Stuart: NO!

Richard Parker: SUUUUUUUUUUPPPPEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!

Hayes leaps off with Sykes, and plants him almost head first into the canvas. Jared smashes into the canvas and flips all the way over onto his stomach. Hanlon crawls his way over onto Sykes, hooking both legs.

Richard Parker: MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSIVE!!!!!!!!!

ONE!

TWO!

…

………

………………

……………………….

………………………………

…………………………………………

…………………………………………………

THREE!

DING DING DING 

Richard Parker: YES! HAYES BEAT THE MUSTACHE PERVERT JARRY!!!

Nick Stuart: Hayes Hanlon needs to remember who he’s supposed to be Richard. Last year at Colossus we crowned Hayes Hanlon Universal Champion. Last year at Colossus Hayes Hanlon beat Cancer Jiles like a man in the center of that ring.

Richard Parker: MUSTACHE ABUSER JARRY!!!

Nick Stuart: And he couldn’t get by Jared Sykes without cheating. Sykes had him dead to rights in the center of the ring.

Richard Parker: GLUE!

Calvin rushes into the ring to check on Sykes while Hanlon smirks and rolls his way out of the ring.

Vince Howard: And your winner by pinfall… HAAAAAAAAYES HAAAAAAAAANLON!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

Nick Stuart: I’m disgusted.

Richard Parker: This is the best. He beats Jiles, he’s friends with Farthington. This is my best life.

WHEN MY BACK’S TO THE WALLLL!!!

I!! 

WILL!!

CON!!

QUER!!

In an evening full of over-the-top entrances, the battering, explosive noise from “Daggers” stays true to many nights before. The PRIME*View showcases a shaking camera, being pulled toward a gargantuan black hole as planets and stars burst and implode. Blinding flash bulbs erupt one by one, bathing the Superdome in white light.

And yet, it’s somehow heavier. Hits the ears harder. The bass thundering into the chest deeper.

Vince Howard: New Orleans, welcome to our next match!!

“I SEE THE MOUNTAIN AHEAD, I FEEL THE THUNDER ROAR!
I HEAR THE FURY WITHIN, BUT LOUDER THAN BEFORE!”

Emerging from a wall of white light at the top of the ramp, the broad silhouette of the Comeback Kid.

Vince Howard: From West Linn, Oregon!

Stepping forward, Hayes Hanlon, dark-eyed with a stoic, thousand-mile stare.

And curiously, wearing a black “Fighting for Jonathan” t-shirt, not seen since ReVival 16.

He makes way. A steady march, mustache locked in place, ignoring the cacophony of noise. If the building is booing the young man, you’d never know.

Nick Stuart: It’s been a long and winding road for the Event Horizon. A rookie year chock full of gold, and sophomore season coming up short.

Richard Parker: And for the better, Nick. Hayes has shown us his true colors, and what he’s willing to do to get back on top. Only a matter of time before he does.

Nick Stuart: Maybe, but will his new friends in Glue make room?

Stepping into the ring, normally Hayes would climb the buckle. Instead, he stands center-ring, and stands powerful against the flickering lights.

Vince Howard: Former Five Star Champion! Former two-time Universal Champion! Standing six feet, three inches tall and weighing in at two-hundred and sixty-five pounds! The Comeback Kid! The Event Horizon!

“DRAW! THE! DAGGER!!

Vince Howard: HAAAAYYYYEESSSSSSSS…

No fist in the air. No dragging the thumb across the neck.

Vince Howard: HAAANNNLLLONNNNN!!!!!

Just eyes on the entrance ramp. Waiting for Sykes. Then, darkness.

The steady pulse of a heartbeat sounds through the Superdome, accompanied by white line art of a heart on the screen, still dripping and looking like it was freshly pulled from someone’s chest. It throbs in time with the sounds coming through the arena speakers, rapidly building until the last beat sounds in time with a single note that rumbles through the building.

Northlane. “Plenty.”

In that same moment, the blue outline of a claw appears on the screen and punctures the heart with its talons, as the rest of the monster takes shape. This dragon is wingless, and more lithe and serpentine than what fantasy has trained us on, with a heavy chitin shell over its brow and along its jaws. Two ridges of bony spines jut from its back where wings should be. Its body slithers around the heart, clutching it close in a greedy embrace.

The notes of the song fade, soon replaced by a synth line over a steady electronic pulse.

The Browning. “Skybreaker.”

And then, just as it did in Madison Square Garden last year, it begins snowing in the Superdome over the entrance.

Lost dreams not forgotten
They lie just beyond fear

Jared Sykes appears first as a shadow in the storm. There’s no grand entrance, no special ring gear. The hood of his sweatshirt is pulled up over his head, eyes peering out underneath in between wayward strands of pink. His hands are buried firmly in his pockets as he walks to the ring. Beneath the sweatshirt peeks out a grey tee, faded from age. Much of the printing has flecked away over time, but what remains shows a muscular cowboy with a powerful mustache and a shiny silver sheriff’s badge.

Vince Howard: And his opponent… Accompanied to the ring by Justine Calvin, and hailing from Boston, Massachusetts, he weighs in tonight at an even two-hundred pounds…

Held down by corruption
Never be controlled by fear
(Shatter the sky, shatter the sky)

Beside Jared appears Justine Calvin. She whispers something to her partner as they walk down the aisle, but the camera doesn’t pick it up. Jared simply nods, never taking his eyes off of the ring, or the man inside it.

Without failure we cannot evolve
We rise from the fall

Vince Howard: He is one half of THE longest-reigning tag team champions in PRRRRRRRRRRIME history…

With your back against the wall
We will rise above them all
(Shatter the sky, shatter the sky)

Jared hops onto the ring apron in a single bound and leans over the top rope, letting his arms hang free.

Failure is not fatal
Through struggle we fight, survival
Success is not final
Shatter the sky, shatter the sky
SKYBREAKER!!!!

And then, an eruption of light and sound. The arena is bathed in white, and in a flash the sweatshirt and tee are off, revealing a black band around his bicep. Written in white letters is “KOS” followed by a crudely-drawn crown and the letters “DG”, in memory of Dave Gibson.

Vince Howard: JARRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED SYYYYYYYYYYYYKES!!!!!

The music finally fades out, and leaves only the roaring New Orleans crowd. The two men are in the center of the ring, staring each other down.

And after many, many tense moments, Hayes reaches down and slowly pulls off his “Fighting for Jonathan” shirt. Sykes doesn’t give him an inch, and Hayes holds the shirt loose in his hands.

Nick Stuart: That’s the fighting for Jonathan shirt…

That is, until he drops it at the feet of the Dragonslayer.

Richard Parker: Yeah, to hell with that shirt!

Jared glances down at the canvas, recognizing the shirt at his feet for what it is. What it signifies. He purses his lips, offers a slow nod, and mouths the words, “Okay then.”

Nick Stuart: Hayes Hanlon turned his back on Jared Sykes at UltraViolence.

Richard Parker: And into the waiting arms of GLUE! Cecilworth Farthington pulled off the greatest coup in professional wrestling when he was able to bring Hayes Hanlon in.

Nick Stuart: Well, I think last night Cecilworth Farthington found out what it was like to be surprised just like everyone else.

Richard Parker: Go fuck yourself, Nick.

DING DING 

Nick Stuart: Glad we’re on Pay-Per-View.

Richard Parker: It’s been a long weekend, somehow I ended up out on the town wearing a pig mask walking around New Orleans.

Nick Stuart: Oh… Don’t tell people that.

Don’t worry folks, you’re not missing much in the ring. Just Hayes Hanlon and Jared Sykes staring literal holes through each other’s eyeballs. It’s like a Cyclops mirror match and the two men are just standing there trying to see who’s laser beam glare is more powerful.

SYKES! SYKES SYKES! 

Richard Parker: His name is Jarry god damnit, you heard the boss. Tell these idiots to shut up.

Nick Stuart: Don’t they pay our wages?

Richard Parker: And they like it when I yell at them Nick, get with the program.

Hanlon breaks the staring match first going for a quick single leg but Sykes deftly dodges the betrayal this time and pauses for a moment. Hayes regroups and smirks, walking towards the center of the ring. Hanlon’s lips begin moving aggressively at Jared as he walks to the center of the Colossus logo and points. He waves Sykes forward, but Sykes just returns a grin.

Richard Parker: Look at the cowardly Jared Sykes. Standing across the ring and mocking Hayes’ attempt to fight him.

Nick Stuart: I think walking to the center of the ring and trading fists with a man that outweighs you by 64 pounds is a smart decision, and for Jared a marked improvement at the game of staying alive.

Richard Parker: So you’re saying he’s an idiot?

Nick Stuart: I’m saying that Jared Sykes fears nothing, Richard. He’s just being smart about his approach here.

Sykes brushes his hair out of his face, and removes his hand just in time to see Hayes stepping forward going for another takedown. This time Sykes side-steps and then lunges forward looking for a knee to the side of Hanlon’s skull. The Event Horizon manages to turn away at the last second and Sykes’ knee brushes by Hayes’ hair, an inch away from connecting. Hanlon spins around and shows his explosiveness to accelerate into Sykes and push him backwards into the corner.

Richard Parker: Finally trapped him.

Hanlon keeps his shoulder planted in Sykes’ midsection, he pulls himself backward, then lunges forward with a heavy shoulder to the PRIME tag team champion’s midsection. Hanlon lunges a second time, then a third. He steps back to the center of the ring and comes sprinting in looking for a fourth shoulder slam but Sykes moves to the side like a bullfighter and sends Hayes bucking into the turnbuckle. Hayes spins around and rushes towards Sykes, but Jared once again maneuvers away from the former Universal Champion.

Nick Stuart: Sykes is just a step ahead of Hayes this evening.

Richard Parker: He hasn’t even hurt him yet.

Hayes spins himself out of the corner and catches a dropkick to the chest that sends him right back into the turnbuckle. Sykes is up in a hurry, and slams a blistering chop across Hanlon’s chest.

OOOOH!

Nick Stuart: What a chop from Sykes.

Then a second.

OOOOOOOOH! 

Nick Stuart: Hasn’t hurt him, did you hear the sound of that?

Richard Parker: Hayes Hanlon is solid lean muscle now that he’s glue, he’s like a living terminator. He’ll be fine.

Sykes winds up for a third, but Hanlon looks to fire back with a forearm. Jared manages to duck out of the way and sends the big man stumbling down the ropes grasping at air. Sykes trots away backwards and readies himself for the next assault. Hayes regroups in the far corner, he adjusts his boots before making his way back to the center of the ring.

Richard Parker: Sykes’ is running, Hayes is in the center of the ring, effectively cutting half of the ring off from Jarry.

Nick Stuart: Yes, yes he is. A little more deliberate strategy for Hayes this time.

Hayes waits, Sykes waits, the two stare each other down for a second time. Jared begins to pace along the ropes and Hayes takes a step towards Sykes who backs away, Hanlon takes a step forward on his way into the corner but Sykes manages to go around the immovable thicc boi that is Hayes Hanlon who is left swinging a forearm at the ghost of Jared Sykes.

Nick Stuart: Jared is really running Hayes around tonight.

Richard Parker: Jarry is a coward, we already know that.

Hayes comes back away from the ropes and manages to block another attempted knee from the Golden Ticket holder. This time with the rising knee Hayes manages to catch it with his chest and yank Jared in closer, he spins and plants Jared to the canvas with a spinebuster.

Richard Parker: There we go! Caught him for real that time!

Nick Stuart: Big spinebuster by Hanlon let’s see how he capitalizes.

Hayes immediately is up and delivers a boot into Sykes’ rib cage. Jared rolls away from Hanlon, but Hayes grabs him by the hair and yanks him up to his feet. He finally drives a forearm into Sykes’ chest and neck that sends Jared reeling backwards. The Event Horizon rushes forward with a violent and mat shuddering spear. He drives Sykes into the canvas and pushes himself on top of Sykes. Barlow slides in for the count.

ONE!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think you get to finish Jared Sykes off that easy.

KICKOUT!

Hayes smirks and gets to his feet, but Sykes follows him. Hanlon fires a forearm but Sykes absorbs it and fires two back into Hanlon’s chest. Hayes stumbles backwards, and Sykes drives a left hook into Hanlon’s liver that sends him wobbling. Calvin punches the air with a second hook on the outside as she shouts, and Sykes drives another left hook to the body home. Hanlon collapses backwards into the corner and Jared heads to the Colossus logo in the center, he takes a few steps and explodes into the corner with a running forearm.

Nick Stuart: Big forearm!

Jared grabs Hanlon by the arm and whips him, but Hanlon reverses and instead sends Sykes into the corner. Hanlon follows behind, but Sykes gets to the corner and elevates himself using the top rope as a brace while Hanlon crashes into the corner. Sykes lands behind Hayes, rips him out of the corner and drops him to the canvas with a quick neckbreaker.

Nick Stuart: And the neckbreaker, Jared Sykes is just way ahead of Hayes Hanlon tonight. You have to imagine the Glulission is still looming in his mind.

Richard Parker: Did you just invent a word?

Nick Stuart: It says it’s called Glulission right here in these notes I have.

Richard Parker: Lemme see those.

Sykes is back up to his feet and Hayes follows behind him, holding his neck. Jared rips off another chop to Hayes’ chest.

OOOOOOOOH! 

Hayes stumbles backwards, he fires off a forearm to Sykes that connects. Jared pulls back for another chop but Hanlon kicks him right in the stomach sending Sykes doubling over. Hayes follows it up by grabbing Sykes around the waist, and sending him skidding across the canvas with a gutwrench suplex.

Richard Parker: One, these are my notes, and Joe Fontaine wrote that. So take that however you want. Two, did you see that suplex? Fantastic.

Nick Stuart: I’m mortified I read a word Joe Fontaine came up with live on air. What a suplex though, ouch. Sykes was sent halfway across the ring.

Hayes doesn’t let Sykes catch a breath. He jumps to his feet and drops a leg drop onto Sykes and covers.

ONE!

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: Second kick out at one tonight for Sykes.

Richard Parker: Can’t believe the leg drop didn’t do it.

Nick Stuart: You can’t believe the leg drop wasn’t enough?

Richard Parker: I’ve seen a lot of matches end with a leg drop, what can I say?

Hayes is right back up while Sykes isn’t far behind but holding his back. Hanlon wraps Sykes around the waist, Hayes pulls back on Jared, but Jared leans forward and squats, managing to drop his center of gravity. Hayes hunkers down and yanks Sykes again, but Jared manages to grab the ropes to keep from going over. Hayes sets Sykes back on the ground and ignores Barlow’s request to release Sykes and drives him forward into the corner. Barlow begins to count.

1!

Hanlon clubs Sykes on the back of the neck with a forearm.

2!

Sykes drops to his knee and Hanlon smashes his face off of the middle turnbuckle.

3!

Hanlon turns and walks away from Sykes. Barlow starts to admonish Hayes and he turns right back around, driving a boot across Jared’s face. Ashley is furious with the retreating Hammerin’ Hayes while Sykes makes his way to his feet in the corner.

Nick Stuart: What do you think she’s saying to him?

Richard Parker: That he has a magnificent mustache.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think it’s that.

Barlow finally allows the match to continue, and Hanlon storms right back in at Jared. Hayes lunges and Jared ducks under, he grabs Hayes by the head on the way by and drops him to the mat with another neckbreaker.

Nick Stuart: Second neckbreaker tonight from Sykes.

Richard Parker: Oh, another neckbreaker for Jarry…

Sykes regroups for a moment, before getting back up to his feet. He reaches down and grabs Hayes by the hair and drags him up to his feet. Hayes holds his neck and Jared sends him sprinting into the ropes. Hayes hits the ropes and comes back taking a big swing with a clothesline. Jared ducks under and follows him into the ropes. Hayes comes back off of them, but Sykes manages to catch him, and jumps onto his shoulders. He whips him to the ground with a poison rana, spiking Hayes’ skull off the mat. Sykes covers and Barlow slides in.

Nick Stuart: Poison Rana for Jared! He got all of it! Hayes looks like he just got hit with a stun gun! Sykes hooks the leg!

ONE!

Richard Parker: Jarry is trying to break his neck. He’s trying to break his neck and injure Hayes Hanlon.

TWO!

Nick Stuart: After what Farthington, FLAMBERGE, and Hanlon did to Jared Sykes, I’d be trying to break necks too.

KICKOUT!

Hayes military presses Sykes off of his chest and sits up. He reaches for his neck, Sykes manages to land on his feet other than his left hand on the ground. Jared explodes forward and plants a knee across Hanlon’s face. He drops back down and covers Hayes again.

ONE!

Nick Stuart: What a knee by Sykes, almost decapitated Hanlon there.

Richard Parker: He’s trying to murder a person.

TWO!

Nick Stuart: That is what combat sports are…

KICKOUT!

There’s no military press this time, Hayes just kicks out by throwing his shoulder into the air. Jared is right back up to his feet, he reaches down and grabs Hayes by both sides of his magnificent mustache. He pulls Hayes up to his knees, and suddenly yanks Hayes downwards by the mustache.

Richard Parker: That’s a violation of a man’s facial hair. That’s illegal.

Nick Stuart: Violating facial hair is illegal?

Richard Parker: I’m texting Farthington to find out, I’m sure it’s in the rulebook.

Hayes is down on the mat and Jared walks backwards, hitting the ropes and comes forward looking for a punt kick. Hayes pushes himself up and out of the way of the near life altering kick attempt. Sykes turns around with a discus punch that staggers Hayes as he gets to his feet. Hanlon uses the momentum and spins himself all the way around to fire back with a discus punch of his own that catches Sykes flat footed.

Nick Stuart: Big right hand from Hayes that rocks Sykes.

Richard Parker: Jarry is wobbling!

Nick Stuart: Why do you keep calling him that?

Richard Parker: He hates it.

Hayes whips Sykes into the ropes and as he bounces back to him, Hayes sends Jared crashing to the mat with a rotating power slam. Hayes slowly makes his way to his feet as Jared begins to drag himself across the canvas. Hayes primps his mustache as Sykes makes the ropes. Hanlon flies in with an attempt at a knee to Jared’s skull, but Sykes yanks the top rope and drops to the mat letting Hayes spill over the top rope and out to the apron.

Nick Stuart: Hayes to the outside.

Richard Parker: Another attempt on poor Hayes’ life. Someone fine Sykes, Lindsay Troy, if you have a heart, you will fine Jared Sykes.

Jared and Hayes both stumble back up to their feet. Hanlon fires a right hand across the ropes to Sykes, Sykes fires one back to Hanlon, Hanlon fires back at Sykes, Sykes back to Hanlon, and Hayes ends the exchange with a huge right elbow that finally backs Sykes off. Hayes explodes from the canvas and launches himself from the apron into the ring looking for a shoulder block. Sykes moves, but Hayes manages to get his feet under him at the last second. He stumbles a few steps forward and turns around towards Jared. One half of the longest reigning tag team champions in PRIME history delivers a boot to Hanlon’s stomach. He grabs him and twists Hayes so they are back to back. One hand wrapped around Hanlon’s neck, the other trying to make his mustache his new unibrow. Jared sits out and Hanlon crashes to the mat, a victim of the third neckbreaker.

Richard Parker: What a vile human being Jarry is. What kind of grown man assaults another grown man by the facial hair.

Nick Stuart: I think that was more insult than injury Richard, Hanlon is holding his neck not his mustache.

Sykes is right back to his feet and brings Hanlon with him. He sends Hayes into the ropes, Jared takes a swing with a lariat but Hayes manages to duck underneath this time. Jared sprints to the far ropes as Hayes continues running the opposite direction the two men collide with the ropes and come back to the center of the ring. Hayes ducks low for a back body drop but Sykes kicks him square in the mouth.

Nick Stuart: Great kick!

Sykes wraps an arm around Hayes’ enormous upper body. He rotates with Hayes way up in the air, and smashes him to the canvas with a sit-out uranage.

Nick Stuart: RHINE REWIND! RHINE REWIND IN NEW ORLEANS!

Richard Parker: NO!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

ONE!

TWO!

…

…………

………………………

…………………………………….

………………………………………………….

…………………………………………………………..

Yeah we makin’ pyramids at Colossus………………….

THR!…

Nick Stuart: NO! HANLON GOT A FOOT TO THE ROPES AT THE LAST SECOND! BARLOW SAW IT!

Richard Parker: THANK GOD! THANK GOD!

Sykes runs the palms of his hands down his face and looks absolutely shocked. He takes a deep breath and looks to his corner to Justine Calvin clapping her hands together and pounding the mat. He gets to his feet and drags Hayes up with him.

Nick Stuart: This is it, Sykes is setting him up for Omega-13!

Sykes has Hayes tilted backwards and pauses for a moment before he goes for the lift. As he brings Hanlon into the air, Hayes delivers a right hand to Sykes’ throat.

Nick Stuart: WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!

Richard Parker: He punched him where his beard should have been. Don’t you know that men can grow facial hair because it’s our natural armor. Turtles have shells, MEN HAVE BEARDS!

Sykes stumbles backwards holding his throat as Hanlon is let go and falls mostly harmlessly to the mat. Jared has to catch his breath in the corner, while Hayes slowly makes his way up to his feet.

Nick Stuart: Barlow didn’t see that punch to the throat Richard, this could change the entire match.

Richard Parker: In the best way possible.

Jared holds his throat while Hayes marches across the ring with his right hand still supporting his neck. He plants a boot to Sykes’ midsection again, as Sykes doubles over, Hayes smashes him into the corner, and begins choking him with the middle rope. He presses down and grimaces while Barlow counts.

1!

2!

3!

Hayes smirks at Barlow and nods.

4!

Hayes lets go just as Barlow begins to hit 5 and Barlow once again is furious with Hanlon.

Richard Parker: HE TRIED TO HURT YOUR STACHE! KILL HIM!

Nick Stuart: Barlow’s about had enough of Hayes today, Richard. And I’ve about had enough of you.

Jared gets to his feet again, and this time is met with a huge splash from Hanlon in the corner. Hayes stays tight to Sykes, and whips him across the ring into the far turnbuckle. Jared smashes into it and stumbles out to the center of the ring and Hayes Hanlon plants Jared Sykes on the canvas with Flashpoint. Hanlon looks down at Sykes and sneers, he brings Jared to his feet and sends him into the ropes. Sykes comes off, and Hanlon grabs Jared by his throat, lifting him high in the air. Sykes begins kicking his feet, and catches Hanlon in the mouth with a knee. Hayes drops Sykes to the ground and Jared stumbles to the ropes, still clutching his throat.

Nick Stuart: Sykes is having trouble breathing.

Richard Parker: Absolutely Jarry is. It’s what he deserves.

