COLOSSUS 2024 NIGHT TWO
A familiar man sits upon a throne, cast in darkness, dressed in a familiar blue waistcoat.
The PRIME Universal championship set firmly on his shoulder as though it’s always belonged there. Because for longer than anyone else in this era of PRIME, it’s belonged to him.
Coral Avalon: I feel like this is important to say. It’s on the champion to make the belt. The belt does not make the champion.
The camera cuts, and now it’s by Avalon’s side as he looks out into darkness. Screens appear in front of him, as though he’s watching an entire wall of monitors. One depicts Avalon hitting Kazuya Fukumaru with the Excalibur in the finals of the first-ever Terminus Complex, Bang! Pro Wrestling’s grueling annual tournament. Avalon nearly ripping the Godslayer in half with the Vortigern’s Pillory in Avalon’s third victory in the tournament is another highlight. There’s that time Avalon defeated Thomas “the Tank” Barley for the Dauntless Cup over in the United Kingdom with ye olde European clutch. Countless moments from the independent Wild West of the international professional wrestling scene.
Coral Avalon: I didn’t call myself “the Crownless King” because it was a cool name to put on a T-shirt. It’s because I already believed I was a champion, I just didn’t need a shiny crown or a sparkly belt to prove that to anyone.
More screens. A painfully young Avalon with long black hair holding up the Action! Wrestling Bantam Championship over twenty years ago. A bloodied and soon-to-be-temporarily-dead Avalon holding up the All-Star Championship Wrestling Scorpion Fighting Championship on a ladder perched on the top of a convoluted-looking cage. Avalon holding up the PRIME Tag Team Championships, surrounded by a bunch of the dumbest dipshits PRIME had ever seen.
Coral Avalon: So it’s one thing to win the PRIME Universal championship…
The camera pans across Avalon’s face before settling on the other side.
Coral Avalon: But it’s a whole other thing to keep it, as I have done.
More screens. Brandon Youngblood hits the third straight then-Randallplex on Cancer Jiles. Youngblood’s arm falls for the last time, trapped as he was in Phil Atken’s Tarp. Jiles superkicks a nearly-dead Julian Bathory one final time, horseshoe flying out of his boot. Hayes Hanlon sends Jiles to hell with a Supermassive. Rezin upsets Hanlon. Rezin flies through the cage and to certain doom. Youngblood kills Hanlon’s dream. Ivan tosses Youngblood for the second of three consecutive Red Scares. FLAMBERGE hangs Ivan out to dry. Sykes gets his Last Wish. Jonathan-Christopher Hall hits the Stand By Me on the Universal championship.
Every Universal title change, all there in living color.
Avalon gestures at the Universal title on his shoulder.
Coral Avalon: Many men in this era have held this title. This is the hardest championship to defend in PRIME. Every man who challenges for this title brings their A-game when this is on the line.
The Rhongomyniad heard around the world. Jonathan-Christopher Hall goes head over heels. One Excalibur later, and a twenty year journey finally reaches its end.
The camera returns to Avalon, his fingers rapping in a rhythm against the gold of his championship belt.
Coral Avalon: For some, this is a prop. A thing they want just to fulfill some agenda. For me? It’s an exclamation point. I’ve already built a career worthy of any credible Hall of Fame before I ever even set foot in PRIME again. Keeping this piece of punctuation through so many challengers simply proved that to everyone else. The only thing I have left to prove?
He smiles.
Coral Avalon: …That I can keep it here at Colossus, too.
Avalon rises from his throne. The room comes alight with dozens more screens, this time depicting classic moments in the previous eleven editions of Colossus.
Tony Rolo conquers the unconquerable Ignatius Lisieux. Los Diablos takes the Fallen Halo. Hoyt Williams holds up the Universal title. The Illustrious Face-Eater explodes. Tchu brings about Killean’s Downfall. Lindsay Troy overcomes the Colossus curse. Chandler Tsonda stands on the turnbuckles, holding up the Universal Championship with a beaming smile on his face. Jason Snow stands in the center of the ring, holding up the Universal and 5-Star championships in each arm. Lindsay Troy and Tchu hold each other in an embrace at the end of the ReVolution. Jared Sykes tries to kill a man. Hayes Hanlon topples COOLYMPUS. Cecilworth Farthington falls to his knees, betrayed by the very ring he loved as Jonathan-Christopher Hall and Vickie Hall celebrate better times. FLAMBERGE powerbombs Ivan Stanislav and destroys the whole fucking ring.
Coral Avalon: There are no easy wins in PRIME, least of all here at Colossus.
Avalon walks forward.
Tony Gamble and Hessian walk towards the camera. A mismatched pair of Hall of Fame eGG Bandits, coming to meet a pair of Wise Guys. RIA appears, flashing across the screen in various different personas. You can see a hint of Se án O’Neill in each one of the flashes. Sebastian Gold, tears in his eyes, holds up the Belmont Classic cup. Sliding up in a split screen next to him is Rob Williams, holding up the 5-Star Championship in triumph after taking it from Cecilworth Farthington.
Daytona Diamonds sits at a poker table, an impossibly cocky smirk on his face. He slides the chips across the table towards a stone-faced Jason Snow. A few camera cuts show that both men have their hands on six-shooters.
Another split-screen. Vickie Hall stands in the center, between the split. On one side, Vickie has her arms around Cancer Jiles, King Crumb himself. On the other side, Jonathan-Christopher Hall reaches out to her, unable to touch her.
Don Winters rides across a field, a great spear at hand emblazoned with five stars. On the other side of the field, Kerry Kuroyama rides upon the back of a great dragon, a blue one with a strange and vacant smile.
Coral Avalon: But the terrain of professional wrestling has shifted. All of you may believe yourself the mountain. You, Brandon Youngblood. Snow. Jiles. Cecilworth. Ivan. Winters. Daytona. And all in between.
The screens go out one by one, until Avalon stands alone in darkness, with only a single spotlight upon him.
Coral Avalon: But you’re all mountains cast in shadow, now.
Another spotlight appears behind Avalon. A man stands behind him. White singlet, bald head, the symbols of red diamonds. Skulls in his path.
Brandon Youngblood.
Avalon smiles a wolfish smile.
Coral Avalon: For throughout heaven and earth, I alone am THE mountain.
Smash cut to black.
Colossus.
Night Two.
Show us your signs.
I REFUSE TO SHARE A SPOT IN THE HALL WITH CANCER JILES
DEAR GOD WHEN WE ALL PRAYED FOR VICKIE HALL TO GET CANCER THIS IS NOT WHAT WE MEANT
BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD’S FAVORITE PUDDING IS PISSTACHIO
JCH IS GOING TO GIVE CANCER JILES HIS CRUMBUPPANCE
I TIME TRAVELED FROM NIGHT ONE, AMA IF YOU WANT SPOILERS
I’M TOO EMERALD APEXY FOR MY SHIRT
I THOUGHT THERE WAS A “VICKIE HALL BOUNCING ON A POLE MATCH” TONIGHT?!
HTTPS://WWW.VICKPICS.COM/FEATURES/VICKIE-BOUNCING-ON-A-POLE-2024 BUY NOW FOR JUST $15!!!!!
THE ONLY PERSON WHO CAME FOR VICKIE TONIGHT IS CANCER JILES
IF BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD WINS WE RIOT PEE
I PAID TO SEE KENNY FREEMAN THIS IS BULLSHIT I AM WRITING MY CONGRESSMAN
I SAW BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD STEALING CHRISTMAS PRESENTS FROM A CHILDREN’S HOSPITAL AND THAT’S WHY I DON’T THINK HE SHOULD BE CHAMPION
NO MATTER WHO WINS THE UNIVERSAL CHAMPION WILL HAVE A LOT OF EXPOSED SKIN ON THEIR HEAD
I SAW BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD KISSING SANTA CLAUS, BUT THE SANTA SMELLED LIKE PISS AND EVERYTHING WAS BLUE
BE READY TO RENAME THE UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP TO THE URINATION CHAMPIONSHIP (STILL STARTS WITH A U BUT ITS PEE)
I CAN’T BELIEVE PAXTON RAY GOT KIDNAPPED ON FLAT FUCK FRIDAY
Nick Stuart: The second night of Colossus begins NOW, ladies and gentlemen! And we’re kicking things off in a BIG way! The Tag Team Championships are on the line! The reigning champions, the Wise Guys, Zapp Scatino and the Anglo Luchador, defend against Tony Gamble and Hessian of the eGG Bandits!
Richard Parker: Is there a single tag team in PRIME right now that isn’t a semi-dysfunctional mismatch of personalities?
Nick Stuart: You may be onto something there, Rich. Right now, let’s head to ring and get into the action!
You think I’m funny…
Funny how?
“The Immigrant Song” by Karen O with Trent Reznor starts to play through the PA system of Sofi Stadium as Johnnie Newsman steps out from behind the curtain to a chorus of boos from the crowd.
Johnnie Newsman: HEEEY THEEERRRE LOOOOOSSS AAANGEEEEL LEEEESSSE!!! THEEE LAAAST MAAAN LAUGHING IS HEEERE!!!!
The man that steps out behind him is wearing a familiar mask…the same mask Mortimer Kjedelig wore to the ring at The Great American Nightmare when he faced off against The Anglo Luchador, Ria Nightshade, and Anna Daniels. If it wasn’t apparent by Newsman introducing him, the ring gear bearing his name should identify the man.
Johnnie Newsman: Coming to your ring, with weight of one hundred and eighty nine pounds of lean, healthy muskulls on a man.
Tony pulls the mask off as the crowd continues to boo, holding it high above his head.
Johnnie Newsman: TOOOOOOOOOOOONYYYYYYYYYYYYY THEEEEE GRRRRRRIIIINNNNNNNN GAAAAAAAAMMBLLLLLLEEEEE!!!
Newsman lowers his microphone and clasps his hands as Gamble holds position and stuffs the mask into his tights as he waits for his partner. All eyes turn to Vince Howard, still seated at ringside and making no move to announce the next Bandit.
Richard Parker: Am I missing something here? Why’s neither of them introducing the big guy?
The music continues as neither Newsman or Howard attempt an introduction. Just then, a figure emerges from the entrance. He isn’t seven foot tall, nor grizzled. This gentleman is dressed to the nines in a sharp three-piece suit; PRIME blue with black cuffs and lapels. His hair is perfectly coiffed and a million dollar smile is tattooed over his kind features. He also has a microphone in hand.
Nick Stuart: There’s your answer Rich. That’s junior staff member, and Vince Howard’s understudy, Devin Fielding. For everyone watching at home; Devin is the voice behind our weekly commercials for ReVival and was recently suspended, courtesy of Hessian, after acquiescing to a request to besmirch Rose in the ad-read for ReVival 59!
Richard Parker: You mean that bit in the news last week about a reconciliation was referring to this? Damn it I thought Sammy Broadway was going to get his foot back in the door!
Nick Stuart: Looks like the Murder Show has given our Devin an opportunity on live television, to make up for getting him suspended!
Richard Parker: The biggest tree produces the most sap…
Fielding stands proudly beside Johnnie and Tony, looking out at the capacity crowd in awe before raising the microphone to his lips.
Devin Fielding: Aaaaand introducing his partner! Accompanied to the ring by MINION THE IMP!! Weighing in at three-hundred-seventy pounds…hailing from Parts Unknown, he is THE MURDER SHOW! HHHEEEEEESSSSIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAANNNNN-AHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
Devin’s pitch perfect tone fills the sold-out stadium, eliciting a raucous chorus from the crowd. A massive silhouette emerges from the entrance onto the stage with his dwarven manager by his side. Minion looks resplendent; suitably clad in a glittering black robe with electric blue trim, while the Murder Show has his usual gear on. Approaching Devin first, Hessian offers his fist and receives a bump back from the junior announcer, giving a nod of approval before taking his place beside his tag team partner. Newsman and Fielding move next to each other, perfectly in sync as they bring their microphones up once more.
Johnnie & Devin: Ladies and Gentlemen…THEEEEE EEEGG BAAAAAANDIIIIIIIIITSSS!!
The harmonized introduction warrants even more applause from the crowd as Gamble and Hessian proudly make the walk down the ramp, flanked by their familiars. Newsman and Fielding make their way over to Vince’s station while Minion takes his place in the Bandit corner at ringside. Gamble stomps up the steel steps and enters through the ropes while Hessian hauls himself over the top. They acknowledge the packed house with a nonchalant fist pump each before taking position in their corner and engaging in a final pre-match discussion as the music slowly fades out and the house lights reset.
The music switches over to “Cynic” by Local H, and the fans come alive. The stage lights come up as the Anglo Luchador and Zapp Scatino appear, tag team titles proudly secured around their waists. TAL marches to the edge of the stage, unstraps his belt, and holds it up high to get a pop from the fans! He looks to Scatino who, although at first reluctant, steps up and does the same, earning another (albeit slightly less enthusiastic) pop.
The partners stride down the rampway, side by side. TAL slaps hands with the fans. Following his example, Zapp also exchanges a high five, though quickly wipes his palm against his tights.
Vince Howard: And the opponents, weighing in at a combined weight of four-hundred and fifty-nine pounds… they are the TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS of PRIME WRESTLING… the ANGLO LUCHADOR… ZAPP SCATINO… they are… the WIIIIIISE GUUUUUYYYYSSS!!!
TAL scales a turnbuckle, posing heroically with the championship held high overhead. He points across the ring to Zapp, who halfheartedly does the same. When the music cuts a few moments later, they hand off their belts to the timekeeper and regroup in their corner while Jimmy Turnbuckle begins his final checks.
Nick Stuart: The Wise Guys suffered a hiccup at the go-home ReVival in a non-title contest. One has to wonder if everything is still good with these two, going into a contest with everything on the line!
Richard Parker: The Anglo Luchador blew it two weeks ago, Nick! But you can’t count out my man Zapp! I’m sure he’s set his good-for-nothing brother straight!
Nick Stuart: Hessian obliges to start on the behalf of the bandits. Meanwhile, it looks like Zapp Scatino is insisting he start on the part of the Wise Guys.
DING DING
The crowd ROARS as Hessian and Scatino stare each other down from across the ring. The Murdershow cracks his knuckles and cranks his neck. Zapp glances over to his corner, where the Anglo Luchador gives him a supportive nod.
Nick Stuart: Here we go, right into it! Scatino and Hessian, into the tie-up… and Hessian IMMEDIATELY throws Zapp to the mat!
Scatino bumps and rolls back to his feet, staring back at the Murdershow and suddenly much less confident in himself. Once again, he glances to his corner. Obligingly, the Anglo Luchador extends his hand, offering to tag in.
Richard Parker: Do it, Zapp! TAL is WAYYY more equipped to fight this guy! Conserve your strength for when you’re going to need it!
Zapp momentarily considers the offer… then shakes his head, choosing to stay in the fight. He goes right back into another tie-up with Hessian… only to be swiftly shoved right to the canvas once more!
Nick Stuart: Down goes Scatino again, as Hessian gives us all another show of strength! He’s making it no secret that he can easily manhandle either one of the tag team champions if they’re not careful!
Richard Parker: Something for TAL to be worried about. But Zapp knows he’s got the brains to handle Big Hess’s brawn!
Scatino scrambles to his feet again, slapping his head in frustration. Hessian continues to stand as firm and resolute as a statue, provoking Zapp to come at him again with something as small and nuanced as a smirk. Fed up, Scatino charges forward, shoulder first.
Nick Stuart: Zapp Scatino going for the SHOULDER BLOCK–NO!! He runs right into a brick wall… and HERE COMES BIG HESS!
Without warning, Hessian snaps to life, using one massive hand to throttle Scatino by the throat while bulldozing him right into the corner. Big Hess presses his weight into the choke. Zapp’s legs kick wildly, and Jimmy Turnbull quickly begins the count when Hessian refuses to break on his command.
“ONE… TWO… THREE… F–”
Hessian breaks the hold at the last second, immediately backing up with his palms innocently held out. Zapp clutches his neck, gasping for air. He reluctantly steps out of the corner… only for Big Hess comes pawing for his head a second later.
Nick Stuart: Here comes Hessian… NO! Haymaker ducked by Scatino, who rolls back to his feet and hits the ropes! DROPKICK to the chest puts the big man on his heels!
Richard Parker: You got this, Zapp!
Nick Stuart: Scatino back up… lands ANOTHER dropkick! But Hessian is still on his feet!
The crowd, against all expectations, actually begins to get behind the erstwhile Morty K! Getting a head full of steam, Scatino hits the ropes once more and comes back hot with a–
Nick Stuart: TWO-HANDED CHOKESLAM by Hessian!
Richard Parker: Ugh…!
Nick Stuart: That shut down whatever Zapp had in mind! Hessian making the cover now!
One!
Two!
Scatino pops the shoulder!
Looking like a man run over by a Jersey cab, Zapp instinctively tries to crawl to his corner. Hessian rises up and promptly plants a foot into the small of his back, stepping over him to walk to the opposing corner and flagrantly pieface the Anglo Luchador.
Nick Stuart: OH! Hessian trying to get into the head of the Anglo Luchador, and now Jimmy Turnbull has to direct him back into the apron!
Richard Parker: Don’t let your pride ruin this, you moron!
TAL reels himself back to the apron while Hessian hauls Scatino back up and throws him into his corner. He makes the clean tag with Gamble, and the two exchange places. Hess immediately holds Zapp by the arms, leaving him exposed to a barrage of punches to the exposed ribs from Gamble. Turnbull quickly steps in and breaks it up, but the damage is done.
Nick Stuart: Some double-teaming on display by the eGG Bandits! I have a feeling Jimmy Turnbull is going to have his patience tested quite a bit as this match wears on.
Richard Parker: You’d think by now they’d be giving the refs here some sort of special Bandit training?
Nick Stuart: Gamble in the ring now, and in control! He’s got a handful of Scatino’s hair, and he’s peppering him without mercy!
Gamble punches, kicks, slaps, and stomps Zapp around the ring, verbally berating him every step of the way. Concern is visible through the mask of the Philadelphian mainstay, watching helplessly from his corner.Scatino scrambles for the ropes, trying to get away, but Tony catches him by the waist band and pulls him up to his feet.
Nick Stuart: Tony Two-Books has Zapp from behind… GERMAN SUPLEX!! He pops right up… JUMPING ELBOW DROP right to those ribs! Now he makes the cover!
One!
Two!
Zapp Scatino kicks out!
Richard Parker: My heart skipped a beat there!
Nick Stuart: I bet the Anglo Luchador feels the same way!
Tony Gamble stays on top of Zapp, punishing him with more kicks to the head and shoulders for insulting him by trying to kick out. Then he pulls him into his feet and sets him into a front facelock.
Were it not for taking a moment to tell off a mouthy fan at the barricade and give them a chin flick, he might notice Scatino taking ahold of the nearby ropes.
Nick Stuart: Gamble looking for the DDT… but ZAPP CLUTCHES THE ROPES to keep from going down, and Tony’s head BUMPS the mat!
Zapp stumbles back into his own corner, falling on his ass as he makes the tag to the Anglo Luchador. The crowd pops as the Spear of Huitzilopochtli and sprints across the ring…
Richard Parker: Finally! Now this chump can pull his weight on this team!
…Tony comes to in time to see TAL coming, and promptly rolls to his corner.
Nick Stuart: Tony tags out to Hessian! These two definitely came into this match with a plan, and it shows.
Richard Parker: The Murder Show murders, and the Grin grins. It’s a high concept, low effort strategy, if there ever was one.
The Anglo Luchador stops in his tracks as soon as the Murder Show steps over the whole set of ropes to enter the ring. Hessian tells him to make his move. With a snort to clear his sinuses and a crack of his knuckles, TAL digs right in.
Nick Stuart: Here comes the Anglo Luchador, shooting in low and out of reach of Big Hess’s arms! Now he’s got the leg hooked, and he’s looking for a takedown… and Hessian just kicks aside!
Richard Parker: Can’t tell if it’s guts or brains making him go at a giant like Hessian this way!
Nick Stuart: He appears to have some sort of game plan at work here, regardless!
TAL slips under and around Hessian’s arms again on the second attempt, this time jumping up to his shoulders for a textbook sleeper and leaning his weight toward his own corner. Hessian goes with it, crushing him against the turnbuckles, but also giving him the opportunity to tag to Scatino.
Richard Parker: The coward is tagging out already?!
Crushed in the corner, TAL curls up and drops to the mat. Hessian turns his attention to Zapp, who looks like a deer in headlights. A swiping right hand coming at his head is only narrowly ducked, and Scatino jumps on the opportunity to bury his shoulder into the big man’s exposed middle.
Nick Stuart: Shoulder block through the ropes, and THAT seems to have gotten Big Hess right where it hurts, because the big man is doubled over!
Scatino steps into the ring, takes Hessian by the head, and brings him right down to the mat with a bulldog! With perfect timing, TAL recovers, springboards off the near ropes, and comes down on the back of Hessian’s head with a double-stomp!
Nick Stuart: The Wise Guys with a ONE-TWO combo to cut the towering Hessian down to size! TAL to the outside as Zapp makes the cover!
ONE!
TWO!
Hessian PRESSES him right off!
Zapp scurries back to his corner and makes the quick tag to TAL. Hessian powers himself back to his feet in half a heartbeat. The Wise Guys meet him with double running dropkicks to the chest!
Nick Stuart: The Tag Team Champions are on the same page, sending Big Hess staggering backwards after the stereo dropkicks! Wait, blind tag made to Tony as he backs into the ropes… AND HESSIAN CHARGES BACK WITH DOUBLE LARIATS!!
TAL and Scatino flail through the air as the Murder Show’s arms cut through them like hot machetes through butter. The crowd immediately falls silent. Hessian stands there ominously, while Tony Gamble slips in behind him to do clean-up.
Nick Stuart: The Champions were using some great teamwork there for a moment, but even their combined efforts aren’t enough to slow down the Hess Express! And now Hessian has left them at the mercy of Tony Gamble!
Richard Parker: Dangit, why do the Bandits get a legendary seven-foot tall mean murdery man?! They have an unfair advantage here!
Gamble hits the ropes and meets Scatino first with a low dropkick to the face as he’s pushing himself up, sending him rolling to the ropes and crashing to the floor. Then he sets his sights on the Anglo Luchador, meeting him with a running knee lift before grabbing his arms from behind.
Nick Stuart: Gamble has ahold of the Anglo Luchador… STRAIGHT-JACKET SUPLEX!! Bridged RIGHT INTO A PIN!!
ONE!
TWO!
TAL kicks out!
Richard Parker: If there’s anything Angles it’s good for, it’s getting hit and being resilient!
Gamble straddles TAL’s chest and puts the forearms to his masked face, medium-style. Then he pulls him back up and hauls him into the ropes with a whip. TAL comes back with a Thesz press, which Gamble barely has to duck on account of his size. When he returns off the opposite set of ropes, the Grin bounds off the man and meets him in the air.
Nick Stuart: JUMPING SPINEBUSTER by Gamble, dragging the Anglo Luchador out of the air! And here’s another cover!
ONE!
TWO!
KICKS OUT AGAIN!
Richard Parker: Big Hess played TAL right into this! He made the Wise Guys think that HE was the biggest threat on his team, but Tony is the REAL threat! Gamble is the shooter on the grassy knoll!
Nick Stuart: If what you’re saying is true, then that could be a fatal miscalculation on part of the tag champs!
TAL is breathing heavily, but hanging in there. Gamble pulls him up once more and sets him up from the side…
Nick Stuart: Tony Gamble setting up the STOP LAUGHING AT ME–NO!! The Anglo Luchador SLIPS FREE!
With the grace of el falcone, TAL twists himself loose, ensnares Gamble by the arm, and rolls him over onto his shoulders.
Nick Stuart: TAL COUNTERS with LA MAGISTROL!
ONE!
TWO!
THR–AAAALMOST!!
Richard Parker: But not enough!
Their bodies break apart and roll away from each other. TAL goes for his corner, only for Gamble to jump onto his leg. They come up onto their three remaining feet together, Tony planning his next move, until TAL kicks him aside with an enziguri!
Nick Stuart: ENZIGURI by the Anglo Luchador… and he makes the tag back to Zapp Scatino!
Clutching his face, Gamble instinctively goes for his corner. Before he can get there, Scatino grabs him and reigns him into a front face lock, pounding down on his back with clubbing forearms!
Nick Stuart: Scatino is taking it to Gamble! Tony’s reaching for his corner, but missed the tag by inches!
Richard Parker: If there’s anything Tony Gamble knows well, it’s that a few extra inches go a long way!
Gamble, still with plenty of tricks up his sleeves, backs himself up into a neutral corner, prompting Turnbull to step in and call for a break. At first, Scatino doesn’t comply, so he counts…
“ONE… TWO… THR–”
Nick Stuart: Scatino makes the break–
Only for Tony to spring out of the corner with a shot that catches him in the throat! Zapp is left frozen and clutching his neck, while Gamble posts up to the second rope and dives off.
Nick Stuart: Tony Gamble with the cheap shot, and brings down Scatino with a TORNADO DDT!! That absolutely DRILLED him!
Richard Parker: I have to admit… “the Grin” is a cunning athlete! Zapp learned from the best back in his days of Morty K, but seems to have forgotten everything since teaming up with the Anglo Lummox!
Nick Stuart: Gamble making a cover, for the Tag Team Championships!
ONE!
TWO!
THR–SCATINO KICKS OUT!!
Zapp tries to power up to his feet, but falls into the ropes to keep from going down. Seeing his window, Tony sprints forward…
Nick Stuart: Gamble coming for the coup de gras… NO!! Back body drop sends him over the ropes! Gamble to the outside, and now Zapp Scatino has a chance to tag out!
The crowd is cheering behind Zapp Scatino, at one time one of the most reviled men in PRIME. TAL is leaning through the ropes, his arm extended. Scatino painstakingly crawls one pain inch after the
Scatino reaches for TAL’s hand…
Nick Stuart: ALMOST THERE!
Richard Parker: You can do it, Zapp! REACH HARDER, Angles!
…only for a STOMP to Zapp’s head to cut off any chance for a tag!
Nick Stuart: NO!! HESSIAN RUNS IN AND BREAKS IT OFF!
Turnbull orders Hessian out of the ring, but the Murder Show doesn’t hear him. Hessian snags Zapp by the nape of the neck, pulls Scatino back up, and throws him over the ropes to the outside like he were a discus. He punctuates his actions by turning to the Anglo Luchador and telling him to make his move.
Because he’s not the Last Son of Tenoch-BITCH-lan, The Anglo Luchador storms into the ring and fearlessly goes after the Murder Show!
Nick Stuart: The Anglo Luchador has had enough! He’s taking the fight right to Hessian!
Richard Parker: Does the man have a deathwish?! The CHAMPIONSHIPS are on the line!
Nick Stuart: Which is exactly why he’s doing this, Rich!
Turnbull’s calls for the two of them to leave the ring fall on deaf ears. TAL throws all of his weight into his punches, but Hessian mostly shrugs them off. When he’s had a feel, he quickly reaches up, snatches TAL by the arm, and yanks him right into a sickening headbutt!
Nick Stuart: OH! MY! Hessian nearly knocked TAL’s lights out with that headbutt!
TAL drops to his knees. Hessian takes ahold of him by the waist, and lifts him up to his shoulders. Out of desperation, he throws all of his weight ahead of him, tumbling over the ropes… and taking Hessian with him!
Nick Stuart: Look out, ANGLO LUCHADOR AND HESSIAN COME OVER THE ROPES!
Amazingly, Hessian LANDS ON HIS FEET, with the Anglo Luchador still up on his shoulders!
Nick Stuart: No… NO… POWERBOMB ON THE APRON!!
TAL screams in agony, his body writhing uncontrollably. Then Hessian lifts him up again.
Nick Stuart: AND ANOTHER BOMB APRON!!
Hessian lifts TAL again.
Nick Stuart: ANOTHER!! ANOTHER!! HESSIAN IS GOING TO DESTROY THE ANGLO LUCHADOR’S SPINE!!
Richard Parker: They don’t call him the Murdershow for nothing, Nick!
All of the life has been stamped out of TAL, after being repeatedly and forcibly driven down on the hardest part of the ring. But somehow, the Spear of Huitzilopochtli finds the strength to fight on…
Nick Stuart: Hessian picking TAL up AGAIN… but TAL IS LANDING BLOWS! He’s FIGHTING BACK out of desperation!
Richard Parker: Muscle memory, Nick. Happens to soon-to-be corpses when the blood starts to leave their brain.
Nick Stuart: Shots connecting to Hessian’s exposed face! Hessian STUMBLES!
A sharp set of knuckles connect with Big Hess’s orbital socket, causing him to wobble ever so slightly. TAL mentally says “fuck it” and lets gravity take over as he passes out. Already off-balance, Hessian can’t stop his own momentum as it barrels him toward the barricade…
Nick Stuart: HURRICANRANA–
CRASH!!
Nick Stuart: GOOD GOD, THE MURDERSHOW JUST GOT SENT CRASHING THROUGH THE BARRICADE!!
Richard Parker: This is unbelievable, Nick! The Hess Express was just put upon a COLLISION COURSE!
“SANTA MIERDA!!” CLAP, CLAP, CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! “SANTA MIERDA!!” CLAP, CLAP, CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!
“SANTA MIERDA!!” CLAP, CLAP, CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! “SANTA MIERDA!!” CLAP, CLAP, CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!
Jimmy Turnbull jumps out of the now empty ring to assess the damage and make sure no one is injured. The image of Hessian laid out on the ringside floor, eyes fluttering, is enough to leave anyone dumbfounded. Such is the case for Tony Gamble, slowly pulling himself up onto the adjoining apron.
Then he looks through the ropes, and sees someone looking back…
Tony Gamble: Mort…?
On the opposite side of the ring, Zapp Scatino has also pulled his way up to the apron. He looks back at Gamble in astonishment.
Zapp Scatino: Ton’…?
They both step through the ropes and enter together, meeting at the center of the ring. Lips curl into spite-filled sneers. Eyes widen with burning rage.
Tony Gamble: MOOORRRTYYYY!
Zapp Scatino: TOOONNYYYYYY!
The crowd ROARS as they tear into each other!
Nick Stuart: And the FISTS FLY! Gamble and Scatino, former associates now bitter enemies, trading blows with remorse, and neither man is showing any signs of backing down!
Richard Parker: This brawl’s been a long time coming! These two absolutely HATE each other!
Nick Stuart: They’re practically clawing each other’s throat out! WAIT! Tony Gamble blocks a shot… and there’s an EYE RAKE out of desperation!!
Richard Parker: What a low down dirty trick!
Nick Stuart: Gamble pulling Scatino in–wait, ZAPP WITH A RAKE TO THE EYES ALSO!
Richard Parker: BRILLIANT move!
Both men stumble awkwardly around the ring, clutching their eyes and swinging blindly through the air. By sheer luck, it’s Tony who finds Zapp first, quickly trapping him into a rear waistlock.
Nick Stuart: Gamble from behind–LOW BLOW!! Scatino caught him with the LOW KICK right to the jewels!
Richard Parker: That’s quick thinking!
Nick Stuart: The Grin drops to his KNEES in agony! Now here comes Zapp–NO, TONY WITH A LOW BLOW OF HIS OWN!!
Richard Parker: OOF! NO thank you! Some things should be left sacred!
Scatino also drops to his knees, and the two are once again facing each other. Still fighting impaired vision and stinging groin pain, Gamble manages to reach into his tights, twist Scatino around, and wrap something around his neck.
Richard Parker: What’s Tony got? What’s that in his HAND?
Nick Stuart: TONY GAMBLE’S GOT PIANO WIRE!! HE’S GARROTING ZAPP SCATINO WITH THAT WIRE AND CHOKING THE LIFE OUT OF HIM!!
Richard Parker: This is attempted MURDER here! Why is nobody doing anything about this?!
Nick Stuart: Referee Jimmy Turnbull is still checking on TAL and Hessian! Zapp Scatino is beginning to FADE!
Scatino’s face turns several shades darker, edging into an unsettling shade of blue. With what little willpower and wherewithal he has left, he reaches into his own tights, and his hand comes out gripping something tight…
Nick Stuart: What’s that in ZAPP’S HAND?!
Zapp throws a punch over his shoulder, tagging Tony right between the eyes! Gamble suddenly releases the choke, his rolling back into his head, and he drops flat onto his back.
Richard Parker: BRASS KNUCKS!!
Nick Stuart: Tony is OUT!
At the same time, the exhausted Scatino flops across his chest. Finally taking notice of what’s happening between the ropes, Turnbull quickly slides back into the ring and makes the count.
Richard Parker: Hurry! HURRY!
Nick Stuart: Turnbull with the count!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!!
DING DING DING
“Cynic” hits the PA. Scatino rolls off of Gamble and lies on his back, sucking wind.
Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the winners of the match…
…and STIIIIIILLLL TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS OF PRIME WRESTLING…
…ZAPP SCATINO… THE ANGLO LUCHADOR… THE WIIIIIIIIIISE GUUUUUUUUYYYSSS!!!
Nick Stuart: What an unbelievable tag team contest we just witnessed! Through everything the unlikely tandem of Hessian and Tony Gamble could dish out, the champions managed to retain after a hard-fought battle!
Richard Parker: Justice has been served here tonight, Nick! The Bandits have lost, and Zapp proved that he is the MONEYMAKER on his team!
Nick Stuart: I’m not sure I would go that far, but Zapp has sufficiently proven himself as a capable tag partner tonight! What a way to kick off this second night of Colossus, with the champions standing tall!
A recovered Hessian pulls Gamble from the ring and carries him out over his shoulders. The Anglo Luchador drags himself under the ropes, the Tag Team Champions in either hand. He knee-walks over to his partner and helps him to sit up.
As Scatino comes up, a tag belt falls into his lap. He looks from the belt to TAL, and the two clasps hands.
TAL & Zapp Scatino: WE’RE THE MOTHERFUCKERS!
Colossus moves on.
Nick Stuart: And now we’re going to go backstage with Matt Mills, who has an update on what happened last night with Paxton Ray. Matt?
We cut from ringside to backstage, where Matt Mills is holding a microphone. He looks somber.
Matt Mills: Thanks, guys. I have some distressing news. Last night, after his match with Nate Colton, Paxton Ray was abducted on his way to his car. We were not able to track down the van, but eventually Paxton was found a few miles away from SoFi Stadium. Our camera crews were able to find him, but he was severely beaten and bruised. An ambulance was called to pick him up.
Nick Stuart: Did you find out who did this to him?
Matt Mills: We weren’t able to. Paxton was unconscious when we found him, and his girlfriend arrived on the scene after we did. We will work to find out who was behind this heinous act.
Nick Stuart: And finally, any word on Paxton’s condition?
Matt Mills: None yet, but we will let you know as soon as we find something else.
Nick Stuart: Thanks Matt, and we wish Paxton Ray a speedy recovery.
Colossus moves on.
Time Warp” grooves through the PA system. The big screen flashes the lyrics line by line.
🎵It’s Astounding
Time is fleeting
Madness takes its toll
But lIsten closely
Not for very much longer
I’ve got to keep contRol🎵
As the beat picks up, the bolded letters move to arrange ‘RIA’ to raucous cheers from the crowd. RIA strides out, decked out in a hat with an exaggerated crown and bill, heart shaped glasses and a leather jacket with pink and blue tassels.
Vince Howard: Making her way to the ring, from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania… weighing in at one hundred and fifty pounds… The Technicolor Comforter of Wrestling— RIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAA!
RIA pauses at the top of the ramp, huge grin on her face and gives the audience a polite wave. The Psychoberry continues her journey to the ring, adding a whimsical spin near the middle of the entrance way. When the chorus kicks in, the crowd sings along.
🎵 LET’S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN
LET’S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN 🎵
As RIA draws close to the ring, she does a little hop to the left, following the song’s instructions. Staying on task, she does a jump to the right. RIA climbs onto the apron, hands on her hips, and does a brief shimmy. As exuberant as when she appeared from the back, RIA bounces into the ring. She does a lap around the squared circle, taking in the energy of the crowd.
🎵 LET’S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN
LET’S DO THE TIME WARP AGAIN 🎵
The arena is buzzing with anticipation as the lights dim, casting the crowd into darkness. The opening chords of Comfortable Liar by Chevelle reverberate through the speakers, sending a buzz of excitement through the fans in attendance. The intense, haunting melody sets the stage for what is to come.
As the lyrics begin, a spotlight pierces the darkness, illuminating the entrance ramp.
🎵 Broad is this sea…
The salt enters the wounds…
My take on you is simple. 🎵
Seán O’Neill steps into a light blue shaded spotlight at the top of the entrance ramp, his usual long coat has been replaced for this evening by the same baby-blue leather jacket he wore alongside RIA at Ultraviolence.
Likewise, gone is his normal black, gold and green attire. Tonight he is wearing tights with a different design than we’ve seen before, mainly in a light gray with baby-blue, black and white detailing.
The crowd erupts in cheers, their support washing over the Irishman like a crashing wave. O’Neill pauses for a moment, absorbing their energy. A smile spreads across his face as he looks to RIA who waits in her corner of the ring smiling back at him. After the moment of acknowledgement he begins his walk to the ring; his stride full of purpose.
🎵 So heal your fear…
To heal your fear…
Time spent waiting offshore…
The calm before the storm. 🎵
O’Neill raises both arms in acknowledgment of the fans, and the cheers grow louder in response. As he reaches the ring, he climbs the ring-steps and then takes a moment to look out at the sea of faces showing the newfound admiration they have for him.
🎵 My take from you is simple…
So heal your fear…
To heal your fear. 🎵
Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring, from Belfast, Northern Ireland… weighing in at two hundred and thirty-one pounds… He is SUUUUURRRRRREEEAALL SSSEEAANN OOO’NNNEEEIIILLLLL!
🎵 You’re such a comfortable liar…
You’re such a comfortable liar…
You’re such a comfortable liar… 🎵
O’Neill vaults effortlessly over the top rope to enter the ring. Turning to the nearest turnbuckle, he climbs to the second rope and spreads his arms out, wide to each side forming the powerful symbol of a cross.
🎵 So calm ’cause I said wrong…
You’re comfortable liar…
You’re comfortable liar…
You’re comfortable liar. 🎵
The Irishman removes his jacket and hands it through the ropes to a member of the ringcrew. He makes his way to the centre of the ring, and raises his arms once more. And with that gesture of gratitude to the fans as the final chords of Comfortable Liar fade out, RIA steps forward and meets Séan face-to-face in the middle of the ring, leaving the fans in attendance charged with anticipation for the match to come.
DING DING
The two competitors share a smile in the middle of the ring and Seán leans in, offering his right hand for a handshake. RIA, unpredictable as she is, widens her eyes and further curls her lips, staring back at her friend with a fire in her eyes that suggest the wheels are turning at warp speed in that brain of hers. She leans in…
And shakes Seán’s hand as the crowd pops!
Nick Stuart: These two have come a long way, haven’t they Rich?
Richard Parker: Please, this is wrestling, not grabass, Nick. Don’t ask me those kind of questions.
And with that, Seán and RIA circle one another as ref keeps pace beside them. Feeling each other out, the two competitors slowly inch forward before tying up, collar-and-elbow…
Seán yanks RIA’s left wrist into a wrist lock. With a quick jerk, RIA yelps in pain and drops to knee before steadying herself back up on both feet. The Irishman then abruptly turns RIA’s wrist in another direction before moving his focus to the fingers, separating the middle from her ring finger and pulling them apart. RIA, huddled over in obvious pain, merely smiles at Seán, whose eyes widen in wonder, before throwing a few wild punches targeting his head which miss.
Nick Stuart: Ouch, I felt that in my phalanges!
Richard Parker: You leave Phil and Angie out of this!
Seán, with a firm grip on RIA’s left wrist, now bends RIA’s arm backwards, the pain causing RIA to lower herself to the mat, contorting her into bridge with her hand flat on the mat, locking her arm into place, before…
STOMP—
MISSES!
RIA just got her arm out of dodge and slips behind Seán—
ROLLUP!
ONE!
. . .
Seán with a powerful kickout, but RIA looks to keep the pressure on, and drops a snap elbow across Seán’s lower back, a weak spot of his, before he can get up, and now he grabs at the back in evident pain as RIA gets to her feet. A wicked grin unfurls across her face..
STOMP!
Right to the lower back!
Nick Stuart: She’s targeting the back now, smart play by RIA.
STOMP!
Another stomps connects, and RIA is in control here as Seán scrambles to defend himself from her barrage of strikes. Again, RIA raises her boot—
STOMP—
MISSES!
Seán rolled out of the way, still clutching his lower back on a knee, but RIA changed course—
ROUNDHOUSE KICK TO THE HEAD!
Richard Parker: Good! Knock some sense back into that goofball!
Seán drops to the mat and RIA covers with a lateral press—
ONE!
. . .
TW—
Seán gets a shoulder up! But RIA immediately grabs hold of his raised arm and attempts to twist the shoulder. This is an easy counter for Seán however, who spins out and jockeys for position behind RIA who now sits in an upright position. He kneels behind her, grabs her left arm, bends it backwards overhead, and locks her wrist under his armpit. He goes to wrap his arm under RIA’s chin, but RIA freed her arm up…
CRACK!
A brutal back elbow rocks Seán, and RIA sprints to the ropes, bounding back at him full-speed—
Nick Stuart: RIA going old school here—
LOCKJAW!
NO! IT MISSED!
Seán pops up and wraps around RIA from behind, but RIA executes a standing switch— Another standing switch by Seán this time, and RIA with another back elbow— misses! Seán ducked and spun around—
NORTHERN LIGHTS SUPLEX—
BRIDGING INTO A PIN!
ONE!
. . .
RIA gets a shoulder up, but Seán rolls through and lifts again—
ANOTHER NORTHERN LIGHTS SUPLEX INTO A PIN—
ONE!
. . .
TWO—
RIA kneed Seán in the face to break the pin, and the two competitors separate and stare at one another as the crowd cheers both of them on!
Nick Stuart: I wish these two could fight forever!
Richard Parker: I wish someone would put a muzzle on you.
RIA and Seán acknowledge the crowd and share another smile before gearing back up for another tie up. RIA surprisingly catches Seán in a side headlock. She plays to the crowd, wrenching it in with a big smile on her face. After a moment, Seán lifts RIA up into a backdrop suplex—
NO!
RIA backflips out and meets a turning O’Neil—
CRRACK!
SAGESPLITTER!
The big headbutt knocks him for a loop and he stumbles backwards into the ropes. RIA’s in pursuit, and follows up with a ferocious right snap jab to the dazed Irishman that almost takes him back to reality… Almost.
BAM!
RIA decks her pal with a mean right hook that momentarily lifts him off his feet. She follows up with a gut kick that doubles Seán over, wrenches his arm, and locks his head under her arm—
DDT!
Surreal is down, but RIA isn’t covering, instead choosing to showboat to the crowd as she performs a little spin while pointing to the sky, and then a curtsy before lackadaisically hooking Seán’s leg for the pin—
ONE!
. . .
TWO!!
Nick Stuart: This lazy cover won’t get the job done here…
.. .. .. .. .. ..
A DEFIANT KICKOUT FROM SEÁN!
RIA grabs Seán by the hair and drags him up to his feet, and directly facing him she wraps her arm across his upper body—
STO BACKBREAKER!
Seán dangles over RIA’s knee as she flashes a smile to the crowd, then she connects with a couple overhead palm strikes to Seán’s chest before dropping her arm across his neck with a Final Cut—
SAKURA III!
Her arm stays draped over his chest for the cover—
ONE!
. . .
TWO!!
Richard Parker: Got any more insight there, Nick?
.. .. .. .. .. ..
DOES SEÁN HAVE ANYTHING LEFT IN THE TANK??
…
KICKOUT!! YES HE DOES!!
Now RIA is getting annoyed, and she racks her brain before moving to the corner and climbing to the top rope. She waits, crouching as Seán hazily brings his body to sit up…
RIA JUMPS—
METEORA!
TREADING… MISSES!
Nick Stuart: Not the knees!
High risk, no reward, and RIA crashes and burns landing hard on her surgically repaired knees. She’s clutching her knees in a world of pain, while Seán finally has a moment to catch his breath, and he looks to the crowd for inspiration as he pulls himself up to his feet in the corner. Now RIA, hobbled, manages to her feet and limply rushes Seán—
HIP ATTACK—
INTO THE TURNBUCKLE!
Seán dodged just in time and traps RIA in a full nelson—
SNAP DRAGON SUPLEX!
But RIA is resilient as ever, fighting to her feet even after this change in momentum, and hobbles towards the rising Seán—
RAINBOW RIOT—
NO!
Seán catches RIA in mid-air and pops her up high into a crucifix—
THE CELTIC CROSS!
CRUCIFIX POWERBOMB!
RIA crashes in a heap on the mat, and now her back is all jakked up too. Seán crawls ontop of her into a cover—
ONE!
. . .
TWO!!
.. .. .. .. .. ..
THRIA GETS A SHOULDER UP!!
Seán shakes his head, then after a moment he picks RIA up, and drops her with a snapmare. He hits the ropes as she sits on the mat and executes a rolling neck snap that ricochets RIA supine onto the mat. Seán blows some ring dust off his fist and follows up with a falling fist drop that connects with RIA’s head.
Richard Parker: Would Seán just grow a pair and put his girlfriend away?
Nick Stuart: Just what are you insinuating here?
RIA is rolling around in pain, and Seán looks from her to the crowd, and then back to her. Seán points to her, then he points to the top rope, and the crowd responds with a cheer. Shaking his head again, and against his better judgment, Seán climbs to the top rope surveys RIA, who hasn’t gotten up yet. He stands up straight, puts his arms out to the sides in a cross, and leaps—
DIVING HEADBUTT CONNECTS!
Both competitors are undulating in pain on the canvas, and Seán is the first to drape an arm over his fallen opponent—
ONE!
. . .
TWO!!
.. .. .. .. .. ..
WILL RIA STAY DOWN??
…
NO!!
RIA gets a shoulder up at 2.9, and the crowd roars with excitement as both competitors psych themselves up, willing themselves to their feet. They’re up, and out of desperation RIA runs at Seán—
HOOKING CLOTHESLINE—
MISSES!
Seán grapples RIA from the side and hooks her leg, executing a picture perfect Russian Leg Sweep that drops RIA. He stays on, swiftly spinning and bending RIA’s right leg at a right-angle, behind her left knee. He then secures her left leg under his armpit whilst hooking his right arm under the leg to trap it into position before bringing his left arm through the legs to clasp his hands together on the left thigh. He raises RIA up on to her neck and steps over, rolling her on her stomach—
THE CLOVER!!
Seán arches back repeatedly to apply pressure as RIA flails her arms out, reaching desperately for the ropes! Seán looks to the crowd as RIA begins to pull herself towards the ropes, one arm after another, slowly but surely before she is just within reach…
… …. … …. … …. … …. …
BUT HE DRAGS RIA BACK TO THE MIDDLE OF THE RING!
RIA’s knee looks like a Picasso painting at this point, and she’s screaming at the top of her lungs as Seán arches back! The ref asks RIA if she wants to give up, and she screams No!
Now Seán looks down at his friend’s neck. He has a decision to make here, and depending how bad he wants this, he could put this away by kneeling on her neck. He dips down…
Richard Parker: Do it, Seán!
BUT SHAKES HIS HEAD AND INSTEAD ARCHES BACK AGAIN!
RIA is in a world of pain, but she’s not tapping. Seán has her locked up in the Texas Cloverleaf, but he refuses to put the extra tang on it to put her away, perhaps in fear of permanently damaging his friend. The ref is face to face with RIA now, who lifts her arm up…
… …. … …. … …. … …. … …. … …. … …. … …. …
RIA ROLLS UP AND UNDER SEÁN!
Nick Stuart: Wait a second— did I just witness some Pheromone Fog?!
At the precise moment he let up pressure, RIA like a spider monkey managed to roll Seán up into a small package—
ONE!
. . .
TWO!!
.. .. .. .. .. ..
THE REF DOESN’T SEE THE PINK MIST ALL OVER SEÁN’S FACE!!
…
THREE?
NOOO!! SEÁN KICKS OUT!