Jared stumbles to the center of the ring still grimacing from attempting to swallow. Jared makes his way to Hanlon and yanks him up against the ropes. He pulls back for a right hand but Hanlon reaches up and grabs Sykes just above the eyes and rakes his nails across. Jared grabs his eye, but Hayes has other ideas and whips Jared into the turnbuckle. Hayes follows it this time with a short arm clothesline that takes Sykes up off of his feet.

Nick Stuart: Hanlon with a big clothesline. He swung for the fences there.

Richard Parker: Of course he did, Nick. He’s hammerin’ Jarry out here!

Hayes spins Sykes around and sits him up on the top rope. He gets onto the middle rope and gets Jared up onto his shoulders.

Nick Stuart: NO!

Richard Parker: SUUUUUUUUUUPPPPEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!

Hayes leaps off with Sykes, and plants him almost head first into the canvas. Jared smashes into the canvas and flips all the way over onto his stomach. Hanlon crawls his way over onto Sykes, hooking both legs.

Richard Parker: MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSIVE!!!!!!!!!

ONE!

TWO!

…

………

………………

……………………….

………………………………

…………………………………………

…………………………………………………

THREE!

DING DING DING 

Richard Parker: YES! HAYES BEAT THE MUSTACHE PERVERT JARRY!!!

Nick Stuart: Hayes Hanlon needs to remember who he’s supposed to be Richard. Last year at Colossus we crowned Hayes Hanlon Universal Champion. Last year at Colossus Hayes Hanlon beat Cancer Jiles like a man in the center of that ring.

Richard Parker: MUSTACHE ABUSER JARRY!!!

Nick Stuart: And he couldn’t get by Jared Sykes without cheating. Sykes had him dead to rights in the center of the ring.

Richard Parker: GLUE!

Calvin rushes into the ring to check on Sykes while Hanlon smirks and rolls his way out of the ring.

Vince Howard: And your winner by pinfall… HAAAAAAAAYES HAAAAAAAAANLON!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

Nick Stuart: I’m disgusted.

Richard Parker: This is the best. He beats Jiles, he’s friends with Farthington. This is my best life.

We cut from ringside to see Yanukovich, Maksim, Speedy, and Arina milling about in the makeshift locker room / office of the Universal Champion in Caesars Superdome. With their leader sitting behind his desk, the door to said office opens and Alexei walks in.

Alexei Ruslan: It’s time, Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav.

As the chair screeches and Stanislav rises, all those assembled immediately line up for him. The aging goliath plucks the Universal Championship up from a nearby hook upon the wall and places it securely over his right shoulder. His combat boots creak beneath the insurmountable weight of his body as he walks around the desk to each individual who has supported him.

He squeezes bookish Yanukovich’s shoulder and nods.

Ivan Stanislav: Thank you, Yanu.

He moves to Speedy, who straightens up even taller and inclines his chin. Stanislav offers his hand and Speedy squeezes the huge paw in both hands. Riggs struggles to suppress tears.

Ivan Stanislav: And you, Pedro.

Even Maksim, with his perfect short blonde hair and annoying handsome features, fails to draw his eyes away from the looming man as Stanislav nods to him.

Ivan Stanislav: Stepanov.

But when he gets to Arina, the meek girl, with tears in her eyes, embraces The Russian Bear. Stanislav pats her on the top of her head and clears his throat.

Ivan Stanislav: It is all right, Arina. Chin up. Shoulders back.

She looks up at Ivan with worried eyes but does as he says, straining her back and lifting her chin. Ivan turns as he makes his way to Ruslan and looks back at his gathered comrades.

Ivan Stanislav: This won’t take long, comrades. Get the music ready, will you? Let us show PRIME what happens when they try to take something from The Russian Bear.

He pats the title upon his shoulder while the room bursts into a cheer.

URAAAAAA!!!!

Alexei looks up at Ivan, his eyes gleaming with adrenaline.

Alexei Ruslan: Well, Ivan? Once more?

Ivan Stanislav nods his head slowly and smiles while the cheers continue.

Ivan Stanislav: Let’s get to work, comrade.

We fade to a video package.

We cut from ringside to see Yanukovich, Maksim, Speedy, and Arina milling about in the makeshift locker room / office of the Universal Champion in Caesars Superdome. With their leader sitting behind his desk, the door to said office opens and Alexei walks in.

Alexei Ruslan: It’s time, Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav.

As the chair screeches and Stanislav rises, all those assembled immediately line up for him. The aging goliath plucks the Universal Championship up from a nearby hook upon the wall and places it securely over his right shoulder. His combat boots creak beneath the insurmountable weight of his body as he walks around the desk to each individual who has supported him.

He squeezes bookish Yanukovich’s shoulder and nods.

Ivan Stanislav: Thank you, Yanu.

He moves to Speedy, who straightens up even taller and inclines his chin. Stanislav offers his hand and Speedy squeezes the huge paw in both hands. Riggs struggles to suppress tears.

Ivan Stanislav: And you, Pedro.

Even Maksim, with his perfect short blonde hair and annoying handsome features, fails to draw his eyes away from the looming man as Stanislav nods to him.

Ivan Stanislav: Stepanov.

But when he gets to Arina, the meek girl, with tears in her eyes, embraces The Russian Bear. Stanislav pats her on the top of her head and clears his throat.

Ivan Stanislav: It is all right, Arina. Chin up. Shoulders back.

She looks up at Ivan with worried eyes but does as he says, straining her back and lifting her chin. Ivan turns as he makes his way to Ruslan and looks back at his gathered comrades.

Ivan Stanislav: This won’t take long, comrades. Get the music ready, will you? Let us show PRIME what happens when they try to take something from The Russian Bear.

He pats the title upon his shoulder while the room bursts into a cheer.

URAAAAAA!!!!

Alexei looks up at Ivan, his eyes gleaming with adrenaline.

Alexei Ruslan: Well, Ivan? Once more?

Ivan Stanislav nods his head slowly and smiles while the cheers continue.

Ivan Stanislav: Let’s get to work, comrade.

We fade to a video package.

Black screens throughout the Superdome.

…

Richard Parker (v/o): It is OVER!

Then, every screen lights up with black-and-white slow motion replay footage. We see the arms of FLAMBERGE cinched tightly around the neck of Coral Avalon. In the top corner of the screen, we see the caption:

October 21, 2022
ReVival 17
FLAMBERGE vs. Coral Avalon
(the first neck collected)

Cut to Jimmy Turnbull signaling for the bell in slow motion.

DDDIIINNNGGG DDDIIINNNGGG DDDIIINNNGGG

A voice we just heard bellow throughout the Superdome now comes through the arena speakers. Its tone is gentle – genial, even.

Ivan Stanislav: ​​He has got to be here somewhere, eh?

BONNNNNNNNNNNNNNG

We see a desert lizard, scattering itself across sands. Alone.

Black.

A towering East Siberian Brown Bear, standing at the lead of a few smaller brown bears at the head of a river. A salmon leaps out of the water, the lead bear reaches with its jaws –

Black.

Ivan Stanislav: FLAMBERGE, you are in here?

…

We next see a sequence of highlight reels of the devastating ends of matches from this year, bright color, extra zooms on the pained faces of fallen foes.

First: Ivan Stanislav lifts Cancer Jiles off the mat and holds him up with one hand before dropping him into a short-arm clothesline containing the full power of Mother Russia.

Nick Stuart: IRON CURTAIN!

Richard Parker: Pin him and get this prick off my screen!

…

Next:

Richard Parker: SPEAR BY GOAT MAN!

Nick Stuart: OH! OH NO!

FLAMBERGE goes to the mat and immediately wraps his legs around Rezin’s torso. Rezin immediately begins flailing around almost unnaturally. His arms windmilling around in circles.

Vince Howard: AND NEW!

…

We see an origami paper lizard in stop-motion animation, in frames re-folding itself into different species, eating small origami ants one by one. A factory forms behind him, which gets torn down, then rebuilt as a manor. A white river of glue runs through the images.

Next:

Richard Parker: There is no God, Nick, there is only Ivan Stanislav.

Nick Stuart: He would have continued hitting him with a Red Scare if not for Timo there.

Richard Parker: Youngblood is barely moving.

Stanislav begrudgingly kneels down and covers Youngblood, as Timo begins his count.

Vince Howard: AND NEW!

…

Next:

Nick Stuart: MARIE ANTOINETTE! THIS COULD BE OVER!

Anna Daniels throws elbows and fists into FLAMBERGE’s guts. A year ago, this might’ve stopped him. A year ago, the French Phenom seemed mortal. But unfortunately for the Time Lord, FLAMBERGE is more lizard than man, now. He cranks the hold. He falls into a seated position. Daniels fades, and goes limp.

Vince Howard: AND NEW!

…

We see an origami brown paper bear crossing snowy white mountains. A small pack of bears following him becomes a village, that becomes a town, that becomes a nation. Over time, the brown paper turns gray and he dons a fur cap with a hammer and sickle.

Black.

…

THE LIZARD

AND

THE BEAR

…

Nick Stuart (v/o): In nature, a lizard and a bear might never meet.

We see muted images of Ivan Stanislav and Lindsay Troy at each other’s throats in an argument.

Nick Stuart: In PRIME, their paths have become destined to cross.

We see FLAMBERGE examining a book whose title is in Cyrillic, gifted to him by Stanislav at ReVival 17. He flips through the pages, absorbing nothing before tossing it over his shoulder.

Nick Stuart: Two champions. Two juggernauts. Two massive winning streaks.

We see Ivan Stanislav at ringside with the Universal Championship, DYAAHAAHAAing his way through key moments of the Almasy. We then see a beat up vending machine with a beret being wheeled down an entrance ramp.

Nick Stuart: Two revolutionaries who have proven why they are the very best PRIME has to offer. Only one will walk away from Colossus as the Universal Champion. Will it be the challenger, FLAMBERGE?

We see the Frenchman collecting the neck of Kenny Freeman from ReVival 40. His partners, Glue Man Group, are doing a hell of a job running interference.

Nick Stuart: Unbeaten since Ultraviolence 2022, one of PRIME’s youngest stars has wasted no time setting records with his uniquely unreadable combat approach and his unwavering self-determination. His victory would engrave new records into the PRIME history books and perhaps forever reimagine what it takes to climb to the top of the professional wrestling mountain. Or will it be the champion, Ivan Stanislav?

We see Ivan behind a speaking podium in front of thousands of cheering loyalists at a Russian stadium, red banners hung high. A true leader of men, Alexei Ruslan by his side.

Nick Stuart: Perhaps the most dominant force of nature we have seen in the ReVival Era. Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav not only carries the legacy of the most prestigious championship in wrestling with him after his decisive victory over another revered PRIME legend, Brandon Youngblood – he carries with him the legacy of a nation. Millions look to Ivan as their leader, and the stalwart champion never shows signs of retreat.

We see Ivan and FLAMBERGE in the middle of the ring, locking eyes – the Russian towering over the significantly smaller Frenchman – as chaos reigns around them. Joe Fontaine, Sid Phillips, Kenny Freeman, and Randall Schwartz are a blur of fists and kicks and powerbombs and chokes while the Lizard and the Bear remain motionless, staring deeply into the other’s eyes.

Nick Stuart: Now, the Lizard FLAMBERGE and the Bear Ivan Stanislav collide, with the greatest prize in our sport on the line on our sport’s biggest stage. The stakes could not be higher. Two forces of nature. One force controls the Universe heading into the new year. Your main event starts…

NOW!!

Black screens throughout the Superdome.

…

Richard Parker (v/o): It is OVER!

Then, every screen lights up with black-and-white slow motion replay footage. We see the arms of FLAMBERGE cinched tightly around the neck of Coral Avalon. In the top corner of the screen, we see the caption:

October 21, 2022
ReVival 17
FLAMBERGE vs. Coral Avalon
(the first neck collected)

Cut to Jimmy Turnbull signaling for the bell in slow motion.

DDDIIINNNGGG DDDIIINNNGGG DDDIIINNNGGG

A voice we just heard bellow throughout the Superdome now comes through the arena speakers. Its tone is gentle – genial, even.

Ivan Stanislav: ​​He has got to be here somewhere, eh?

BONNNNNNNNNNNNNNG

We see a desert lizard, scattering itself across sands. Alone.

Black.

A towering East Siberian Brown Bear, standing at the lead of a few smaller brown bears at the head of a river. A salmon leaps out of the water, the lead bear reaches with its jaws –

Black.

Ivan Stanislav: FLAMBERGE, you are in here?

…

We next see a sequence of highlight reels of the devastating ends of matches from this year, bright color, extra zooms on the pained faces of fallen foes.

First: Ivan Stanislav lifts Cancer Jiles off the mat and holds him up with one hand before dropping him into a short-arm clothesline containing the full power of Mother Russia.

Nick Stuart: IRON CURTAIN!

Richard Parker: Pin him and get this prick off my screen!

…

Next:

Richard Parker: SPEAR BY GOAT MAN!

Nick Stuart: OH! OH NO!

FLAMBERGE goes to the mat and immediately wraps his legs around Rezin’s torso. Rezin immediately begins flailing around almost unnaturally. His arms windmilling around in circles.

Vince Howard: AND NEW!

…

We see an origami paper lizard in stop-motion animation, in frames re-folding itself into different species, eating small origami ants one by one. A factory forms behind him, which gets torn down, then rebuilt as a manor. A white river of glue runs through the images.

Next:

Richard Parker: There is no God, Nick, there is only Ivan Stanislav.

Nick Stuart: He would have continued hitting him with a Red Scare if not for Timo there.

Richard Parker: Youngblood is barely moving.

Stanislav begrudgingly kneels down and covers Youngblood, as Timo begins his count.

Vince Howard: AND NEW!

…

Next:

Nick Stuart: MARIE ANTOINETTE! THIS COULD BE OVER!

Anna Daniels throws elbows and fists into FLAMBERGE’s guts. A year ago, this might’ve stopped him. A year ago, the French Phenom seemed mortal. But unfortunately for the Time Lord, FLAMBERGE is more lizard than man, now. He cranks the hold. He falls into a seated position. Daniels fades, and goes limp.

Vince Howard: AND NEW!

…

We see an origami brown paper bear crossing snowy white mountains. A small pack of bears following him becomes a village, that becomes a town, that becomes a nation. Over time, the brown paper turns gray and he dons a fur cap with a hammer and sickle.

Black.

…

THE LIZARD

AND

THE BEAR

…

Nick Stuart (v/o): In nature, a lizard and a bear might never meet.

We see muted images of Ivan Stanislav and Lindsay Troy at each other’s throats in an argument.

Nick Stuart: In PRIME, their paths have become destined to cross.

We see FLAMBERGE examining a book whose title is in Cyrillic, gifted to him by Stanislav at ReVival 17. He flips through the pages, absorbing nothing before tossing it over his shoulder.

Nick Stuart: Two champions. Two juggernauts. Two massive winning streaks.

We see Ivan Stanislav at ringside with the Universal Championship, DYAAHAAHAAing his way through key moments of the Almasy. We then see a beat up vending machine with a beret being wheeled down an entrance ramp.

Nick Stuart: Two revolutionaries who have proven why they are the very best PRIME has to offer. Only one will walk away from Colossus as the Universal Champion. Will it be the challenger, FLAMBERGE?

We see the Frenchman collecting the neck of Kenny Freeman from ReVival 40. His partners, Glue Man Group, are doing a hell of a job running interference.

Nick Stuart: Unbeaten since Ultraviolence 2022, one of PRIME’s youngest stars has wasted no time setting records with his uniquely unreadable combat approach and his unwavering self-determination. His victory would engrave new records into the PRIME history books and perhaps forever reimagine what it takes to climb to the top of the professional wrestling mountain. Or will it be the champion, Ivan Stanislav?

We see Ivan behind a speaking podium in front of thousands of cheering loyalists at a Russian stadium, red banners hung high. A true leader of men, Alexei Ruslan by his side.

Nick Stuart: Perhaps the most dominant force of nature we have seen in the ReVival Era. Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav not only carries the legacy of the most prestigious championship in wrestling with him after his decisive victory over another revered PRIME legend, Brandon Youngblood – he carries with him the legacy of a nation. Millions look to Ivan as their leader, and the stalwart champion never shows signs of retreat.

We see Ivan and FLAMBERGE in the middle of the ring, locking eyes – the Russian towering over the significantly smaller Frenchman – as chaos reigns around them. Joe Fontaine, Sid Phillips, Kenny Freeman, and Randall Schwartz are a blur of fists and kicks and powerbombs and chokes while the Lizard and the Bear remain motionless, staring deeply into the other’s eyes.

Nick Stuart: Now, the Lizard FLAMBERGE and the Bear Ivan Stanislav collide, with the greatest prize in our sport on the line on our sport’s biggest stage. The stakes could not be higher. Two forces of nature. One force controls the Universe heading into the new year. Your main event starts…

NOW!!

Lindsay Troy: (v/o) …hooooold on a moment.

It’s not time for Nick and Richard just yet. Instead, we’re taken backstage to the Boss’s office, where Lindsay Troy sits behind her desk with a manilla file folder in her hand.

Lindsay Troy: Before we get to the main event, there’s one last piece of business that I have to take care of. It wouldn’t be a Colossus….hell, it wouldn’t be a PRIME supershow if something surprising didn’t happen, right?

The PRIMEates out in the Superdome scream their assent, which causes the Queen to smirk.

Lindsay Troy: Thought so. Now, you all saw a Culture Shock commercial air last night and tonight…plans being kept inside this folder. IN THE VAULT, so to speak

She flips it around to reveal  “Top Secret Classified” stamped in red ink on the front.

Lindsay Troy: The PRIME roster’s seen a little more of what’s inside this folder, but they haven’t seen everything. It’s time for all the speculation to end. This is going to be an unprecedented start to 2024, and I am so pumped to come back from our time off and get the show back on the road. Without further ado….Truck Guys, get that graphic up and then let’s get over to Nick and Richard to call the Universal Title match!

Lindsay Troy: (v/o) …hooooold on a moment.

It’s not time for Nick and Richard just yet. Instead, we’re taken backstage to the Boss’s office, where Lindsay Troy sits behind her desk with a manilla file folder in her hand.

Lindsay Troy: Before we get to the main event, there’s one last piece of business that I have to take care of. It wouldn’t be a Colossus….hell, it wouldn’t be a PRIME supershow if something surprising didn’t happen, right?

The PRIMEates out in the Superdome scream their assent, which causes the Queen to smirk.

Lindsay Troy: Thought so. Now, you all saw a Culture Shock commercial air last night and tonight…plans being kept inside this folder. IN THE VAULT, so to speak

She flips it around to reveal  “Top Secret Classified” stamped in red ink on the front.

Lindsay Troy: The PRIME roster’s seen a little more of what’s inside this folder, but they haven’t seen everything. It’s time for all the speculation to end. This is going to be an unprecedented start to 2024, and I am so pumped to come back from our time off and get the show back on the road. Without further ado….Truck Guys, get that graphic up and then let’s get over to Nick and Richard to call the Universal Title match!

As we transition from Lindsay Troy’s bombshell announcement, we cut to ringside with a full view of some more of the lovely signs that PRIME’s amazing fanbase have brought with them.

Finally, the camera catches Nick Stuart and Richard Parker on standby. Nick adjusts his tie upon noticing that the camera is on him.

Nick Stuart: Folks, we’re just moments away from history.

Richard Parker: The most history!

Nick Stuart: Tonight, it’s streak against streak. Neither of these men have been pinned or submitted since last year’s UltraViolence. That’s nearly fifteen months of dominance by two men who have never faced each other in PRIME… until now!

Richard Parker: And we just found out a few days ago that this match is going to be no disqualifications, so I hope everyone’s insured! I know I am!

Nick smiles nervously.

He’s been on the wrong end of Ivan’s wrath at least once in PRIME. He would very much like that to not be the case tonight.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE is the Intense champion tonight. If he wins here tonight, he’ll be only the third and fastest man to ever be a Triple Crown winner in PRIME – holding the Universal, 5-Star, and Intense championships. He’ll continue the longest winning streak in PRIME history. And he’ll have knocked off one of the most dominant men to have ever been in the squared circle in Ivan Stanislav.

Richard Parker: Of course, the Intense title isn’t actually on the line tonight, right?

Nick Stuart: That’s right. In fact, if FLAMBERGE wins the Universal title tonight, I’m told that he will be made to relinquish the Intense championship.

Richard Parker: A shame. I’d have liked to have seen Starsky Stanny Two Belts.

Nick Stuart: And if Ivan wins, he stands a chance himself of overtaking FLAMBERGE’s shared win streak record, and will go into the new year with a shot at being the longest reigning Universal champion of the ReVival era. He’ll also, of course, still be the Universal champion and be the man to have ended FLAMBERGE’s active winning streak.

Richard Parker: Yeah!

It’s time.

There’s a buzz in the air as the lights dim, and the only lights shining are those spotlights casting their lights in the ring. There, two men stand ready for the biggest main event in the history of the ReVival era of PRIME.

No.

All of PRIME history.

The first of these men is senior referee Timo Bolamba, who stands at one corner with his arms crossed. He shifts from foot to foot. He’s nervous. While his refereeing career has had plenty of twists and turns over two years of PRIME’s ReVival, when it came time to referee such a monumental event… there is no man more qualified to handle the two most inevitable men in all of PRIME than Timo.

The second is long-time PRIME ring announcer, Vince Howard. With his microphone raised, he is ready to be the herald of the final PRIME match of 2023.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention please…

Nick Stuart: Here we go…

Richard Parker: My goosebumps have goosebumps, Nick!

Vince Howard: The following contest, scheduled for one fall, is the STREAK VERSUS STREAK MATCH FOR THE PRIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIIIIIIIIPPPPP!!!

RAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Vince Howard: In this match, there are NO rules. The only way to win is by pinfall, submission, or at the discretion of senior referee Timo Bolamba! There MUST be a winner!

Then what few lights go out.

Caesars Superdome is absolutely HUMMING with anticipation of the Night Two Main Event. No question, we’re about to see a war. And given the challenger, no question –

We’re about to see something…”unique”.

…

A light drum beat, bouncy bass riff, and sparse guitar chords start to pop throughout the Superdome. And then, a woman’s voice.

“Voodoo?” by L’Impératrice.

I’m not being cranky

I just hate this party

Think I might as well, spend a night in hell

Reading torture magazine
Than pretending I’m one of you

Teal beacons of light pulse throughout every screen in the arena. With the help of this light, we begin to see what’s happening on stage.

There’s a faint outline of…an aquarium? A glass box? There are some shapes in side, but with the lights pulsing the way they are, it’s hard to tell if – is that a tree? Is that a rock?

…are there people in there?