DOUBLE KNEES TO SEÁN’S CHEST!
RIA rolls forward and on wobbly knees back somersaults—
DOUBLE KNEES TO THE CHEST AGAIN!!
BEST WINE EVER!!
Richard Parker: You love to see it, Nick!
Cover—
ONE!
. . .
TWO!!
.. .. .. .. .. ..
TALK ABOUT INSULT TO INJURY!!
…
THREE!!!
DING DING DING
Vince Howard: Your winner— RIA!
After celebrating with the crowd, RIA approaches Seán as he wipes the pink mist off his face, and offers her hand for a handshake.
Seán looks to the crowd.
RIA looks to the crowd.
Seán looks down and shakes his head…
AND HUGS RIA TO THE CROWD’S DELIGHT!
Seán raises RIA’s arm in victory and points at her for the crowd in attendance. Then Seán holds the ropes open for RIA to exit through, and in a heartwarming moment RIA boops Seán on the nose as she steps through to the apron. The two friends walk up the ramp together, leaving the arena as equals as the crowd applauds them.
Colossus moves on.
Back at ringside the fans sit patiently awaiting the culmination of the weeks of back and forth between Sebastian Gold and Rob Williams. The lights cut out and static fills the sound system- god awful screeching and hisses like that weird recording of shit from that huge pit. They say that was the sounds of hell, but who really knows?
The sounds abruptly stop.
They’re gonna lay me low.
Lay me lowwwwww
Is that the songbird of our generation Nick Cave? You bet your ass it is. The torn plays various clips from Rob Williams’ career- including his time at PRIME. For some reason, it shows the chair shot to Hessian like 12 times. None of it is RIA getting slapped by Fred Dick.
They’re gonna throw back their heads and crow.
They’re gonna sing me in slow, when I go.
They’re gonna jump and shout.
They’re gonna wave their arms about.
All the stories will come out, when they put me down in the snow.
A single spotlight shines on the entrance ramp. There is no movement. Anticipation fills the arena. People are ready to go bat shit.
Well, all the stars will glow bright.
Even my friends will give up the fight.
They’ll see my work in a different light.
When they put me down below.
Just as Nick Cave takes a deep breath to belt out the next lines, from behind the curtain steps Rob Williams. He’s wearing a black shirt that reads “Turns Out it IS a Tumah!” Oh, how tongue-in-cheek. Rob smiles, the spotlight reflecting off his snakeskin cowboy boots.
They’ll telephone my motherrrrrr
But they’ll end up getting my brother
Who’ll spill the story of some long lost lover
That I hardly know.
At the “brother” note, Harley is wheeled out in his wheelbarrow. **The spotlight follows the two outlaws as they make their way to the ring slowly.
Hats off to the man on top of the world
Come crawl up here, baby
And I’ll show you how it works.
If you want to be my friend and you want to repent
And you want it all to end
And you wanna know when
Well do it now, don’t care how
Take a final bow
Take my hand and make a final stand
And blow it all to hell
Rob stops periodically to dance as the spirit hits him or flick off marks wearing Sebastian Gold’s dumbass merch. He makes a jerk-off motion towards a young man holding an Ivan Stanislav sign, literally taking the pantomime the whole way to completion. You can say a lot about this son of a bitch, but you cannot say he doesn’t see things through.
They’ll inform the police chief
Who will breathe a sigh of relief
They’ll say I was a malandarer, a badlanderer and a thief
Yeah when I go
Stopping at the ringside, Rob climbs up on the apron and holds his arms out in a crucifix pose as the band strikes a harmonious note in the song. Some of the ring hands lift Harley’s wheelbarrow into the ring. Harley falls out and hits his head and they try to put him back like nothing happened, tucking his cowboy hat over the knot on his forehead.
They’ll interview my teachers
Who will say he was one of god’s sorrier creatures
They’ll print informative six-page features when I go
They’ll bang a big old gong
The motorcade will be five miles long
The world will join together in a farewell song
When I go
Rob climbs in the ring one last time.
Hats off to the man on top of the world
Come crawl up here, baby
And I’ll show you how it works.
If you want to be my friend and you want to repent
And you want it all to end
And you wanna know when
Well do it now, don’t care how
Take a final bow
Take my hand and make a final stand
And blow it all to hell
And lay me low
Rob motions to cut the music and it fades out to the chorus singing “lay me low” over and over again, getting softer and softer- just like the light this man’s life has measured up to be. He stands in the ring, Harley in his wheelbarrow next to him, and shuts his eyes.
Richard Parker: He’s soaking it all in.
Someone ringside brings Rob a microphone at his request.
Rob Williams: terrible Johnny Cash impersonation Hello, I’m Rob Williams and this is the swan song of The Fucking Show™.
There is a boo from the crowd. Hard to say if they’re booing one of god’s sorriest creatures or the dissolution of The Fucking Show™. Rob doesn’t care, he’s unfazed by it. In fact, he seems to be relishing in it. Not in the “I’m so bad” way, though, but more in the “father walking his daughter down the aisle” way.
Rob Williams: I know, we were JUST starting to pick up steam, right Harvey?
Rob pushes Harley’s cowboy hat off and smacks him in the face with the microphone.
Harley Walker:
Rob Williams: Yes, Harvey, it’s true. Unfortunately, as you all know, I’m a banana well past ripe and ain’t nobody gonna make me into pudding. We have a HOT new idea for Harvey tonight, but before we get started, I just wanted to take a moment to talk to you- the fans. Those of you at home and those of you here tonight. If you could, please, cameraman.
The camera moves in for a tight shot of Rob’s face. He’s talking directly into the camera now.
Rob Williams: Hey there. We’ve been together a long time, y’all. Y’all seen me on top of the goddamn world and lower than whale shit. I know y’all ain’t ever loved me, and I ain’t given you much reason to. In the words of Drive-By Truckers, we’ve been this close to death before, we were just too drunk to know it. Now – I ain’t Donny Weiners out here with my crocodile tears telling you how sorry I am.
Rob rubs his eyes and pretends to cry.
Rob Williams: Truth is I’m probably getting about what I fucking deserve. I guess what I’m really trying to say is thank you. I’ve quit damn near everyone and everything I ever came across, except wrestling. No matter how broke or sad or beat up I was – y’all were there. At times you cheered, others you booed- but y’all didn’t quit me. Alright, get that camera the fuck out of my face.
The camera cuts to a wider shot as Rob pulls a bottle of lighter fluid out of his back pocket.
Rob Williams: So in honor of my big send off and this here being, likely, my last match and the last episode of The Fucking Show.. we’re gonna set Harley on fire!
A low booming announcer voice interrupts The Legend’s show:
LIGHTS!
Spotlights boom on, illuminating the entrance ramp once more.
CAMERA!
Yellow smoke engulfs the entrance. The sound of a motorcycle revving. Who could be on the other side???
BASTIAN!!!
“THE LIVING END” plays as Sebastian Gold zooms through the yellow smoke on his bike. Behind him is a montage of his short but impressive career, culminating in him standing victorious at the Belmont Classic.
He stops, cuts the engine, and takes in the biggest crowd he’s ever seen. Then he leaps onto the seat of his bike and backflips onto the ramp as fireworks shoot off behind him.
The Bastion of Action’s smile is several miles wide. He takes his time taking selfies and signing merch. Finally, he gets to the bottom of the ramp and gets handed a mic.
Sebastian Gold: ROB! Robbyyyyyyyy, my man!!! You didn’t think I would let you pull off your final stunt without me, did you?.
Sebastian gets in the ring, starring bullets at Williams.
Sebastian Gold: I am, after all, a real fucking stuntman.
Rob covers his mouth, feigning awe at Sebastian using a curse word.
Sebastian Gold: And lemme tell ya’ll, NONE of his sets have been up to union standards*.* So how about this*,* tell me what you wanna do to Harls here and, as a last favor, I’ll show you how to do it right so maybe your buddy gets out of here alive*?* Sound good?
Rob Williams: Well if it isn’t Mr. High and Mighty.
Rob chuckles and leans against the ropes.
Rob Williams: Kiddo, you don’t know a sneeze from a wet fart. Union standards? (grabs crotch) I got your fucking Union standards right here. You know, I have an idea kid – let’s add a little spice to our match. See if you got hair on your nuggs yet.
Sensing the impending altercation, a set of ring hands remove Harley and his wheelbarrow from the ring. His wheelbarrow is quickly replaced with….. a catering table. Oh how apropos.
Rob Williams: Preach all you want about your fucking standards and “the right thing” and morality, but you’re a savage just like me. You know it and I know it. Stop running from it. Stuffing it down doesn’t make you a good person and it doesn’t make up for any of the shit you’ve done, kid.
Williams pulls a bottle of lighter fluid from his back pocket and tosses it to Sebastian.
Rob Williams: Let’s fucking burn kiddo.
The Golden Boy’s eyes light up with obvious excitement.
Sebastian Gold: A flaming table match…Looking for a preview of your afterlife, huh?
He rips out a match and considers it. No.This is stupid. There’s no place in the infinite multiverse where this is a good idea. And yet…
Sebastian Gold: You’re right about me, Old Man. I’m not a great person, but every day I try my best to be good. Not today. I’ve no sympathy left for the devil. **You wanted a barbarian?
He strikes the match and LIGHTS IT UP. The flames roar alive and quickly engulf the table. Gold stares expressionlessly at what he’s just done.
Sebastian Gold: Here he is. Time to end The Legend.
Rob Williams: I feel like you probably rehearsed that. Well, let’s fucking have you then.
They toss their microphones and begin moving towards one another.
Vince Howard: The following contest has now been declared, a flaming catering table match.
Ashley Barlow signals the bell to ring and battle commences – neither Williams nor Gold hold back, both of them launch themselves at the other. They’ve both had the same idea, grabbing the back of their opponent’s head with their left hand and delivering a barrage of right hand punches. Neither man flinches as they stand, feet planted in the centre of the ring, each unleashing a furious onslaught of hammering blows simultaneously.
Richard Parker: So hold on, a flaming catering table match, that can’t be right, surely? They can’t just make up their own stipulation, can they?
Nick Stuart: Apparently they can Rich. The animosity these two have for each other seemingly requires more of an unconventional way to settle things.
Richard Parker: Well this is certainly amongst the stupidest of ideas I’ve ever heard! I guess we shouldn’t be surprised with these two idiots. I mean, why specifically is it a catering table?
Blow after blow lands, and as each punch lands, the crowd’s excitement rises. Suddenly Rob stumbles back to create some distance between them, Sebastian’s last shot having caught him directly on the nose. He wipes his nose on his hand and isn’t terribly surprised to see blood, as the two men lock eyes again, Gold gives him a little wink of satisfaction.
Meaning to press home this early advantage, Sebastian runs at Rob and hurls himself forward to deliver a running dropkick, the wily veteran anticipates the move however and steps aside at the last moment. Crashing to the canvas, Gold tries to bounce straight back up to his feet; however Rob has closed the space and laces the younger man with a kick that catches him under the jaw.
Nick Stuart: Williams anticipated the dropkick and followed up with a boot of his own. But if his nose has been broken that’s going to prove a problem for him as the match goes on.
Richard Parker: Yeah, they may both be idiots but you gotta be up earlier in the morning to catch Rob Williams out so easily, he’s been around the block a time or two! It’s not the first broken nose he’ll have ever had and I’m sure it won’t be the last.
Williams picks Gold up off the canvas and delivers a picture perfect arm drag, immediately following into a mounted position where he lets fly with another series of right hands, determined to return the favour by breaking Sebastian’s nose. He concedes defeat in the endeavour after a few shots, instead he picks Gold up again and pulls him into an Irish whip. As Sebastian’s momentum carries him back he attempts to hit a clothesline, however Rob ducks under his arm and catches him in a sleeper hold.
Sebastian flails his arms trying to break the hold, Williams kicks the back of his knee however, taking Gold down to a kneeling position which allows Rob to crank up the pressure of the hold.
Nick Stuart: The veteran is controlling the pace in the early going.
As Sebastian’s resistance starts to fade a little, Rob breaks the hold, instead gripping around Sebastian’s waist and hoisting him backwards with a German suplex. Wasting little time, Williams rolls out of the ring and quickly grabs a steel chair from the ringside area. Sliding back into the ring he places the chair on Gold’s sternum.
Richard Parker: Evil intentions right there.
Rob climbs through the middle rope again, but this time he makes his way to the top turnbuckle. Looking down at his opponent he leaps off the turnbuckle to deliver a flying elbow drop. He wasn’t quick enough though, the precious seconds wasted getting the chair and then climbing the ropes was all Sebastian had needed to prepare his counter. The second Rob launches himself from the ropes; Sebastian rolls out of his path, thrusting the chair up to catch his rapidly descending opponent.
Nick Stuart: Great instinctive counter from Bastian.
The chair catches Rob on the already broken nose as he comes crashing to the canvas. He rolls onto his back and we can see the blood is now flowing much faster than before. Sebastian moves in to take advantage of the change in momentum. Seeing Rob prone on his back, he turns facing away from him and in one fluid motion, he back flips into a standing moonsault.
Perhaps out of instinct he grabs Rob’s leg to hook for a pin. Ashley Barlow helplessly spreads her hands as a reminder to Sebastian that there are no pin falls in this match now.
Catching the meaning and coming back to his senses, Gold gets to his feet and picks Rob up with him. He hooks the veteran in a side headlock and then drops him with a DDT. The crowd, firmly supporting Gold, begin to chant.
BASH! BASH! BASH!
Feeding off their energy, Sebastian grins and runs towards the turnbuckle, jumping to the top rope in one single, beautifully athletic motion. He waits, ready to pounce, as Rob staggers to his feet. Williams turns and as he does so, Gold jumps, wrapping his legs around Rob’s neck and pulling him through the air in a stunning hurricanrana from the top.
Richard Parker: Ohhhh, you know what – he should call that ‘The Goldsteiner’
Nick Stuart: Really Rich?
Richard Parker: No? I thought that was a good one!
Rob’s momentum from taking the hurricanrana sends him through the middle rope to the floor. Sebastian, really feeling in control at this point looks confident as he watches Rob climb slowly to his feet outside. He waits for just the right moment and then runs hard in that direction, again showing his incredible athleticism he lifts off with his last step, his feet land on the top rope for a split second, just enough to propel him forward over to the outside, with a flying crossbody.
As with the dropkick earlier in the match though, Williams’ experience advantage pays dividends, and he manages to duck the attack. Instead of the anticipated contact with Rob, Gold instead crashes heavily into the crowd barrier and has the wind taken out of him.
Nick Stuart: And that’s why they call it ‘high risk offence’ folks, didn’t work out for Bastian on this occasion.
Richard Parker: Idiot.
Williams, trying to catch his breath, gets to his feet. Trying to get rid of the sweat on his face he wipes it with both hands, forgetting that a steady stream of blood was running from his nose. It has the effect of giving him a horrific aspect as his face is now absolutely covered in blood.
Spotting the previously used chair within arm’s reach, Rob grabs it under the bottom rope and begins slamming it down mercilessly on to Sebastian’s bad knee. Time and again the chair crashes down on the already damaged knee – Gold cries out in pain as the assault continues.
Rob eventually throws the chair away and lets loose a guttural roar. He roughly bundles Sebastian back to his feet and throws him under the bottom rope, back into the ring.
He follows the younger man in, and sensing blood in the water, he pulls Sebastian up between his legs. Hooking his arms around Sebastian’s waist, he pulls back dropping Gold with one of his trademark piledrivers.
Nick Stuart: Williams is firmly back in control now.
Rob stands over his opponent, a spiteful look on his face. He bursts into action, seeming to have decided that more punishment is needed for this young upstart. He drags Sebastian back up between his legs again.
Richard Parker: Well, if it’s not broken, don’t fix it!
Another piledriver takes both men down to the canvas. The pace of the match is slowing now as both men hit the exhaustion barrier. Williams slowly gets to his feet. His teeth look unnaturally white in contrast to his face now as he grins sadistically.
He picks Gold up once again, this time he puts him into a side headlock and after a quick pause, he hoists him up for a brainbuster. In sheer desperation, Sebastian uses his incredible reactions once more, managing to flip himself over to land behind a startled Williams. Using what little energy he has left in the tank, Gold bounces straight up into a dropkick which catches Rob in the center of the back and sends him to the canvas.
Nick Stuart: What a counter! But at what cost?
Immediately Sebastian screams out in pain and grabs for his knee. Adrenaline may have been enough to get his dropkick away, but that knee is in terrible condition by this point and he struggles to hide it.
Nick Stuart: He needs to end this quickly, that knee doesn’t look like it can take much more damage.
Williams pulls himself up from the canvas, slowly making it to one knee. At the same time Sebastian staggers towards him, both men are showing the impact of the brutal nature of this match by now. Sebastian’s limp is very pronounced, however he reaches Williams and grabs him by the hair with his right hand, as he does so he raises his left hand in the air with three fingers raised.
Nick Stuart: Bastian is signalling for ‘The Triple Threat’ – he knows it’s time to end this thing.
Gold tries to pick Williams up to start the sequence that ends with his ‘Gold Crush’ Shooting Star Press, he is talking smack with his rival as he struggles to get the veteran to his feet. There is no reply from Williams; could it be that behind the crimson mask, no-body is home?
No – Rob’s eyes spring open and he lets out a savage roar that surprises Gold. Before Sebastian has any chance to react Rob lurches forward and bites his opponent’s bad knee. Gold screams in pain and as if encouraged by that scream; Rob delivers a triple threat of his own, three successive low blows – each one more vicious than the last. Ashley Barlow looks on, helpless to intervene with the change in stipulation.
Richard Parker: (with a sharp intake of breath) Oooohh! Right to the nugget pouch! Get it… Gold… Nuggets…
Nick Stuart: Your wit never ceases to amaze me Rich.
Richard Parker: A-thank-you-very-much!
As Sebastian crumbles to the canvas, both hands protecting his groin from further assault, Rob now finally does climb back to his feet. The camera zooms in for a close up on his bloody face – his eyes are wide open and deranged, he spits out a mouthful of blood as he laughs manically.
Richard Parker: That man is not well.
Nick Stuart: Well, yes, we all know that Rob has some very serious health concerns.
Richard Parker: No, I mean mentally, the guy is missing the entire box of screws!
Rob’s head slowly turns to the catering table at ringside, for a second it looks as though the flames are reflected in his eyes. His grin as he turns his attention back to Sebastian is utterly sadistic.
Gold is utterly defenceless as Williams picks him up and climbs through the ring-ropes to the apron, dragging Sebastian through with him. Rob hooks him with a side headlock.
Nick Stuart: NO! NOT LIKE THIS!
Richard Parker: Told ya, absolute nutjob!
Rob leaps from the apron, twisting his position into a front headlock – his momentum carries a helpless Gold with him as the two men crash through the table from the Diamond Cutter.
Richard Parker: OLD TIME ROCK AND ROLL!
Nick Stuart: It’s over, this brutal contest is over.
Ashley Barlow, still in the ring shakes her head in disgust as she calls for the bell.
Vince Howard: Here is your winner… The Legend, ROB WILLIAMS!
The rush of air from both men crashing through the table extinguishes the flames almost immediately. Sebastian doesn’t move at all, but Rob gets to his feet. For a fleeting second he looks delighted at having secured the win.
However his mood quickly changes when he realises the fire has gone out. Clearly unhinged at this point, he screams down towards his unconscious rival.
Rob Williams: OH NO YA DON’T KIDDO! WE’VE GOTTA HAVE UNION STANDARDS AFTER ALL!
Williams stumbles over to the ring apron, and reaches underneath the skirting. After a few seconds he stands back up, a box of matches in one hand and another bottle of lighter fluid in the other.
Nick Stuart: WE NEED SOME HELP OUT HERE!
Richard Parker: Yup, absolute maniac.
Nick Stuart: COME ON ROB! THE MATCH IS OVER, DON’T DO THIS!
The crowd erupts, as Crash appears at the top of the entrance way and wastes no time in running towards the scene.
Nick Stuart: THANK GOD FOR CRASH!
Before The Northern Light can reach him however, Rob empties the full bottle of lighter fluid over Sebastian and taking several matches at once, he strikes them to a flame.
Richard Parker: He’s not going to make it…
Rob drops the matches on the prone figure of Sebastian and stumbles back as the flames spring up all over and around Gold. All noise from the fans stops as they look on in shocked horror.
The screams reverberate around the arena, as Sebastian is very quickly resuscitated by the fire licking at him.
Crash bounds past Williams, shoving him out of the way, and grabs a fire extinguisher from one of the ring crew who was trying to make his own way to Sebastian. Crash sets to work immediately putting out the flames on and around Gold. As he does so, Rob backs up the entrance ramp, looking back at the scene of his devastation with a satisfied smirk.
EMTs, rushing from the backstage area, arrive on the scene as the fans start to make some noise again with a slow building chant.
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
Crash helps the EMTs get Sebastian on to the gurney. One of the EMTs starts applying a balm to Gold’s exposed skin. Quickly the crowd change up the chant to incorporate both men
CRASH ‘N’ BASH! CRASH ‘N’ BASH! CRASH ‘N’ BASH!
Nick Stuart: This is sick; I hope you’re proud of yourself Rob Williams!
Williams, who has reached the top of the entrance ramp at this point, does look particularly proud of himself for a brief moment. His expression changes to a pained, confused look however, and within a split second he collapses where he stood.
Nick Stuart: Oh God! This is all too much. Now neither man can walk away from this one.
Another few EMTs scramble out from backstage to get Rob to his feet and quickly rush him out of the arena. Further down the ramp, the EMT crew slowly push the gurney carrying Sebastian up towards the exit as well, a concerned Crash looking on as he walks beside them.
Colossus moves on.
Nick Stuart: Ladies and gentleman, what a remarkable year it’s been for Daytona Diamonds. Love him or hate him, you have to admit that 2024 has been a historically good year for The Rhinestone Cowboy, who, since winning the Intense Title all the way back in April, has been on one of the most remarkable runs we have ever seen in PRIME.
Richard Parker: Not to mention he’s a founding member of the amazing, the astounding, the downright dominant–
Nick Stuart: I think we get your point, Richard.
Richard Parker: –Pooooooooor Whooooooooresemen!
Nick Stuart: Well in just a few short minutes, folks, Daytona Diamonds will be putting his Intense Title on the line one more time. And if there’s anything we can say about his opponent–and there are a lot of things we can say about his opponent–he is undoubtedly one of the most intense competitors in PRIME’s history.
Richard Parker: Well, he used to be.
The audience has begun to simmer. They can see the upcoming match on the big screen, where a recap of the last several weeks’ events is being shown.
Nick Stuart: Here we go. Right now. Jason Snow vs. Daytona Diamonds II. Snow made the challenge, Diamonds accepted, and this time? There will be absolutely no interference allowed.
And here comes Vince Howard onto our screens, armed with a microphone.
Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is a No Interference match for the PRIME Intense Championship! Introducing first, the challenger, from Backwater, Canada, and weighing in at two hundred and thirty-five pounds…
Jason Snow, dressed in a black, hooded boxer’s robe, is already walking toward the ring, the crowd cheering, no entrance music whatsoever.
Vince Howard: He is the former two-time PRIME 5-Star Champion… and the former PRIME Universal Champion…
Snow slides into the ring just in time to catch his name.
Vince Howard: Jason… Snooooooooow!
The audience erupts. Snow doesn’t so much as bother to raise his hands, or acknowledge them in any way. He’s here for one purpose tonight, and that’s to win the title that is about to be walked down the aisle by the one, the only, the Rhinestone Cowboy.
The lights go out.
Usually, this is the part where “Fastest Horse in Town” by Sturgill Simpson would blast out of the speakers with all the sound and fury of a raging inferno.
But this is Colossus. And that demands a certain amount of… je nais se quois.
For a long time, there’s silence, just the hushed din of the crowd… and then, slowly, a cornet begins to play. “The Ecstasy of Gold” by Ennio Morricone. A single spotlight appears on the stage and there stands the silhouette of Daytona Diamonds. Gold confetti and glitter begins to fall into the light, all a-twinkle and a-glimmer as the music builds into a slow frenzy. There’s the soprano. The drums. The violins, the piano, the orchestra, the fanfare. It all builds and builds and builds until it comes to a sudden, exacting stop.