They move wild and carefree
As hip as hip can be
I think I should split, but wait a minute
I feel something in my knees
Is it music or new voodoo?

…

Can I resist this?

At this lyric, the teal lights stay on, swirling throughout the arena as pops of copper sprinkle in here and there. Bright white lights illuminate the stage as the scene reveals itself. It is in fact an enormous mock terrarium.

There are “lizards” inside.

Stunningly beautiful women and chiseled men figuratively cut from marble are striking poses on various boulders, stands, and tire swings on the stage. They are “technically” covered by “clothing” – better described, these model-types are covered by a fairly comprehensive combo of leotard-esque “coverings” and body paint to create five Sexy Art Lizards. A bearded dragon, an iguana, a salamander, a chameleon (with some pretty sick craftsmanship to blend in with the rest of the stage), and a zesty gecko. Their poses are distinctly FLAMBERGE-esque – which is to say, they are artistically planking on objects in unhuman angles.

Am I off my head? What’s shaking my hips?
Can I resist this?
It’s the kind of beat I just can’t dismiss

…

As the bass and drum continue their light bop and the woman continues her chic tune, the “bearded dragon” reaches behind the tree he’s perched upon and pulls a wavy sword made of red glass and holds it aloft. The zesty gecko reaches behind her stone and pulls a comically large plastic bottle of glue and begins pouring it on her rock. The other three lizards do some phenomenal Little Turns On The Catwalk as this gauche display of “fashion meets art piece” continues. The chameleon inverts components of his costume to reveal different patterns. He athletically strikes a very physically demanding pose, and for brief moments, he is the spitting image of a vending machine.

Suddenly, the teal and copper lights change to a shock of white and silver, bright enough that many fans in the lower levels shield their eyes.

A piano riff hits.

…oh, shit.

“ooh la la” by Run The Jewels

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI
OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI
OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI
OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

The drums resonate so very nice in Caesars Superdome, and something pulses in the hearts of each of these Sexy Art Lizards. They move fluidly, with purpose, bopping with the beat as the open secret compartments throughout the “terrarium”.

They’re pulling out long chains of skulls connected to cervical vertebrae.

Necks.

They strew them about the stage VIOLENTLY.

Lookin’ for Ms like I lost a friend
Jump out of my bed like, “Where the bread”
You gon’ hold a egg, waiter bring the check
When we talk, we Kalashnikov, keep us in your thoughts
Fully dressed at the crack of dawn, weapons letting off

Emerging from the back and through the terrarium, it’s the Intense Champion, FLAMBERGE. The silver gleam of the plates and the bleached white leather of the strap practically glow in contrast to his teal and copper shorts and boots. The fans roar loudly – it’s not exactly a cheer, and not exactly a boo, but more of a very very loud, very very excited, tangible representation of the “OH MAN HERE COMES THE FIREWORKS FACTORY” emotion. A guttural “YAWP” at the prospect of Extremely Cool Violence.

I can hear them from the block, see them creeping through the fog
Season’s greetings, now feeding season can start, oh my God
Look alive, lookin’ like I live life on the crooked line
Doin’ fine, you want maximum stupid, I am the guy

FLAMBERGE strides down the long ramp towards the ring, his jaw set so tightly you’d swear he’s holding back a tear, if only lizards had emotion-based ducts.

Pausing at the end of the ramp, he looks around. What a fucking insane, massive crowd. What a fucking insane, massive moment.

This. This is what professional wrestling can do to people.

FLAMBERGE does his customary lap around the ring, ignoring the outstretched arms and bags of chips lunging at him. He doesn’t pause at the ring steps – not this time. Instead, as he maintains his externally-confident stride up the stairs and into the ring, he slaps the Intense Championship belt around his waist several times with increasing intensity, as if tapping into something deep inside his head.

Nick Stuart: Folks, this is it. One last entrance in this amazing two night spectacle that has been Colossus…

The lights dim down and Caesars Superdome is bathed in crimson.

Richard Parker: …and he’s the man at the top of the roster. The Universal Champion. Starshy Praporshchik Ivan Stanislav.

The crowd is already on their feet as pyrotechnics explode all around the entryway. Fireworks blast from the ramp up to the ceiling with loud screeches akin to Katyusha missiles. The Soviet National Anthem roars overhead. In the ring, Vince Howard stands poised as the easily recognized silhouette of Alexei Ruslan walks through the gathered smoke.

Vince Howard: And his opp—

Ruslans voice screeches over Howard and drowns him out as the overcoat clad Russian emerges first. He has his own microphone.

Alexei Ruslan: That is enough out of you, Vince Howard! Leave it to the Russians to offer a suitable introduction!!

Howard blinks curiously while Ruslan waves him off and makes his way pointedly down the entryway. He slides into the ring with his own microphone and pointedly marches to the center of the ring. He waves with a hand towards the entryway, and as the smoke clears, there stands the PRIME Universal Champion, Ivan Stanislav. The belt gleams as it rests over his broad right shoulder. Stanislav raises one arm while Alexei bellows.

Alexei Ruslan: His executioner stands 7’1” and he weighs in at 400 lbs! He is the tallest member of PRIME. He is the heaviest member of PRIME! He is the strongest member in PRIME! No opponent has been able to stand in his way, for he has been undefeated for the entire year!

Stanislav begins to make his slow march down the entryway. He ignores the insults from the crowd, his heavy footfalls thudding along the ramp.

Alexei Ruslan: He is the second longest reigning Universal Champion in The ReVival Era! He is the oldest recorded Universal Champion in PRIME history!!

Stanislav makes it to the apron and takes one step up as if it was a normal step.

Alexei Ruslan: He is the harbinger of The Red Era of PRIME! He is the leader of The Red Army!!

Stanislav easily straddles the top rope and approaches Ruslan. Ruslan points up at his friend, who now stands beside him.

Alexei Ruslan: He has defeated the Hanlons and the Coltons. He had decimated the Halls and the Rays. Luchadors and eGG Bandits have fallen before him. Crownless Kings have bent and broken! World Champions from third-party federations have collapsed at his feet and proven their impotence. Plucky upstarts of wrestling pedigree and journeymen newcomers have shattered. Legends like Nova and breakable, brittle diamonds like Brandon Youngblood have all disintegrated in his wake!! And do you know why?!

How many times have they been here, in their illustrious careers, standing side by side, at the top of a major pay-per-view?

Several.

How many times have they been here to defend the PRIME Universal Championship?

Never.

Ruslan points at his friend.

Alexei Ruslan: Yes, he is inevitable. He is inexorable. He is inescapable. But no, my friends. It is more than that. You all know it. The words echo in your minds and keep you awake at night. They are a promise. A mandate. An unavoidable fate.

Stanislav puffs out his chest and Ruslan stands proudly next to his lifelong friend.

Alexei Ruslan: He is unstoppable! He is unbeatable! He is indefatigable! He is your PRIME Universal Champion! He is Ivan Sergeiovich Stanislav!

The two Russians glower over at FLAMBERGE.

Alexei Ruslan: And you, FLAMBERGE, just like all the insignificant others, are just another casualty in his great patriotic war!

Nick Stuart: Are you seriously standing and saluting?!

Richard Parker: I’m moved by it all!

Ruslan turns to face Ivan and gazes up into his eyes. The Champion looks down as they nod at each other and salute, crisply. Then, Stanislav offers his belt to Alexei. Ruslan walks over to Timo Bolamba and jaws at him for a moment. Alexei places the belt on his shoulder and pointedly slaps his palms together three times. He then turns and climbs out of the ring and hands the belt to the timekeeper, jawing at him as well.

Stanislav ignores the exchanges and wipes his boots on the center of the ring. He stomps his foot angrily and the canvas flexes violently while he awaits the challenger.

FLAMBERGE steps forward contemptuously, as though he has a chip on his shoulder larger than some celestial objects.

There’s a buzz in the air.

Sure, neither of these men are particularly well-liked by the general public.

Ivan Stanislav, the PRIME Universal Champion, carrying the will of communism and the full ungodly might of sixty-two years of hating the capitalist world stands on one side of the ring as the indomitable leader of the Red Army. The man who, after conquering the Diamond in the UltraViolence Cage, stands as one of the most unbeatable forces in PRIME. In fact, he has not been pinned or made to submit since last year’s UltraViolence at the hands of Hayes Hanlon.

But the same could be sand about the man standing defiantly in front of him.

FLAMBERGE, the PRIME Intense Champion, has not been pinned or been forced to submit since losing at last year’s UltraViolence to Nate Colton. Young, hungry, and dangerous, the rogue progeny of Henri Lavigne represented one of the gravest existential threats to Stanislav’s title reign. He may be a weirdo, sure. You might find him planking across chairs or rolling on the ground, barely desiring to get up to grab a bag of Bret’s. But within the ropes, you will find no man with more dangerous swagger than that of the French Phenom.

The immovable object of the Russian Bear.

The irresistible force of the Neck Collector.

Which falters first? Who will leave Colossus with the Universal championship and their yearlong unbeaten streak going?

When Timo Bolamba calls for the bell, we would finally be able to learn the answer to those very questions.

DING DING

Ivan moves first. An arm like a tree branch comes lumbering towards FLAMBERGE in the same way that a low bridge comes at a moving truck that might not have the clearance for it. Disaster awaits any at the receiving end of the blow.

FLAMBERGE reacts quicker. He ducks under the towering Russian’s arm, and delivers a hard kick to the side of Ivan’s knee.

SMACK!

Ivan reacts to it in much the same way that you might react to a wad of paper being thrown at your knee, with mild irritation at best. He stalks after Le Protagoniste, who ducks under another attempt by Ivan to grab hold of him, and hits another kick to Ivan’s knee. More mild irritation.

Nick Stuart: It’s smart to go after Ivan’s knee here, but it doesn’t look like it’s having an effect yet.

Richard Parker: Ivan’s built from stronger stuff than whatever FLAMBERGE is throwing at him. Trust the Russians, they’re engineers!

For a third time, Ivan attempts to make a move on FLAMBERGE. But the big Russian sorely miscalculates the notion that FLAMBERGE would duck a third time. Instead, FLAMBERGE head fakes, and Ivan takes the bait. So, instead of grabbing where he thinks FLAMBERGE is going to go, he grabs empty air.

This time, FLAMBERGE’s boot hits Ivan in the face, kicking him as he hunches over. This actually stuns the giant, who isn’t expecting the kick at all and has no means to brace for the impact. He grabs at his face, and that gives FLAMBERGE the opening to tee off on Ivan with more leg kicks.

It’s like trying to chop down a sequoia. Not that FLAMBERGE gives a damn, being a man(?) looking to store one more piece of gold for his lizard’s hoard before the long winter sets in.

FLAMBERGE: C’est tout ce que tu as!?

Besides, FLAMBERGE isn’t working with an axe. He is an industrial buzzsaw, and so many men and necks have experienced this buzzsaw over the course of the last 449 days. Ivan is no exception. The kicks are starting to have an effect.

FLAMBERGE: Allez!

At least, until they didn’t.

As Ivan is on the verge of going down to one knee, he catches the last of FLAMBERGE’s kicks and unloads one single heavy hand onto the French Phenom’s chest.

SMACK!

Despite the impact of the blow, FLAMBERGE somehow manages to stand there as his lizard brain processes what just hit him. There’s shock on his face as it seems like his heart just stopped, if only for a moment. Then he falls to one side like a dead fish succumbing to gravity.

Ivan pauses, wincing as he takes a step forward. The kicks did have an effect, but he’s able to walk off the pain in his aging joints. For his part, FLAMBERGE is already recovering, slithering into a corner as easily as a salamander. Ivan doesn’t want to give him a chance to slip away and recover. He marches on him, an engulfing presence in the corner.

Nick Stuart: Timo stepping in here to give FLAMBERGE some breathing room, and…

Timo gets parted aside like the Red Sea with one meaty hand gently shoving him aside.

It’s like he’s saying “No, old friend. This one needs to learn his place.”

Then he engulfs FLAMBERGE in the corner, using his size and his weight to crush the Neck Collector in the corner. An elbow to the face, grinding down. A thigh bigger than some tree trunks against the body. Everything to drive the air, the spirit, the very life out of his opponent. Show the world that none can stand before the might of the Motherland.

There is no such thing as honor or a fair fight in the world of Ivan Stanislav. There are only two truths for Ivan: those who are champion, and those who are dead. For the Russian Bear, he wants all challengers to his reign to be the last of those.

But Timo Bolamba won’t disqualify him. He can’t. The match is no disqualifications. There must be a winner by pinfall or submission. Besides, Timo knows every dirty trick that the Russians would employ to ensure “victory”. Every cheap tactic to ensure that Ivan’s true goal – to keep the Universal championship at all costs – is not realized the easy way. Even as Ivan is actually telling him to do what the rules should ordinarily be instructing Timo to be doing right now.

Ivan Stanislav: Disqualify me!

Timo shakes his head.

Timo Bolamba: No disqualifications, Ivan! You know that!

Only then does Ivan relent. Not because he wants to, but because he is arguing with Timo about the rules and how Speedy Riggs should be the one in charge of all of Ivan’s title matches.

Nick Stuart: Ivan wants this to be over right now, and Timo isn’t having it!

Richard Parker: Not for nothing, but what the hell is Timo doing? He’s a referee! Count to five! Disqualify that man!

He does not. He refuses. Because that’s not the rule of this match.

So, Ivan points a finger in his face, his intentions clear. If he can’t have things the easy way, then it’s the hard way. For his opponent. For his enemy.

Ivan Stanislav: Everything that is about to happen to this man? This is on you.

He charges on FLAMBERGE in the corner as a bear would charge on cornered prey.

FLAMBERGE, though, is just playing possum. Or, rather, playing lizard. He slips out of the way before Ivan reaches him, and the big man collides with the turnbuckles chest-first. This actually stuns the titanic Russian, and FLAMBERGE does what comes naturally to him.

He grabs Ivan in a waistlock.

Richard Parker: No way.

This doesn’t go to plan, of course. While FLAMBERGE has enough of a wingspan to actually get his arms around Ivan, it’s like trying to suplex a refrigerator with all of the implications of what might happen if you actually succeeded in doing that. Ivan doesn’t let him. Instead, he executes what looks like a judo toss by simply turning sharply to his right, flinging FLAMBERGE from his waist and into a slide to the outside of the ring.

Ivan absorbs the boos of the crowd as he holds his arms out and laughs.

Ivan Stanislav: DYAA-HAA-HAA!!!

BOOOOOOO!!!

As FLAMBERGE convalesces on the floor, Ivan chooses to go after him. Better to break this man now than risk him actually building any sort of momentum. He steps over the ropes and takes his time walking down the ring steps. All the while, he keeps his eyes firmly pointed in the direction of the recovering FLAMBERGE. When FLAMBERGE gets up, Ivan gets a running start and then bowls over him so hard that FLAMBERGE tumbles head over heels in the direction of the timekeeper’s table. Ivan doesn’t even do anything when he does it, he just uses his great bulk to run over Le Protagoniste as though he’s roadkill.

Nick Stuart: Things aren’t looking good for FLAMBERGE early on.

Richard Parker: Yeah, uh… nevermind that shit, look who’s coming our way!

There’s the sound of a scramble as both English commentators get the hell out of dodge. Ivan marches over to their table and starts ripping shit off of it. The cover? Get that shit out of there. The flat-screen monitors? One goes flying into the crowd with the careless effort of a man who doesn’t care which capitalist it hits. That’s a fine. Maybe a lawsuit. A lot of the crowd scatter. The other is thrown in FLAMBERGE’s direction, who can only protect himself by covering up with his limbs.

Let it be said that it really sucks to get things thrown at you by an angry seven foot tall Russian.

Nick Stuart: What the hell are you doing!?

Richard Parker: (voice low) Dude.

Ivan shoots a glare at Nick Stuart, and growls at him.

Ivan Stanislav: Stay out of my way, дурак.

He turns just in time for FLAMBERGE to leap at him. It takes some doing. The French Phenom had to get a running start, jump up onto the ringside barrier, and then hurl himself bodily in the general direction of Ivan’s head. Knees connect with Ivan’s skull, and FLAMBERGE is so well-practiced in how precisely dangerous his joints are that this action rocks Ivan.

FLAMBERGE lands in a roll, but while he did rock Ivan, Ivan isn’t down yet.

So, FLAMBERGE does the next best thing available to him.

He picks up Nick Stuart’s comfy-looking chair.

Nick Stuart: Hey!

Richard Parker: Better yours than mine!

FLAMBERGE doesn’t swing it at Ivan. Instead, he flings it as hard as he can at the big man’s head in a similar manner to a man throwing a bag of cement off of a flatbed truck.

SMACK!

The heavy weight hitting Ivan in the face is enough to knock even the mighty Ivan Stanislav off of his feet. He’s staggered. He’s disoriented.

Alexei Ruslan is apoplectic near Timo.

He wants a disqualification for the use of a weapon against Ivan, and he’s letting Timo know about it. Even as Timo reminds Alexei that Ivan just threw something at FLAMBERGE, and refuses to issue a disqualification. Because, again, no disqualifications.

He is not playing Ivan or Alexei’s game tonight.

FLAMBERGE absorbs the cheers of the crowd in the same way as one might absorb being dunked in cake frosting. It’s disorienting to him. He’s not used to it. He’s used to not giving a shit. He’s used to their scorn, their hatred as he killed as many of their darlings as he could and took their necks back to his nest to hoard for the coming winter.

But it’s New Orleans, baby. Home of the French Quarter. Tonight, the native of Strasbourg is one of theirs. Tonight, he is their Protagoniste. He finds himself feeding on that energy, even against the better judgment of what usually drives him. It’s as terrifying to him as he’s been to his enemies.

He snaps up a steel chair from the timekeeper’s table.

Richard Parker: Uh oh.

He takes a pointed look towards Alexei Ruslan, and then he hurls the chair at Ivan’s face. Ivan catches it inches before it can make contact. Now, this might be the part where Ivan starts beating FLAMBERGE to death with that chair until Timo has no choice but to stop the match in order to save a man’s life.

This is not that story, though.

SMAAAAACK!

…This is the story of a World Warrior. One who has mastered the fine art of the forward, down, down-forward motion in fighting games. One who knows the ancient art of the Dragon Punch. That’s right.

FLAMBERGE just fucking Shoryuken-ed a steel chair into Ivan’s face.

Ivan collapses backwards, and a line of blood is drawn on his face as it gushes out of his skull. FLAMBERGE also collapses backwards, clutching his hand in pain.

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

Nick Stuart: THE CHALLENGER HAS DRAWN BLOOD ON THE CHAMPION!

Richard Parker: I don’t believe it! Disqualify him! Throw the book at him! This is disgraceful!

No such thing happens, and Alexei Ruslan is stomping mad about it. So he decides he needs to take matters into his own hands. In full view of Timo Bolamba, he would force his hand. He pulls the baton from his coat and rushes towards FLAMBERGE.

Despite the pain in his hand, Alexei doesn’t even make contact with FLAMBERGE. The French Phenom simply sidesteps Alexei and throws him into the timekeeper’s table, using Alexei’s own momentum against him.

The timekeeper? Vince Howard? At least one cameraman? They get knocked over like pins in a bowling alley. Strike. Cue those weird bowling alley animations, you know the ones.

FLAMBERGE smiles coolly at his handiwork. Alexei looks disoriented and in some measure of pain. Some of the tools he keeps in his coat have spilled out. His baton rolls out of his hand. For the moment, Ivan has to do this on his own.

With Alexei incapacitated, he goes back to the offense on Ivan, hoping to get him back into the ring in order to take that ne—YEET.

Oh, I’m sorry, FLAMBO.

Did we break your concentration?

One second, you’re in the driver’s seat. You’re cruising along the highway in the mountains, and you think you’re the baddest motherfucker on earth. And then you barely see the wounded bear and it fucking yeets you off the mountain cliff.

And you’re sent flying.

One second, FLAMBERGE is standing. The next, he goes flying over the guardrail and into a sea of panicked ticket holders who didn’t quite realize when they got into their seats tonight that they’d be having to manage a whole different level of Flying Frenchies. This one doesn’t even have the 10,000 Megawatt BEAM~! or anything!

CRASH!

Nick Stuart: IVAN JUST SENT FLAMBERGE INTO THE THIRD ROW!

Richard Parker: Only the third row? Maybe he really is getting old.

The bloodied champion casts a heated glance towards Richard Parker for a moment.

Richard Parker: I… I mean, you’re doing great, Comrade! So spry!

Nick Stuart: Way to grow a spine, Richard.

A few fans unlucky enough to not be able to dodge FLAMBERGE’s body in time are trying to free themselves from the wreckage they now find themselves in, and especially start to panic after Ivan tears the guardrail apart in order to march towards the fallen FLAMBERGE.

Richard Parker: Oh, so that’s why the first few rows had to sign waivers before they could attend the show tonight.

Nick Stuart: That’s a thing!?

Richard Parker: Shrug.

Nick Stuart: Did you… did you actually just say the word “shrug” instead of actually shrugging your shoulders?

Richard Parker: Maybe.

Beware of flying lizards, all we’re saying.

Fans scatter in a panic, and security helps keep them away from the action. Some doctors come to check on the unlucky few that didn’t get out of the way of FLAMBERGE in time. Ivan doesn’t give a single fuck about any of them. He’d raze the whole of the Superdome to the ground, with everyone inside, if it means he’s still the Universal Champion by the end of tonight.

FLAMBERGE is flopping like a fish, by the way. Your body might react like that too after a yeeting of that caliber.

Ivan stands in front of FLAMBERGE, who has to use Ivan’s legs to try and pull himself back up to his feet. Ivan lets him. He wants him to know what’s coming next.

Ivan takes one look behind him, and fans a few rows deeper collectively go “oh fuck” and scatter like leaves in the wind. Then he picks up FLAMBERGE and hurls him mightily into those rows.

CRASH!

The human body is not meant to be thrown into stadium seating. It simply isn’t. And as Ivan watches the aftermath of his handiwork flop around on top of so many turned over chairs and the scattered accoutrements of audience members, he can’t help but bellow his laughter once again.

Ivan Stanislav: DYAA-HAA-HAA!!!

Richard Parker: This can’t keep happening to FLAMBERGE, even he can’t take this kind of punishment!

Nick Stuart: We’ve seen FLAMBERGE get hardcore since challenging and defeating Anna Daniels for the Intense Championship back in June, but this is a whole other level of destruction he’s experiencing tonight!

Stanislav is relentless. He needs to be. The Russian Bear isn’t getting any younger. He marches towards where FLAMBERGE has fallen and hoists him back up. This time, the big man carries FLAMBERGE in a massive Red Army military press back towards the ring. If Timo won’t count them out or disqualify them, then he would break this man the hard way, and this would all be his fault.