And then once again, silence… until that silence is replaced by a sparse, strummed acoustic guitar.
“Old Man” by Neil Young begins to play. The lights and PRIMEview slowly come to life to reveal The Rhinestone Cowboy at the top of the ramp dressed in head-to-toe gold; a golden cowboy hat, a golden jacket, golden pants, golden boots, and of course, the gold wrapped around his waist.
“Old man, take a look at my life
I’m a lot like you were
Old man, take a look at my life
I’m a lot like you were…”
There’s a smirk on Diamonds’ lips as he stares down the ramp to where The Original Villain stands in the ring. The crowd is already booing, but as always, it has very little effect on PRIME’s favorite cowboy. Slowly, almost savoring the moment, he makes his way down the aisle. Along with his usual sparkling accoutrements, he also seems to be clutching a clipboard in one hand. Before climbing into the ring, he stops by the timekeeper’s table and exchanges a few inaudible words before grabbing a microphone, climbing the steps, and heading into the ring.
Diamonds stares down Snow as he makes his way towards the center of the ring, exchanging a few words with Vince Howard and Elvis Nixon along the way. Finally, with seemingly the whole So-Fi Stadium raining down boos on him, The King of the Rodeo lifts the microphone to his lips.
Daytona Diamonds: Los Angeles! How we doin’ tonight?!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Daytona Diamonds: Yeah, well, fuck y’all too then. More importantly, Jason Snow! How you doin’ pardner? Feelin’ alright? Ready to rock n’ roll? Arthritis ain’t actin’ up, is it?
Diamonds looks over at Snow’s corner and once again flashes that shit eating grin.
Daytona Diamonds: Look, I know y’all are out here to see a wrasslin’ match and I ain’t ‘bout to keep you waitin’ for too much longer, but ‘fore we get down to brass and tacks, I figured we needed to go on ‘head and get somethin’ settled right here and right now. My good friend and opponent tonight, Jason Snow, requested no interference for tonight’s festivities and I went on ‘head and agreed to them terms ‘cause I don’t need no one or nothin’ to beat his ass all over again… but here’s the thing. I’m a man of my word! A goddang boy scout! How’m I ‘sposed to know ol’ J-Snow ain’t just tryna catch me with my pants ‘round my ankles?
Boos, obviously. Diamonds ignores him as he paces the ring, walking towards Snow.
Daytona Diamonds: Way I figure it, I might’ve promised no interferences on my part, but what about you, Jason? Huh? Who’s stoppin’ you from callin’ out some fuckin’ peckerwoods from the back to help you pull off the heist of the century? Now, I’m sure you understand, that’s a risk I ain’t willin’ to take…
Diamonds stops a few feet away from Snow and holds up the clipboard.
Daytona Diamonds: …so, I talked to ol’ Mother Troy and she agreed that this here match needed some… assurances, ain’t it? Make sure things stay fair and square, right? So, good news. We’re havin’ ourselves a lumberjack match, Snowman! Had this clipboard backstage all night for sign-ups and got myself a whole mess of brave, noble souls to defend the sanctity of our little quarrel! And…
Daytona pauses, looking down at the clipboard with pursed lips before letting out a long, beleaguered sigh.
Daytona Diamonds: …and, well, hell. Looks like you didn’t get too many sign-ups under your name, Jason. Shit luck, pardner. Don’t these peckerwoods backstage recognize a goddang livin’ legend when they see him?!
Nick Stuart: We didn’t hear anything about about volunteers for a lumberjack match!
Richard Parker: Daytona’s been advertising it all night backstage! You heard him!
Nick Stuart: Are we about to see a **No Interference, lumberjack match!? How is that even–
Richard Parker: It’s brilliant!
Jason Snow is pacing the ring, eyes on Daytona. He moves forward with his hand out, to see the clipboard himself, but Daytona pulls it just out of reach. The audience is booing every move he makes now.
Snow calls for a microphone and catches one that’s tossed to him.
Jason Snow: So you’ve been backstage all night, asking people to sign up for a lumberjack match…
Richard Parker: I have it on good authority he asked the entire roster.
Jason Snow: …and I’m gonna guess, out of the entire PRIME roster, you found exactly four volunteers.
The audience is booing hard now.
Daytona Diamonds is smiling. He looks down at the paper in front of him.
Daytona Diamonds: Well, more like four and a half, but… close enough. Play the fuckin’ music, boys!
A chainsaw revs to the rhythm of a bluesy, hair metal guitar as “The Lumberjack” by Jackyl starts to play through the PA system. One by one, the rest of The Poor Whoresmen file out from backstage, each one dressed like a lumberjack in red-and-black plaid, blue jeans, and suspenders. Anna Daniels carries an axe, Rob Williams a whole-ass log, and Fred Dick carries a jig saw, the cord clearly unplugged and dangling on the ground behind him. Finally, Reed Young makes his way out pushing a wheelbarrow where a very-passed-out-but-still-dressed-up Harley Walker sleeps soundly.
Yeah. This is happening.
The referee relieves Daytona of the clipboard long enough to check that it is indeed official, and that it contains the proper names. Once satisfied, he ducks out of the ring and delivers the sign-up sheet to the match’s timekeeper.
The Lumberwhores make their way down the ramp beneath that sleazy, skeezy, nasty 80s guitar as Diamonds shrugs his shoulders towards Jason Snow.
Daytona Diamonds: What can I say? I’m a popular guy, Snowman! Got a lotta friends who’ve got my back!
With a wink and a chorus of boos, The Rhinestone Cowboy throws the mic out of the ring and waves at his fellow Whoresmen as they take their places. Diamonds moves to his corner and, as always, takes off his cowboy hat to put it on top of the turnbuckle. The jacket comes off and Diamonds leans back against the ropes, a self-satisfied smirk still playing at his lips that can only belong to a man with all the assurance in the world that he just pulled the rug out from under his opponent once again.
And just like that… the match begins.
DING DING
Nick Stuart: This is…this is absurd!
Richard Parker: Oh, it is. Make no mistake about that. It is. And that gamesmanship is moooooore than okay.
Snow and Diamonds. The Intense Champion remains against the ropes, a swagger in his shoulder, a greasy little smirk spread across his lips. On the floor behind him are his lumberjacks. His chosen. His brethren. As always is the case, so it seems. Slowly, from his hips, both hands, he pantomimes a protracted draw, lazily firing off his middle finger six shooters until he has cleared their chambers.
From the center of the ring, the PRIME Hall of Famer, the Forever Universal Champion of the Revolution, the Original Villain, Jason Snow, merely stares at him. Through him. The intensity wrinkles crows feet at the corners of his eyes. His fists instinctively clench.
Nick Stuart: And what’s the rationale there? For Daytona to have found a loophole–
Richard Parker: –one that Lindsay Troy approved–
Nick Stuart: –and we’re set to have ANOTHER Intense Title match between these two where the Poor Whoresmen–
Richard Parker: –and you don’t think the annals of wrestling history, of PRIME history, aren’t getting a chuckle as we speak?
Nick Stuart: Jason Snow is known as The Original Villain for a reason, yes, but–
Richard Parker: But?
Nick Stuart: –I myself, and I am sure MANY in attendance here in SoFi Stadium, as well as the millions watching us live on Ace Network, aren’t looking for a dose of karma with a sell-by date to the Revolution. We want a physical contest–
Richard Parker: –an Intense Championship Match, where the rules are already–
Nick Stuart: Relaxed is different than BLATANT–
Richard Parker: Sounds like you’re just going on, caping for the guy falling on the metaphorical alignment chart at the current moment. Jason Snow has done MORE than his share of dastardly, cheating, horse garbage things–
Nick Stuart: And YOU ate them up–
Richard Parker: –well–
Nick Stuart: –and the only reason you’re playing the Daytona Diamonds and Poor Whoresmen card like you are is because SNOW falls on another spectrum on said metaphorical alignment chart–
Daytona has the Whoresmen, but Snow is the one dominating more and more of the ring, claiming it for himself as he slowly steps forward. A grab of the Intense Rhinestones. Some Cowboy Fromundacheese for some flavor.
That is it.
That does it.
Snow launches himself at Daytona.
Big mistake, Godfather, because you just got Pwned (this is the one time we are doing this, it is not going to be a goddamn bit, good goddamn, and you will see in part why in a moment), because Diamonds is up and away, quick like a hiccup. That’s all it took to goad the former two time 5-Star Champion.
Except, it isn’t.
Richard Parker: OOOOOOOOOOH!
Snow feinted throwing himself recklessly at Diamonds, and as Daytona stepped away, turned from his challenger, thinking himself so wise, The OV merely stood behind him, hands on his hips, shaking his head in embarrassment. Kid, you might think you have this whole ‘mind games’ thing going on, but you’re in the ring with a man who was running these same plays decades before hair was on your nuts. And as Daytona turns to see just how foolish he is.
THHHHHHHHWACK
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!
The knife edge chop lacerates Diamonds chest, dropping him to the canvas instantly. Jason crowds him as he tries to get up, sending off another heavy chop across the Intense Champion’s chest, and then another.
THHHHHHHHWACK
THHHHHHHHWACK
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!
Pushing forward, Diamonds tries to scurry away like a scalded dog, grabbing at his chest, at times dropping to a knee, only to shoot back upward, begging off with his hands. Bright red fills his chest. Snow, however, gives no quarter, and as the man he is challenging tries to make his appeal, he hauls back and smacks him across the face, blasting him across the jaw with the heel of his hand.
CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!
Nick Stuart: And DIAMONDS…Diamonds…Diamonds out of the ring, out of the ring, and barely standing up as he’s grabbing his chest, and the Poor Whoresmen, his lumberjacks in this impromptu lumberjack match, are making sure he remains on his feet!
Richard Parker: Those shots, THOSE SHOTS, they make your eyes water! They make your blood curdle! Good golly good Hoyt, the amount of salt, and pepper, and sea salt, and kosher salt, and PINK HIMALAYAN SALT, ALL THE SALTS, behind those blows–
Nick Stuart: Snow is playing it smart too, not following, not chasing–
Richard Parker: –my Hoyt, when I saw this man as The Champz, causing orgasms to all the women in his very vicinity, I never imagined I’d see such a cool example of masculinity and confidence but so EMOTIONLESS…so EXPRESSIONLESS–
The stare in the direction of the Intense Champion from the ring is that of a serial killer. Of not a man, but a legend honed in forges right next door to Hell, only to be sharpened in far worse places. Like a horror movie villain not to be bothered with the wounded target he just let fall three stories down, Jason Snow takes a few steps back, shoulders coiled, not interested in playing to his opponent or the crowd.
The stone seriousness…
…that ain’t very gentlemanly.
Nick Stuart: And Diamonds is KICKING UP A FUSS out here, storming around ringside, and he–
THHHHHHHHRUUUUMP
Nick Stuart: –he’s trying to tear away at our ring table–
Richard Parker: And see, that’s why the Whoresmen are there, too–
Oh, the Whoresmen are there, alright. They sure are, crowding about Daytona, all lumberjack, both in vocation as well as attire. Is Rob Williams being the voice of reason? Telling him to get his head on square, and do his ring? Or is that the sage advice of Fred Dick? We all know he has his finger on the pulse of rational, nonregretable decisions. Anna Daniels, new to the group, knows there’s a role to be played, and isn’t doing anything to prevent themself from playing it…yet is still doing the whole ‘stop acting like a murder child and do murders to this child so many child murders to the once very attractive man who now is still attractive but in a very rugged and worn way’. Harley Walker is in a fucking wheelbarrow, with his trusty Reed Young there to make sure he gets around. Maybe, in his pocket, Reed Young has that magic little bump Daytona needs to get some of that lightning and unleash Hell.
THHHHHHUCRAAAAAAAAACK!
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Nick Stuart: SNOW! SNOW! SNOW WITH A TOPE SUICIDA–
Richard Parker: –THE WHORESMEN ARE LIKE BOWLING PINS–
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Nick Stuart: Snow THREW himself with reckless abandon, threw himself from the side, launched himself, like a dart, veering to the side, clearing EVERYONE–
Richard Parker: How OLD is he?!
Nick Stuart: And he’s ON HIS FEET and he has Daytona and he WHIPS HIM INTO THE RING APRON! OH AND THEN INTO THE–
RAAAAAATTLERAAAAAAAAAATTLE
Nick Stuart: GUARDRAIL!
Richard Parker: And SNOW is a man possessed!
Nick Stuart: Snow, Snow, SNOW…Diamonds by the hair and they’re running O
CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASHINK
Nick Stuart: GOOD LORD! GOOD LORD!
Richard Parker: THERE’S NO ASS LEFT FOR THAT TEA KETTLE TO GO OVER!
Snow just drug Diamonds to the other side, having peeled him free from the guardrail he just smashed the Intense Champion into, getting a running start and biel whipping The Rhinestone Cowboy turned upside down and back first in the guardrail on the opposite side.
Snow remains, crowding up on Daytona, ready to continue his volley, to beat down on him merciless, but the old senses are tingly, and before he does, he turns around, seeing Fred Dick with his jigsaw, Daniels with their axe, and Williams with his log, and, as Rob hurls the log in the direction of the Intense Championship challenger, The OV rolls back into the ring, a sly smirk of his own spreading as he beckons the lumberjacks to him if they want a piece.
A flash of the old Snow, if but for a moment.
Nick Stuart: This CAN’T be going how Daytona had anticipated from the jump–
Richard Parker: –anticipated? No! He’s getting pounded on, pillar to post. And it’s been BRUTAL!
Daytona, raggedy, pulls himself off from the ringside mats, his eyes glowering in the direction of the ring. He is practically fuming as he is fully to his feet. Nobody tries to calm him down. Nobody. Instead, the Poor Whoresmen huddle up, talking at length. This timeout brought to you by PPVs that run two nights but have more than five matches total spread across them. Fucking crumbs. Much strategery is in the midst of occurring, from all sides. Included Harley Walker. In his wheelbarrow.
Whores Up?
Whores Up.
Breaking off, the lumberwhores separate. Fred at one side of the ring, with his jigsaw, making the noises with his lips. Anna Daniels, near the interior perimeter, near the announce table. Rob Williams, grabbing his log (tee hee), lifting it onto his shoulder, and ready to bash some wood. Reed Young wheels Harley Walker to the area to block off the ramp.
Daytona, slowly, saunters into the ring. Guard up. Snow, for his part, does not attack; he waits for Diamonds to make the first move. Which doesn’t come, not without a very protracted, deliberate bit of gamesmanship. Slowly, painfully, the Intense Champion circles his Hall of Fame challenger, arms outstretched, looking for a greco-roman knuckle lock. A cockeyed, shit eating grin. As if to say, pardner, mano y mano, you don’t got the guts to go toe to toe with me. Snow’s eyes scan his periphery, ensuring nobody else is making a move.
When he is sure? He goes to grab the knuckle lock.
Daytona pulls him in to hit him with a knee to the gut almost instantly.
Shame, then, that Snow does EXACTLY the same.
Knee on knee, both quickly let loose of their single knuckle lock, and after a stagger, grab hold in a heavy collar and elbow tie up. Snow starts driving Diamonds back, but quickly, effortlessly, Daytona wrenches himself free, grabs hold of a side headlock, and takes the former Universal Champion over with a side headlock takeover. A heavy amount of tightening of the grip. Snow tries, instantly, for the headscissor pull over, but Diamonds has been in so many damned squared circle rodeos that this is just second nature. A yank of the hold on a rotational axis. Snow’s heel slams against the canvas, not in frustration, but because any attempt at another headscissor is wasted movement. It’s then that Daytona decides to lean in on things a little.
COVER.
ONE
TWO
As if.
Snow pushes over and gets his shoulder off the canvas. Nixon is still in position. As if? Well, you never know if you don’t try,
ONE
TWO
This…well…
ONE
TWO
This is pretty damn–
ONE
TWO
Annoying. But not as annoying as Daytona, releasing his grip, but using his forearm to sandpaper wash the nose of The OV. The Intense Champion rises with a flourish, and as the Hall of Famer begins to pick himself up, taped hand reaching for his watering eyes, Diamonds launches himself with a driving knee forward, pushing Jason chest first into the ropes. Snow grabs the top rope with his arm, but Diamonds gets a running start, blasting the challenger with a running rolling elbow.
Out of the ring.
Into Whoresmen Land. Rob Williams in particular. The former 5-Star Champion of the Whoresmen tries to beam his log off the body of Snow, only for it to miss as The Original Villain rolls clear. All the same. Hands latched on the wrist of the challenger, and with ALL his strength and body weight, The Legend launches the Revolution’s Forever Universal Champion into the ring steps, forcing him to go head over heels on the blow.
Which brings him into direct fire of Anna Daniels, who rises to the announce table, only to throw down with their heels into Snow’s chest with a furious double stomp. Isolated, and with nobody to his aid, Jason can only wince as Daniels gets the former Standard of Bastards founder up, and then…Bitchmakers the holy hell out of him. This isn’t a run of the mill slap. This is CTE in a very reasonable, compact applicator. Snow falls to his knees, grabbing his head. All the while, Daytona sits on the top rope, watching this all unfold from his perch. Whores Up! Fred Dick, still worse for wear from his Texas Bull Rope Match, comes on over, ready to spill blood. And chop something off for himself. Anna even looks to be helping with the process.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH
That’s a weird. That’s a boo, but the noise changed midway through OH GOD THAT’S THE ANGLO LUCHADOR! From the crowd? From the rafters? Try more like from the ramp, making a beeline, and despite Reed Young’s best efforts to push Harley Walker’s wheelbarrow in the way, no dice. So a raggedy ass IdEaS mAn is trying to train behind a former Intense Champion, huffing and puffing.
Not there soon enough. Dive into the back of Fred Dick. He manages to hit Daniels as well. Daytona drops from the top rope, motioning to Elvis Nixon as if to say just what in the good goddamn is this bunch of bullshit? Nixon merely folds his arms across his chest. Rob Williams darts over, getting in the way, all as suddenly, Jason Snow and The Anglo Luchador start throwing fists to try and get some level of spacing.
Dayona IS NOT having this loud of horse shit. He leaves the ring, grabbing hold of Anna’s axe, and, seeing an opportunity, takes a wild swing in the direction of Snow. Jason sees it and avoids it. The Intense Champion staggers, the axe going through the announce table, nearly bringing down the lumber. He tries to pull it free.
In the process?
Snow has gotten on the ring apron, and with a springboard, throws himself in the direction of Daytona, blasting him with a missile dropkick. The blow takes the pair across the announce desk, crashing onto the other side, into the laps of Richard Parker and Nick Stuart.
Meanwhile, TAL is dealing with a Whoresmen problem. A real issue, these STDs. And he’s trying, valiantly, to deal with being in the middle of a damn hockey scrum in the midst of one of PRIME’s most dangerous factions.
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Good thing he isn’t alone.
New Alias Champion, Bryan Dawkins is here! And…oh boy…is that…
Nate. Fucking. Colton.
Lumberjacks, needing the forestry service to come in and law down some of the law. If Daytona wasn’t too busy grabbing hold of Snow by the beard trying to go blow for blow, fist for fist with his challenger, he would be apoplectic. There is a sheet! Nothing is more sacred in this world, in this life, than a damn sign up sheet! Snow hits Daytona with a heavy knee. Diamonds groans, but shoots up and rakes the eyes of The OV. The challenger, partially blinded, slugs the Intense Champion with an elbow that rattles him to his bones. That flattens him. That…that…
Leaves Snow open getting a face full of fucking blood spit into his face. Like, a lot of blood. Like, someone took a whole twenty ounce and held it in the cheeks and just let loose. The spray narrowly avoids Nick and Richard. From the front row of the crowd.
The ace in the Whoresmen hole.
The apple of Fred’s eye.
The only being capable of such a forceful spray of blood has to be Vampir Nosferatu.
Except no.
Not all.
Yee. Haw. Drac. Ula.
It’s. Cowboy. Fucking. Dracula.
Hooting and hollering. The second cowboy of The Poor Whoresmen. Their numbers are growing by the day. Snow gets the blood out of his eyes. He snarls. Cowboy Dracula is both cowboy but his duster is flannel in collar, to match the theme. His pale features are set off by the dapperness of his mustache, of his features. What a sight to behold.
What a sight…
For some Snake Eyes.
If Cowboy Dracula is a living undead, as a Dracula is supposed to be, then he is now a dead undead. Because Jason Snow absolutely annihilates him with his patented superkick. Not all is good in the world of the former Universal Champion, however.
Not when he’s in the midst of a Gold Rush.
The uranage from the Intense Champion hits with a powerful thud, and Daytona, for his part, gets hold of his challenger, not giving one bit of a shit for the corpse of the blood sucking cowpoke laid out as a fresh murder, and starts to drag Snow from ringside, back toward the ring. Not so fast. Russian legsweep. Not so fast. Snap suplex. Jesus. Daytona throws back his hair, frustrated at the breaking down of everything, his killer instinct and temperament kicking in. Snow cradles his ribs at the sudden volley of offense, and, seeing an opportunity, Diamonds reaches down and grabs the log of Rob Williams. He draws it over his head, ready to bash the challenger’s head with it.
Except…before he can, it is snatched from his grasp. He swings around, eyes glowering at the culprit. Yes, Rob, I know it’s YOUR log, but we can stop at Buc-ee’s and get you another one. Wait…when did Rob get that Lucha mask? Suddenly, it dawns on Daytona…the Poor Whoresmen are not around him. They are on the other side of the ring, near the entrance ramp. And surrounding him? The Anglo Luchador, Bryan Dawkins, and Nate Colton. The trio tell the Intense Champion he has ONE mulligan. Woah woah woah. Ease there fellas. No need to get hasty.
All the while, Jason Snow puts an end to this charade, having made it to the ring apron, and dropping with a double axe handle smash with his hands slamming into the head of the Intense Champion. Standing up, Snow nods at each of the men around him, all as Fred Dick and Reed Young look on with absolute bloodlust and iDeAs.
Fingers worming through the hair of Daytona, Snow yanks him up and forces him back into the ring, grabbing hold of the champion with a front chancery. Swinging neckbreaker. Cover!
ONE
TWO
NO!
Jason, on his knees, merely looks down at the Intense Champion, looking to mount him, throwing a heavy forearm into Daytona’s face. Another. Another! Snow in full mount! He drives the point of his elbow down into the temple of Daytona’s forehead. Another! ANOTHER!
The Rhinestone Cowboy isn’t cut open, but rather, his forehead is starting to develop a big ass welt. Snow looks to target the spot once again.
This time…this time, Daytona sneaks and grabs hold of the arm, wrenching with all his might, locking in a kimura. The sudden burst is shocking, most of all to Snow, seeing the technical prowess of the Intense Champion out to bare. The hold is temporary, allowing him full ability to lock in tight a dragon sleeper. Cradling him, suddenly, he drops, using a body scissor.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
The contortion is BRUTAL! Something out of the page of Cecilworth Farthington. And Daytona is taking no chances. He is trying yank back enough so that Snow’s intestines spill out all over the canvas! Somehow, someway, The OV kicks out with his leg, catching the bottom rope for a moment. Nixon calls for the break. Daytona? Doesn’t give a shit. Free arm. Elbows PULVERIZING the ribcage of Jason Snow.
It’s at five that he lets go. That he gets up. That he rises and drops a knee right on that midsection of the PRIME Hall of Famer. A meanstreak a mile wide. Suddenly…
WHORES UP!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Daytona spits. At them. At the man on the canvas before him. He wanted a second bite of the apple. Didn’t the first one taste right like shit? Be careful what you wish for, partner. You might just get it. And in doing so, old yeller…the new villain is here to put you six feet under. A grab of the ankle. Again. Whore’s Up!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Snow looks positively helpless. The volley of offense has rattled him to his very core. Taken the starch from him. And then, ankle in hand, Daytona steps on Snow’s head. Do-Si-Do. The leg. More than that…the midsection. Yanked. More torque. Snow struggles, growling like a wounded animal, hands seeking refuge.
Daytona leans WAAAAAAAAAAAAY back.
Snow…right next door to Hell. If only people knew what it took to be him and survive, even despite his own desires. Instinct. He drives his elbows into the canvas, working to pull himself to the nearest bottom rope. The process isn’t great. Daytona is trying to maintain his footing, but the lack of hair makes this prospect all the more difficult. The bottom of Snows hand begins to sweep, so close to the bottom rope. Near the center perimeter. A no-man’s-land.
Until Snow lunges with all he has, fingers lacing with the bottom rope.
If Nixon is calling for the break, it doesn’t matter; the Poor Whoresmen spring into action. Fred jumps onto the ring apron, grabbing hold of Daytona, hooking himself up to him to help him torque. The King of Wrong Style leans back HARD, assisted by Rob Williams. Anna Daniels continues the daisy chain, latching onto the guardrail. Count as much as you like, Elvis, and scream as much as you will, Jason…the damage is being done.
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
That is, until RIA dropkicks Fred Dick at the knees, causing the entire deal to fold out and fall apart. Snow grabs at his ribs. Anna Daniels starts yelling at RIA, who isn’t alone. No…she is accompanied by a pair of fresh faces. Their arrival has been heralded. Now, Bex Savage and Angel Quinley are here. The New World Trash. The Poor Whoresmen. And on the other side? Colton, TAL, and Dawkins.
So much for friends, right?
Snow staggers, trying to get himself to his feet. Those that have his back have given him a chance. But then, Daytona takes off, Boot Scootin’ Boogie, taking him clean out! Except…NO!
KNEE TO THE FACE!
Oh JEEZ that was BRUTAL!
Reed Young begins wheeling Harley Walker up the ramp. The iDeAs MaN needs to even the odds! He has a plan! And as he gets up to round the corner…
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
FWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH
Nick Stuart: OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!
Richard Parker: HARLEY! HAAAAAAAAAAAARLEY!
Ami. Fucking. Troy. With kick ass, flamethrower action. Remember ReVival 34? Tsonda? Gamble. Ami sure as hell did. And if this is going to be a Trash party, then why not the purple cyberpunk pixie getting to have some fun too?
Harley Walker moves like a man possessed. Because he is. Quite literally. He’s on fire. Like, OH MY GOD WE LIT A MAN ON FIRE! And it’s Harley Walker. You know how much liquor is involved here? Stop drop and roll? More like get the Enemigos out there with fire extinguishers and hope for the best.
Ami lets the flamethrower go off wildly, a glint in her eyes, a wild smile across her face.
In the ring, Snow gathers Daytona, launching him into the top ropes with a stun gun. Snow falls to his knees. Daytona staggers back ramrod straight.
Snake.
Fucking.
Eyes.
Cover.
One.
Two.
Three!
Three!
Three?!
How about kickout?!
Snow collapses, grabbing his guts. Daytona, Intense Champion, is still alive. Daytona Diamonds, the Rhinestone Cowboy, is readying himself to get his second win at Colossus despite everything he planned turning to horseshit. Snow tries to pick himself up, grabbing at his ribs, wincing, and as he does, Daytona grabs hold of him.
Roll up.
ONE
TWO
TIGHT GRAB
THREE
THREE
THREEEEEEE?!
NOOOOOOOOOOOO!
KICKOUT AT THE ABSOLUTE LAST SECOND!
Daytona is apoplectic, sure that it’s enough. Snow is following upward, reaching out with his hand to try and get a hold of Diamonds.
Fuck. This.
Let Daytona tell you…
How the West Was Won.
The cutter hits flush. He hooks the leg.
ONE
Snow tries to kick.
TWO
There’s nothing on it.
THREE
Except at the very last moment, a burst.
KICKOUT!
Daytona feels it. He knows he had him. And this SON OF A BITCH JUST KICKED OUT AGAIN! Like a child, he slams his fists into the canvas, throwing a fit, snarling, enraged. Staring through his challenger. This fucker. THIS MOTHER FUCKER! Shaking. Quivering. Quaking. The Rhinestone Cowboy rises up. He surveys the carnage all around him. His boots stomp into the canvas.
Until he gets to the near corner. Rising up. There is no pantomime. No little signal. Of all the novels of American Literature, Blood Meridian is one of the most gruesome, the most violent. Hopelessly so.
And so it is, that at Colossus, the Intense Champion makes example of this, his trade. His war.
He leaps, ready to drive his knees into the head of Jason Snow.
With a sudden surge, The Original Villain rises, launching the heel of his boot on target. Snake Eyes. Full. Flush. Deafening. The ultimate punishment. The result of a bit of gamesmanship.
Cover.
One.
Two.
After all, men are born for games. Nothing else.
Three.
DING DING DING DING!
Jason Snow rolls off Daytona Diamonds, fully collapsing in a heap. Staring up at the SoFi Stadium video board lights.
Vince Howard: THE WINNER! ANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNND NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW! INTENSE! CHAMPION! JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASON! SNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!
Nick Stuart: FROM THE ABSOLUTE BRINK! JASON SNOW HAS AVENGED HIS LOSS TO DAYTONA DIAMONDS! HE IS THE NEW INTENSE CHAMPION!****
Richard Parker: He’s…he’s a Triple Crown winner! And at the expense of the greatest Intense Champion of the ReVival!
Nixon is quick to get the belt. The Poor Whoresmen are there to collect Daytona, staggering, utterly out of it. The reason there isn’t a pier six brawl? The numbers game. But the fans go absolutely crazy. From the past, a ghost arises. Snow gets to a knee, all as Elvis displays the Intense Championship to him. He takes the plate into his hand, giving it a nod, and, maintaining his place, throws it over his shoulder, now on both his knees.
The Rhinestone Cowboy had one of, if not the greatest run in the history of the Intense division.
But as we go into 2025…Jason Snow is a champion in PRIME once again.
Colossus moves on.
The fluorescent lights cast a harsh shadow across Ginny Van Lear’s face as she sits and waits inside a backstage room… ironically, the same backstage room she chased Vickie Hall into the night before… hence some of the scratches and rips in the furniture and table.
Ginny’s vibrant red hair is made up and curled for the evening. The weariness that’s been etched in her features for several weeks gives away to pensiveness tonight. It’s been a hell of a weekend already for her. Ginny sits in silence with only the occasional distant roar of the crowd inside the stadium filtering through.
Without warning, the door slowly swings open with a creak. Ginny takes a deep breath.
Sunny O’Callahan’s head peeks around the door.
Sunny O’Callahan: Ginny. There’s someone here to see you.
Ginny nods her head and braces herself.
Adam Ellis enters the room.
Adam Ellis: Hi Ginny.
With the exception of a MVW house show, it’s the first time the couple have been in the same room together since Adam bade Ginny and Abbigale Jane goodbye before he embarked for ReVival 56.
In the awkward silence that follows, Ginny sees that Adam looks as conflicted as she feels. She notices his new haircut and the stubbly beard on his face.
Adam takes a tentative step forward, his gaze never leaving hers.
Ginny remains frozen and seated; her eyes locked on his.
Both wait for the other to speak first. The tension in the room builds with every second as the silence stretches on, neither of them daring to break it.
Ginny can see Adam trying to read her, his eyes searching her face for any clue to her thoughts.
…
…
Finally, Ginny leaps up from her chair, closing the distance between them in two quick strides. Her fists connect with Adam’s broad chest, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to release the pent-up frustration and pain.
Ginny Van Lear: How could you!
Her fists continue their assault, punctuating each word.
Ginny Van Lear: How could you do that to me?!
Adam stands there and lets her hit him. His voice is heavy with regret when he responds.
Adam Ellis: Ginny, I’m so sorry.
Ginny’s arms fall to her sides, suddenly void of energy.
Ginny Van Lear: Why did you drive that car into the water?
She takes a step back, her eyes welling up with tears, her voice breaking.
Ginny Van Lear: I thought I’d lost you forever.
After what seems like forever, he nods slowly.
Adam Ellis: Ginny, I thought I lost you forever.
They stand there, eyes locked with a shared understanding of everything both have been through over the past two and a half months.
Ginny knew everything… all the matches that Adam lost after she left… Adam’s disappearance after the Ivan Stanislav match and his rental car being fished out of the reservoir… his return and the match he won two weeks ago.
Finally, Ginny throws herself into his arms, feeling the weight of the last few weeks melt away as he holds her tight.
Ginny Van Lear: By the way, I paid for the car.
Adam nods.
Adam Ellis: I kind of figured that. Thank you.
Ginny Van Lear: Thank the money from Daddy’s estate.
The door creaks open slightly, and Sunny O’Callahan’s frizzy blonde head peeks in.
A soft smile plays across her lips at the sight of Adam and Ginny in their embrace and she quietly closes the door, leaving the reunited couple to their privacy.
Ginny Van Lear: What were you thinking?
Adam Ellis: I wasn’t.
Adam’s hand gently cup Ginny’s face as he pulls back slightly, his eyes searching hers.
Adam Ellis: Now what?
Ginny Van Lear: I think we’all need to go somewhere and talk all this out.
Adam nods affirmatively.
Adam Ellis: I’d like that. Did you bring Abbigail Jane with you?
Ginny’s red hair brushes against his fingers as she looks up at him.
Ginny Van Lear: Yes. She’s… I got someone to watch her.
Cut to another room where Bryan Dawkins holds little Abbigail Jane in his hands. The infant coos softly, her tiny fists waving in the air.
Abbigail giggles, blissfully unaware of the chaos that’s surrounded the first few months of her young life. As the scene comes to a close, the camera zooms in on a long, red strand of hair sticking out from the infant’s head.
Colossus moves on.
Nick Stuart: It has come to this.
Richard Parker: A lot of armchair quarterbacks out there ripping into the beautiful Vickie Hall, but there’s a method behind her madness, Nick.
Nick Stuart: And what’s that?
Richard Parker: She hasn’t felt loved in years!
Nick Stuart: Please. Spare me. Seriously.
Richard Parker: Besides, I think Cancer and Vickie make quite the couple.
Nick Stuart: Hold on a second.
Richard Parker: (Clearly catching himself on the previous comment) I think Vickie is so hurt and so emotionally injured in all of this, she’s attached herself to a full blown narcissist.
Nick Stuart: (Moving on) To be honest, folks, we still don’t know all the details. We don’t know if Vickie and Adam Ellis happened before or after Vickie and Cancer Jiles. We still don’t really know why any of this took place – with Vickie, you can’t help but feel like everything she does is premeditated.
Richard Parker: I told you, she didn’t feel loved. There’s only so much a woman can go through.
Nick Stuart: You would know?
Richard Parker: Yes, absolutely.
Nick Stuart: Need I remind you we are talking about Vickie and CANCER JILES? You hate Jiles.
Richard Parker: I’m only speaking from Vickie’s behalf. You have to feel incredibly unloved to find Cancer Jiles attractive.
Nick Stuart: Let’s just go to ringside.
Which is what happens.
Vince Howard: This match is for ONE FALL! Introducing first…
“The Best” by AWOLNATION
A sullen Jonathan-Christopher Hall emerges from behind the COLOSSUS logo. He sports black board shorts, frizzy blonde hair and heavy bags under his eyes that suggest he’s going through another depressive episode. However, as he slowly descends the rampway and through the long path to reach the ringside area (this is a stadium show, after all), his depression lifts itself from his body, little by little and is replaced by a scowl on his face.
But then he goes back to sniffling and potentially crying. He’s totally unstable.
Nick Stuart: So here’s what we know. Months ago, Jonathan-Christopher found footage of Vickie sleeping with someone but he didn’t know who. It was on a camera roll that was left behind, after ESPN was shooting their 30-For-30 documentary on the Hall’s marriage and rise to fame.
Richard Parker: By the way, is that documentary ever coming out?
Nick Stuart: I believe it’s been put on pause, and for good reason.
Richard Parker: (Stunned and sad) Oh.
Nick Stuart: Jonathan-Christopher spent months trying to figure out who was The Other Man but then he confronted Vickie with the footage in front of all of us. What was supposed to be an ESPN 30-For-30 debut trailer, was sabotaged with the scrambled footage of adultery. From there, we still didn’t know but Adam Ellis owned up to making a “mistake” with Vickie, one drunken night, while being recorded. Thought that was everything. No. No, apparently what Vickie and Adam had was a “one night mistake”.
Richard Parker: It’s called a One Night Stand, Nick. You’ve never tried it?
Nick Stuart: (Not even acknowledging) Cancer Jiles, on the other hand, has been having a full blown affair with Vickie for months.
Richard Parker: That’s spot-on terminology there! So, was that Adam in the footage we saw… or Cancer? Asking for a friend.
Nick Stuart: I don’t know; I don’t care to look. I believe the rumors are saying this specific footage is Cancer Jiles, but does it really matter? What matters is the man who’s walking slowly to ringside is absolutely crushed.
Richard Parker: Again, no fan of the eGG Head, but Jonathan-Christopher has never been able to show the fortitude Vickie requires. There are two heartbroken people in this story, Nick.
Nick Stuart: You tell me that when you see Cancer Jiles walk out here.
Richard Parker: Okay.
Hall reaches ringside. He rolls under the ring, walks to one of the far corners and slides down the buckle to sit on the floor, with his head in his hands. He might be crying.
No way he’s going to watch this obnoxious entrance. JCH’s theme song closes and then the crowd boos.
The lights slowly draw to a dim. A COOL breeze makes its way through the air. Smoke begins to billow at the top of the entrance ramp. The boo birds climb to their perches.
Nick Stuart: You don’t think he would have Vickie walk him out, do you?
Richard Parker: I bet on it.
Seconds start to pass. Each one that does is seemingly longer than the one before it.
Richard Parker: I hate when he does this.
Nick Stuart: Same. Maybe he thinks if he draws this out long enough he’ll wind up being the MAIN EVENT of night two.
Anticipation CONTINUES to build. Then, FINALLY, after the top of the ramp has been turned into a dense cloud, a very recognizable electric-guitar riff pulsates throughout time, space, existence, and SOFI Stadium. A few moments later, Screamin’ Jay begins his serenade.
I’m the one your mama warned you about
When you see me, I will leave you no doubt
I’m the coolest man that ever walked this earth
I’ve been the coolest since the day of my birth….
The PRIMEmates start to sing their favorite song, knowing full well who and what comes next.
BOOOOO~!!!!!
Nick Stuart: Still can’t believe he got the votes.
Richard Parker: None of us can, Nick. I don’t give a shit how hard he works, or thinks he works, either. It wasn’t too long ago when that crumb wanted to burn PRIME to the ground, all because Linday Troy said no to prior Bandit advances.
Nick Stuart: He does know how to carry a grudge, I’ll give him that.
Richard Parker: Guess you could say he uses his legs, instead of his back. Damn it. I hate him even more now.
…I AM THE COOL!
The smoke at the entrance ramp starts to dissipate, and as it does, Cancer Jiles, famed, lauded, and diligent Eggsecutioner of the eGG Bandits is revealed. His hair simmers, his tights have JCH’s toonish face covering the crotch, and his T-shades have never looked as good.
Nick Stuart: There he is, Dick. Your favorite. King Crumb. The COOLympian. Former Universal Champion, alleged hardest working man, and now, now… now a member of the PRIME Hall of Fame.
To make sure the people in the cheap seats can see him, an absolute hellfire volley of pyrotechnics erupts, scorching the very air around him.
BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The smoke clears, the blazing fires recede, Screamin’ Jay continues on singing Cancer’s autobiography, and then…
Richard Parker: Well I’ll be dam–
Nick Stuart: Hold that thought, Dick.
Richard Parker: I knew I could count on him!
….Vickie Hall, Cancer’s new girl, joins him at the top of the ramp. She’s smiling crookedly, laughing maniacally, and loving coolly. She looks the part, too, seeing how her attire matches that of her man’s. Although for her, it’s the back of JCH’s head, and not his face.
Nick Stuart: I’m not even going to try to tackle that one.
Richard Parker: Poor Jonathan.
PRIME’s new “it” couple slowly make their way down the ramp, engaging with the fans who aren’t afraid to show their ire. Of course, Jiles dunks on all comers, as Vickie continues to hug on his arm. Eventually, after really letting a younger Messiah fan have it, and the kid’s parents for such poor parenting, the Convoy of COOL reaches the ring steps.
Richard Parker: I don’t know if a bigger jerk off exists. I don’t.
Before taking the steps up and entering the ring, Jiles removes his T-shades and hands them off to Vickie Hall. When she puts them on her crooked smile, frazzled hair, and slouched posture immediately straighten. Even her teeth whiten.
Nick Stuart: Dare I say it, but Vickie actually looks like a normal human being.
At this moment in time Vickie is absolutely enamored. So much so, she kisses Cancer good luck before he enters the ring. He does not stumble through the ropes, and once inside, shares a friendly word or five about how cool his girl is with the referee.
BOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!
Then, Jiles makes his way over towards Dirty Dick Parker and exchanges a few friendly barbs with him. It is Colossus after all. Once done, he looks around for his opponent but JCH is nowhere to be found.
Nick Stuart: How was that?
Richard Parker: I hope he tears every ligament in both of his knees right before he can superkick that cuck.
Nick Stuart: So good then?
Vickie informs Jiles that her ex has fled the ring like a coward to hide underneath it. “It’s like his bed when it thunders.” King COOL stomps his foot on the canvas a couple of times in an effort to beat the bushes. It does not work, causing the ref to go down and check in on his opponent. Soon thereafter, all parties not under the ring are informed that Jonathan Hall will not be coming out from underneath the ring until Vickie Hall leaves the ringside area.
Richard Parker: Great.
After some pleading, and Jiles’ patience wearing thin, the Convoy of COOL relents and Vickie heads to the back.
Nick Stuart: WOW! Big turn of events down here before the match!
The Almasy winner crawls out from underneath the ring. The Almasy runner-up sits down on the second rope, as if to invite his better inside of it. After some posturing from both parties, JCH and Cancer Jiles finally find themselves both inside the ring. As such, the referee doesn’t waste a moment calling for the bell.
DING DING
Jimmy Turnbull stands between both men as the crowd’s vociferous roars increase. JCH looks through glazed eyes over at the ramp where he sees Vickie Hall angrily exiting. Jonathon-Christopher grinds his teeth, and he then looks at his opponent. Cancer winks, and smirks at Hall. The Forever Man does not waste any time getting this match underway. Turnbull takes two quick steps back as JCH charges the Coolympian. Hall swings with a lightning left fist but Jiles swiftly blocks it with his right arm. They immediately lock up and start punching each other in the face!
Hall connects with multiple right knuckles, he looks like an angry child trying to fight his bully, while Jiles is smashing the side of Hall’s face with a closed left fist. The crowd is going absolutely nuts! Not one, not two, not three, count it – up to 10 strikes each from both men. Hall is able to end the melee by spinning Jiles around and whipping him toward the turnbuckle. Cancer smacks his back against the corner padding. The problem for Cancer is that Hall was right behind him and once Jiles hits the turnbuckle – JCH is there to meet him with a vicious knee to the abdomen! Tears fly from Hall’s eyes! Jiles sneers in pain!
Nick Stuart: Fantastic offense from Jonathon-Christopher Hall to start this match. He’s fueled with more emotion than any man in this arena. I’d be surprised if both men leave this match still standing.
Richard Parker: It’s unusual for me to be excited by anything that pathetic simp does, but he’s obviously starting the match by getting the better of Jiles. So, that’s pleasant.
Nick Stuart: This has been an amazing night two, folks, and I’m still in awe at how much energy is still left in this crowd.
Jonathan-Christopher is possessed and the crowd loves it. He has Jiles where he wants him, so he steps up onto the second buckle to conduct several jab like jackhammers into Cancer’s forehead. The crowd counts with each punch: one! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! But Jiles slides downward so that he can sit and rest against the bottom buckle. Poor play call from the eGG Bandit as the Forever Man takes advantage of the corner and drives his boots into Cancer’s chest. Hall falls backward but rolls onto a knee, positioning himself like a superhero landing in the ring, and his eyes are locked onto Jiles. The crowd is cheering for the former Universal Champion, but Hall is still dreadfully depressed. Jonathon-Christopher falls to both knees and hangs his head.
Richard Parker: Damnit, c’mon man. This is no time to freakin’ weep.
Nick Stuart: C’mon JCH. Get up!
Cancer rubs his chest, grimaces, and then pulls himself up using the ropes. He begins to sneakily tip-toe forward. JCH is too focused on his emotions. Jiles pulls the trigger and aims to nail Hall upside the head with a karate kick. JCH snaps out of it! Jiles is inches from bashing a dent into Hall’s temple when JCH wraps his arm around Jile’s limb and then uses his momentum to spin Jiles onto the canvas with a dragon screw!
Jiles nurses the side of his knee, tries to slide himself away, but his sadistic opponent will not let him go. Hall is right on top of the Coolympian and treats him like Scut Farkus as he goes absolutely Ralphie-crazy! Turnbull reaches his hand out a few times to try and stop the beatdown but it’s like sticking your hand in a razor sharp fan. Jiles holds his forearms over his face to block the bludgeoning. Hall moves on from Cancer’s face, and now the destruction is aimed at the ribs. The fans are going nuts!
Jiles endures, but he also catches a moment to reach up, digging his fingernails into his opponent’s forehead, and then rakes vertically down JCH’s angry face. Hall falls back onto his butt, rubbing his eyes, and sending a statement to the referee to pay closer attention. Turnbull shrugs, because there’s not much he could have done; Hall was batshit crazy at the time. The fans’ excitement suddenly shifts and they don’t like seeing Cancer roll out of the ring. Jiles throws his arms in the air, his eyes widen, and he’s absolutely shocked by Hall’s offense. Fans in the front row shout expletives at the eGG Bandit as Jiles struts outside the ring with his hands on his hips.
Nick Stuart: Cancer can’t believe what he’s seeing. Honestly, I don’t think anybody thought that The Forever Man would start the match this way, especially after his prior antics.
Richard Parker: Just look at that smug pile of skin covered garbage walking our way. I hope he trips, falls, and breaks his stupid perfect nose.
The Forever Man is up on his feet and watches as Jiles turns the corner and smiles at Richard Parker.
Richard Parker: Go kiss a cow’s butthole.
Jiles confronts the commentary team. He leans forward and acts as if he’s about to smack Richard Parker.
Nick Stuart: I wouldn’t do that, Cool. Dick’s not your fight – not tonight at least.
Richard Parker: Yeah, what Nick said.
It’s a bluff, as Jiles smiles wide and takes two steps back. You can hear him say: “waste of time” as he prepares to direct his attention back to the fight.
Richard Parker: Ahem – that’s what I thought.
Jiles and Dirty Dick finish their spat, and as Jiles turns around, Jonathan-Christopher is there to greet him. Hall reaches through the ropes and grabs Cancer by the hair! He’s trying to pull him back up onto the apron with a handful of cool hair! Jiles pokes Hall in the eyes! JCH stumbles back into the ring and places each hand on an eye. Jiles straightens his hair and then immediately slides into the ring. Cancer pushes himself off the canvas, to his feet, and then leaps forward to connect with a wicked spear! Hall was blinded! JCH bent forward violently, and then whipped back hard upon landing. The back of Hall’s noggin smacked the ring with a bass filled thud.
Jiles rolls to his feet, spins around to face the crowd, and embraces their hatred. The taunting is short lived as the Coolympian struts toward his fallen opponent. Hall is seeing stars. What he’s not seeing, however, is the bottom of Jiles’ sole. Cancer stomps a mud hole in Jonathon-Christopher! One kick! Two! Three! Four! Five! Until Hall is capable of rolling away to hug the bottom rope. Turnbull signals for Cancer to end his attack while Hall settles on the rope break. Did Jiles listen? Absolutely not, and he continues to stomp a boot print in JCH’s epidermis, delivering each kick with more force than the last.
Nick Stuart: Turnbull might need to pull this crumb away in order to stop him.
Richard Parker: Crumb, ha. I’ve got a few choice words to call him that start with a C.
Jiles is quick to notice that Hall is no longer attached to the rope, so he bends down to grip JCH’s ankle and drag him back into the ring. He delivers one more stiff stomp for good measure, and then transitions that into a guillotine-esque leg drop. Cancer knows better than to even try for a pinfall, so he rolls over and wraps his arms around JCH’s head and applies a sleeper hold.
Nick Stuart: The referee observes the hold and he’s waiting for Hall to go limp.