Audience members flee for their lives in the event that Ivan decides to hit them with an ICLM, an Intercontinental Lizard Missile if you will. Instead, Ivan chooses to launch FLAMBERGE over the guardrail and back into the ringside area. He starts to climb over the guardrail, but stops.

Nick Stuart: What is he doing now?

He can’t help himself.

He just watched this terrified audience cower in fear of true Russian power. For a brief moment, Ivan enjoyed the fear of the capitalists, all high and mighty within the false safety of their inferior American homes. And so he bellowed his laughter once again.

Ivan Stanislav: DYAA-HAA-HAA!!!

And then turned and regretted all of his hubris, including the hubris that may come later.

FLAMBERGE isn’t dead. He isn’t broken. He is the irresistible gods damned force of PRIME Wrestling. To underestimate him, to consider him broken, is to court disaster. And we’re not talking about any kind of disaster. We’re talking a full on Tunguska Event, right in Ivan Stanislav’s backyard. Because FLAMBERGE has the hops, bro.

And he has knees forged from the fires of hell.

FLAMBERGE’s hellforged knees slam into Stanislav’s side, unexpectedly. Off-balance from only having one leg on firm ground, the sudden burst of power and the impact caused Ivan to lose his balance and fall.

CRASH!

He takes the whole damn guardrail with him, too.

His ankle twists as he hits the ground, and Ivan suddenly yells in pain as the rest of his body lands. He comes up clutching his ankle. It’s a rough, ugly landing for Ivan Stanislav. And being on the ground and holding his ankle, Ivan couldn’t have made it any more obvious to the French Phenom that he’d been hurt even if he used neon lights and a big old glowing weak spot that’s Z-targettable.

Nick Stuart: Ivan Stanislav’s hurt here, and I think FLAMBERGE knows this!

Richard Parker: Why hasn’t Timo counted these guys out yet!?

Nick Stuart: There’s no disqualifications here, what makes you think countouts are on the table!?

In fact, Timo’s been outside of the ring this whole time, urging the two gladiators to take it back inside the ring. No counts are being made, and that’s unfortunate for the big Russian since Ivan would’ve gladly taken the double countout. Now he’s hurt and FLAMBERGE is on him like Bobby Dean on some orange sherbet.

The Neck Collector picks up the piece of the guardrail that’s on top of Ivan, and he drives it down onto Ivan’s leg. Ivan yells in pain, as FLAMBERGE continues to viciously attack the champion’s newfound Achilles’ heel. Well, okay, Achilles is maybe a bad example here. Not Slavic enough. Let’s call it the Stanislav Phylactery. So, FLAMBERGE picks up the guardrail a third time and drives it straight into the phylactery.

As we all know from our Slavic mythology, Ivan Stanislav the Deathless keeps his soul locked deep inside his ankle bone, inside of an egg which is inside of a duck which is inside of a hare which nests within a hollow log floating in a pond within a forest on the island of Bouyan. Simple stuff. Anyone can do it, really. Anyway, FLAMBERGE is trying to collect Ivan’s soul as well as his neck and his championship, and that’s pretty greedy of him. He’s not even a prince.

Anyway, we’re getting off track. Where were we?

Oh, right. The screams.

Nick Stuart: Ivan Stanislav is suddenly in a lot of trouble out here!

Richard Parker: He can’t win the championship outside of the ring, though! How is FLAMBERGE going to get Starsky Pepper-chick Stanislav and Hutch back into the ring!?

FLAMBERGE seems to recognize this as well. After the third hit to the Stanislav Phylactery, he starts to try and pick Ivan up. He’s dead weight. Some of that might be on purpose. Recognizing that the mighty Ivan Stanislav is a wounded animal refusing to get into the ring, FLAMBERGE slides into the ring and postures at Ivan. Daring him to get back into the ring. Taunting him.

Under normal circumstances, maybe Ivan wouldn’t have taken the bait. Maybe he’d have walked out on the match, no disqualification stipulation be damned.

But FLAMBERGE has wounded him. This… lizard, this unknowable quantity that no one in PRIME has ever been able to figure out… is taunting him. Even Ivan Stanislav can’t abide by this. Picking himself up off of the ground, the Universal champion picks up and throws the guardrail into the ring in the general direction of FLAMBERGE. FLAMBERGE just stands there, unmoving, watching as the guardrail lands just inches to his right.

He’s not even phased.

Richard Parker: I’m not so certain that FLAMBERGE is in there right now. There’s something else.

Nick Stuart: No fear from the challenger even in the face of certain destruction! And Ivan’s not happy about it!

Even on one leg, the great Ivan Stanislav won’t let this little lizard man have the better of him. Hobbled, Ivan slides into the ring.

FLAMBERGE is on him in a second. First stomps on the ankle, and then a few pointed kicks to Ivan’s calf and knee. Constant. Unrelenting. Unblinking. Ivan is feeling these more than he’s ever felt anything in his time in PRIME, not including that time he got the business end of a forklift. The French Phenom has Ivan on the ropes, and he continues to kick away at Ivan’s leg once he puts him in the corner.

The fans are cheering every second of this. Better the devil from France than the devil from Russia, they’ve decided.

Nick Stuart: Ivan’s on his back foot here! The challenger is smelling blood!

Richard Parker: And we aren’t just talking about the fact that he’s still bleeding from getting that chair punched in his face earlier!

FLAMBERGE is relentless. Dangereux. The Neck Collector is looking for number twelve for his mantle, the greatest and biggest neck there ever was. He batters him with more kicks, and Stanislav finds himself losing his footing.

But FLAMBERGE overcommits on his last kick, and Ivan grabs hold of him. YEET.

Over the top rope and to the floor in a heap goes FLAMBERGE, much to the dismay of a crowd that’s decided that he’s their hero for tonight.

Ivan slinks to the ground after removing the threat. He’s wincing in pain as he grabs hold of his left foot, and starts to undo the laces of his boot.

Nick Stuart: Ivan must be in a lot of pain right now, as he’s trying to remove his boot to relieve some of the pressure he must be feeling right now!

Richard Parker: That injury’s really changed the complexion of this match, for sure. Before, it looked like this match had been dwelling in a basement for thirty years, but now it’s hit the gym and gone to a tanning booth, and now it has to chase all the ladies off with a broom!

Nick Stuart: …What the hell was that metaphor?

Richard Parker: What?

With his boot removed, Ivan takes it with him as he hobbles to meet FLAMBERGE on the outside once again. Then he starts wailing away at FLAMBERGE with the boot. Just pounding away at him repeatedly, bonking him with a boot. FLAMBERGE takes this beating very poorly, trying to cover up. He’s already bruised from being thrown into all those chairs, and now he’s getting more bruises from this.

But Ivan’s not done yet. Oh no. The Russian Bear isn’t going to let one bad wheel stop him from inflicting punishment.

Discarding the boot, Ivan rips another piece of the guardrail free from the rest of the set. Audience members in the front row scatter, afraid that Ivan is going to yeet FLAMBERGE into those as well.

Instead, Ivan takes the guardrail and starts slamming it down on the challenger. Over and over again. At least six times in a row. Damaging the guardrail – and maybe FLAMBERGE himself – beyond repair.

BOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Nick Stuart: Barbaric actions from the champion!

Richard Parker: Ivan has the whole of a nation supporting him, Nick! It doesn’t matter what he does! 

Ivan tosses the guardrail aside, uncaring if it hits anyone in the direction he throws it out. Judging from the sounds of horrified screams as a piece of metal is thrown, Ivan might be paying more fines tonight. He doesn’t care. The earth could lie as a barren ruin, nothing untouched by flame, if it meant he’d still leave New Orleans with the Universal Championship.

He peels FLAMBERGE off of the ground and throws him back into the ring. FLAMBERGE rolls into the ring much like a snake after it’s been run over by a car. You’d think he’s trying to bite himself, he’s writhing so much.

Ivan gets back in the ring, and goes to work. He gets on top of FLAMBERGE, all four hundred pounds of Russian might, and starts pounding him. Just pounds him, and pounds him, and pounds him. Like he’s trying to make Frenchburgers. Even as FLAMBERGE covers up, some of those heavy hands would be too much for any mortal man, much less a mortal lizard.

Nick Stuart: Timo Bolamba being very lenient here, most referees might consider stopping this match right here!

The results of Ivan’s barrage aren’t pretty. Despite his best efforts to protect himself, FLAMBERGE is bloodied, and his blood is already staining the mat.

Richard Parker: How the hell does FLAMBERGE get out of this one?

The answer?

Ivan lets him.

He gets up and limps to a corner, sliding out of the ring. Despite being such a physical presence that he’d just bloodied FLAMBERGE with his bare hands, he’s looking under the ring for things to beat FLAMBERGE to death with. A steel chair… yes, that’s so nice he needed to throw one in twice. A table gets pulled out, and Ivan quickly spends the time setting the table up on the outside in front of the hard cam with destruction on his mind.

No, Ivan let FLAMBERGE up because he wants to punish him. He wants to break him. He wants to make it clear to everyone in PRIME that to challenge Ivan Stanislav for his Universal championship is to court death itself.

FLAMBERGE, miraculously, has made it to the ropes and is using them to get to his feet. Ivan sees this, and realizes that he needs to shut this down before FLAMBERGE gets the bright idea to start fighting back.

Despite being hobbled, Ivan manages to charge FLAMBERGE in the corner, and when Ivan engulfs him, it’s like he’s caught between a train and a brick wall moments before they collide with one another. The air in FLAMBERGE’s body – also, some of his blood – is forced out of the tube of toothpaste that is his actual human (lizard?) body. He collapses to the canvas, convulsing.

Nick Stuart: Good grief! What impact on the avalanche in the corner!

Ivan’s hobbled gait causes him to reconsider his intentions to break FLAMBERGE. Perhaps he would like for this to be over now instead of later. So for the first time in the match, Ivan actually attempts a cover.

ONE.

TWO.

NO!

FLAMBERGE rolls his shoulder off of the canvas, and Ivan stares at Timo with a bewildered look on his face. Was the count too slow? Ivan thinks that it was, and he slaps his hand in accordance with how fast Speedy counts. Let’s just say that “Speedy” is not hyperbole in this case.

Ivan pulls FLAMBERGE to his feet. An Irish whip ensues, which might be the first actual pro wrestling move we’ve seen in the match. When FLAMBERGE rebounds, Ivan throws out the big boot.

And he regrets it.

Immensely.

OHHHHHH!!!

FLAMBERGE goes low, under the boot, and immediately plows his shoulder into Ivan’s plant leg. It’s the same leg that FLAMBERGE had hurt earlier in the contest, so it’d already been on shaky ground. Ivan falls forward… and more or less, for the briefest of moments, does the splits.

Richard Parker: Jesus Christ.

Ivan is not as spry as he used to be. He isn’t exactly known for his flexibility, no matter what he might say about his talent with the ladies on social media. And when you ask a man who just celebrated his sixty-first birthday to land like he just did, the general response would be a resounding “FUCK THAT”.

Nick Stuart: Ivan Stanislav is in a world of hurt! I’ve never seen him land like that before!

Richard Parker: No man should.

FLAMBERGE is battered and bleeding. He looks and feels like a man whose body is not built for a match against this titan, but his spirit (and whatever insidious force driving him) pushes him to his feet. As Ivan clutches his legs in pain, FLAMBERGE grabs hold of Ivan.

It’s time to collect.

Marie. Antoinette.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE WITH THE GUILLOTINE! IT’S LOCKED IN!

Richard Parker: Oh no!

It’s locked in, but we’re talking about the biggest game in the neck collecting biznitch. It can’t possibly be that easy.

And it isn’t.

Ivan might be wounded, but he isn’t incapacitated. The moment FLAMBERGE locks the hold in, Ivan storms back up to his feet, carrying FLAMBERGE’s weight with him. In most cases, this is a death sentence. You’re just strangling yourself trying to carry your own weight and FLAMBERGE’s weight.

But Ivan Stanislav is not built like most men. He is the very apex of Russian engineering and science and genetics. FLAMBERGE can’t get his legs around Ivan before Ivan is on his feet and hobble-pushing him into the corner. Once Ivan had FLAMBERGE seated on the turnbuckle, he landed several heart-stopping punches to the ribs. The hold ends up broken, and not because FLAMBERGE wants it.

A single punch to the jaw nearly puts FLAMBERGE’s lights out.

It’s almost a miracle that FLAMBERGE hangs on, as he tips dangerously close to falling out of the ring and to certain doom.

Ivan takes a moment to steady himself. And then he climbs up the turnbuckles in an uncharacteristic move.

Nick Stuart: We have to hope that they reinforced the ring ropes, because Ivan Stanislav is going up top! Maybe a superplex!?

Richard Parker: Somehow, “superplex” doesn’t quite fit what’s about to happen here. Do the words “extinction level event” mean anything to you, Nick? I think Ivan’s about to kill the lizardsaurs.

Ivan goes to grab FLAMBERGE, who’s teetering off the turnbuckles. If he grabs him and nails the superplex – or worse, hits him with a Red Scare from this position – they’d have to scrape whatever remains of the Neck Collector from the canvas with a spatula and a bottle of industrial strength lizard lubricant.

And then… something miraculous happens.

Compared to Ivan, FLAMBERGE is half his weight and a foot shorter. He is also one of the slipperiest motherfuckers in all of PRIME. What people don’t know about the French Phenom is how his ability to conserve his strength sometimes leads him to display shows of incredible power. So when Ivan tries to reach and grab FLAMBERGE by his copious ‘fro, FLAMBERGE suddenly comes to life and slips between Ivan’s legs, landing on his feet just under him.

He grabs hold of Ivan’s legs, and climbs the turnbuckles.

Richard Parker: No fucking way.

There is a collective, horrifying sound.

And it isn’t just the crowd watching in attendance.

Something in FLAMBERGE’s mind is screaming at him that this is the stupidest idea he’s ever had and God won’t help him if he fucks this up. He doesn’t care. He’s operating on pure adrenaline. He’s shared a mlem experience with Sid Phillips. He knows all about what he’s about to do.

With a bewildered Ivan Stanislav now sitting on FLAMBERGE’s shoulders, the French Phenom has mere milliseconds to stand on the second ropes and perform the mightiest throw thought possible before his back snaps in half.

And so, FLAMBERGE hurls himself forward.

…and he powerbombs the fuck out of the Universal Champion.

CRASH!!!

…

CRASH!!!

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

It’s pandemonium in the Superdome.

And for good reason.

A goddamn super powerbomb on a scale hitherto before unseen in the annals of PRIME Wrestling just happened. And whoever’s in charge of reinforcing the ring for the main event? They may be looking for employment elsewhere after tonight is over.

Because…

…and hear me out here…

…the ring… 

…has collapsed.

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

The ring’s supports buckled and collapsed upon impact. The ringposts are turned inward, the ring ropes knocked loose and fall to the canvas. After the initial collapse that turned all the ringposts inside, the ring collapsed further. The steel steps are knocked loose and some audience members recoil with surprise when they find that it almost ends up in their laps. After all, the guardrails haven’t exactly done their best in guarding anyone in this match. Since a lot of them have been dislodged and removed.

Timo Bolamba, who’d been standing next to the ring ropes on the far side of the ring out of the way of what became the mother of all powerbombs (Sid would be proud), suddenly finds himself without any support when the ground gives out under him. He falls backwards, through the ropes that are no longer there, and lands hard on the padded concrete below. falls out of the ring in pure surprise, falling through the broken ring ropes when the ring collapses and landing relatively unsafely in the process. He’s down, and he’s not able to do much right now.

Richard Parker: What. The. Fuuuuuuuuuck!?

Nick Stuart: THEY DESTROYED THE RING!?!!!?!

Richard Parker: This is MADNESS, Nick!

Both Ivan and FLAMBERGE are down. In Ivan’s case, he was ground zero for that event. In FLAMBERGE’s case, only God and an ancient reptilian brain knows how much this one single act has fucked him up. Neither man moves. Neither man so much as twitches.

And that is when Alexei Ruslan reappears.

Nick Stuart: Oh no, it was only a matter of time before that reprehensible snake came back into this match!

Richard Parker: Nick, FLAMBERGE is still down, so… oh. Oh, that’s not very nice to our boy, Alexei.

Earlier, he’d had a terrible meeting with the timekeeper’s table. He had to look of a man with wounded pride, unable to adequately help his dearest friend up until now. But now that FLAMBERGE is down, it is Alexei’s job to keep him there. By any means.

The baton comes out, time to go to work.

He slides into the ring and immediately hits FLAMBERGE as hard as he can with his baton. FLAMBERGE takes the initial hit unprotected, but he isn’t knocked unconscious by it judging from the fact that he immediately curls up in a fetal position covering his head as Alexei wails on him with several more shots.

BOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Nick Stuart: This is a disgrace!

Richard Parker: There’s no disqualifications, even if Timo was in the ring, Alexei could do whatever he wanted!

Alexei searches his coat for something, but can’t find them. Whatever it was he’d been seeking, he realizes that they’d fallen out of his pocket when FLAMBERGE threw him into the timekeeper’s table. Then Alexei moves to where Ivan is, moving to the edge of the collapsed ring to encourage his old friend, in bad shape after the superbomb and the state of his ankle, to return to his feet and pulverize this French upstart. He’s probably telling Ivan that France isn’t even a real country!

Then the crowd suddenly comes unglued, and that sets off alarm bells in Alexei’s head.

Alexei has been around the block a few times, and in his experience, he knows that if the crowd is cheering and you don’t know why, it’s probably because of something happening behind you.

So he casts a glance backwards.

A powerbomb stares back at him from the ring floor.

Nick Stuart: It’s… that’s… THAT’S SID PHILLIPS!?

Richard Parker: Oh no! What’s he doing out here?

What the fuck do you think he’s out here for?

He saw a powerbomb that made him swell with pride. He’d later have this to say to reporters about what FLAMBERGE just did: “I raised that boy”. And a father will do whatever it takes to defend his son. His French, black,  possible lizard son.

Look, the point is that Sid saw a very cool powerbomb and he felt left out. And Alexei? Alexei probably deserves what’s about to happen to him. Sid grabs him and hoists him over his head. Alexei tries to stop him by slamming his baton into Sid’s head. This only staves off the inevitable. It encourages Sid to lift him high overhead, Last Ride-style. Well out of reach of Sid’s head.

The look on Alexei’s face, in the briefest of moments, is one of abject horror.

Because there’s a table right there for him to die in.

CRASH!!!

RAHHHHHHHH!!!!

Nick Stuart: ALEXEI RUSLAN JUST GOT POWERBOMBED THROUGH A TABLE!

Richard Parker: CALL THE U.N. SECURITY COUNCIL! CALL THE NATIONAL GUARD! CALL PUTIN! WE HAVE AN INTERNATIONAL POWERBOMBING INCIDENT!

Sid stands there in a daze, since he not only powerbombed a man during the biggest main event in PRIME history, but he also took a baton to the skull doing so.

His condition isn’t about to improve, because a man slipped onto the scene with a steel chair.

SMACK!

BOOOOOO!!!!!

Nick Stuart: Oh no! Now Arthur Pleasant is out here, and he just blasted Sid Phillips with that chair!

Richard Parker: Finally! Help has arrived for Mother Russia!

Nick Stuart: Whose side are you even on?

Richard Parker: Uh, kinda just depends on the vibes, man.

Following close behind him, Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz hit the broken ring and put the boots to FLAMBERGE, who was still down from Alexei’s baton assault.

Nick Stuart: This is chaos! The Red Army is out here trying to tip the scales in Ivan’s favor!

Richard Parker: Yeah!

Outside of the ruined ring, Arthur Pleasant tosses the steel chair already bent out of shape from smashing Sid with it into the ruins. He rips up a section of the padding surround the ring, exposing the concrete. With the concrete exposed, Pleasant gets into the ring as Kenny and Randall each take one of FLAMBERGE’s arms. Without any preamble, Wrestling’s Worst Nightmare picks up the chair.

If these three men go through with what they have in mind, we might be referring to FLAMBERGE in the past tense from this point forward.

RAHHHHHH!!!

Like Joe Fontaine was going to let that happen.

He jumps up onto the ring and dives into Arthur Pleasant without any regard to his own personal safety, considering that Pleasant had a steel chair and he didn’t. Still, his appearance is unexpected enough that Pleasant gets knocked off his feet by Fontaine. Kenny and Randall quickly scramble to contain one of the men they faced earlier in the night, only for the Fabulous Gold Mask to hit the ring. A few right hands from the masked man cause the Masters of the Moscowverse to sound a retreat, with Fabby on their heels. Sid Phillips, the most seriously hurt of the intruders, still comes to trap the Masters between the two big men.

Arthur Pleasant slithers out of the ring with his chair, intent on doing harm to the intruders. Joe goes to pursue… but there’s something wrong. Something terrible is happening, and Joe Fontaine can hear the crowd gasp in shock.

So he turns and…

…oh.

Oh no.

One of the smallest men in PRIME… is now staring up at the biggest man.

Fuck.

Nick Stuart: That’s not good! Ivan’s back on his feet!

Richard Parker: Well, can’t say I’ve never wanted to see something like this happen.

Joe Fontaine doesn’t even have time to react before the Universal champion has a hand around his throat. Then he’s lifted high over Ivan’s head. Ivan turns to see the crowd of men gathered to throw punches and chairs at each other, and decides that it’s an adequate dumping ground for this trash.

He takes two very sudden steps forward and…

YEET.

That’s Russian for “throw the trash out of the ring”, don’t you know?

The Masters, Sid, and Fabby all take this missile in the not-exactly-aerodynamic shape of Joe Fontaine and are all knocked down. Ivan raises both fists in the air and bellows a laughter that’s half in pain.

Ivan Stanislav: DYAA-HAA-HAA!

With the nuisances dealt with, the Russian Bear limps his way to FLAMBERGE.

FLAMBERGE is in a bad way. The cut that Ivan left on him is significantly worse than the one that the French Phenom gave to Ivan earlier in the contest, and Alexei and the rest of the Red Army did him no favors either. Ivan needs only to pick the bones of his enemy to vanquish him and keep the Universe revolving around the Motherland.

SMACK!

And then he gets the soul of Lenin kicked out of his knee.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE is not dead! He’s still in this one!

If it’d been earlier in the contest, before the guardrail incident, Ivan would’ve shrugged this hit off, the same as he would any other. But the Russian Bear is wounded in a way he hadn’t been before, and FLAMBERGE’s blow has an effect. Ivan’s leg buckles, but holds steady, as he moves to contain FLAMBERGE’s movements.

SMACK!

Another kick, and Ivan is staggered again. The lizard remains on the loose. Sort of. Truth be told, FLAMBERGE is also running out of steam. He knows he needs something big to bring down the beast. The kicks to the leg are clearly starting to work, but how many more times must he hit them? He goes for another.