Richard Parker: I knew it was too good to be true. He got overzealous. Now we have to see this jackweed gain momentum.
Jiles laughs to himself and applies more pressure. Hall winces, clenches his teeth, and digs his fingers into Cancer’s forearms. Jiles enjoys absorbing every hateful remark that’s being thrown his way from the Los Angeles faithful. Hall is trying so hard to gain momentum, he’s slapping his heels against the ring, and he’s now trying to use the extra two pounds he has over King Crumb to roll them both over. The referee hasn’t signaled a start count, and therefore Hall isn’t out of the equation just yet. The fans stomp their feet against the arena floor. Each thump louder, and louder, while sending every bit of phantom electricity toward Jonathon-Christopher.
The Alpha Male Love Boat, not going to sink, raises an arm and then shuts a fist closed. His arm shakes to show the crowd that he hears them. Jiles’ eyes grow wide, he’s beside himself, and he growls. The King of Cool won’t be made a fool, he’s been in this game long enough, and he knows a comeback when he sees one. Jiles unlocks the submission, quickly gets to his feet, and then summons the kicking God of Adam Veniateri. If there were uprights in this arena – JCH’s head would have gone clean through. Cancer kicks Hall violently under the chin and the sullen man flops in the center of the ring like a fish out of water before closing his eyes and lying motionless.
Nick Stuart: JESUS! Oh…my God. Did you see Hall’s neck crank back after that kick? Cancer just knocked his teeth into his brain.
Richard Parker: They’ll need a dentist present for that lobotomy!
Jiles’ grin is picture perfect, and he reacts like Patrick Batemen showing off his favorite Huey Lewis album. The Coolympian struts toward the fallen JCH and then immediately flops on top of him for the first pinfall of the match.
ONE!
Richard Parker: C’mon JCH. Kick out. Kick out…
TWO!
TH-KICKOUT!!!
Hall raises his shoulder, and Jiles acts as if he knew it would happen. The crowd goes wild. Cancer is slightly irritated, but he wastes no time getting up and bringing JCH with him. Hall is on spaghetti legs, his teeth bloodied, his lips glimmering with crimson, and to top it all off – Cancer slaps him across the face. A small amount of blood spittles, and spatters onto the canvas. Little did Jiles know that doing this would only invigorate his foe.
Hall stares down at the red dots that now litter the floor beside him, he clenches his red teeth, and slowly turns to look at Jiles. The Coolympian tries to react, but the numb JCH kicks him in the gut, pulls him forward, and then connects with a tornado DDT! Cancer’s forehead smacks the mat and he flops over onto his back. Hall peels Cancer from the canvas and they’re both back on their feet. Jiles rubs his forehead. Without notice: Hall wraps his arms around Jiles and slings him over with a snap suplex! The crowd is chanting: J-C-H! J-C-H! J-C-H!
Richard Parker: Hey, look, it’s a flying douchebag!
Nick Stuart: Hall is livid. He’s doing everything that he can to keep his emotions controlled while staying focused on this match. I’d say he’s back in control here…
Hall was able to gain enough strength to throw Jiles further than normal. The 218 pound King Crumb crashed to the canvas; he slid an extra two feet and found solace under the ropes. JCH has his crosshairs set on the man that stole his wife. He squeezes more tears from his eyes and his chin quivers as his lower jaw juts. Jiles isn’t sure if he wants to roll out of the ring, or roll back in, but he’s gaining composure after the suplex. Jonathan-Christopher creeps toward his enemy with every intention of dragging him back into the action; but Jiles exits the ring and falls to the floor.
Jiles wiggles his index finger side to side and shakes his head. Hall raises his upper lip like a rabid dog and shows his teeth. He turns, runs to the other side of the ring, bounces off the ropes, obtains great speed, and then baseball slides under the ropes! Jiles was rising just as Hall’s boots met the back of his head. Hall lands on his feet and stands over the fallen eGG Bandit. The Forever Man removes Jiles from the floor and rolls him into the ring. Jiles barrel rolls to the center, gets onto one knee, and rubs the back of his head. Hall slides back into the ring, gets to his feet, lunges toward Jiles, but the crumb nails JCH with an inverted atomic drop!
Richard Parker: Oof, that’ll send them up into your stomach pretty fast. If he was thinkin’ about finding a new lover after tonight? He should probably ice them puppies.
Nick Stuart: Massive inverted atomic drop there by Cancer Jiles and now he can reverse the momentum.
Hall holds his groin with both hands and is ready to fall over, but Jiles grabs him and scoops him up so that he can throw him face first into the ropes with a stun gun! The top rope chops Hall in the Adam’s apple and the Forever Man violently bounces off and slams his body onto the canvas. Hall is nursing his throat while Jiles places his boot nonchalantly onto JCH’s chest. Cancer tells Turnbull to count. Jimmy slides down and slaps the ring.
Richard Parker: I just can’t stand this guy. Who does he think he is? He’s disgraceful.
ONE!
TWO!
Nick Stuart: Hall has his foot up on the rope!
Turnbull sees that Hall put his boot on the bottom rope and throws up two fingers to signal the rope break. Cancer continues with haste and brings JCH back to his feet. The Almasy winner coughs and gags as he rises; the blood on his chin coagulating. Cancer chops Hall in the chest and an immediate red hand print appears on JCH’s pecks. Hall steps backward and his back presses against the turnbuckle. Cancer slithers forward and slaps Hall’s chest a second time. Then a third! A fourth! The crowd lets out a roaring BOOOOOO with every chop.
King Crumb decides that he wants to up the ante. He takes a few steps back so that he can get speed behind his next attack. His plan is to gore Hall in the turnbuckle and crush his midsection. Cancer bolts forward and aims his shoulder at Hall’s gut. JCH uses the ropes to push himself upward and he leap frogs the offense! Jiles’ head doesn’t go straight into a buckle, on the contrary, Hall turns this into a sunset flip-pin combination and rolls Cancer onto his back! Turnbull is down, his hand slams onto the canvas! Hall pushes Cancer’s legs forward for more pressure on the eGG Bandit’s shoulders. The crowd’s cheering could be heard across the Pacific…
Nick Stuart: Yes! What a fantastic response to Cancer’s attack! We’ve got another pin!
ONE!
TWO!
TH-KICKOUT!!!!
Jiles nearly kips up in the process, flops onto his side, and then he rolls to one knee. Hall doesn’t argue the count, but he’s fuming. Both men rise to their feet, creep toward each other, and then press their foreheads together; almost headbutting each other in the process. They start to bicker back and forth and smoosh their noses together. Hall shoves Cancer, and then Cancer shoves Hall. Then they’re at it again! They lock up and start punching the Hell out of each other! Fresh blood flies out of JCH’s mouth!
The crowd loves to see it, but they’re hoping that Jonathon-Christopher will best Jiles in this whooping. Unfortunately, he doesn’t. Cancer shows off a little finesse. He grabs JCH’s head, pulls him forward, and then begins to jam his knee into Hall’s stomach. He smashes his knee into JCH’s abdomen a second time, and then a third. The offensive is topped off with a clothesline! NO! Hall ducked!
Richard Parker: Aha! Take THAT you no good bastard!
JCH dives under the clothesline attempt. He tumbles forward before getting back on his feet. Hall spins around. Jiles spins around. JCH runs forward and nails Cancer with CHASING VICKIE!
Nick Stuart: CHASING VICKIE! CHASING VICKIE! THIS COULD BE IT!
Richard Parker: Calm down, Nick. He should probably think about renaming that though. My idea would be to call it “The Hallbow”, or something along those lines. I know, I know, I’m creative.
His elbow cracks Jiles on the side of the skull, but oddly enough – Jiles doesn’t go down! Jiles looks stunned, but this looks to be merely a flesh wound! Hall’s brow furrows, and he looks confused. JCH and Turnbull take a few steps back as Jiles stares at both men with dead eyes and a smirk. Jiles points down at his stomach tattoo that says COOL, he stiffens, and then falls face-first to the canvas like a felled tree!
This is his moment, and Hall knows it. The end is nigh! He attempts to bring Jiles to his feet and prep him for the elevated double chickenwing-inverted double underhook facebuster that he calls STAND BY ME. The crowd knows that this match might be hitting a climax, and Hall looks out at the raucous fans with tears in his eyes. Jiles pulls Hall down, wraps him up, and rolls into a pin! He’s tugging on Hall’s waist band! Turnbull is down, his eyes on Hall’s shoulders and not the dirty crumb tactics!
ONE!
Jiles tugs on Hall’s waistband so much that Hall’s booty cheeks are starting to show.
Richard Parker: Damnit, Turnbull! GET YOUR DAMN HEAD IN THE GAME! LOOK AT WHAT HE’S DOING!!
TWO!
Nick Stuart: OH NO!
THR-KICKOUT!!!
The Forever Man nearly exits his shorts in the process. King Crumb rushes over to the now standing Jimmy Turnbull and begins to debate the call. Hall slowly rises, and quickly gains composure. He sees the opportunity to attack Jiles from behind. The only problem is that the ever-so-cunning Cancer Jiles reads the look on Turnbull’s face. Jiles sweeps aside, drops to the canvas, and trips Hall! The Almasy winner falls forward and his forehead cracks Jimmy Turnbull between the eyes – right on the bridge of the nose! The referee dramatically flops backwards, gets tied up in the ropes, his eyes roll back, and he awkwardly melts to the canvas. Hall places a hand on his forehead and realizes that Turnbull might be knocked out. He starts to crawl toward the fallen referee.
Richard Parker: God DAMNIT!
Nick Stuart: Turnbull is down, and this isn’t good. Jiles is stalking Hall like a hungry lion. This has taken a turn for the worst!
Turnbull is responsive, moving, but he’s in searing pain. Jiles’ grin grows larger the closer he gets to the crawling Jonathon-Christipher. The crumb realizes this is the perfect time to take advantage and cheat his way to victory. He grabs JCH by the hair, returning the favor from earlier, and brings Hall to his feet. The Coolympian spins Hall around, aiming for an Irish whip, but it’s reversed! Hall spins and then slings Jiles toward the opposite side of the ring! Hall is right behind him! Cancer turns, his back hits the ropes, but Hall meets him there with a clothesline so ferocious that it sends both men flipping out of the ring! Jiles’ clavicle meets the ring apron and he slams onto the floor below. JCH lands on his feet.
Nick Stuart: They’ve brought the fight outside the ring with Turnbull temporarily sidelined. Anything goes now, Rich. It looks like the tides have changed and Jiles’ strategy blew up in his face!
Richard Parker: I like this, Nick. I like this a lot. I like the look on Hall’s beaten and bloodied face right now. BEAT HIS ASS, JONATHON-CHRISTOPHER! BEAT HIS STUPID CRUMB ASS!
Perhaps Hall heard Richard’s screaming from just a couple feet away? Regardless, Jiles is resting against the ring apron and moving his left shoulder around to ensure there’s nothing wrong. Hall walks up to Jiles, raises him, and then walks him over to the announcers table. Hall starts driving Jiles’ head into the table! The crowd is going ballistic! Cancer’s face meets the commentary table several times before the final slam sees Cancer fall limp to the floor. Richard Parker is out of his chair and has turned into JCH’s personal cheerleader. Hall wants to continue the assault. He grabs a chunk of Jiles’ hair. LOW BLOW!
Nick Stuart: Low blow! Cancer Jiles sends his arms directly into Hall’s testicles!
Richard Parker: That son of a bitch! That lousy, cheating, no good son of a bitch!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Cancer’s hair is disheveled, he is breathing heavily, but he belly laughs. He knows what he’s done, and he’s smugly proud of himself. Hall leans forward, the breath taken right out of him, and Cancer’s arm tucked tightly between his legs. Jiles quickly rips his arm away from Hall’s crotch, and The Forever Man falls to the floor with a thud. Jiles is slow to his feet as he embraces Los Angeles’ love…
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
King Crumb smirks and brushes imaginary dirt off his shoulder. The former Universal champ pays no more attention to the crowd, takes a final look at Richard Parker, and then points down at the ground near Hall. Why? Because he’s bending over to peel the padding away from the concrete that it sits on.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Nick Stuart: Damnit, Cancer, don’t do this!
Richard Parker: C’mon! This is crossing the line!
Nick Stuart: He’s got that thin layer of padding removed, Dick. The concrete is exposed. This is sick! This is sadistic! He’s trying to murder Jonathon-Christopher Hall!
Jiles kneels and pats the floor with the palm of his hand. He nods to the fans in the front row. Then he rises and confronts the fallen JCH. Jiles lifts Hall to his feet, and then immediately sets Hall up for a DDT.
Nick Stuart: Oh God…NO…NO…
Richard Parker: Oh shit…
Half of the crowd is silent, and the remainder continue to share their dislike for the eGG Bandit. Then, it happens. Jiles falls back! DDT ONTO THE CONCRETE! The entire arena lets out a unanimous shriek. The wind has been immediately removed from their sails. JCH’s skull is driven directly into the hard, unforgiving, concrete.
Richard Parker: SOMEONE NEEDS TO GET OUT HERE, RIGHT NOW!
Nick Stuart: JCH is lifeless, and Cancer Jiles has absolutely no remorse after denting the floor with Hall’s frontal lobe. Someone needs to get out here and stop this madness!
Jiles lifts the limp, lifeless, body of Jonathon-Christopher Hall and slides him into the ring. Cancer takes his time, and struts around the outside. The destination? The opposite end of the ring where Jimmy Turnbull is seen trying to pick himself up using the ropes. Turnbull is shaking off the headbutt that he accidentally received. Jiles taunts the fans before rolling back into the ring. Cancer confronts Turnbull, tapping him on the shoulder, asking if he’s ready to get back in this match. Turnbull signals that he’s fine, but he’s still distracted by his pain. King Crumb turns around and walks over to his unconscious opponent. He leans forward to grab Hall by the ankle and drags him into the center of the ring. Turnbull crawls toward the center of the ring as well. Jiles lays Hall right where he wants him, and then slowly kneels so that he can get another pin. The referee raises his arm up very slowly, and then it drops like a wet noodle to the floor.
ONE!
Turnbull’s arm is slow to rise, and then it falls limp to the canvas…
Richard Parker: This is not how I thought this would end…
Nick Stuart: I can’t believe this, Dick. I just can’t believe this.
TWO!
And again, Jimmy’s arm slowly rises, then falls limp…
THRE-NO! KICKOUT!!!
YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!
Richard & Nick: YEEEESSSSSSSSS!
Nick Stuart: HALL KICKED OUT! SOMEHOW, SOME WAY, JONATHON-CHRISTOPHER HALL IS STILL ALIVE!
Turnbull’s hand hovers over the ring canvas mere centimeters from completing the final fall. The Coolympian cannot believe what he’s seeing, his eyes almost popping out of his head, but Jonathon-Christopher Hall has somehow found a way to lift his shoulder off the floor…
YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!
The crowd explodes as a close up of King Crumb’s shocked visage tells the story. Jiles rolls himself over toward the exhausted Jimmy Turnbull. Cancer is pleading with Jimmy, but the referee isn’t hearing it. Turnbull is lost in the sauce.
Nick Stuart: Thank God that this is Jimmy’s last match of the weekend. Poor guy is seeing double!
Richard Parker: I find it hard to believe that Hall is still all there after that DDT.
Jiles rises to his feet and shakes his head in disgust. Then, from behind, JCH’s arm slides between Jiles’ legs and…LOW BLOW! Turnbull didn’t see it! Hall lays into it the best he can, but he’s out of it. Jiles immediately falls to the mat holding his crumbs. The fans are going crazy! They continue to send positive vibes toward the ring: J-C-H! J-C-H! J-C-H!
Richard Parker: Ahaha! YES! Good luck with THAT, Vickie!
Hall is slow to rise. His eyes droop, his mouth blood crusted, and his forehead starting to darken from the impact of the DDT just minutes ago. He’s up, and he’s wobbling. Turnbull is now on his feet as he watches Hall drunkenly stagger toward the turnbuckle. JCH walks past King Crumb, who is balled up just a few feet from the corner. Hall stumbles as he gets closer, and then he leans on the ring post. He’s squinting his eyes. He’s shaking his head. The blunt force of the DDT seems to be haunting the Almasy champion. Jiles rolls over and slowly starts to rise, but he stumbles. The fans begin to boo as JCH looks out toward the blurry crowd. Jiles signals for Turnbull to come over. Cancer is pointing down at his groin, and seems to be telling Turnbull that he’s injured.
Nick Stuart: Something seems to be wrong with Cancer Jiles right now. He’s signaling down toward the jewels. He must have pulled something, or came up lame.
Richard Parker: He came up lame alright. There’s nothing wrong with that moron. Can’t you see what he’s doing? How long have we been doing this, Nick?
Hall turns around and notices Turnbull down on a knee and tending to the eGG Bandit. Hall moves forward to see what’s going on. The crowd starts to go crazy!
Richard Parker: Where the Hell did SHE come from?
Nick Stuart: Good grief! Vickie Hall shouldn’t be out here! She’s supposed to be backstage!
Richard Parker: See? I told you. Typical Cancer Jiles shenanigans, Nick. He’s not hurt. This is a distraction.
Vickie Hall runs up the steel steps, and then gets into the ring. She creeps behind JCH. Then, she kicks Jonathon-Christopher between the legs!!!
Nick Stuart: NO! Vickie Hall just nailed Jonathon-Christopher with a low blow! Oh, this is TERRIBLE, Dick. After all that JCH has gone through, after everything leading up to this point, will it end this way? It can’t end this way.
Richard Parker: A true Shakespearean tragedy, Stuart. Stabbed in the back by his whore of a wife at the biggest event of the year.
Jonathon-Christopher, seething, numb in the groin from two shots taken already, turns around and realizes who just struck him in the baby maker. Vickie slowly backs up toward the ropes. JCH is livid, and his emotions are getting the best of him.
Nick Stuart: These fans are going crazy, Dick. They want to see JCH go after Vickie. They want to see redemption!
Richard Parker: Yea, well, the fans don’t always get what they want. That’s the best part about this line of work.
Jiles looks at Turnbull and suddenly he seems perfectly fine. The classic Jilesing moment. He pats Jimmy on the shoulder and then quickly gets to his feet.
Richard Parker: Nothing wrong with him. And, yet, the referee’s fall for it every time! What a mess.
Vickie hurries to exit the ring. She falls to the floor and ducks under the ring apron. JCH doesn’t go after her. He thinks the evil Crumb is still down. But, Jiles is just a few feet behind him. The perfect space to do what Jiles does best. Hall turns around, and Cancer launches his leg toward JCH’s chin. TERMINAL CANCER! Hall’s head flies back, his eyes close, and he immediately collapses. The superkick does the job yet again!
Richard Parker: Son of a bitch!
Nick Stuart: TERMINAL CANCER! Lights out for Jonathon-Christopher Hall. That’s gotta be it. His head has taken an absolute beating in this match.
Richard Parker: Both of’em.
Cancer hurries to cover Hall. He hooks the leg. Turnbull falls into his knees. He slams his hand against the canvas.
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Jimmy signals for the bell. Jiles peels himself off of Hall and throws both arms in the air. Sweat drips down King Crumb’s joyous face as Screamin’ Jay Hawkins reminds him that this match has finally ended. Jiles stands, and then looks down at an unconscious Jonathon-Christopher Hall. Cancer shakes his head.
Vince Howard: The winner of the match, by pinfall, THE GREEK GOD OF COOL, THE COOLYMPIAN, KING CRUMB, CAAAAAAAAAANCERRRRRRRR JIIIIIIIIIIIILES!
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Richard Parker: Disgusting. Just a terrible representation of the human race.
Nick Stuart: They’re going to have to get medical out here for JCH. He’s got to be out cold. His skull has to be mush!
Richard Parker: Just look at those two, Nick.
Cancer Jiles rolls out of the ring. Vickie Hall is there to meet him, and it’s no surprise how ecstatic she is. She wraps her arms around him. He laughs and laughs while mocking the fans in the front row. They walk together, embraced, and then they turn around to face the ring once they reach the ramp. The couple backtrack up the ramp. Jiles continues to mock the fans while Vickie points toward the ring with a giant grin.
Richard Parker: Ever seen the ending to Thelma and Louise? Because I keep imagining Cancer Jiles and Vickie Hall in that car. You know…driving it off a fucking cliff…
Nick Stuart: You said it best, Dick. A real tragedy. I just hope that Jonathon-Christopher is OK.
Colossus moves on.
A bounty the likes of which few will ever see is laid bare in the backstage area of SoFi.
A catering spread with a multitude of various treats, fixin’s, and hordeouvres spread across a large cable, covered with white linen.
And there, standing before it is none other than He Who Loves Fixin’s, Fred Dick.
Fred Dick: OoooOooOoooOOOooh! Which taste do I wanna taste in my mouth first? Chicken wangs? Naw. Hell naw. The eclair’s, then warsh em down with the wangs! Yessuh, nuthin like some sweet cream, followed by a wang. Question is, do I wanna put somethin’ in my mouth BEFORE the cream? After all, as they say, delicious cream for a delicious King. But also, too much cream for diarrhea dreams. Somethin’ ya gotta consider, fer sure. Also–
???: HEY FREDDICK.
Fred whips around and–
WHAM!
The Street Cat whirls around in absurd fashion, and careens through the catering table! Wings, celery sticks, baked beans and an assortment of other food items fly up into the air, some of which cover Fred Dick. Standing in the chaos, shaking a hand stinging from the thunderous slap, is the Psychoberry, RIA.
RIA: Told ya I was gonna fuck you up! Maybe next time, you’ll be less of a dumb dick! I told ya not to talk shit bout my girlfriend!
Meanwhile, Fred lies in his bed of fixin’s, stars swirlin’ around his head.
Fred Dick: Mama… mama I said I don’t… I don’t want no milk in muh… muh cornbread…
Fred passes out.
He snores.
Loudly. Despite her anger, RIA’s right eyebrow shoots up.
RIA: The hell are you babbling about? And don’t talk back to your mother!
Fred doesn’t budge from his forced slumber. RIA steps forward and nudges Bloodmode’s leg with her foot.
RIA: Hey. Get up.
Fred mutters. Something about a dog licking peanut butter off some balls or something. He sleep-giggles.
Then, starts snoring again.
RIA: Dude, you’re so weird… Oh!
The Psychoberry spots something on a nearby, still intact table. She hops over and snatches it up. RIA steps over the shattered wood pieces and ruined food, squatting down near Fred Dick’s head. After a good thirty seconds, she stands up.
RIA: That’s a good look for ya. You should keep it.
RIA flips a sharpie behind her carelessly before sauntering off. A closer look at the Street Cat’s face, in particular at his cheek, reveals a bit of added artwork via the Rainbow Riot. A crude penis adorns the side of Fred’s face, drawn at an angle towards his mouth.
We cut elsewhere.
Simon Tillier is standing in the Argyle position.
Simon Tillier: (heavy Southern drawl) Howdy, y’all!
The bespectacled junior reporter appears to us wearing a blue checkered shirt, novelty cowboy hat, jeans, and an oversized belt buckle. Because having conquered the world of gangster rap, our boy has naturally made the lateral transition to country/western.
Simon Tillier: Whayll, I reckon this year’s Colossus has been one of the rootin’-est, tootin’-est rodeos any of us had done did see! And right here soon, we’ll be wigglin’ on to watchin’ Don Winters and Kerry Kuroyama trynna lasso in that there Five Star strap! If’n I do say so myself, this here next ruckus we’re all ‘bout to see is fixin’ to be a Simon pure hoot AND holler, y’all! Here’s to hopin’ we can get some lip from one of these here two longhorns get to duelin’!
Rather than either of the aforementioned competitors, however, a random man walks into the frame. Based on the white linen suit and garish purple V-neck undershirt, he can quickly be ruled out as a crewmember. He simply looks at Tillier, and smiles.
Simon Tillier: Whayll howdy, stranger! Reckon you look a little lost.
There’s something unseemly about the man. His smile seems just a bit too wide to be reasonable. He gives off sleazy, yuppie, hey-wanna-check-out-my-yacht vibes.
The Man in White: LOST? Ha ha… NOT on your LIFE, good sir! I simply happen to be LOOKING for someone…
The “stranger” tilts his head back. The whites of his eyes provide his dark pupils with terrifying halos.