SMACK!

Nick Stuart: Ivan’s on one knee! FLAMBERGE had chopped this tree down!

Richard Parker: Impossible!

He’s in bad shape. The expression on his face is one of a man who has no idea how a man as indomitable as himself could possibly be chopped down with mere leg kicks. FLAMBERGE now aims another kick towards his head.

SMACK!

Nick Stuart: WHAT A KICK!

Richard Parker: I… I… how is he not down!?

Ivan doesn’t go down after such a vicious kick to the head, but he’s wobbly. He’s glassy-eyed. Just one knockout shot away from going down. The Neck Collector aims his next kick.

Nick Stuart: THAT KICK JUST GOT CAUGHT!

A single meaty hand grabs hold of FLAMBERGE’s boot inches from making contact with Ivan’s head. Another hand grabs FLAMBERGE by the throat, and lifts him up into the air. FLAMBERGE’s legs are kicking as Ivan chokes the life out of him.

Ivan is running on auto-pilot. It’s not entirely clear if he even knows what he’s doing, or if it’s just pure instinct honed from many years of professional wrestling. Of combat. It’s hard to say. But when he lifts FLAMBERGE over his head in a full military press, everyone knows that something terrible is about to happen.

Everyone that is, except for two men. Until they realize to their horror how that something terrible is going to be right in their laps.

Nick Stuart: Oh no… no! NO! NO! NONONO!

Richard Parker: OH FUC—

There is a lot of static.

That’s what happens when a living human body is hurled mercilessly through the air from the ring and into the English commentary table. Nick Stuart and Richard Parker, PRIME’s illustrious Hall of Fame announcing team, have mere moments to scatter out of the way before FLAMBERGE’s body hits the table, and then rolls into where their laps would’ve been if they hadn’t dove out of the way just in the nick of time.

It’s pandemonium in the Superdome.

Hell has been unleashed and it’s not particularly happy about being roused from its slumber.

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

Hell also says things like that sometimes.

Fortunately, Nick and Richard are both fine, but they’re shaken up. In the many long years they’ve been working with PRIME, plenty of people have broken their commentary table. But rarely is there ever an occasion where a man gets launched in the exact way that FLAMBERGE had been. Usually, you’d need a catapult for that, and PRIME has permanently banned those ever since The Incident. You know the one.

Regardless, there’s a one truth to be had here.

Unimaginable is the power of Ivan Stanislav. Anyone who dares oppose him faces certain doom.

Ivan collapses to one knee in the ring, unable to keep his weight on his leg, and is forced to spend time convalescing instead of capitalizing. How long has this been going on? Why hasn’t this lizard died yet? The Russian Bear has long been built for sprints, rather than marathons.

Outside of the ring, Timo Bolamba has finally recovered from his spill to the outside. He finds a completely destroyed ring. Weapons strewn about everywhere. A bunch of random Glueboiz and Soldiers of the Red Army still throwing stray punches at each other in the aisleway, unable to make any headway in helping their guys amid a sea of other officials trying to keep them from interfering further in the main event.

Timo takes one long look around. Then he sees the wreckage where Nick and Richard usually sits, and sees a man-slash-lizard lying in the wreckage.

And he asks himself a very important question.

“What the fuck?”

When Ivan looks to his right, he sees the wreckage of the table with an unconscious Alexei Ruslan lying motionless in the middle of it. His eyes go wide. When did that happen? 

It took him only a moment of staring at Alexei before he was filled with rage. An immeasurable rage that could no longer be contained by the ringside area, the Superdome, or even the New Orleans metropolitan area. Get out of Louisiana when you can. Save yourself.

The Russian Bear is on a warpath.

CRASH!

Ivan picks up and launches a chair into the general direction of a crowd that’s scattering to avoid getting hurt. That’s a fine, just put it on Ivan’s tab. Because he doesn’t care. He’d consider burning the whole building down with FLAMBERGE and everyone else inside of it if it’d keep the Universal championship.

He limps off of the glorified broken platform that are the remains of the ring, and goes to collect FLAMBERGE and put an end to all of this.

Yet, to his surprise, FLAMBERGE isn’t actually dead.

In fact, he’s stirring. He’s trying to use Nick Stuart’s fallen chair, turned over when Nick fled the scene moments before impact, to get his legs back under him. This lizard won’t stay down, as though driven by something beyond human understanding. Something ancient. Something reptilian. Something brain.

Ivan does not hesitate. He hobbles towards the Neck Collector with death in his eyes. He orders Vince Howard to move so that he could snatch up the steel chair he was sitting on and snap it shut. FLAMBERGE is crawling on his hands and knees, looking to find it in him to get his legs under him again to continue the fight.

SMACK!

And then Ivan brings down the hammer. It’s a hilariously inefficient hammer, because it’s actually a chair. Don’t worry about it. Or maybe do, because that’s a very large Russian man trying to crush an average-sized French lizard man with something metallic.

SMACK!

A second one. FLAMBERGE instinctually covers up to protect his head. Ivan raises the chair and brings it down on FLAMBERGE a third time.

SMACK!

Ivan throws the chair behind him, unheeding of who might be behind him when he does. The timekeeper and Vince Howard, as well as several fans behind them, have to duck and cover. His left leg is killing him. Timo is pleading with him to take it back into whatever’s left of the ring to put an end to this.

Ivan, for once, agrees with Timo. This needs to be over. It has to be. He pulls the puddle of gelatin that is FLAMBERGE up and hurls him back into the ruins where the match could legally end. He takes one step towards the ring, and winces. Ivan doesn’t know how hurt he is. All the more reason that he needs to finish this. He limps to the ring and slides on top of what’s left of it.

Meanwhile…

Nick Stuart: Are… are we on?

Richard Parker: Y-yeah…

Nick Stuart: I’ve thought I’d seen everything, but…

Richard Parker (mortified): My life flashed before my eyes, Nick.

Nick Stuart: Me too.

Nick Stuart clears his throat.

Nick Stuart: We’ve had some crazy main events in PRIME history, but we’ve never had anything like this! The ringside area looks more like the site of a detonation than it does a wrestling ring!

Richard Parker: Carnage doesn’t even begin to describe what we’re witnessing, Nick!

Ivan hobbles over to collect FLAMBERGE.

And he does what he always does. He launches FLAMBERGE into the air…

SMACK!

…and lands a jaw-rattling clothesline so hard that Julia Lavigne back home in Strausborg could feel it.

Nick Stuart: IRON CURTAIN!

Richard Parker: THIS HAS TO BE OVER!

But it isn’t.

Because Ivan Stanislav, as unstoppable, as unbeatable, as indefatigable as he is… is still human. His massive heart, though it beats for Mother Russia, still beats like any person’s. His iron will, though often unshakeable, often doesn’t match what his body is screaming at him about.

And his leg, which has endured so much in this contest, buckles underneath him as he lands the clothesline. The flat tire just came off of the axle and now the wheel that is Ivan’s left leg is generating sparks as it barrels down the highway on a Saturday night in New Orleans.

He can’t follow up.

Nick Stuart: Ivan can’t cover!

Richard Parker: This man has been at the center of an ongoing car crash since the bell rang! I’m surprised anyone can do anything anymore!

When Ivan finally finds it within himself to return to his feet, it’s more like he returns to his foot. He’s outright dragging his left foot behind him as he walks around the ruined ring. He nearly trips on some of the fallen ring ropes, disconnected when the ring collapsed. He has nothing to brace himself on as he hobbles around.

He knows what he must do.

But as he scoops FLAMBERGE up for the dreaded Red Scare, he finds that this deadly maneuver that he’s done countless times in the past that has ruined the lives of so many… is much harder to set himself to do when he only has one working leg. He can’t set his feet the way he normally does. It’s like he only has half of the tremendous amount of leverage afforded to him by his size and strength.

Still, Ivan has to finish this. He guts it out. He lifts.

Richard Parker: Here it comes! The Red Scare!

Nick Stuart: …NO! IT’S NOT!

When Ivan releases the suplex, FLAMBERGE isn’t thrown backwards. Instead, he chooses to use the momentum to go upwards. He flips up. And when he comes down, he does so grabbing Ivan’s head.

Nick Stuart: MARIE ANTOINETTE! CENTER OF THE RING!

Richard Parker: OR WHAT’S LEFT OF IT!

Ivan suddenly can’t breathe. FLAMBERGE wraps his legs around Ivan’s body as best as he can, and pulls back like his life depends on it. Because it very much does. If FLAMBERGE lets Ivan breathe again, if he does not collect this neck right now… it might all be over.

Ivan takes one step forward.

He can’t take another. That’s his left leg.

He falls to one knee.

Fans cheer as Ivan looks like he might actually be stoppable, beatable, and defatigable.

LET’S GO FLAM-BO! LET’S GO FLAM-BO!

There might not be a Julien Lavigne in there anymore. He might just be a lizard now. If there had been, he might actually crack a smile at his situation. It’s the rare occasion when the crowd is behind this indomitable collector of necks, killer of darlings.

LET’S GO FLAM-BO! LET’S GO FLAM-BO!

And it’s a good thing he didn’t, because if he had, it’d have been wiped off of his face the instant Ivan threw him.

YEET.

The crowd’s chants turn to ash.

FLAMBERGE is thrown nearly out of the ring, landing in a crouch. He barely avoids the disaster of being thrown entirely from the ring. He charges Ivan to try and reapply the vaunted guillotine, but Ivan hits him with his entire body, almost like he’s launching himself at the French Phenom with little more than bulk and anger. It almost resembles a crossbody block if one of Ivan’s feet simply never left the ground because it’s ruined.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE JUST TOOK ALL FOUR HUNDRED POUNDS OF STANISLAV!

Richard Parker: That’s it, he’s dead. He has to be! How do you survive a 747 crashing into your body!?

The crowd murmurs. Is this it?

Both men are down. Timo Bolamba has little choice but to start administering a ten count. Fans don’t want this match to end in a double knockout, and continue yelling and cheering for the match to continue.

Eventually, Ivan is up first.

He lumbers in the direction of FLAMBERGE, leg dragging and body weary. When he reaches him, he pulls him into position for the Red Scare once again. At that exact position, FLAMBERGE would be sent flying into the concrete exposed earlier by Arthur Pleasant’s brief appearance into the match.

Every fan in attendance that isn’t Russian holds their breath. This could be career ending.

SMACK!

It came so suddenly.

FLAMBERGE’s kick rocks Ivan in the weakened leg. It happens so suddenly that most people in attendance don’t even realize what just happened. Ivan’s leg buckles to the side and he falls to one knee. He doesn’t have the strength to ward these shots off any more.

SMACK!

Another blow to the leg. Ivan can’t put his copious weight on his leg.

FLAMBERGE goes behind Ivan. Fans all rise to their feet in unison.

The Neck Collector already performed one enormous feat of strength that he’s certain to regret tomorrow morning. This one? This one is just as… dangereux.

He grasps Ivan in a waistlock.

Under ordinary circumstances, FLAMBERGE might not have ever dreamed of what he’s about to do. He gives up half of Ivan’s weight. While possessing the proportional strength of a lizard, his size has hindered him for this entire contest.

What FLAMBERGE does have, though… is gravity.

And wouldn’t you know it? There’s no ring ropes to stop FLAMBERGE from using that gravity. All he needs is a little pull.

And a prayer to God.

THUD.

Nick Stuart: A… A GERMAN SUPLEX OFF OF THE BROKEN RING!?!?

Richard Parker: ARE YOU FUCKING FOR REAL!?

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

We’re well past pandemonium in the Superdome. The gates of hell have opened and there’s only the cacophony of tens of thousands of people screaming in shock and awe at the trainwreck that’s been ongoing for the past twenty minutes.

Ivan hits the ground far harder than FLAMBO did, having more weight to take the landing on the exposed concrete. FLAMBERGE hits hard as well, landing on the concrete in his effort to . No doubt, he might require medical attention after this is all said and done.

Richard Parker: …THAT SHOULDN’T BE POSSIBLE!

Nick Stuart: I CAN’T EVEN HEAR MYSELF THINK, RICHARD!

The noise is deafening.

FLAMBERGE is barely able to grab hold of the apron of the collapsed ring and pull himself up, but he can only lean against the ring for support. The Intense Champion is weary, now. He’s taken an absolute beating in this match. And yet, it is he that stands.

But only for a moment.

Ivan stirs.

Somewhere deep within FLAMBERGE, where an ancient reptilian brain is pushing levers and pulling buttons and trying to drive him towards the ultimate goal, he asks an all-important question. What does he have to do?

The wounded giant lumbers to his feet, but he is hobbled. He’s wounded. Hamstrung. His left leg drags behind him as he staggers towards FLAMBERGE like one of those movie monsters.

Unstoppable. Unbeatable. Indefatigable.

Richard Parker: HOW IS HE BACK ON HIS FEET!?

Nick Stuart: IS THIS MAN TRULY UNSTOPPABLE!?

A lesser man might have cowered in fear at the sight of the monster emerging from its certain demise.

FLAMBERGE rolls into the collapsed ring. Bloodied. Battered. Undaunted. He stands up and taunts the monster, his lizard-like movements carrying a swagger that you wouldn’t find anywhere else. He dares him to meet him in the ring.

Ivan is a man who would scorch the earth to keep the Universal championship. He is above such taunts from the lizard king of professional wrestling.

But in this moment, with the crowd cheering for his enemy and with no one to back him up, Ivan makes the mistake of answering FLAMBERGE’s challenge. He lumbers into ruined ring, despite the shooting pain in his leg.

The two men stared each other down just as they did to begin the match, and just as they did when the French Phenom shared a ring with Ivan Stanislav just a month ago.

Unlike when the match began, though, FLAMBERGE is the one who moves first.

SMACK!

That deadly kick to the leg again. Ivan buckles, but doesn’t go down.

SMACK!

Another kick.

SMACK!

Another.

SMACK!

That one’s for Sid.

SMACK!

That one’s for Sid’s friend. Maybe.

SMACK!

That one’s for mom.

SMACK!

And that one’s for him.

By the end of the barrage, Ivan is on one knee and it’s not certain he’ll be able to stand back up in the match. FLAMBERGE moves for the kill shot.

And, for a second time in the match, he’s caught. Ivan reaches up with one hand and has him by the throat. He throttles the challenger with an unmatched fury. If he had his way, Ivan would cripple this man for life right now and leave him a vegetable. All for the Universal championship.

Nick Stuart: Ivan Stanislav is choking the life out of FLAMBERGE with one hand!

Richard Parker: This bear is too much!

It’s survival mode for FLAMBERGE now. He kicks away at Ivan’s leg. No, these are more like stomps aimed to break Ivan’s ankle entirely. While FLAMBERGE doesn’t quite succeed at this goal, the pain is too much even for Ivan and he lets go.

SMACK!

A kick to the head from FLAMBERGE rattles the champion, but only for a moment. Then Ivan locks eyes with the French Phenom, almost daring him to hit him with his best shot.

Thing is, FLAMBERGE doesn’t fight fair. This is the Universal Championship. And while Ivan might scorch the earth to keep it, FLAMBERGE wouldn’t have stopped at a mere burn. FLAMBERGE reached down and picked up something that’d fallen down in the middle of the ring earlier in the match. Something that Ivan recognized.

Alexei’s baton.

Ivan doesn’t even have time to get angry about it before FLAMBERGE waffles him with it.

Nick Stuart: THE BATON TO IVAN’S SKULL!

Richard Parker: OH NO!

Ivan crumples to the mat. FLAMBERGE drops the baton to the mat like it’s made of bees, and grabs the only remaining steel chair left in the ring. He opens it and wedges Ivan’s left leg within it before grabbing one of the fallen ring ropes.

What happens next horrifies just about everyone who sees it.

FLAMBERGE might have been openly embraced as the hero of this match. His swagger, his attitude, the way he moves, his ability to beat the shit out of anyone who crosses his path regardless of who it is… all of that has made him a legendary, if unknowable entity in PRIME.

But he is no hero. He is a ruthless conqueror, a hunter of necks, a killer of darlings. He is that which embodies the essence of Glue.

And sometimes, a whole crowd of folk need to be reminded that there are no heroes in PRIME.

Only monsters.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE… FLAMBERGE has wrapped the ring rope around Ivan’s neck!

And then with one contemptuous stomp on the chair, Ivan shoots up in pain and is left hanging.

Literally.

FLAMBERGE puts his back to Ivan’s back, and he pulls. One foot remains on the chair, crushing Ivan’s ankle as he’s being bent backwards in ways that the sixty-one year-old Universal champion has likely never been bent before. In no other situation would this have ever been deemed legal. There’s horrified screaming in the crowd.

FLAMBERGE likely can’t keep this up forever, what with the four hundred pound weight pressed against his back, but he can keep this up long enough that Ivan starts to turn various shades of red and purple.

Ivan would not quit. He would never submit.

He is unstoppable. He is unbeatable. He is indefatigable.

But even Ivan Stanislav needs oxygen to live. Timo Bolamba has known him for a very long time, he knows better than anyone that Ivan may never quit. He knows that he might never hear the end of the decision he’s about to make once he makes it.

But this old friend has seen enough.

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: IT’S OVER!

Richard Parker: I DON’T BELIEVE IT!

FLAMBERGE lets go. Rather, it’s more like gravity has finally claimed him. He falls to the ground and lies still, completely exhausted. Ivan, too, does the same. There is a shocked reaction in the crowd. It’s not quite jubilation. It’s not the raucous cheer that a conquering hero might receive.

It’s relief.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen… the winner of this match… and NEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWW PRIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPION! FLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMBBBBBBBERRRRRRRRGGGGGGEEEEEEE!!!

Timo goes to collect both the Universal and Intense championships, and he places them on FLAMBERGE’s heaving chest. Doubtlessly, the new champion is just as likely to need medical attention as the former one.

Doctors come out to check on the condition of both men.

Nick Stuart: We have a new champion here tonight!

Richard Parker: I… I don’t believe it… I don’t believe it! I don’t… believe it?

Nick Stuart: My broadcast partner is broken, apparently…

FLAMBERGE has three other guests in Joe Fontaine, Sid Phillips, and the Fabulous Gold Mask. The three men who lent a hand to FLAMBERGE in his time of need pull the new champion to his feet and then lift him up into the air. Or, rather, the much bigger Sid and Fabby do this, Joe just cheerleads.

FLAMBERGE responds to his situation the only way he can.

He planks across the shoulders of Sid and Fabby.

His championship belts in both hands are held with all of the care and grace of a man with nothing left to give.

On the Ivan side of things, Alexei has recovered enough from being powerbombed through a table to crawl over to Ivan. Occasionally, he shoots contemptuous glares towards Timo Bolamba, who stands stoically to one side while doctors tend to Ivan and the Glue Man Group is carrying around the new champion like he’s a piece of lumber.

Nick Stuart: Folks, this has been… an insane night. For Richard Parker, I’m Nick Stuart, and we’ll see all of you in 2024!

As Nick Stuart signs off, FLAMBERGE finally puts up enough effort to raise his newly won Universal championship into the air.

Please welcome your new lizard overlord, PRIME.

FADE.

TO.

GLU–

As we transition from Lindsay Troy’s bombshell announcement, we cut to ringside with a full view of some more of the lovely signs that PRIME’s amazing fanbase have brought with them.

Finally, the camera catches Nick Stuart and Richard Parker on standby. Nick adjusts his tie upon noticing that the camera is on him.

Nick Stuart: Folks, we’re just moments away from history.

Richard Parker: The most history!

Nick Stuart: Tonight, it’s streak against streak. Neither of these men have been pinned or submitted since last year’s UltraViolence. That’s nearly fifteen months of dominance by two men who have never faced each other in PRIME… until now!

Richard Parker: And we just found out a few days ago that this match is going to be no disqualifications, so I hope everyone’s insured! I know I am!

Nick smiles nervously.

He’s been on the wrong end of Ivan’s wrath at least once in PRIME. He would very much like that to not be the case tonight.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE is the Intense champion tonight. If he wins here tonight, he’ll be only the third and fastest man to ever be a Triple Crown winner in PRIME – holding the Universal, 5-Star, and Intense championships. He’ll continue the longest winning streak in PRIME history. And he’ll have knocked off one of the most dominant men to have ever been in the squared circle in Ivan Stanislav.

Richard Parker: Of course, the Intense title isn’t actually on the line tonight, right?

Nick Stuart: That’s right. In fact, if FLAMBERGE wins the Universal title tonight, I’m told that he will be made to relinquish the Intense championship.

Richard Parker: A shame. I’d have liked to have seen Starsky Stanny Two Belts.

Nick Stuart: And if Ivan wins, he stands a chance himself of overtaking FLAMBERGE’s shared win streak record, and will go into the new year with a shot at being the longest reigning Universal champion of the ReVival era. He’ll also, of course, still be the Universal champion and be the man to have ended FLAMBERGE’s active winning streak.

Richard Parker: Yeah!

It’s time.

There’s a buzz in the air as the lights dim, and the only lights shining are those spotlights casting their lights in the ring. There, two men stand ready for the biggest main event in the history of the ReVival era of PRIME.

No.

All of PRIME history.

The first of these men is senior referee Timo Bolamba, who stands at one corner with his arms crossed. He shifts from foot to foot. He’s nervous. While his refereeing career has had plenty of twists and turns over two years of PRIME’s ReVival, when it came time to referee such a monumental event… there is no man more qualified to handle the two most inevitable men in all of PRIME than Timo.

The second is long-time PRIME ring announcer, Vince Howard. With his microphone raised, he is ready to be the herald of the final PRIME match of 2023.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention please…

Nick Stuart: Here we go…

Richard Parker: My goosebumps have goosebumps, Nick!

Vince Howard: The following contest, scheduled for one fall, is the STREAK VERSUS STREAK MATCH FOR THE PRIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIIIIIIIIPPPPP!!!

RAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Vince Howard: In this match, there are NO rules. The only way to win is by pinfall, submission, or at the discretion of senior referee Timo Bolamba! There MUST be a winner!

Then what few lights go out.

Caesars Superdome is absolutely HUMMING with anticipation of the Night Two Main Event. No question, we’re about to see a war. And given the challenger, no question –

We’re about to see something…”unique”.

…

A light drum beat, bouncy bass riff, and sparse guitar chords start to pop throughout the Superdome. And then, a woman’s voice.

“Voodoo?” by L’Impératrice.

I’m not being cranky

I just hate this party

Think I might as well, spend a night in hell

Reading torture magazine
Than pretending I’m one of you

Teal beacons of light pulse throughout every screen in the arena. With the help of this light, we begin to see what’s happening on stage.

There’s a faint outline of…an aquarium? A glass box? There are some shapes in side, but with the lights pulsing the way they are, it’s hard to tell if – is that a tree? Is that a rock?

…are there people in there?

They move wild and carefree
As hip as hip can be
I think I should split, but wait a minute
I feel something in my knees
Is it music or new voodoo?

…

Can I resist this?

At this lyric, the teal lights stay on, swirling throughout the arena as pops of copper sprinkle in here and there. Bright white lights illuminate the stage as the scene reveals itself. It is in fact an enormous mock terrarium.

There are “lizards” inside.

Stunningly beautiful women and chiseled men figuratively cut from marble are striking poses on various boulders, stands, and tire swings on the stage. They are “technically” covered by “clothing” – better described, these model-types are covered by a fairly comprehensive combo of leotard-esque “coverings” and body paint to create five Sexy Art Lizards. A bearded dragon, an iguana, a salamander, a chameleon (with some pretty sick craftsmanship to blend in with the rest of the stage), and a zesty gecko. Their poses are distinctly FLAMBERGE-esque – which is to say, they are artistically planking on objects in unhuman angles.

Am I off my head? What’s shaking my hips?
Can I resist this?
It’s the kind of beat I just can’t dismiss

…

As the bass and drum continue their light bop and the woman continues her chic tune, the “bearded dragon” reaches behind the tree he’s perched upon and pulls a wavy sword made of red glass and holds it aloft. The zesty gecko reaches behind her stone and pulls a comically large plastic bottle of glue and begins pouring it on her rock. The other three lizards do some phenomenal Little Turns On The Catwalk as this gauche display of “fashion meets art piece” continues. The chameleon inverts components of his costume to reveal different patterns. He athletically strikes a very physically demanding pose, and for brief moments, he is the spitting image of a vending machine.

Suddenly, the teal and copper lights change to a shock of white and silver, bright enough that many fans in the lower levels shield their eyes.

A piano riff hits.

…oh, shit.

“ooh la la” by Run The Jewels

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI
OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI
OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI
OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

The drums resonate so very nice in Caesars Superdome, and something pulses in the hearts of each of these Sexy Art Lizards. They move fluidly, with purpose, bopping with the beat as the open secret compartments throughout the “terrarium”.

They’re pulling out long chains of skulls connected to cervical vertebrae.

Necks.

They strew them about the stage VIOLENTLY.

Lookin’ for Ms like I lost a friend
Jump out of my bed like, “Where the bread”
You gon’ hold a egg, waiter bring the check
When we talk, we Kalashnikov, keep us in your thoughts
Fully dressed at the crack of dawn, weapons letting off

Emerging from the back and through the terrarium, it’s the Intense Champion, FLAMBERGE. The silver gleam of the plates and the bleached white leather of the strap practically glow in contrast to his teal and copper shorts and boots. The fans roar loudly – it’s not exactly a cheer, and not exactly a boo, but more of a very very loud, very very excited, tangible representation of the “OH MAN HERE COMES THE FIREWORKS FACTORY” emotion. A guttural “YAWP” at the prospect of Extremely Cool Violence.

I can hear them from the block, see them creeping through the fog
Season’s greetings, now feeding season can start, oh my God
Look alive, lookin’ like I live life on the crooked line
Doin’ fine, you want maximum stupid, I am the guy

FLAMBERGE strides down the long ramp towards the ring, his jaw set so tightly you’d swear he’s holding back a tear, if only lizards had emotion-based ducts.

Pausing at the end of the ramp, he looks around. What a fucking insane, massive crowd. What a fucking insane, massive moment.

This. This is what professional wrestling can do to people.

FLAMBERGE does his customary lap around the ring, ignoring the outstretched arms and bags of chips lunging at him. He doesn’t pause at the ring steps – not this time. Instead, as he maintains his externally-confident stride up the stairs and into the ring, he slaps the Intense Championship belt around his waist several times with increasing intensity, as if tapping into something deep inside his head.

Nick Stuart: Folks, this is it. One last entrance in this amazing two night spectacle that has been Colossus…

The lights dim down and Caesars Superdome is bathed in crimson.

Richard Parker: …and he’s the man at the top of the roster. The Universal Champion. Starshy Praporshchik Ivan Stanislav.

The crowd is already on their feet as pyrotechnics explode all around the entryway. Fireworks blast from the ramp up to the ceiling with loud screeches akin to Katyusha missiles. The Soviet National Anthem roars overhead. In the ring, Vince Howard stands poised as the easily recognized silhouette of Alexei Ruslan walks through the gathered smoke.

Vince Howard: And his opp—

Ruslans voice screeches over Howard and drowns him out as the overcoat clad Russian emerges first. He has his own microphone.

Alexei Ruslan: That is enough out of you, Vince Howard! Leave it to the Russians to offer a suitable introduction!!

Howard blinks curiously while Ruslan waves him off and makes his way pointedly down the entryway. He slides into the ring with his own microphone and pointedly marches to the center of the ring. He waves with a hand towards the entryway, and as the smoke clears, there stands the PRIME Universal Champion, Ivan Stanislav. The belt gleams as it rests over his broad right shoulder. Stanislav raises one arm while Alexei bellows.

Alexei Ruslan: His executioner stands 7’1” and he weighs in at 400 lbs! He is the tallest member of PRIME. He is the heaviest member of PRIME! He is the strongest member in PRIME! No opponent has been able to stand in his way, for he has been undefeated for the entire year!

Stanislav begins to make his slow march down the entryway. He ignores the insults from the crowd, his heavy footfalls thudding along the ramp.

Alexei Ruslan: He is the second longest reigning Universal Champion in The ReVival Era! He is the oldest recorded Universal Champion in PRIME history!!

Stanislav makes it to the apron and takes one step up as if it was a normal step.

Alexei Ruslan: He is the harbinger of The Red Era of PRIME! He is the leader of The Red Army!!

Stanislav easily straddles the top rope and approaches Ruslan. Ruslan points up at his friend, who now stands beside him.

Alexei Ruslan: He has defeated the Hanlons and the Coltons. He had decimated the Halls and the Rays. Luchadors and eGG Bandits have fallen before him. Crownless Kings have bent and broken! World Champions from third-party federations have collapsed at his feet and proven their impotence. Plucky upstarts of wrestling pedigree and journeymen newcomers have shattered. Legends like Nova and breakable, brittle diamonds like Brandon Youngblood have all disintegrated in his wake!! And do you know why?!

How many times have they been here, in their illustrious careers, standing side by side, at the top of a major pay-per-view?

Several.

How many times have they been here to defend the PRIME Universal Championship?

Never.

Ruslan points at his friend.

Alexei Ruslan: Yes, he is inevitable. He is inexorable. He is inescapable. But no, my friends. It is more than that. You all know it. The words echo in your minds and keep you awake at night. They are a promise. A mandate. An unavoidable fate.

Stanislav puffs out his chest and Ruslan stands proudly next to his lifelong friend.

Alexei Ruslan: He is unstoppable! He is unbeatable! He is indefatigable! He is your PRIME Universal Champion! He is Ivan Sergeiovich Stanislav!

The two Russians glower over at FLAMBERGE.

Alexei Ruslan: And you, FLAMBERGE, just like all the insignificant others, are just another casualty in his great patriotic war!

Nick Stuart: Are you seriously standing and saluting?!

Richard Parker: I’m moved by it all!

Ruslan turns to face Ivan and gazes up into his eyes. The Champion looks down as they nod at each other and salute, crisply. Then, Stanislav offers his belt to Alexei. Ruslan walks over to Timo Bolamba and jaws at him for a moment. Alexei places the belt on his shoulder and pointedly slaps his palms together three times. He then turns and climbs out of the ring and hands the belt to the timekeeper, jawing at him as well.

Stanislav ignores the exchanges and wipes his boots on the center of the ring. He stomps his foot angrily and the canvas flexes violently while he awaits the challenger.

FLAMBERGE steps forward contemptuously, as though he has a chip on his shoulder larger than some celestial objects.

There’s a buzz in the air.

Sure, neither of these men are particularly well-liked by the general public.

Ivan Stanislav, the PRIME Universal Champion, carrying the will of communism and the full ungodly might of sixty-two years of hating the capitalist world stands on one side of the ring as the indomitable leader of the Red Army. The man who, after conquering the Diamond in the UltraViolence Cage, stands as one of the most unbeatable forces in PRIME. In fact, he has not been pinned or made to submit since last year’s UltraViolence at the hands of Hayes Hanlon.

But the same could be sand about the man standing defiantly in front of him.

FLAMBERGE, the PRIME Intense Champion, has not been pinned or been forced to submit since losing at last year’s UltraViolence to Nate Colton. Young, hungry, and dangerous, the rogue progeny of Henri Lavigne represented one of the gravest existential threats to Stanislav’s title reign. He may be a weirdo, sure. You might find him planking across chairs or rolling on the ground, barely desiring to get up to grab a bag of Bret’s. But within the ropes, you will find no man with more dangerous swagger than that of the French Phenom.

The immovable object of the Russian Bear.

The irresistible force of the Neck Collector.

Which falters first? Who will leave Colossus with the Universal championship and their yearlong unbeaten streak going?

When Timo Bolamba calls for the bell, we would finally be able to learn the answer to those very questions.

DING DING

Ivan moves first. An arm like a tree branch comes lumbering towards FLAMBERGE in the same way that a low bridge comes at a moving truck that might not have the clearance for it. Disaster awaits any at the receiving end of the blow.

FLAMBERGE reacts quicker. He ducks under the towering Russian’s arm, and delivers a hard kick to the side of Ivan’s knee.

SMACK!

Ivan reacts to it in much the same way that you might react to a wad of paper being thrown at your knee, with mild irritation at best. He stalks after Le Protagoniste, who ducks under another attempt by Ivan to grab hold of him, and hits another kick to Ivan’s knee. More mild irritation.

Nick Stuart: It’s smart to go after Ivan’s knee here, but it doesn’t look like it’s having an effect yet.

Richard Parker: Ivan’s built from stronger stuff than whatever FLAMBERGE is throwing at him. Trust the Russians, they’re engineers!

For a third time, Ivan attempts to make a move on FLAMBERGE. But the big Russian sorely miscalculates the notion that FLAMBERGE would duck a third time. Instead, FLAMBERGE head fakes, and Ivan takes the bait. So, instead of grabbing where he thinks FLAMBERGE is going to go, he grabs empty air.

This time, FLAMBERGE’s boot hits Ivan in the face, kicking him as he hunches over. This actually stuns the giant, who isn’t expecting the kick at all and has no means to brace for the impact. He grabs at his face, and that gives FLAMBERGE the opening to tee off on Ivan with more leg kicks.

It’s like trying to chop down a sequoia. Not that FLAMBERGE gives a damn, being a man(?) looking to store one more piece of gold for his lizard’s hoard before the long winter sets in.

FLAMBERGE: C’est tout ce que tu as!?

Besides, FLAMBERGE isn’t working with an axe. He is an industrial buzzsaw, and so many men and necks have experienced this buzzsaw over the course of the last 449 days. Ivan is no exception. The kicks are starting to have an effect.

FLAMBERGE: Allez!

At least, until they didn’t.

As Ivan is on the verge of going down to one knee, he catches the last of FLAMBERGE’s kicks and unloads one single heavy hand onto the French Phenom’s chest.

SMACK!

Despite the impact of the blow, FLAMBERGE somehow manages to stand there as his lizard brain processes what just hit him. There’s shock on his face as it seems like his heart just stopped, if only for a moment. Then he falls to one side like a dead fish succumbing to gravity.

Ivan pauses, wincing as he takes a step forward. The kicks did have an effect, but he’s able to walk off the pain in his aging joints. For his part, FLAMBERGE is already recovering, slithering into a corner as easily as a salamander. Ivan doesn’t want to give him a chance to slip away and recover. He marches on him, an engulfing presence in the corner.

Nick Stuart: Timo stepping in here to give FLAMBERGE some breathing room, and…

Timo gets parted aside like the Red Sea with one meaty hand gently shoving him aside.

It’s like he’s saying “No, old friend. This one needs to learn his place.”

Then he engulfs FLAMBERGE in the corner, using his size and his weight to crush the Neck Collector in the corner. An elbow to the face, grinding down. A thigh bigger than some tree trunks against the body. Everything to drive the air, the spirit, the very life out of his opponent. Show the world that none can stand before the might of the Motherland.

There is no such thing as honor or a fair fight in the world of Ivan Stanislav. There are only two truths for Ivan: those who are champion, and those who are dead. For the Russian Bear, he wants all challengers to his reign to be the last of those.

But Timo Bolamba won’t disqualify him. He can’t. The match is no disqualifications. There must be a winner by pinfall or submission. Besides, Timo knows every dirty trick that the Russians would employ to ensure “victory”. Every cheap tactic to ensure that Ivan’s true goal – to keep the Universal championship at all costs – is not realized the easy way. Even as Ivan is actually telling him to do what the rules should ordinarily be instructing Timo to be doing right now.

Ivan Stanislav: Disqualify me!

Timo shakes his head.

Timo Bolamba: No disqualifications, Ivan! You know that!

Only then does Ivan relent. Not because he wants to, but because he is arguing with Timo about the rules and how Speedy Riggs should be the one in charge of all of Ivan’s title matches.

Nick Stuart: Ivan wants this to be over right now, and Timo isn’t having it!

Richard Parker: Not for nothing, but what the hell is Timo doing? He’s a referee! Count to five! Disqualify that man!

He does not. He refuses. Because that’s not the rule of this match.

So, Ivan points a finger in his face, his intentions clear. If he can’t have things the easy way, then it’s the hard way. For his opponent. For his enemy.

Ivan Stanislav: Everything that is about to happen to this man? This is on you.

He charges on FLAMBERGE in the corner as a bear would charge on cornered prey.

FLAMBERGE, though, is just playing possum. Or, rather, playing lizard. He slips out of the way before Ivan reaches him, and the big man collides with the turnbuckles chest-first. This actually stuns the titanic Russian, and FLAMBERGE does what comes naturally to him.

He grabs Ivan in a waistlock.

Richard Parker: No way.

This doesn’t go to plan, of course. While FLAMBERGE has enough of a wingspan to actually get his arms around Ivan, it’s like trying to suplex a refrigerator with all of the implications of what might happen if you actually succeeded in doing that. Ivan doesn’t let him. Instead, he executes what looks like a judo toss by simply turning sharply to his right, flinging FLAMBERGE from his waist and into a slide to the outside of the ring.

Ivan absorbs the boos of the crowd as he holds his arms out and laughs.

Ivan Stanislav: DYAA-HAA-HAA!!!

BOOOOOOO!!!

As FLAMBERGE convalesces on the floor, Ivan chooses to go after him. Better to break this man now than risk him actually building any sort of momentum. He steps over the ropes and takes his time walking down the ring steps. All the while, he keeps his eyes firmly pointed in the direction of the recovering FLAMBERGE. When FLAMBERGE gets up, Ivan gets a running start and then bowls over him so hard that FLAMBERGE tumbles head over heels in the direction of the timekeeper’s table. Ivan doesn’t even do anything when he does it, he just uses his great bulk to run over Le Protagoniste as though he’s roadkill.

Nick Stuart: Things aren’t looking good for FLAMBERGE early on.

Richard Parker: Yeah, uh… nevermind that shit, look who’s coming our way!

There’s the sound of a scramble as both English commentators get the hell out of dodge. Ivan marches over to their table and starts ripping shit off of it. The cover? Get that shit out of there. The flat-screen monitors? One goes flying into the crowd with the careless effort of a man who doesn’t care which capitalist it hits. That’s a fine. Maybe a lawsuit. A lot of the crowd scatter. The other is thrown in FLAMBERGE’s direction, who can only protect himself by covering up with his limbs.

Let it be said that it really sucks to get things thrown at you by an angry seven foot tall Russian.

Nick Stuart: What the hell are you doing!?

Richard Parker: (voice low) Dude.

Ivan shoots a glare at Nick Stuart, and growls at him.

Ivan Stanislav: Stay out of my way, дурак.

He turns just in time for FLAMBERGE to leap at him. It takes some doing. The French Phenom had to get a running start, jump up onto the ringside barrier, and then hurl himself bodily in the general direction of Ivan’s head. Knees connect with Ivan’s skull, and FLAMBERGE is so well-practiced in how precisely dangerous his joints are that this action rocks Ivan.

FLAMBERGE lands in a roll, but while he did rock Ivan, Ivan isn’t down yet.

So, FLAMBERGE does the next best thing available to him.

He picks up Nick Stuart’s comfy-looking chair.

Nick Stuart: Hey!

Richard Parker: Better yours than mine!

FLAMBERGE doesn’t swing it at Ivan. Instead, he flings it as hard as he can at the big man’s head in a similar manner to a man throwing a bag of cement off of a flatbed truck.

SMACK!

The heavy weight hitting Ivan in the face is enough to knock even the mighty Ivan Stanislav off of his feet. He’s staggered. He’s disoriented.

Alexei Ruslan is apoplectic near Timo.

He wants a disqualification for the use of a weapon against Ivan, and he’s letting Timo know about it. Even as Timo reminds Alexei that Ivan just threw something at FLAMBERGE, and refuses to issue a disqualification. Because, again, no disqualifications.

He is not playing Ivan or Alexei’s game tonight.

FLAMBERGE absorbs the cheers of the crowd in the same way as one might absorb being dunked in cake frosting. It’s disorienting to him. He’s not used to it. He’s used to not giving a shit. He’s used to their scorn, their hatred as he killed as many of their darlings as he could and took their necks back to his nest to hoard for the coming winter.

But it’s New Orleans, baby. Home of the French Quarter. Tonight, the native of Strasbourg is one of theirs. Tonight, he is their Protagoniste. He finds himself feeding on that energy, even against the better judgment of what usually drives him. It’s as terrifying to him as he’s been to his enemies.

He snaps up a steel chair from the timekeeper’s table.

Richard Parker: Uh oh.

He takes a pointed look towards Alexei Ruslan, and then he hurls the chair at Ivan’s face. Ivan catches it inches before it can make contact. Now, this might be the part where Ivan starts beating FLAMBERGE to death with that chair until Timo has no choice but to stop the match in order to save a man’s life.

This is not that story, though.

SMAAAAACK!

…This is the story of a World Warrior. One who has mastered the fine art of the forward, down, down-forward motion in fighting games. One who knows the ancient art of the Dragon Punch. That’s right.

FLAMBERGE just fucking Shoryuken-ed a steel chair into Ivan’s face.

Ivan collapses backwards, and a line of blood is drawn on his face as it gushes out of his skull. FLAMBERGE also collapses backwards, clutching his hand in pain.

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

Nick Stuart: THE CHALLENGER HAS DRAWN BLOOD ON THE CHAMPION!

Richard Parker: I don’t believe it! Disqualify him! Throw the book at him! This is disgraceful!

No such thing happens, and Alexei Ruslan is stomping mad about it. So he decides he needs to take matters into his own hands. In full view of Timo Bolamba, he would force his hand. He pulls the baton from his coat and rushes towards FLAMBERGE.

Despite the pain in his hand, Alexei doesn’t even make contact with FLAMBERGE. The French Phenom simply sidesteps Alexei and throws him into the timekeeper’s table, using Alexei’s own momentum against him.

The timekeeper? Vince Howard? At least one cameraman? They get knocked over like pins in a bowling alley. Strike. Cue those weird bowling alley animations, you know the ones.

FLAMBERGE smiles coolly at his handiwork. Alexei looks disoriented and in some measure of pain. Some of the tools he keeps in his coat have spilled out. His baton rolls out of his hand. For the moment, Ivan has to do this on his own.

With Alexei incapacitated, he goes back to the offense on Ivan, hoping to get him back into the ring in order to take that ne—YEET.

Oh, I’m sorry, FLAMBO.

Did we break your concentration?

One second, you’re in the driver’s seat. You’re cruising along the highway in the mountains, and you think you’re the baddest motherfucker on earth. And then you barely see the wounded bear and it fucking yeets you off the mountain cliff.

And you’re sent flying.

One second, FLAMBERGE is standing. The next, he goes flying over the guardrail and into a sea of panicked ticket holders who didn’t quite realize when they got into their seats tonight that they’d be having to manage a whole different level of Flying Frenchies. This one doesn’t even have the 10,000 Megawatt BEAM~! or anything!

CRASH!

Nick Stuart: IVAN JUST SENT FLAMBERGE INTO THE THIRD ROW!

Richard Parker: Only the third row? Maybe he really is getting old.

The bloodied champion casts a heated glance towards Richard Parker for a moment.

Richard Parker: I… I mean, you’re doing great, Comrade! So spry!

Nick Stuart: Way to grow a spine, Richard.

A few fans unlucky enough to not be able to dodge FLAMBERGE’s body in time are trying to free themselves from the wreckage they now find themselves in, and especially start to panic after Ivan tears the guardrail apart in order to march towards the fallen FLAMBERGE.

Richard Parker: Oh, so that’s why the first few rows had to sign waivers before they could attend the show tonight.

Nick Stuart: That’s a thing!?

Richard Parker: Shrug.

Nick Stuart: Did you… did you actually just say the word “shrug” instead of actually shrugging your shoulders?

Richard Parker: Maybe.

Beware of flying lizards, all we’re saying.

Fans scatter in a panic, and security helps keep them away from the action. Some doctors come to check on the unlucky few that didn’t get out of the way of FLAMBERGE in time. Ivan doesn’t give a single fuck about any of them. He’d raze the whole of the Superdome to the ground, with everyone inside, if it means he’s still the Universal Champion by the end of tonight.

FLAMBERGE is flopping like a fish, by the way. Your body might react like that too after a yeeting of that caliber.

Ivan stands in front of FLAMBERGE, who has to use Ivan’s legs to try and pull himself back up to his feet. Ivan lets him. He wants him to know what’s coming next.

Ivan takes one look behind him, and fans a few rows deeper collectively go “oh fuck” and scatter like leaves in the wind. Then he picks up FLAMBERGE and hurls him mightily into those rows.

CRASH!

The human body is not meant to be thrown into stadium seating. It simply isn’t. And as Ivan watches the aftermath of his handiwork flop around on top of so many turned over chairs and the scattered accoutrements of audience members, he can’t help but bellow his laughter once again.

Ivan Stanislav: DYAA-HAA-HAA!!!

Richard Parker: This can’t keep happening to FLAMBERGE, even he can’t take this kind of punishment!

Nick Stuart: We’ve seen FLAMBERGE get hardcore since challenging and defeating Anna Daniels for the Intense Championship back in June, but this is a whole other level of destruction he’s experiencing tonight!