The Man in White: …and now I’ve FOUND YOU.
Simon Tillier: Pleased to meet ya then, pilgrim! What is it ya reckon I can do for…
Something in Simon’s brain begins to click. He’s seen that crazy Nic Cage look before…
Simon Tillier: (normal voice) …YOU!?
The Man in White: SIIIIIII-MOOOOOONNN!!
Before the junior reporter can react, he is wrapped up in the other man’s arms and squeezed into an ironclad embrace. The camera catches a glimpse of his terrified eyes peering over the strange man’s shoulder.
Simon Tiller: R… R-R-R-REZIN?!
The bane of the junior reporter’s existence mercifully releases him, and they pull apart.
Erik Black: In the flesh, dear old friend! But PLEASE… you needn’t refer to me by that dreary old name anymore, dear old friend! My CHRISTIAN name is something I’ve come to embrace! What once was a “Goat Bastard” has become “the Sacred Lamb” Erik Black!
Simon stands there dumbfounded and blinking for a moment.
Simon Tillier: Rezin… or, Erik… what, um… HAPPENED to you?
Everything about this man just seems… wrong. No bird’s nest of a beard? No bald scalp? Wearing a shirt? Truly, the Bizarro World version of the once vaunted Goat Bastard.
Erik Black: Tell me, Simon, do you remember the man I WAS this time two years ago, Simon? Lost in the FOG, Simon! A man who prayed at the altar of FILTH! A purveyor of VICE! A slave to INTOXICATION! Everywhere I went, I left a blackened and charred STAIN upon the world, Simon!
Simon Tillier: Yeah… and, you know, there was that one time where you locked me in a room with a bear.
Erik Black: But then a MIRACLE happened, Simon! I took a step back and looked at my life, and I made a CHOICE, Simon! And the FOG LIFTED, Simon! And I suddenly gained a WHOLE NEW OUTLOOK on life, Simon! Now I’m A CHANGED man! REHABILITATED! REFORMED! REZURRECTED, if you will! All because ****I STOPPED SMOKING WEED, SIMON!
Simon Tillier: No…
Erik Black: YES…
Simon Tillier: NOO!!
Erik Black: YYEEESSSSS, SIMON!
For some reason, young Simon’s fight-or-flight trigger flips. He turns to run, but quickly gets yanked back into the frame. Black pulls him into an iron-clad half hug, his other hand stretching out into the vast infinite.
Erik Black: Sobriety has made me finally realize EVERYTHING I’ve always had the potential to accomplish! IMAGINE my life, Simon, where all that mattered was chasing the next HIGH! Complete, single-minded perseverance, Simon! No matter who I had to FIGHT! No matter what I had to SUFFER! Now IMAGINE what someone with that mentality just might MAKE OF HIMSELF when getting HIGH was no longer the ENDGAME, Simon! THIS IS WHAT I AM! A man of AMBITION! A man who will STOP AT NOT NOTHING to GET WHAT HE WANTS! And what I WANT, Simon, is to make this WORLD a better place…
His leering smile finds the whimpering junior reporter, and he pats him gently on the chest.
Erik Black: …and, by extension, make PRIME a better place as well!
Simon looks past Black, and sees someone that perks his attention.
Simon Tillier: Whayll TARNATION! Here comes the challenger himself!
Dressed in full wrestling regalia and ready for the fight of his life, “The Emerald Apex” Kerry Kuroyama enters the Argyle, with Scott Hunter at his side.
Erik Black: KEEERRR-YYYYYYYY!!
The Pacific Blitzkrieg blinks in astonishment. In a flash, Hunter swoops in, snags the erstwhile Goat Bastard by the collar, and wrangles him up to his tiptoes.
Erik Black: ULP! HEY, now! No need to be RUDE here!
Scott Hunter: First of all, I do not like your face! Second of all, you talk funny and also I still do not like your face!! And third of all, you want me to find a commode and flush this turd, Ker-bear??
Erik looks to Kerry, simpering for sympathy.
Erik Black: Aw c’maaaaawn, Kyurrry! You wouldn’t let your BUDDY here do something like THAT to your dearly beloved business partner, would you?
Kuroyama narrows his eyes.
Simon Tillier: Hang on, business–
Kerry swiftly raises his arm to cut off the junior reporter from any further pulling of that thread. After a beat, he nods, and Hunter releases his grip.
Erik Black: Heh… no harm, no foul, Mister Hunter! Absolutely DIGGING the ‘do, by the way! Who’s your stylist?
Kerry Kuroyama: What do you want, Erik?
Erik Black: WHAT, an ex-champ can’t come back to a PRIME event and CHUM IT UP with a few OLD FRIENDS? Where’s the HARM in THAT, buddy ol’ pal?
Black laughs to lighten the mood.
Erik Black: Nahh, okay, really… I just wanted to PERSONALLY wish you the BEST OF LUCK tonight, old boy! After all, YOU and I have got a LOT riding on this, yeah?? You’ve worked SOOO HARD to get here! You’ve sacrificed SOOO MUCH for THIS! A chance at IMMORTALITY!
Black’s palms slap Kerry’s broad shoulders, and gives him a good shake.
Erik Black: And I can say this from experience, my friend… it’s an HONOR to be the Five Star Champion. An HONOR like NO OTHER! BUT… it’s also the first step in a GOLDEN ROAD to even GREATER and GRANDER VENTURES! TONIGHT is just the BEGINNING! Kyurry, my boy… we’re going to take over the WHOLE GOSH-DARNED WORLD TOGETHER!! And I only got just this one last bit of advice before you go out there and do what you do so well…
His smile suddenly disappears. In the blink of an eye, he’s gone from giddy and jocular to murderously stern.
Erik Black: Do… NOT… FRICK THIS UP.
He steps back, once again grinning ear to ear. The insincerity in that smile is by now plain as day.
Erik Black: Now GO FORTH, Kyurry! SEIZE your DESTINY! May you bring HONOR to the GREAT and DISTINGUISHED Kyuroyurma name!
After a beat, Kuroyama slowly nods.
Kerry Kuroyama: Right… right. Scott?
Scott Hunter: Sup, dude?
Kerry Kuroyama: I think my esteemed “business partner” here deserves to watch the action tonight from the best seat in the house. Care to take him up to the box and get him settled in?
Erik Black: Aw shucks, a PERSONAL INVITE to the VVIP SUITE?! Kyurry, you are TOO KIND! You are a SAINT! An ANGEL! An ABSOLUTE SAMARITAN, I tell you!
Kerry Kuroyama: Give him the seat next to Helen.
Erik Black: …wait, WHAT–
Scott Hunter: (grinning) Don’t worry… it’s gonna be grrrrrreat!!
Before Erik can react, Hunter yoinks the former Escape Artist out of the shot and hauls him further backstage.
Erik Black: BLEGHK!
Kuroyama turns to Tillier and stares at him expectedly. Suddenly remembering himself, the junior reporter slides back into character.
Simon Tillier: (heavy Southern drawl) Whayll, uhhhhh, Kerry, I’d say you look fit to get into this here dos-e-do with the Five Star Cham-peen. Any last words before you saddle up and haul off?
Kerry Kuroyama: Are you a religious man, Simon?
Simon Tillier: Well, um… up until about five minutes ago, I’d say–
Kerry Kuroyama: Personally, I’m not… but I do believe in the existence of the Devil. I can say I shook his hand. Looked him in the eye. Seen what makes him tick. If you ask me, Simon, any theological force out that allows something like that to walk on his creation… is nothing worth my fear.
He shakes his head.
Kerry Kuroyama: The natural world is cold and apathetic. Beyond good and evil. Whatever Father Don brings tonight–whatever wrath of God he’s promising to bring down–believe me, I’ve seen and survived scarier. What he needs to worry about is what will happen when his God’s divine judgment isn’t enough to put me down.
Eyes find the camera, cold and resolute.
Kerry Kuroyama: I’ve climbed my way through PRIME this far, at the expense of the hopes and dreams of so many others who fought against me for the right to stand here. There’s no turning back. Not after coming this far and giving so much. Oblivion be damned. I was born and raised to be a champion, and spent half of my life paying my pound of flesh to see it through. For years, I’ve reached. Tonight, PRIME will finally watch me ascend.
Giving the interviewer a nod to signal he’s finished, Kuroyama turns toward the curtain and disappears through the other side. Simon turns his attention back to the camera.
Simon Tillier: Whayll aw’ll be dag-nabbed, folks! I reckon these two are gonna fight like kilkenny cats! Without further ado, let’s make tracks, y’all! YA-HOO!!
Colossus goes elsewhere…
“CITY OF ANGLES…”
No, that’s not a typo; the individual doing the Don LaFontaine impression over the PA literally just said “angles” instead of “angels”.
But then the spotlight hits the stage, revealing SCOTT HUNTER standing tall with a mic in hand, and the fans collectively lose their shit.
Scott Hunter: The time has come…
The drip is solid gold. The mullet is gargantuan. With tens of thousands of fans in the palm of his hand, Scott rips off his shades and STARES DAGGERS (ouch)!
Scott Hunter: …to *GET! ***SURRIOUS!
“RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!”
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” crushes over the sound system. Intermittent green and white lights pulse across the stage. Scott pulls out THE TOWEL and begins whipping it in circles over his head, getting the crowd to follow suit.
Across the screen, black stormclouds are brewing over the Hollywood hills.
The rumble of thunder quakes the stadium. Bright bolts of lightning suddenly arc down from the scaffolds and strike the grand dais. Glorious emerald pyrotechnics explode across the stage. When the smoke clears, Seattle’s Beast strides through the curtain.
No robe, and no reservations. Kerry Kuroyama stands at the head of the ramp, the living image of fortitude, ferocity, and fury. He slowly scans the crowd from east to west, stoically taking it all in. His eyes find Scott off to the side, and points out his Wingman in a show of genuine respect.
Kuroyama bumps his own knuckles and thrusts his fists skyward, briefly becoming a human silhouette against the wall of light and fire that erupts behind him.
BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!
BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!
BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!
BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!
A beat later, Kerry begins the march down the ramp, his eyes now laser focused on the ring. Hunter quickly catches up to him, still in full-on hype mode.
Vince Howard: The following match is for the FIVE STAR CHAMPIONSHIP with a 60 minute time limit.. Introducing first… The Challenger…
They arrive at ringside. Kuroyama comes to a halt, staring through the ring ropes with somber conviction. Hunter is running frenzied circles around the ring, getting the people to their feet and making noise.
Vince Howard: Standing at Six-One and weighing Two-Hundred-Fifty-Four pounds.. Accompanied by his Wingman, Scott Hunter… He is the Emerald Apex… the Paragon of Professional Wrestling Excellence… KERRRRRRY KURRRRRRRROYAAAAAAAAAAMAAAAAAAA!
The Emerald Apex climbs the steps to the apron and takes a moment to stare into the crowd. Then he reaches down and offers a hand to Scott. Hunter willingly accepts it and allows himself to be pulled up. Standing side by side on the apron, Kerry and Scott promptly do the DBZ Fusion pose. Except instead of unifying into one gettin’ surrious being and becoming Scorry Huntoyama, or something equally stupid and incongruous, we instead settle with more pyro in the ring.
BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!
BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!
BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!
BOOM! BLAP-BLAP! BAP-BOOM-BLAP!!
Kerry and Scott step through the ropes together. Kuroyama finds a corner and climbs up, arms raised overhead in his signature pose. Hunter perches himself on the ropes beside him and poses as well. They remain fixed there, looking like total BROHs, until the song fully plays out.
Then the two promptly redirect themselves over to the green corner…
Nick Stuart: And now, we await the arrival of our Five Star Champion..
A low murmur, a current, a veritable electric buzz is vibing through SoFi Stadium as it waits for the Five Star Champion to make his entrance. The arena is draped in darkness, save for the cell phone flashlights and screens doing their utmost, but never replicating the lighters of decades past.
A single spotlight pierces the veil. An ivory grand piano sits on stage, behind it a man dressed in a crimson suit. Alongside him are a bassist and guitarist, pearl white instruments, crimson suits as well. As the lights behind them come up from a house level, a chorus of fourteen, seven men and seven women are standing at the ready.
The screen above them begins to flash, the chorus begins to sing a refrain from Primal Scream’s “Movin’ On Up”
“I’m movin’ out of the darkness,
My light shines on.”
It continues as the words begin to appear, fade and replace one another.
THE LONGEST REIGNING FIVE STAR CHAMPION IN THE REVIVAL ERA.
FROM WINNING THE TITLE.
ROB WILLIAMS.
THROUGH EACH DEFENSE.
THE ANGLO LUCHADOR.
STRONK.
PAXTON RAY.
HESSIAN.
CECILWORTH FARTHINGTON
TWO HUNDRED SIXTY DAYS
KERRY KUROYAMA …
… AND COUNTING?
PRESTER DON
FATHER FIVE STAR
THE REVELATOR
THE FIVE STAR CHAMPION
DONOVAN WINTERS
…
“My light shines on!”
A massive cheer erupts through the crowd as the lights come on, the piano begins playing one of the most familiar chord progressions in music and the crowd immediately begins clapping along. The choir, clapping, smiling and swaying, begin singing, the crowd right there with them.
“Hmm… hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm
Hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm
Hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm
Sometimes in our lives
We all have pain
We all have sorrow
But if we are wise
We know that there’s always tomorrow
Lean on me!
When you’re not strong!
And I’ll be your friend!
I’ll help you carry on…
For it won’t be long!
Till I’m gonna need
Somebody to lean on
Please swallow your pride
If I have things you need to borrow
For no one can fill
Those of your needs
That you won’t let show
You just call on me brother
When you need a hand
We all need somebody to lean on
I just might have a problem that you’ll understand
We all need somebody to lean on”
The crowd is absolutely raucous in their own rendition and Vince Howard tries his best to cut in.
Vince Howard: INTRODUCING NEXT! HE HAILS FROM WINTER’S PORT BY WAY OF DETROIT, MICHIGAN, HE STANDS AT SIX-FOOT-ONE INCHES TALL AND WEIGHS TWO HUNDRED FIFTY ONE POUNDS..
The crowd swells in anticipation, their cheers growing louder and louder reverberating through SoFi Stadium. Don Winters has never had a reception like this in his life before and he hasn’t stepped through the curtain.
Vince Howard: HE IS THE REVIVAL ERA’S LONGEST REIGNING AND DEFENDING FIVE STAR CHAMPION
RUAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH~!!!!
Vince Howard: FATHER FIVE STAR. THE REVELATOR – DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNN WINNNNNTTTERRRRRRSSSSSSS!
RUAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH~!!!!
Don Winters steps through the curtain and breathes deeply. Gold, white and crimson pyros shoot into the sky around him and the border of the stadium’s roofline into the imperious City of Night’s sky. He wears a white robe, lined with crimson trim, tied at his waist, the Five Star championship snugly secured within. Along the back of the robe are the words THE REVELATOR with five stars and a cross just below that, all in crimson.
He smiles deeply and soaks in the reception. They roar again as he claps his hands, stomps his foot and throws his arms out into the t-pose.
Richard Parker: (wiping a tear away) This is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. This is peak Revelating, Nick!
The band had continued playing their medley through Howard’s introduction, but as the crowd swells again, the band changes course and begins playing another famous song on piano. The Revelator checks the tape at his wrists as he saunters slowly to the ring, gaze fixed on The Emerald Apex.
“I saw her today at the reception
A glass of wine in her hand
I knew she would meet her connection
At her feet was a footloose man”
The crowd joins in on the chorus, possibly eclipsing the rendition of Lean on Me from moments ago.
Winters just smiles at Kuroyama.
“No, you can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
But if you try sometime you’ll find
You get what you need”
The Five Star Champion slaps his hands on the top of the ring steps, before calmly ascending them. He stands on the apron, wiping his feet off, the smile never once leaving his face. He methodically wipes his boots off on the apron, places both hands on the top rope, flexes with a squat twice, before effortlessly faulting over and into the ring.
“I saw her today at the reception
A glass of wine in her hand
I knew she was gonna meet her connection
At her feet was her footloose man”
The Revelator repeats his stomp and t-pose from the apron to a massive cheer from the crowd. He unties the robe’s belt at his waist and Kuroyama gets his first glimpse at Don Winters’ Five Star Championship.
“You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
But if you try sometime, well, you might find
You get what you need”
Nick Stuart: This certainly has been something.
Richard Parker: (singing along) I went doooown to the demonstraaation
Nick Stuart: Can we get production to cut his mic? We’ve heard more pleasant noises out of Vickie and Jiles.
The Revelator unstraps the title from around his waist and holds it above his head for possibly the final time.
RUAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH~!!!!!!!
He smiles at Kuroyama, he rolls his shoulders, walks to his corner and stretches along the ropes. Don Winters turns to face his challenger, recites a prayer under his breath and prepares to make an historic record breaking defense.
Referee Ashley Barlow holds the Five Star Title out so that Kerry Kuroyama can acknowledge it before holding it up toward the crowd. The collective Sofi Arena jump to their feet as the title Five Star Championship graphic flashes up on the screen.
DING DING
The crowd explodes once again as both Kerry and Don come out of their corners and immediately lock up in the middle of the ring. Both men push and test the other, neither giving up much ground as they search for an advantage. After about three seconds both men release the collar/elbow and circle each other.
Nick Stuart: On a card that has hotly anticipated matches, this one has been, for me, one of THE most looked forward too.
Richard Parker: The Sofi Stadium seems to agree with you! I can barely hear myself being clever!
The Revelator and the Emerald Apex exchange respectful nods before charging back in for a lock up. This time Kerry drops beneath Don’s arms for a waistlock. Winter’s quickly locks his tie behind Kerry’s ankle, blocking an attempt to suplex him. In one clean twist of his upper body Don is able to pull Kuroyama into a side headlock, breaking Kerry’s waist control.
Nick Stuart: Don forgoing a test of strength like we’d expect at the start of this.
Richard Parker: He knows Kerry Kuroyama isn’t some joke to play with, he’s been lethal since picking up the Alias Championship earlier this year, he’s here to make the most of this opportunity and the Revelator knows it.
Kuroyama attempts to throw Don off but finds himself blocked as Winters drops down to a knee, dragging his opponent down to his knees. It doesn’t take long for the Paragon of Professional Wrestling Excellent to prove his title as he shifts momentum, rolling Winters back into a pinning position!
One!
Nick Stuart: Kerry was hoping to steal that one early!
Richard Parker: Or he’s just reminding Winters a pinfall can come from anywhere, at anytime, Stuart!
Don rocks himself forward, pulling his shoulders up to break the pinfall as Kerry continues to find himself in the side headlock.
This time instead of rolling, Kerry gets his feet under himself and deadlifts Don straight from the mat up, dropping the Five Star Champion on the back of his head with a backdrop suplex! People at ringside immediately react with a collective “OOOOH!”.
Richard Parker: His neck! His HEAD!
Nick Stuart: That’s a hell of a suplex to eat not more than two minutes into this match, Parker!
Don immediately rolls to the outside of the ring holding the back of his head as Barlow warns Kerry to remain inside the ring.
Richard Parker: Since when has advising the wrestler to stay in the ring ever worked, Stuart?
Nick Stuart: That doesn’t mean that Ashley Barlow isn’t obliged to do her job, Richard.
Richard Parker: I guess.
Seattle’s Beast is on the hunt and his target is old Prester Don’s neck. Rushing up behind his opponent, the Emerald Apex smashes his forearm across the back of Don’s shoulder blades sending the Five Star Champion down to his knees, still clutching at his neck.
Crack!
Kerry first a kick across Don’s back while Barlow, done giving threats, begins to issue a ten count.
One.
Crack!
The Revelator eats another kick as he lets out a pained scream.
Two.
Kuroyam pulls Don up by his hair before once again back suplexing him onto the padding on the outside of the ring! Another collective “OOOOOOH” from the crowd.
Nick Stuart: Kerry is really keeping the pressure up on Don.
Richard Parker: He’s not gonna beat the Five Star Champion by letting Don pick the pace, Stuart.
Three.
Kerry whips Don into the barricade which shudders upon his impact. While the fans slap Winters on the back in encouragement, this Emerald challenger keeps the pressure up by charging in with a knee to his midsection.
Nick Stuart: The Emerald Apex is picking Don apart at ringside as Don is still struggling after that Backdrop Suplex earlier.
Four.
Leaving Don crumpled against the barricade, Kuroyama slides back into the ring and begins to walk a slow lap. On the outside Scott Hunter lauds Kerry for his genius tactics.
Richard Parker: He is but someone should probably let Scott Hunter know that his man can’t win the Five Star Championship on a countout.
Five.
The crowd are rallying behind Don on the outside who has started to shake off the flurry of offensive he’d just absorbed. Just a few minutes into the match and Don’s skin is slick with sweat.
Six.
The Five Star Champion shakes it off, keeping an eye on his opponent as he takes a second to refocus. A large red welt stretches across his back where it struck the barricade earlier.
Nick Stuart: Don Winters back showing some of the damage he received at the hands of Kerry already in this match as we’re on the tail end of this ten count!
Seven.
Don reenters the ring beneath the ropes, quickly snapping up to his feet as Barlow breaks the count. The crowd once again gets on their feet cheering as the two competitors circle up once again.
Richard Parker: If I were Kerry I would have been all over Don the minute he was between those ropes!
Nick Stuart: That’s because there is mutual respect for the Warriors Spirit between these two, Parker. That’s what the Five Star Championship is all about!
Richard Parker: Sure, sure, let’s see how those ideals serve them ten or twenty minutes from now!
Both angle for a tie up however the wily veteran Don connects with a knee to Kerry’s gut. Quick as a hiccup he transitions into a hammer lock. Kerry drops forward, pulling his arm free before returning the Five Star Father’s favor of a side headlock from earlier. The Five Star Champion immediately grabs his opponent by the waist and lifts him up into a high angle Back Body Drop!
Nick Stuart: Don looking to give Kerry a receipt for that earlier suplex!
Kerry flips out, landing on his feet before forearm striking Don straight across the back of the head knocking Winter’s flat on his chest! The Emerald Apex grabs at Don’s legs, pulling them up into a snug Texas Cloverleaf. Unfortunately they’re just too close to the ropes and Winters very quickly grabs two armfuls of them.
Richard Parker: Great ring awareness by our Five Star Champion, to grab those ropes before Kerry can do any meaningful damage!
Nick Stuart: Yeah, just a little too close to the ropes to make effective use of that submission unfortunately.
The challenger seems reluctant to release the grip as referee Barlow begins a five count. Scott Hunter complains about a fast count though Kerry releases the grip well before the five.
Richard Parker: He should have kicked Don in the head.
Nick Stuart: What is your problem!?
Richard Parker: Nothing! I’m just saying, if you want to be Don Winters, you gotta bring everything you got, nasty, underhanded, whatever it takes tactics!
Using the ropes to pull himself back up, Don seems a little taken aback by the aggressive amount of offensive his younger opponent has poke through. Keeping to the ropes and the corner for a moment, Winters seems to be readjusting his strategy. Kerry keeps his distance while Scott Hunter is trying to get a “WE LOVE KERRY” chant started.
Moving out of the corner, a far more cautious Don Winters sizes up his opponent. Kerry winks at Don though the Revelator doesn’t react, his face locked in a grimace. The two close in to tie up and-
THUNK!
Nick Stuart: Ooooh NO!
Richard Parker: HA, that’s the stuff I’m talking about! HIT ANGRY!
Winters drops Kerry Kuroyama with an absolutely unhinged forearm strike to the side of his head. The Emerald Apex’s head snaps around as his body executes a half-spin before collapsing to the ring mat.
OOOOOOH-RUUUAAAAAAAH!
The entirety of the Sofi Arena jump to their feet as Don doesn’t break in his attack, deadlifting Kerry from the ground into a bridging German Suplex! Barlow gets into position!
ONE!
TW-Kickout!
Nick Stuart: Not even a two count there as Kerry still has plenty in the tank!
Richard Parker: Yeah, but every kick-out takes a little bit of that stamina with it, Nick. Don’s gonna make him earn each one.
Kuroyama twists his body out of the bridge but Don maintains waist control. Muscling Kerry backup, the Five Star Champion lifts his opponent once again German Suplex, this way of the High Angle variety!