Stanislav is relentless. He needs to be. The Russian Bear isn’t getting any younger. He marches towards where FLAMBERGE has fallen and hoists him back up. This time, the big man carries FLAMBERGE in a massive Red Army military press back towards the ring. If Timo won’t count them out or disqualify them, then he would break this man the hard way, and this would all be his fault.

Audience members flee for their lives in the event that Ivan decides to hit them with an ICLM, an Intercontinental Lizard Missile if you will. Instead, Ivan chooses to launch FLAMBERGE over the guardrail and back into the ringside area. He starts to climb over the guardrail, but stops.

Nick Stuart: What is he doing now?

He can’t help himself.

He just watched this terrified audience cower in fear of true Russian power. For a brief moment, Ivan enjoyed the fear of the capitalists, all high and mighty within the false safety of their inferior American homes. And so he bellowed his laughter once again.

Ivan Stanislav: DYAA-HAA-HAA!!!

And then turned and regretted all of his hubris, including the hubris that may come later.

FLAMBERGE isn’t dead. He isn’t broken. He is the irresistible gods damned force of PRIME Wrestling. To underestimate him, to consider him broken, is to court disaster. And we’re not talking about any kind of disaster. We’re talking a full on Tunguska Event, right in Ivan Stanislav’s backyard. Because FLAMBERGE has the hops, bro.

And he has knees forged from the fires of hell.

FLAMBERGE’s hellforged knees slam into Stanislav’s side, unexpectedly. Off-balance from only having one leg on firm ground, the sudden burst of power and the impact caused Ivan to lose his balance and fall.

CRASH!

He takes the whole damn guardrail with him, too.

His ankle twists as he hits the ground, and Ivan suddenly yells in pain as the rest of his body lands. He comes up clutching his ankle. It’s a rough, ugly landing for Ivan Stanislav. And being on the ground and holding his ankle, Ivan couldn’t have made it any more obvious to the French Phenom that he’d been hurt even if he used neon lights and a big old glowing weak spot that’s Z-targettable.

Nick Stuart: Ivan Stanislav’s hurt here, and I think FLAMBERGE knows this!

Richard Parker: Why hasn’t Timo counted these guys out yet!?

Nick Stuart: There’s no disqualifications here, what makes you think countouts are on the table!?

In fact, Timo’s been outside of the ring this whole time, urging the two gladiators to take it back inside the ring. No counts are being made, and that’s unfortunate for the big Russian since Ivan would’ve gladly taken the double countout. Now he’s hurt and FLAMBERGE is on him like Bobby Dean on some orange sherbet.

The Neck Collector picks up the piece of the guardrail that’s on top of Ivan, and he drives it down onto Ivan’s leg. Ivan yells in pain, as FLAMBERGE continues to viciously attack the champion’s newfound Achilles’ heel. Well, okay, Achilles is maybe a bad example here. Not Slavic enough. Let’s call it the Stanislav Phylactery. So, FLAMBERGE picks up the guardrail a third time and drives it straight into the phylactery.

As we all know from our Slavic mythology, Ivan Stanislav the Deathless keeps his soul locked deep inside his ankle bone, inside of an egg which is inside of a duck which is inside of a hare which nests within a hollow log floating in a pond within a forest on the island of Bouyan. Simple stuff. Anyone can do it, really. Anyway, FLAMBERGE is trying to collect Ivan’s soul as well as his neck and his championship, and that’s pretty greedy of him. He’s not even a prince.

Anyway, we’re getting off track. Where were we?

Oh, right. The screams.

Nick Stuart: Ivan Stanislav is suddenly in a lot of trouble out here!

Richard Parker: He can’t win the championship outside of the ring, though! How is FLAMBERGE going to get Starsky Pepper-chick Stanislav and Hutch back into the ring!?

FLAMBERGE seems to recognize this as well. After the third hit to the Stanislav Phylactery, he starts to try and pick Ivan up. He’s dead weight. Some of that might be on purpose. Recognizing that the mighty Ivan Stanislav is a wounded animal refusing to get into the ring, FLAMBERGE slides into the ring and postures at Ivan. Daring him to get back into the ring. Taunting him.

Under normal circumstances, maybe Ivan wouldn’t have taken the bait. Maybe he’d have walked out on the match, no disqualification stipulation be damned.

But FLAMBERGE has wounded him. This… lizard, this unknowable quantity that no one in PRIME has ever been able to figure out… is taunting him. Even Ivan Stanislav can’t abide by this. Picking himself up off of the ground, the Universal champion picks up and throws the guardrail into the ring in the general direction of FLAMBERGE. FLAMBERGE just stands there, unmoving, watching as the guardrail lands just inches to his right.

He’s not even phased.

Richard Parker: I’m not so certain that FLAMBERGE is in there right now. There’s something else.

Nick Stuart: No fear from the challenger even in the face of certain destruction! And Ivan’s not happy about it!

Even on one leg, the great Ivan Stanislav won’t let this little lizard man have the better of him. Hobbled, Ivan slides into the ring.

FLAMBERGE is on him in a second. First stomps on the ankle, and then a few pointed kicks to Ivan’s calf and knee. Constant. Unrelenting. Unblinking. Ivan is feeling these more than he’s ever felt anything in his time in PRIME, not including that time he got the business end of a forklift. The French Phenom has Ivan on the ropes, and he continues to kick away at Ivan’s leg once he puts him in the corner.

The fans are cheering every second of this. Better the devil from France than the devil from Russia, they’ve decided.

Nick Stuart: Ivan’s on his back foot here! The challenger is smelling blood!

Richard Parker: And we aren’t just talking about the fact that he’s still bleeding from getting that chair punched in his face earlier!

FLAMBERGE is relentless. Dangereux. The Neck Collector is looking for number twelve for his mantle, the greatest and biggest neck there ever was. He batters him with more kicks, and Stanislav finds himself losing his footing.

But FLAMBERGE overcommits on his last kick, and Ivan grabs hold of him. YEET.

Over the top rope and to the floor in a heap goes FLAMBERGE, much to the dismay of a crowd that’s decided that he’s their hero for tonight.

Ivan slinks to the ground after removing the threat. He’s wincing in pain as he grabs hold of his left foot, and starts to undo the laces of his boot.

Nick Stuart: Ivan must be in a lot of pain right now, as he’s trying to remove his boot to relieve some of the pressure he must be feeling right now!

Richard Parker: That injury’s really changed the complexion of this match, for sure. Before, it looked like this match had been dwelling in a basement for thirty years, but now it’s hit the gym and gone to a tanning booth, and now it has to chase all the ladies off with a broom!

Nick Stuart: …What the hell was that metaphor?

Richard Parker: What?

With his boot removed, Ivan takes it with him as he hobbles to meet FLAMBERGE on the outside once again. Then he starts wailing away at FLAMBERGE with the boot. Just pounding away at him repeatedly, bonking him with a boot. FLAMBERGE takes this beating very poorly, trying to cover up. He’s already bruised from being thrown into all those chairs, and now he’s getting more bruises from this.

But Ivan’s not done yet. Oh no. The Russian Bear isn’t going to let one bad wheel stop him from inflicting punishment.

Discarding the boot, Ivan rips another piece of the guardrail free from the rest of the set. Audience members in the front row scatter, afraid that Ivan is going to yeet FLAMBERGE into those as well.

Instead, Ivan takes the guardrail and starts slamming it down on the challenger. Over and over again. At least six times in a row. Damaging the guardrail – and maybe FLAMBERGE himself – beyond repair.

BOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Nick Stuart: Barbaric actions from the champion!

Richard Parker: Ivan has the whole of a nation supporting him, Nick! It doesn’t matter what he does! 

Ivan tosses the guardrail aside, uncaring if it hits anyone in the direction he throws it out. Judging from the sounds of horrified screams as a piece of metal is thrown, Ivan might be paying more fines tonight. He doesn’t care. The earth could lie as a barren ruin, nothing untouched by flame, if it meant he’d still leave New Orleans with the Universal Championship.

He peels FLAMBERGE off of the ground and throws him back into the ring. FLAMBERGE rolls into the ring much like a snake after it’s been run over by a car. You’d think he’s trying to bite himself, he’s writhing so much.

Ivan gets back in the ring, and goes to work. He gets on top of FLAMBERGE, all four hundred pounds of Russian might, and starts pounding him. Just pounds him, and pounds him, and pounds him. Like he’s trying to make Frenchburgers. Even as FLAMBERGE covers up, some of those heavy hands would be too much for any mortal man, much less a mortal lizard.

Nick Stuart: Timo Bolamba being very lenient here, most referees might consider stopping this match right here!

The results of Ivan’s barrage aren’t pretty. Despite his best efforts to protect himself, FLAMBERGE is bloodied, and his blood is already staining the mat.

Richard Parker: How the hell does FLAMBERGE get out of this one?

The answer?

Ivan lets him.

He gets up and limps to a corner, sliding out of the ring. Despite being such a physical presence that he’d just bloodied FLAMBERGE with his bare hands, he’s looking under the ring for things to beat FLAMBERGE to death with. A steel chair… yes, that’s so nice he needed to throw one in twice. A table gets pulled out, and Ivan quickly spends the time setting the table up on the outside in front of the hard cam with destruction on his mind.

No, Ivan let FLAMBERGE up because he wants to punish him. He wants to break him. He wants to make it clear to everyone in PRIME that to challenge Ivan Stanislav for his Universal championship is to court death itself.

FLAMBERGE, miraculously, has made it to the ropes and is using them to get to his feet. Ivan sees this, and realizes that he needs to shut this down before FLAMBERGE gets the bright idea to start fighting back.

Despite being hobbled, Ivan manages to charge FLAMBERGE in the corner, and when Ivan engulfs him, it’s like he’s caught between a train and a brick wall moments before they collide with one another. The air in FLAMBERGE’s body – also, some of his blood – is forced out of the tube of toothpaste that is his actual human (lizard?) body. He collapses to the canvas, convulsing.

Nick Stuart: Good grief! What impact on the avalanche in the corner!

Ivan’s hobbled gait causes him to reconsider his intentions to break FLAMBERGE. Perhaps he would like for this to be over now instead of later. So for the first time in the match, Ivan actually attempts a cover.

ONE.

TWO.

NO!

FLAMBERGE rolls his shoulder off of the canvas, and Ivan stares at Timo with a bewildered look on his face. Was the count too slow? Ivan thinks that it was, and he slaps his hand in accordance with how fast Speedy counts. Let’s just say that “Speedy” is not hyperbole in this case.

Ivan pulls FLAMBERGE to his feet. An Irish whip ensues, which might be the first actual pro wrestling move we’ve seen in the match. When FLAMBERGE rebounds, Ivan throws out the big boot.

And he regrets it.

Immensely.

OHHHHHH!!!

FLAMBERGE goes low, under the boot, and immediately plows his shoulder into Ivan’s plant leg. It’s the same leg that FLAMBERGE had hurt earlier in the contest, so it’d already been on shaky ground. Ivan falls forward… and more or less, for the briefest of moments, does the splits.

Richard Parker: Jesus Christ.

Ivan is not as spry as he used to be. He isn’t exactly known for his flexibility, no matter what he might say about his talent with the ladies on social media. And when you ask a man who just celebrated his sixty-first birthday to land like he just did, the general response would be a resounding “FUCK THAT”.

Nick Stuart: Ivan Stanislav is in a world of hurt! I’ve never seen him land like that before!

Richard Parker: No man should.

FLAMBERGE is battered and bleeding. He looks and feels like a man whose body is not built for a match against this titan, but his spirit (and whatever insidious force driving him) pushes him to his feet. As Ivan clutches his legs in pain, FLAMBERGE grabs hold of Ivan.

It’s time to collect.

Marie. Antoinette.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE WITH THE GUILLOTINE! IT’S LOCKED IN!

Richard Parker: Oh no!

It’s locked in, but we’re talking about the biggest game in the neck collecting biznitch. It can’t possibly be that easy.

And it isn’t.

Ivan might be wounded, but he isn’t incapacitated. The moment FLAMBERGE locks the hold in, Ivan storms back up to his feet, carrying FLAMBERGE’s weight with him. In most cases, this is a death sentence. You’re just strangling yourself trying to carry your own weight and FLAMBERGE’s weight.

But Ivan Stanislav is not built like most men. He is the very apex of Russian engineering and science and genetics. FLAMBERGE can’t get his legs around Ivan before Ivan is on his feet and hobble-pushing him into the corner. Once Ivan had FLAMBERGE seated on the turnbuckle, he landed several heart-stopping punches to the ribs. The hold ends up broken, and not because FLAMBERGE wants it.

A single punch to the jaw nearly puts FLAMBERGE’s lights out.

It’s almost a miracle that FLAMBERGE hangs on, as he tips dangerously close to falling out of the ring and to certain doom.

Ivan takes a moment to steady himself. And then he climbs up the turnbuckles in an uncharacteristic move.

Nick Stuart: We have to hope that they reinforced the ring ropes, because Ivan Stanislav is going up top! Maybe a superplex!?

Richard Parker: Somehow, “superplex” doesn’t quite fit what’s about to happen here. Do the words “extinction level event” mean anything to you, Nick? I think Ivan’s about to kill the lizardsaurs.

Ivan goes to grab FLAMBERGE, who’s teetering off the turnbuckles. If he grabs him and nails the superplex – or worse, hits him with a Red Scare from this position – they’d have to scrape whatever remains of the Neck Collector from the canvas with a spatula and a bottle of industrial strength lizard lubricant.

And then… something miraculous happens.

Compared to Ivan, FLAMBERGE is half his weight and a foot shorter. He is also one of the slipperiest motherfuckers in all of PRIME. What people don’t know about the French Phenom is how his ability to conserve his strength sometimes leads him to display shows of incredible power. So when Ivan tries to reach and grab FLAMBERGE by his copious ‘fro, FLAMBERGE suddenly comes to life and slips between Ivan’s legs, landing on his feet just under him.

He grabs hold of Ivan’s legs, and climbs the turnbuckles.

Richard Parker: No fucking way.

There is a collective, horrifying sound.

And it isn’t just the crowd watching in attendance.

Something in FLAMBERGE’s mind is screaming at him that this is the stupidest idea he’s ever had and God won’t help him if he fucks this up. He doesn’t care. He’s operating on pure adrenaline. He’s shared a mlem experience with Sid Phillips. He knows all about what he’s about to do.

With a bewildered Ivan Stanislav now sitting on FLAMBERGE’s shoulders, the French Phenom has mere milliseconds to stand on the second ropes and perform the mightiest throw thought possible before his back snaps in half.

And so, FLAMBERGE hurls himself forward.

…and he powerbombs the fuck out of the Universal Champion.

CRASH!!!

…

CRASH!!!

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

It’s pandemonium in the Superdome.

And for good reason.

A goddamn super powerbomb on a scale hitherto before unseen in the annals of PRIME Wrestling just happened. And whoever’s in charge of reinforcing the ring for the main event? They may be looking for employment elsewhere after tonight is over.

Because…

…and hear me out here…

…the ring… 

…has collapsed.

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

The ring’s supports buckled and collapsed upon impact. The ringposts are turned inward, the ring ropes knocked loose and fall to the canvas. After the initial collapse that turned all the ringposts inside, the ring collapsed further. The steel steps are knocked loose and some audience members recoil with surprise when they find that it almost ends up in their laps. After all, the guardrails haven’t exactly done their best in guarding anyone in this match. Since a lot of them have been dislodged and removed.

Timo Bolamba, who’d been standing next to the ring ropes on the far side of the ring out of the way of what became the mother of all powerbombs (Sid would be proud), suddenly finds himself without any support when the ground gives out under him. He falls backwards, through the ropes that are no longer there, and lands hard on the padded concrete below. falls out of the ring in pure surprise, falling through the broken ring ropes when the ring collapses and landing relatively unsafely in the process. He’s down, and he’s not able to do much right now.

Richard Parker: What. The. Fuuuuuuuuuck!?

Nick Stuart: THEY DESTROYED THE RING!?!!!?!

Richard Parker: This is MADNESS, Nick!

Both Ivan and FLAMBERGE are down. In Ivan’s case, he was ground zero for that event. In FLAMBERGE’s case, only God and an ancient reptilian brain knows how much this one single act has fucked him up. Neither man moves. Neither man so much as twitches.

And that is when Alexei Ruslan reappears.

Nick Stuart: Oh no, it was only a matter of time before that reprehensible snake came back into this match!

Richard Parker: Nick, FLAMBERGE is still down, so… oh. Oh, that’s not very nice to our boy, Alexei.

Earlier, he’d had a terrible meeting with the timekeeper’s table. He had to look of a man with wounded pride, unable to adequately help his dearest friend up until now. But now that FLAMBERGE is down, it is Alexei’s job to keep him there. By any means.

The baton comes out, time to go to work.

He slides into the ring and immediately hits FLAMBERGE as hard as he can with his baton. FLAMBERGE takes the initial hit unprotected, but he isn’t knocked unconscious by it judging from the fact that he immediately curls up in a fetal position covering his head as Alexei wails on him with several more shots.

BOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Nick Stuart: This is a disgrace!

Richard Parker: There’s no disqualifications, even if Timo was in the ring, Alexei could do whatever he wanted!

Alexei searches his coat for something, but can’t find them. Whatever it was he’d been seeking, he realizes that they’d fallen out of his pocket when FLAMBERGE threw him into the timekeeper’s table. Then Alexei moves to where Ivan is, moving to the edge of the collapsed ring to encourage his old friend, in bad shape after the superbomb and the state of his ankle, to return to his feet and pulverize this French upstart. He’s probably telling Ivan that France isn’t even a real country!

Then the crowd suddenly comes unglued, and that sets off alarm bells in Alexei’s head.

Alexei has been around the block a few times, and in his experience, he knows that if the crowd is cheering and you don’t know why, it’s probably because of something happening behind you.

So he casts a glance backwards.

A powerbomb stares back at him from the ring floor.

Nick Stuart: It’s… that’s… THAT’S SID PHILLIPS!?

Richard Parker: Oh no! What’s he doing out here?

What the fuck do you think he’s out here for?

He saw a powerbomb that made him swell with pride. He’d later have this to say to reporters about what FLAMBERGE just did: “I raised that boy”. And a father will do whatever it takes to defend his son. His French, black,  possible lizard son.

Look, the point is that Sid saw a very cool powerbomb and he felt left out. And Alexei? Alexei probably deserves what’s about to happen to him. Sid grabs him and hoists him over his head. Alexei tries to stop him by slamming his baton into Sid’s head. This only staves off the inevitable. It encourages Sid to lift him high overhead, Last Ride-style. Well out of reach of Sid’s head.

The look on Alexei’s face, in the briefest of moments, is one of abject horror.

Because there’s a table right there for him to die in.

CRASH!!!

RAHHHHHHHH!!!!

Nick Stuart: ALEXEI RUSLAN JUST GOT POWERBOMBED THROUGH A TABLE!

Richard Parker: CALL THE U.N. SECURITY COUNCIL! CALL THE NATIONAL GUARD! CALL PUTIN! WE HAVE AN INTERNATIONAL POWERBOMBING INCIDENT!

Sid stands there in a daze, since he not only powerbombed a man during the biggest main event in PRIME history, but he also took a baton to the skull doing so.

His condition isn’t about to improve, because a man slipped onto the scene with a steel chair.

SMACK!

BOOOOOO!!!!!

Nick Stuart: Oh no! Now Arthur Pleasant is out here, and he just blasted Sid Phillips with that chair!

Richard Parker: Finally! Help has arrived for Mother Russia!

Nick Stuart: Whose side are you even on?

Richard Parker: Uh, kinda just depends on the vibes, man.

Following close behind him, Kenny Freeman and Randall Schwartz hit the broken ring and put the boots to FLAMBERGE, who was still down from Alexei’s baton assault.

Nick Stuart: This is chaos! The Red Army is out here trying to tip the scales in Ivan’s favor!

Richard Parker: Yeah!

Outside of the ruined ring, Arthur Pleasant tosses the steel chair already bent out of shape from smashing Sid with it into the ruins. He rips up a section of the padding surround the ring, exposing the concrete. With the concrete exposed, Pleasant gets into the ring as Kenny and Randall each take one of FLAMBERGE’s arms. Without any preamble, Wrestling’s Worst Nightmare picks up the chair.

If these three men go through with what they have in mind, we might be referring to FLAMBERGE in the past tense from this point forward.

RAHHHHHH!!!

Like Joe Fontaine was going to let that happen.

He jumps up onto the ring and dives into Arthur Pleasant without any regard to his own personal safety, considering that Pleasant had a steel chair and he didn’t. Still, his appearance is unexpected enough that Pleasant gets knocked off his feet by Fontaine. Kenny and Randall quickly scramble to contain one of the men they faced earlier in the night, only for the Fabulous Gold Mask to hit the ring. A few right hands from the masked man cause the Masters of the Moscowverse to sound a retreat, with Fabby on their heels. Sid Phillips, the most seriously hurt of the intruders, still comes to trap the Masters between the two big men.

Arthur Pleasant slithers out of the ring with his chair, intent on doing harm to the intruders. Joe goes to pursue… but there’s something wrong. Something terrible is happening, and Joe Fontaine can hear the crowd gasp in shock.

So he turns and…

…oh.

Oh no.

One of the smallest men in PRIME… is now staring up at the biggest man.

Fuck.

Nick Stuart: That’s not good! Ivan’s back on his feet!

Richard Parker: Well, can’t say I’ve never wanted to see something like this happen.

Joe Fontaine doesn’t even have time to react before the Universal champion has a hand around his throat. Then he’s lifted high over Ivan’s head. Ivan turns to see the crowd of men gathered to throw punches and chairs at each other, and decides that it’s an adequate dumping ground for this trash.

He takes two very sudden steps forward and…

YEET.

That’s Russian for “throw the trash out of the ring”, don’t you know?

The Masters, Sid, and Fabby all take this missile in the not-exactly-aerodynamic shape of Joe Fontaine and are all knocked down. Ivan raises both fists in the air and bellows a laughter that’s half in pain.

Ivan Stanislav: DYAA-HAA-HAA!

With the nuisances dealt with, the Russian Bear limps his way to FLAMBERGE.

FLAMBERGE is in a bad way. The cut that Ivan left on him is significantly worse than the one that the French Phenom gave to Ivan earlier in the contest, and Alexei and the rest of the Red Army did him no favors either. Ivan needs only to pick the bones of his enemy to vanquish him and keep the Universe revolving around the Motherland.

SMACK!

And then he gets the soul of Lenin kicked out of his knee.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE is not dead! He’s still in this one!

If it’d been earlier in the contest, before the guardrail incident, Ivan would’ve shrugged this hit off, the same as he would any other. But the Russian Bear is wounded in a way he hadn’t been before, and FLAMBERGE’s blow has an effect. Ivan’s leg buckles, but holds steady, as he moves to contain FLAMBERGE’s movements.

SMACK!

Another kick, and Ivan is staggered again. The lizard remains on the loose. Sort of. Truth be told, FLAMBERGE is also running out of steam. He knows he needs something big to bring down the beast. The kicks to the leg are clearly starting to work, but how many more times must he hit them? He goes for another.

SMACK!

Nick Stuart: Ivan’s on one knee! FLAMBERGE had chopped this tree down!

Richard Parker: Impossible!

He’s in bad shape. The expression on his face is one of a man who has no idea how a man as indomitable as himself could possibly be chopped down with mere leg kicks. FLAMBERGE now aims another kick towards his head.

SMACK!

Nick Stuart: WHAT A KICK!

Richard Parker: I… I… how is he not down!?

Ivan doesn’t go down after such a vicious kick to the head, but he’s wobbly. He’s glassy-eyed. Just one knockout shot away from going down. The Neck Collector aims his next kick.

Nick Stuart: THAT KICK JUST GOT CAUGHT!

A single meaty hand grabs hold of FLAMBERGE’s boot inches from making contact with Ivan’s head. Another hand grabs FLAMBERGE by the throat, and lifts him up into the air. FLAMBERGE’s legs are kicking as Ivan chokes the life out of him.

Ivan is running on auto-pilot. It’s not entirely clear if he even knows what he’s doing, or if it’s just pure instinct honed from many years of professional wrestling. Of combat. It’s hard to say. But when he lifts FLAMBERGE over his head in a full military press, everyone knows that something terrible is about to happen.

Everyone that is, except for two men. Until they realize to their horror how that something terrible is going to be right in their laps.

Nick Stuart: Oh no… no! NO! NO! NONONO!

Richard Parker: OH FUC—

There is a lot of static.

That’s what happens when a living human body is hurled mercilessly through the air from the ring and into the English commentary table. Nick Stuart and Richard Parker, PRIME’s illustrious Hall of Fame announcing team, have mere moments to scatter out of the way before FLAMBERGE’s body hits the table, and then rolls into where their laps would’ve been if they hadn’t dove out of the way just in the nick of time.

It’s pandemonium in the Superdome.

Hell has been unleashed and it’s not particularly happy about being roused from its slumber.

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

Hell also says things like that sometimes.

Fortunately, Nick and Richard are both fine, but they’re shaken up. In the many long years they’ve been working with PRIME, plenty of people have broken their commentary table. But rarely is there ever an occasion where a man gets launched in the exact way that FLAMBERGE had been. Usually, you’d need a catapult for that, and PRIME has permanently banned those ever since The Incident. You know the one.

Regardless, there’s a one truth to be had here.

Unimaginable is the power of Ivan Stanislav. Anyone who dares oppose him faces certain doom.

Ivan collapses to one knee in the ring, unable to keep his weight on his leg, and is forced to spend time convalescing instead of capitalizing. How long has this been going on? Why hasn’t this lizard died yet? The Russian Bear has long been built for sprints, rather than marathons.

Outside of the ring, Timo Bolamba has finally recovered from his spill to the outside. He finds a completely destroyed ring. Weapons strewn about everywhere. A bunch of random Glueboiz and Soldiers of the Red Army still throwing stray punches at each other in the aisleway, unable to make any headway in helping their guys amid a sea of other officials trying to keep them from interfering further in the main event.

Timo takes one long look around. Then he sees the wreckage where Nick and Richard usually sits, and sees a man-slash-lizard lying in the wreckage.

And he asks himself a very important question.

“What the fuck?”

When Ivan looks to his right, he sees the wreckage of the table with an unconscious Alexei Ruslan lying motionless in the middle of it. His eyes go wide. When did that happen? 

It took him only a moment of staring at Alexei before he was filled with rage. An immeasurable rage that could no longer be contained by the ringside area, the Superdome, or even the New Orleans metropolitan area. Get out of Louisiana when you can. Save yourself.

The Russian Bear is on a warpath.

CRASH!

Ivan picks up and launches a chair into the general direction of a crowd that’s scattering to avoid getting hurt. That’s a fine, just put it on Ivan’s tab. Because he doesn’t care. He’d consider burning the whole building down with FLAMBERGE and everyone else inside of it if it’d keep the Universal championship.

He limps off of the glorified broken platform that are the remains of the ring, and goes to collect FLAMBERGE and put an end to all of this.

Yet, to his surprise, FLAMBERGE isn’t actually dead.

In fact, he’s stirring. He’s trying to use Nick Stuart’s fallen chair, turned over when Nick fled the scene moments before impact, to get his legs back under him. This lizard won’t stay down, as though driven by something beyond human understanding. Something ancient. Something reptilian. Something brain.

Ivan does not hesitate. He hobbles towards the Neck Collector with death in his eyes. He orders Vince Howard to move so that he could snatch up the steel chair he was sitting on and snap it shut. FLAMBERGE is crawling on his hands and knees, looking to find it in him to get his legs under him again to continue the fight.

SMACK!

And then Ivan brings down the hammer. It’s a hilariously inefficient hammer, because it’s actually a chair. Don’t worry about it. Or maybe do, because that’s a very large Russian man trying to crush an average-sized French lizard man with something metallic.

SMACK!

A second one. FLAMBERGE instinctually covers up to protect his head. Ivan raises the chair and brings it down on FLAMBERGE a third time.

SMACK!

Ivan throws the chair behind him, unheeding of who might be behind him when he does. The timekeeper and Vince Howard, as well as several fans behind them, have to duck and cover. His left leg is killing him. Timo is pleading with him to take it back into whatever’s left of the ring to put an end to this.

Ivan, for once, agrees with Timo. This needs to be over. It has to be. He pulls the puddle of gelatin that is FLAMBERGE up and hurls him back into the ruins where the match could legally end. He takes one step towards the ring, and winces. Ivan doesn’t know how hurt he is. All the more reason that he needs to finish this. He limps to the ring and slides on top of what’s left of it.

Meanwhile…

Nick Stuart: Are… are we on?

Richard Parker: Y-yeah…

Nick Stuart: I’ve thought I’d seen everything, but…

Richard Parker (mortified): My life flashed before my eyes, Nick.

Nick Stuart: Me too.

Nick Stuart clears his throat.

Nick Stuart: We’ve had some crazy main events in PRIME history, but we’ve never had anything like this! The ringside area looks more like the site of a detonation than it does a wrestling ring!

Richard Parker: Carnage doesn’t even begin to describe what we’re witnessing, Nick!

Ivan hobbles over to collect FLAMBERGE.

And he does what he always does. He launches FLAMBERGE into the air…

SMACK!

…and lands a jaw-rattling clothesline so hard that Julia Lavigne back home in Strausborg could feel it.

Nick Stuart: IRON CURTAIN!

Richard Parker: THIS HAS TO BE OVER!

But it isn’t.

Because Ivan Stanislav, as unstoppable, as unbeatable, as indefatigable as he is… is still human. His massive heart, though it beats for Mother Russia, still beats like any person’s. His iron will, though often unshakeable, often doesn’t match what his body is screaming at him about.

And his leg, which has endured so much in this contest, buckles underneath him as he lands the clothesline. The flat tire just came off of the axle and now the wheel that is Ivan’s left leg is generating sparks as it barrels down the highway on a Saturday night in New Orleans.

He can’t follow up.

Nick Stuart: Ivan can’t cover!

Richard Parker: This man has been at the center of an ongoing car crash since the bell rang! I’m surprised anyone can do anything anymore!

When Ivan finally finds it within himself to return to his feet, it’s more like he returns to his foot. He’s outright dragging his left foot behind him as he walks around the ruined ring. He nearly trips on some of the fallen ring ropes, disconnected when the ring collapsed. He has nothing to brace himself on as he hobbles around.

He knows what he must do.

But as he scoops FLAMBERGE up for the dreaded Red Scare, he finds that this deadly maneuver that he’s done countless times in the past that has ruined the lives of so many… is much harder to set himself to do when he only has one working leg. He can’t set his feet the way he normally does. It’s like he only has half of the tremendous amount of leverage afforded to him by his size and strength.

Still, Ivan has to finish this. He guts it out. He lifts.

Richard Parker: Here it comes! The Red Scare!

Nick Stuart: …NO! IT’S NOT!

When Ivan releases the suplex, FLAMBERGE isn’t thrown backwards. Instead, he chooses to use the momentum to go upwards. He flips up. And when he comes down, he does so grabbing Ivan’s head.

Nick Stuart: MARIE ANTOINETTE! CENTER OF THE RING!

Richard Parker: OR WHAT’S LEFT OF IT!

Ivan suddenly can’t breathe. FLAMBERGE wraps his legs around Ivan’s body as best as he can, and pulls back like his life depends on it. Because it very much does. If FLAMBERGE lets Ivan breathe again, if he does not collect this neck right now… it might all be over.

Ivan takes one step forward.

He can’t take another. That’s his left leg.

He falls to one knee.

Fans cheer as Ivan looks like he might actually be stoppable, beatable, and defatigable.

LET’S GO FLAM-BO! LET’S GO FLAM-BO!

There might not be a Julien Lavigne in there anymore. He might just be a lizard now. If there had been, he might actually crack a smile at his situation. It’s the rare occasion when the crowd is behind this indomitable collector of necks, killer of darlings.

LET’S GO FLAM-BO! LET’S GO FLAM-BO!

And it’s a good thing he didn’t, because if he had, it’d have been wiped off of his face the instant Ivan threw him.

YEET.

The crowd’s chants turn to ash.

FLAMBERGE is thrown nearly out of the ring, landing in a crouch. He barely avoids the disaster of being thrown entirely from the ring. He charges Ivan to try and reapply the vaunted guillotine, but Ivan hits him with his entire body, almost like he’s launching himself at the French Phenom with little more than bulk and anger. It almost resembles a crossbody block if one of Ivan’s feet simply never left the ground because it’s ruined.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE JUST TOOK ALL FOUR HUNDRED POUNDS OF STANISLAV!

Richard Parker: That’s it, he’s dead. He has to be! How do you survive a 747 crashing into your body!?

The crowd murmurs. Is this it?

Both men are down. Timo Bolamba has little choice but to start administering a ten count. Fans don’t want this match to end in a double knockout, and continue yelling and cheering for the match to continue.

Eventually, Ivan is up first.

He lumbers in the direction of FLAMBERGE, leg dragging and body weary. When he reaches him, he pulls him into position for the Red Scare once again. At that exact position, FLAMBERGE would be sent flying into the concrete exposed earlier by Arthur Pleasant’s brief appearance into the match.

Every fan in attendance that isn’t Russian holds their breath. This could be career ending.

SMACK!

It came so suddenly.

FLAMBERGE’s kick rocks Ivan in the weakened leg. It happens so suddenly that most people in attendance don’t even realize what just happened. Ivan’s leg buckles to the side and he falls to one knee. He doesn’t have the strength to ward these shots off any more.

SMACK!

Another blow to the leg. Ivan can’t put his copious weight on his leg.

FLAMBERGE goes behind Ivan. Fans all rise to their feet in unison.

The Neck Collector already performed one enormous feat of strength that he’s certain to regret tomorrow morning. This one? This one is just as… dangereux.

He grasps Ivan in a waistlock.

Under ordinary circumstances, FLAMBERGE might not have ever dreamed of what he’s about to do. He gives up half of Ivan’s weight. While possessing the proportional strength of a lizard, his size has hindered him for this entire contest.

What FLAMBERGE does have, though… is gravity.

And wouldn’t you know it? There’s no ring ropes to stop FLAMBERGE from using that gravity. All he needs is a little pull.

And a prayer to God.

THUD.

Nick Stuart: A… A GERMAN SUPLEX OFF OF THE BROKEN RING!?!?

Richard Parker: ARE YOU FUCKING FOR REAL!?

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

We’re well past pandemonium in the Superdome. The gates of hell have opened and there’s only the cacophony of tens of thousands of people screaming in shock and awe at the trainwreck that’s been ongoing for the past twenty minutes.

Ivan hits the ground far harder than FLAMBO did, having more weight to take the landing on the exposed concrete. FLAMBERGE hits hard as well, landing on the concrete in his effort to . No doubt, he might require medical attention after this is all said and done.

Richard Parker: …THAT SHOULDN’T BE POSSIBLE!

Nick Stuart: I CAN’T EVEN HEAR MYSELF THINK, RICHARD!

The noise is deafening.

FLAMBERGE is barely able to grab hold of the apron of the collapsed ring and pull himself up, but he can only lean against the ring for support. The Intense Champion is weary, now. He’s taken an absolute beating in this match. And yet, it is he that stands.

But only for a moment.

Ivan stirs.

Somewhere deep within FLAMBERGE, where an ancient reptilian brain is pushing levers and pulling buttons and trying to drive him towards the ultimate goal, he asks an all-important question. What does he have to do?

The wounded giant lumbers to his feet, but he is hobbled. He’s wounded. Hamstrung. His left leg drags behind him as he staggers towards FLAMBERGE like one of those movie monsters.

Unstoppable. Unbeatable. Indefatigable.

Richard Parker: HOW IS HE BACK ON HIS FEET!?

Nick Stuart: IS THIS MAN TRULY UNSTOPPABLE!?

A lesser man might have cowered in fear at the sight of the monster emerging from its certain demise.

FLAMBERGE rolls into the collapsed ring. Bloodied. Battered. Undaunted. He stands up and taunts the monster, his lizard-like movements carrying a swagger that you wouldn’t find anywhere else. He dares him to meet him in the ring.

Ivan is a man who would scorch the earth to keep the Universal championship. He is above such taunts from the lizard king of professional wrestling.

But in this moment, with the crowd cheering for his enemy and with no one to back him up, Ivan makes the mistake of answering FLAMBERGE’s challenge. He lumbers into ruined ring, despite the shooting pain in his leg.

The two men stared each other down just as they did to begin the match, and just as they did when the French Phenom shared a ring with Ivan Stanislav just a month ago.

Unlike when the match began, though, FLAMBERGE is the one who moves first.

SMACK!

That deadly kick to the leg again. Ivan buckles, but doesn’t go down.

SMACK!

Another kick.

SMACK!

Another.

SMACK!

That one’s for Sid.

SMACK!

That one’s for Sid’s friend. Maybe.

SMACK!

That one’s for mom.

SMACK!

And that one’s for him.

By the end of the barrage, Ivan is on one knee and it’s not certain he’ll be able to stand back up in the match. FLAMBERGE moves for the kill shot.

And, for a second time in the match, he’s caught. Ivan reaches up with one hand and has him by the throat. He throttles the challenger with an unmatched fury. If he had his way, Ivan would cripple this man for life right now and leave him a vegetable. All for the Universal championship.

Nick Stuart: Ivan Stanislav is choking the life out of FLAMBERGE with one hand!

Richard Parker: This bear is too much!

It’s survival mode for FLAMBERGE now. He kicks away at Ivan’s leg. No, these are more like stomps aimed to break Ivan’s ankle entirely. While FLAMBERGE doesn’t quite succeed at this goal, the pain is too much even for Ivan and he lets go.

SMACK!

A kick to the head from FLAMBERGE rattles the champion, but only for a moment. Then Ivan locks eyes with the French Phenom, almost daring him to hit him with his best shot.

Thing is, FLAMBERGE doesn’t fight fair. This is the Universal Championship. And while Ivan might scorch the earth to keep it, FLAMBERGE wouldn’t have stopped at a mere burn. FLAMBERGE reached down and picked up something that’d fallen down in the middle of the ring earlier in the match. Something that Ivan recognized.

Alexei’s baton.

Ivan doesn’t even have time to get angry about it before FLAMBERGE waffles him with it.

Nick Stuart: THE BATON TO IVAN’S SKULL!

Richard Parker: OH NO!

Ivan crumples to the mat. FLAMBERGE drops the baton to the mat like it’s made of bees, and grabs the only remaining steel chair left in the ring. He opens it and wedges Ivan’s left leg within it before grabbing one of the fallen ring ropes.

What happens next horrifies just about everyone who sees it.

FLAMBERGE might have been openly embraced as the hero of this match. His swagger, his attitude, the way he moves, his ability to beat the shit out of anyone who crosses his path regardless of who it is… all of that has made him a legendary, if unknowable entity in PRIME.

But he is no hero. He is a ruthless conqueror, a hunter of necks, a killer of darlings. He is that which embodies the essence of Glue.

And sometimes, a whole crowd of folk need to be reminded that there are no heroes in PRIME.

Only monsters.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE… FLAMBERGE has wrapped the ring rope around Ivan’s neck!

And then with one contemptuous stomp on the chair, Ivan shoots up in pain and is left hanging.

Literally.

FLAMBERGE puts his back to Ivan’s back, and he pulls. One foot remains on the chair, crushing Ivan’s ankle as he’s being bent backwards in ways that the sixty-one year-old Universal champion has likely never been bent before. In no other situation would this have ever been deemed legal. There’s horrified screaming in the crowd.

FLAMBERGE likely can’t keep this up forever, what with the four hundred pound weight pressed against his back, but he can keep this up long enough that Ivan starts to turn various shades of red and purple.

Ivan would not quit. He would never submit.

He is unstoppable. He is unbeatable. He is indefatigable.

But even Ivan Stanislav needs oxygen to live. Timo Bolamba has known him for a very long time, he knows better than anyone that Ivan may never quit. He knows that he might never hear the end of the decision he’s about to make once he makes it.

But this old friend has seen enough.

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: IT’S OVER!

Richard Parker: I DON’T BELIEVE IT!

FLAMBERGE lets go. Rather, it’s more like gravity has finally claimed him. He falls to the ground and lies still, completely exhausted. Ivan, too, does the same. There is a shocked reaction in the crowd. It’s not quite jubilation. It’s not the raucous cheer that a conquering hero might receive.

It’s relief.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen… the winner of this match… and NEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWW PRIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPION! FLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMBBBBBBBERRRRRRRRGGGGGGEEEEEEE!!!

Timo goes to collect both the Universal and Intense championships, and he places them on FLAMBERGE’s heaving chest. Doubtlessly, the new champion is just as likely to need medical attention as the former one.

Doctors come out to check on the condition of both men.

Nick Stuart: We have a new champion here tonight!

Richard Parker: I… I don’t believe it… I don’t believe it! I don’t… believe it?

Nick Stuart: My broadcast partner is broken, apparently…

FLAMBERGE has three other guests in Joe Fontaine, Sid Phillips, and the Fabulous Gold Mask. The three men who lent a hand to FLAMBERGE in his time of need pull the new champion to his feet and then lift him up into the air. Or, rather, the much bigger Sid and Fabby do this, Joe just cheerleads.

FLAMBERGE responds to his situation the only way he can.

He planks across the shoulders of Sid and Fabby.

His championship belts in both hands are held with all of the care and grace of a man with nothing left to give.

On the Ivan side of things, Alexei has recovered enough from being powerbombed through a table to crawl over to Ivan. Occasionally, he shoots contemptuous glares towards Timo Bolamba, who stands stoically to one side while doctors tend to Ivan and the Glue Man Group is carrying around the new champion like he’s a piece of lumber.

Nick Stuart: Folks, this has been… an insane night. For Richard Parker, I’m Nick Stuart, and we’ll see all of you in 2024!

As Nick Stuart signs off, FLAMBERGE finally puts up enough effort to raise his newly won Universal championship into the air.

Please welcome your new lizard overlord, PRIME.

FADE.

TO.

GLU–

The Superdome is plunged into inky darkness, abruptly cutting off FLAMBERGE’s victory song. A cacophony of confusion and excitement from 83,000 PRIMEates fills the air instead.

Richard Parker: Nick, what’s going on?

Nick Stuart: I have no idea, Richard. None whatsoever.

The Glueminati have stopped their celebration and are looking at each other. So too are Ivan and Alexei. Dr. Astrid Fihlguud and her team are conferring with one another as well as with Timo Bolamba.

That’s when chugging guitars and heavy drums blast through the arena’s PA system. A quick scream of static and the guitars and drums pick up their pace, playing hastily and aggressively.

Long-time PRIMEates haven’t heard this song in 11 years. Not since the end of the ReVolution.

Not since he carved Michael “Chainz” Sloan up like a Christmas ham at Colossus VIII.

“Kingdom of the Worm” by Motörhead

You remember, you remember me, yes,
I remember what we are, I remember only scars,
I remember only stars, I remember hell and mother,
I have seen the eye of god, youth trust gone forever.

Nick Stuart: Oh my God.

Richard Parker: No way. There’s no way.

A massive silhouette approaches the stage, slowly taking his time until he stands before the ramp and walking out to a giant’s welcome.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

All eyes are transfixed on the stage. Joe’s. Sid’s. Fabby’s. FLAMBERGE’s. Timo’s. Ivan’s. Alexei’s.

To some, it’s a new enemy. A new neck to collect. To others, it’s a ghost from their past.

The monster extends his arms and grins, sadistically.

Nick Stuart: I cannot believe my eyes.

Richard Parker: It’s the MURDER SHOW! IT’S –

THIS

IS

PRIME.

The Superdome is plunged into inky darkness, abruptly cutting off FLAMBERGE’s victory song. A cacophony of confusion and excitement from 83,000 PRIMEates fills the air instead.

Richard Parker: Nick, what’s going on?

Nick Stuart: I have no idea, Richard. None whatsoever.

The Glueminati have stopped their celebration and are looking at each other. So too are Ivan and Alexei. Dr. Astrid Fihlguud and her team are conferring with one another as well as with Timo Bolamba.

That’s when chugging guitars and heavy drums blast through the arena’s PA system. A quick scream of static and the guitars and drums pick up their pace, playing hastily and aggressively.

Long-time PRIMEates haven’t heard this song in 11 years. Not since the end of the ReVolution.

Not since he carved Michael “Chainz” Sloan up like a Christmas ham at Colossus VIII.

“Kingdom of the Worm” by Motörhead

You remember, you remember me, yes,
I remember what we are, I remember only scars,
I remember only stars, I remember hell and mother,
I have seen the eye of god, youth trust gone forever.

Nick Stuart: Oh my God.

Richard Parker: No way. There’s no way.

A massive silhouette approaches the stage, slowly taking his time until he stands before the ramp and walking out to a giant’s welcome.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

All eyes are transfixed on the stage. Joe’s. Sid’s. Fabby’s. FLAMBERGE’s. Timo’s. Ivan’s. Alexei’s.

To some, it’s a new enemy. A new neck to collect. To others, it’s a ghost from their past.

The monster extends his arms and grins, sadistically.

Nick Stuart: I cannot believe my eyes.

Richard Parker: It’s the MURDER SHOW! IT’S –

THIS

IS

PRIME.