Like a ferocious dog holding tight to a bone, Winters keeps the waistlock applied on the mostly limp Kuroyama.
ONE MORE TIME! ONE MORE TIME!
Planting his feet, the Five Star Father uses all of his power to pull Kerry back up into the air. At the height of the German Suplex, Don releases Kerry sending him on a perilous flight. Kuroyama’s flight comes to an end when he lands on his left shoulder, tumbling over to his neck and finally coming to a rest chest down.
Nick Stuart: He tossed Kerry half-way across the ring with that release German Suplex!
Richard Parker: I thought he was gonna land in the front row, no lie!
Scrambling across the ring, Don hooks the leg!
ONE!
TWO!
T-Kickout!
Nick Stuart: Kerry escapes again though this was a clear two count. Are the pinfalls already wearing the man down?
Richard Parker: I’m sure it’s the pinfall attempts and not the three German Sup-Plays he just got donated compliments of Father Don!
The Paragon of Professional Wrestling Excellence kicks out to a tremendous applause from the crowd. Winters doesn’t seem phased as he quickly moves to the legs, looking to apply his patented Half-Crab.
Nick Stuart: Don Winters has made a name for himself this last year ending several of his marquee matches with a Half-Crab which he’s dubbed The Threshing!
Richard Parker: Sometimes simplicity is best, Kerry is definitely going to want to avoid this if he can!
Kerry engages in some hand fighting, immediately realizing the danger he is in. The Champion finally gives up and simply resorts to dropping the heel of his foot down across Kerry’s left shoulder. Kuroyama’s screams of pain immediately paint a target for Winter’s offense. Stomps turn to knees as Kerry is given no opportunity to catch his breath.
Nick Stuart: Well, Kerry avoided the Half-Crb but I’m not sure if he’s picked a better option for himself.
Richard Parker: Don’s like a knight, he knows if he gives this dragon, Kerry, an opening, he’s liable to light him on fire. Offense is the best defense and I happen to agree with Winters on this.
Scoping up his opponent, Don slams them into the center of the ring before hitting a snap elbow hard down on Kuroyama’s chest, covering his opponent.
ONE!
Kickout!
Before Barlow can slap the mat for a second time, Kerry kicks out with authority. Instead of climbing back to his feet, Don applies a side headlock, grinding down the pace. Winters quickly transitions the side headlock into a hammer lock, focusing on Kuroyama’s potentially injured shoulder.
Nick Stuart: Kerry escapes another pinfall attempt but it looks like he might have injured his shoulder during one of those German Suplexes.
Richard Parker: I bet it was the Release German Suplex, I thought he landed pretty awful. That’s a bad break, no pun intended, for the challenger.
Using his leverage over Kerry, Don drives a few knees into the Emerald Apex’s lower back before yanking up on the left arm, lifting both men up. In another impressive display of power, Winters powers Kerry up into a Back Body Driver!
Nick Stuart: Don lands his own version of the Back Body Driver leaving Kerry Kuroyama Canonized!
RAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Richard Parker: The crowd is eating this up but I can’t help but be worried about Kuroyama’s shoulder following that drop he just took!
Once again getting driven down on his neck and shoulder, Kerry instinctively rolls to the outside of the ring. His body falls from the apron where he flops onto the floor like a heap of humanity. On the inside Don takes a moment to wipe away the sweat from his face as Ashley Barlow begins the count…
Nick Stuart: Smart, smart idea by Kerry to escape to the outside and avoid another potential pin attempt.
Richard Parker: I don’t know about the Emerald Apex’s shoulder, Stuart.
One.
Two.
Nick Stuart: It’s not looking good, Kerry’s not moving.
Three.
Richard Parker: We should probably have the medics on stand by, I don’t think Kerry can continue.
Four.
Kerry starts to stir on the outside. Scott Hunter rushes over to begin screaming encouragement to his best friend.
Five.
Nick Stuart: Kerry Kuroyama’s wingman, Scott Hunter, is trying to bring life back into Koruyama!
Richard Parker: Good luck with that, Scott!
Six.
Scott Hunter starts making deals with any Gods listening, doing anything he can outside of physically helping Kerry up to his feet and into the ring.
Seven.
Nick Stuart: Kerry’s starting to move! We’re pretty deep into this ten count though..
Richard Parker: He’s not gonna make it. This match is OVER! Wow..
EIGHT!
The crowd’s count with Barlow gains in intensity as Kerry begins using the apron to pull himself up. Scott Hunter is screaming that nobody likes a count out!
NINE!
Scott Hunter might be crying, it’s hard to tell.
TENNNOOO!
At the last moment Kerry Kuroyama rolls under the bottom rope, breaking the count. The crowd releases a collective sigh of relief. Scott Hunter is probably the most relieved looking like a man who finally took a shit after a week of being constipated.
Richard Parker: I can’t believe he made it! I always knew he could!
Nick Stuart: Sure, sure! In either case this match continues!
Prester Don doesn’t give the young man a chance to revel in his survival. Instead he moves on the Emerald Apex with a professional ruthlessness, dragging him up to his feat, throwing him into the ropes before swinging with a tremendous looking lariat!
Kerry ducks beneath the lariat and spins, catching Winters on the chin with a vicious Discus Lariat of his own!
Nick Stuart: SQUALL LINE LARIAT! He absolutely destroyed Don with that huge counter!
Richard Parker: The Paragon of Professional Wrestling Excellence just caught the Five Star Champion right on the money!
Don doesn’t go down, staggered for a moment before roaring his defiance back into Kerry’s face!
Crack!
The answer to Winters’ roar is another Discus Lariat, this one with even more power thrown behind it as it turns the Five Star Champion inside and out. Both challenger and champion fall, Kerry clutching at his left arm while it looks like Don might have gotten a tooth knocked loose!
THIS IS AWESOME! THIS IS AWESOME!
Nick Stuart: With his left shoulder and arm in questionable condition, Kerry is fighting this match with one arm!
Richard Parker: Yeah but for how much longer can he keep this up!?
Leaning on the ropes to support himself, Kerry is the first man to make it to his feet. Don wobbles up, eyes watery and lost still from eating two lariats. Grabbing Winters, Kerry whips him into the nearby corner, following him in with a Yakuza Kick!
The Champion stumbles forward only to find himself in the rare position of getting overpowered when Kerry Gut Wrench Sit-Down Powerbomb! He hooks Don’s arms with his feet!
Nick Stuart: He planted him square! WE might have a new Five Star Champion!
ONE!
TWO!
Kickout!
The wily champion avoids a three count, popping up his shoulder as he breaks free of Kerry’s pin.
Richard Parker: Still plenty of gas left in the Revelator’s tank, Stuart! But Kerry has bought himself valuable time!
Dejected but not distracted, Kerry repositions himself, quickly rolling Don over as he applies a sung Stepover Toehold Sleeper!
Nick Stuart: He’s stretching the Five Star Father with the CASCADIAN CLUTCH!
Richard Parker: If Kuroyama can get his hands down under the chin or across the bridge of the nose of the Champion, he can start to cut off that precious oxygen to the brain!
Nick Stuart: Kerry has perfected this hold over the years, I can’t imagine the pain Don Winters is currently enduring!
Screams of pain escape the Five Star Champions lips as Kerry tears back on the sleeper. The torquing on Don’s neck causes some of the crowd to squirm uncomfortably. Despite the agony Don Winters refuses to yield, his hands aggressively waving Barlow away.
Unfortunately Kerry’s left arm gives before Don does. The earlier injury forces Kuroyama to break the hold, releasing Don from the torturous hold. Kuroyama is in visible pain, clutching at his left arm while Don drags himself toward the ropes.
Nick Stuart: That arm is proving to be a real detriment right now for Kerry.
Richard Parker: This has to mean that a good portion of Kerry’s offense has been taken off the table, right? Hard to execute a suplex with an injury like this..
Using one arm, Kerry grabs Don by the ankle, dragging him back toward the center of the ring. Rolling over, Winters kicks Kerry in the face causing him to release the champion’s ankle. Scrambling up to his feet, Winters throws himself into the rope before exploding toward Kerry with a Lariat!
Kuroyama ducks beneath the Lariat attempt causing Don to hits the ropes again. Upon his return he’s met with a real Bobby Hollyesque dropkick catching Winters straight in the face once again!
Nick Stuart: He’s still got both legs! Textbook Drop Kick connects with Don’s already banged up face!
Relying heavily on his right arm, Kuroyama uses his incredible strength to hoist the Five Star Champion up into a Back Drop before he begins to spin. The look on Don’s face says it all as he waves his arms around, desperate to find some way to roll out but it’s too late. The ring is already rushing up to meet the crown of Prester Don’s head.
Richard Parker: GOD DAMN!
Nick Stuart: DERECHOPLEX! DERECHOPLEX!
The ring shakes as Winters spinal column compresses beneath the weight of his thicc ass body. His ears burn and ring, the sound drowning out the crowd roaring with horrified revelry! Everything gets washed in a white hot light as his body crumbles to the ground.
Richard Parker: That’s the second time Don has been dropped right on the top of his head this match!
Nick Stuart: We’ve been talking about Kerry’s arm but if you don’t have a head, it’s hard to.. Well do anything!
Kerry uses his right arm to hook both legs, pulling Don into a tight pin!
ONE!
TWO!
THRE-KICKOUT!
At the last possible moment the Five Star Champion keeps his title reign alive, if only for a few more moments. Scott Hunter can’t believe it on the outside and is immediately demanding a replay. Sadly no one has supplied him with a Red Flag.
Richard Parker: What is that idiot Scott Hunter screaming about?
Nick Stuart: I think he’s confusing sports.
TWO! TWO! TWO!
Kerry rechecks with Ashley Barlow that it’s only a two count as the crowd continues to lose their collective minds. Kuroyama runs his hands through his hair, a look of frustration and pain etched on his face. Climbing to his feet he kicks at Don’s lifeless body, the Champion unmoving for the moment.
Pushing everything away, Kerry calms himself and hooks both of Don’s arms. Taking in a deep breath the emerald challenger attempts to lift Don but his left arm gives out halfway through. Don lands on his feet and either by instinct or some new found wellspring of energy, darts into the ropes, again aiming to land that Lariat on the Emerald Apex!
CRACK!
Nick Stuart: SQUALL LINE LARIAT! A SECOND SQUALL LINE LARIAT!
Winters is turned inside out as Kerry beats Don to the pass with another wicked Discus Lariat. His forearm connects with Prester Don’s face, across his cheek and nose, snapping the champion’s head back as he crashes and burns spectacularly!
OOOOOOOOOH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Kerry collapses on Don, barely able to hook one leg as his left arm hangs at his side.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE-KICKOUT!
Somehow, through sheer grit and determination, Don survives his third Discus Lariat and kicks out a breath away from a three count!
Nick Stuart: I hate to think what Don’s brain looks like right now but by hook or by crook, he escapes the pinfall as this match continues!
Richard Parker: That lariat hit Don square in the center of his face! I hate to see what his skull looks like!
The right side of Don’s face has begun to swell up. Blood is seeping from his nose and his mouth while his eyes seem to flutter half-open. PRIME chants begin to break out in the Sofi Stadium while Kerry’s frustrations turn to cold determination.
He stands and signals for the Judgement Bolt Bomb gaining a sizable pop from the crowd. Those people not already on their feet rise like Pillsbury Doughboys at 350.
Nick Stuart: It looks like Kuroyama is aiming to end the record reign of Don Winters.
Richard Parker: Talking about it and doing it are two different things, Stuart!
The Paragon of Professional Wrestling Excellence seizes the Revelator around the waist. The world seems to slow down as Kerry readies himself, taking in a deep breath. Then, with all the strength he can muster, Kerry hoists the Five Star Champion up over his right shoulder.
Before he can drive Don back down to the mat, the Five Star Father begins to wriggle, slamming his fists down on Kerry’s grip! The left shoulder once betrays Kuroyama allowing Don to slip free, again throwing himself into the ropes!
Nick Stuart: Don escapes to the ropes again! What’s he looking for?!
Kerry spins, ready to counter with another Discus Lariat as Winters meets him in the center of the ring.
Richard Parker: Kuroyama going to the Lariat well again!
He encounters a wild Running High Knee Strike.
Nick Stuart: Don connects with THE GOSPEL!
Like a man being chased by the devil, or the Dragon, himself, Don’s doesn’t attempt a pinfall but instead immediately pulls the challenger up into a Crucifix Powerbomb position! Kuroyama realizes the danger he’s in, kicking wildly. Its of no use as Don throws Kerry down with an appealing amount of aggression.
Richard Parker: Don’s putting an end to this! AAAAND STILLLLLLL!!!!
Nick Stuart: He’s given Kerry his ABSOLUTION! That’s gotta be it!
Kerry’s neck and shoulders smash down into the mat with a sickening thudding that shakes the ring. Don leaps forward, folding Kerry in half with a deep stack pin!
ONE!
TWO!
THR-KICKOUT!
Don can’t believe it.
Barlow can’t believe it.
The Sofi Arena can’t believe it.
Richard Parker: I DON’T BELIEVE IT!
Nick Stuart: How!? How did Kerry Kuroyama find the guts to kick out of that?! INCREDIBLE!
Wiping blood, sweat and snot from his face, Don summons his strength, climbing to his feet over the body of Kerry Kuroyama. He drags him to the center of the ring before moving toward the Emerald Apex’s legs. The crowd already knows what’s coming as they begin to cheer and stomp their feet.
Nick Stuart: We all know what Don’s looking for, that patented Half-Crab, The Threshing!
Snatching Kerry’s right leg, the Revelator spins into a technically perfect Half-Crab! There is no cute ques or poses, it’s straight to business. The swelling and bleeding from Don’s face tell a story of increasing desperation against an opponent who will not quit.
Nick Stuart: No rest for the wicked now as Kerry finds himself locked in The Threshing, in the middle of the ring!
Richard Parker: He’s got it locked in tight! There’s no wiggle room for Kerry! Notice how Winters crosses the leg and leaves Kerry with decreased leverage for escape? This is why Don is your Five Star Champion, Stuart!
Kerry’s tortured screams fill the SoFi Stadium as Don arches back, readjusting his grip on Kuroyama’s leg to enhance the suffering. Scott Hunter has moved directly into the Emerald Apex’s line of vision, cheering him on, trying to will his friend toward the ropes.
Nick Stuart: Scott Hunter is a real friend, look at him!
Richard Parker: A real friend?! What the hell is he doing outside of screaming and hollering?!
Leaning back, Don seizes a moment to inflict more suffering, occasionally ramming his elbow into his challenger’s ribs and left shoulder.
The pain on Kerry’s face has flushed it red. Though the agony is surely insufferable, Kerry refuses to give up, refusing any of Referee Barlow’s request for a submission. Instead he grits his teeth and locks eyes with Scott Hunter.
Nick Stuart: Imagine the tendons and muscles around the knee right now being ripped and torn!
Richard Parker: It’s such a simple move, such a basic hold and yet it brings so much pain and misery! A classic, it gets the job done!
Surprise fills Don’s eyes as he suddenly feels his weight being pulled toward the ropes. With Scott Hunter encouraging him on, Kerry has begun to drag himself, with just his right arm, toward his friend.
Shaking his head, Don repositions the lock on Kerry’s knee, tweaking it just so as to amplify the agony. This new grip causes the Emerald Apex’s effort to flounder, Kerry collapsing back down to his chest as he lets out an anguished cry.
Richard Parker: Kerry has to start thinking about the future of his career right now, Stuart! His pride could lead to the kind of knee and leg damage that shortens careers, on top of that shoulder injury he might be nursing right now!
Nick Stuart: I can’t argue with that, Parker! It’s also up to Referee Barlow to recognize when a competitor can not offer a meaningful defense and they’re just suffering needlessly!
Hunter slams his hand hard on the mat, cutting through the roaring crowd and the stomach turning pain Kuroyama is currently being tortured with. Another slap of the apron brings Kerry’s attention back to his best friend and confidant.
Gritting his teeth, Kerry Kuroyama, the Paragon of Professional Wrestling Excellence, once again begins to drag himself closer and closer to Scott Hunter. Closer and closer to the ropes.
Nick Stuart: You can do it Kerry! Look at this magnificent professional wrestler giving everything he has to stay alive in this match!
Richard Parker: And look at the cold determination of the Five Star Champion, Don Winters! He’s taking that title, and Kerry’s leg, back to Winters Port!
Realizing the severity of the situation, Don lashes out again sending the point of his elbow back down hard into Kerry’s ribs but the Emerald Apex does not yield. He’s just a few inches away now… almost there…
Almost… there…
AND HIS FINGERTIPS GRIP THE ROPES!
Nick Stuart: HE DID IT! HE GOT TO THE ROPES!
Richard Parker: Calm down, you’re sounding like that idiot Scott Hunter right now!
The crowd lets out a collective sigh of relief as Scott Hunter looks like he might cry. Barlow immediately calls for a five count. Don’s face is one of frustration and disappointment as he relinquished his ownership over Kuroyama’s leg.
Scott Hunter checks on Kerry, who has finally gotten himself a reprieve, entangled in the ropes. Don gives the man a few moments however that’s about as generous as the Five Star Father is willing to be right now. He quickly grabs Kerry by the head, dragging him away from the ropes.
Richard Parker: Kerry is free but he’s looking like that half-crab has left him with one leg. One Leg. One arm? How the hell is he gonna win this, Stuart? He’s not!
Nick Stuart: Don’t underestimate Seattle’s Beast, Parker, that’s how surprise victories happen!
CRACK!
The Revelator is completely taken off guard as Kerry paint brushes him with a stiff, open palm slap across his already bruised face. This is followed up by a one armed, one legged Discus Lariat as the crowd explodes once again!
Nick Stuart: A THIRD SQUALL LINE LARIAT! Don Winters has been knocked unconscious!
Richard Parker: That’s it! That’s it! New Champion! Surprise victory!
On the outside Scott Hunter is losing his mind, holding his head with both hands.
Kuroyama wraps his arms around Don’s waist… and despite effectively having just one currently functional arm, smashes Winters with an Inverted Powerbomb!
Nick Stuart: JUDGEMENT BOLT BOMB!
Richard Parker: It’s happening! The Long Winter is over! Kerry is about to become the new Five Star Champion!
Not standing for any kind of ceremony, riding his adrenaline and the energy of the Sofi Stadium, heaves the lifeless body of the Five Star Champion up onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.
Scott Hunter is dancing up and down on the outside of the ring as the live crowd hammer their hands together, ready for what comes next.. Summoning all he has left, Kerry jumps up and drives Don’s head down to the mat with an Emerald Flowsion!
Nick Stuart: KORUYAMA DRIVER NUMBER 2! By God he did it with one arm!
Richard Parker: NEW CHAMPION!
Planting the Revelator square in the center of the ring, Kerry grabs both legs. Together, Scott Hunter and the crowd count..
ONE!
………TWO!
…………………THREE!!!
Nick Stuart: No! NO! Not a new Champion!
Richard Parker: Impossible! What is Barlow saying!?
Impossible as it seems, despite Barlow’s hand hitting the mat, Don somehow managed to throw his shoulder up before the three count. Scott Hunter faints. The crowd roars in mixed disappointment and excitement as the bout continues!
FIGHT FOREVER! FIGHT FOREVER! FIGHT FOREVER!
Staggering up to his feet, Kerry Kuroyama stares down at Don Winters bloody, beaten face. By now the Revelator’s right eye is almost swollen shut and the swelling between his eyes tells the story of a potential broken nose.
Richard Parker: The Champion’s face is looking like hamburger right now! He survived the Kuroyama Driver but with what left?
Nick Stuart: I still can’t believe he kicked out.. Surely we’re in the last moments of this match?!
Despite it all, Don still won’t stop. He grasps at Kerry’s tights, limply trying to pull himself up.
Checking on his left arm, Kerry tries to get some more mobility out of it but he’s only rewarded with pain for his efforts. Grunting, he pushes the pain away.. Pulling Don up by his hair, hoists him back up onto his shoulders into the Fireman’s carry once again.
Nick Stuart: He’s going for a SECOND Kuroyama Driver Number 2! This has got to end it, right?!
Richard Parker: Absolutely, Stuart, Kerry just needs to drop Don to enter his Five Star era!
Don springs to life, slipping off Kerry’s shoulders before spinning the shocked challenger around! Burning through energy reserves he didn’t know he had left, Don, one eyed and bleeding from various orifices in his face, catches his surprised opponent with an Orange Crush Bomb!
Nick Stuart: HALLELUJAH!
Richard Parker: HALLELUJAH!
Don sticks the landing, driving down Kerry Kuroyama straight to hell and back, head first.
Instinct takes over as Don pulls the legs in for a pinfall..
ONE!
…….TWO!
…………THREE!!!
DING DING DING!
Vince Howard: Your winner by pinfall…AND STIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLLLLLL FIVE STAR CHAMPION….. DOOOOOOOOOOON WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINTERS!
Don rolls off Kerry as both may lay in the ring, their bodies completely spent. “Movin On Up” growls out over the sound system but the Sofi Stadium drowns out the song with their appreciative applaus.
Nick Stuart: He did it! Don Winters fended off Kerry Koruyama in perhaps the most difficult Five Star Championship defense of his entire reign!
Richard Parker: Old Don slew his dragon alright. I always knew Don was gonna win, grizzled veteran that he is!
Medical staff as well as ring handlers all jump into the ring to check on both men, complete with one ice bag for each man. Scott Hunter scares off the assistance and check on Kerry himself. With his help, Kuroyama is the first man to his feet, leaning on Hunter as he hobbles on one leg.
Yanking the title away from Ashley Barlow as she passes, Kerry limps to stand over Don Winters, who is still on the mat having his face looked at by a medical team. Seeing Kuroyama with the Five Star Title, Don pushes the med staff away and pulls himself up to his feet to look Kerry eye to eye.
Nick Stuart: What’s going on here?!
Richard Parker: Kerry Kuroyama clearly upset by the result of this match! If I was him, I’d obliterate Don Winters with that title and hope you can catch a rebound on a tournament when he can’t continue to be champion due to injury!
Nick Stuart: Parker!
After an intense staredown, Kerry shoves the Five Star Championship into Don’s arms before giving him a respectful bow.
Don returns the bow before lifting the Five Star Championship above his head. Kerry Kuroyama, with the help of Scott Hunter, exits the ring and heads to the back.
Nick Stuart: And folks, two nights of Colossus have brought us… here.
From the 5 Star Championship match, we go to a wide shot inside SoFi Stadium, the fans buzzing in anticipation, knowing what is next. Standing in the center of the ring, in a pristine designer suit for the occasion, is Vince Howard. Beside him is Elvis Nixon, his arms held behind him, his eyes outward to the crowd.
DING DING DING DING DING DING
Vince Howard: The official for the following contest…Elvis. Nixon.
Some cheers. Some claps. Good, solid acknowledgement for such a massive assignment.
After displaying Nixon, with the chyron underneath, the camera again focuses on Howard.
Vince Howard: Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen…the following contest is scheduled for one fall and has NOOOOOOO time limit! It is THE MAIN EVENT OF COLOOOOOSUS and is for the PRIME! UNIVERSAL! CHAMPIONSHIIIIIIIIIIPPPPP!!!
Suddenly, the stadium lights dim, a loud cheer erupting from the crowd. Out of the blackness, the PRIMEview comes alive, the PRIME logo displayed prominently. It fades, the opening tones of “Rivalry” by Colin O’Malley beginning to play. With a lashing strike of blue, words fill the screen.
THE PRIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP
THE PINNACLE OF ALL SPORTS
Descending, a lone spotlight shines upon a table of velvet. Stood up for prominence is the PRIME Universal Championship belt, polished and shined. As the music continues, its contours and plates are scanned with care. Every detail is magnificent. The tension of sound rises, and with it, the camera pulls away from the majestic championship. The scene abruptly cuts to black.
And with the rising dramatic percussion, the still shots. Subtle movements slowly focusing upon the figures as they appear for a few moments, their achievement marked in text in convenient spaces.
The inaugural Universal Champion and final Global Champion. The bridge between the eras, cemented at King of Kings 2. He stands an enigma, a seeming average man in build, but what he lacks in impressive physique he makes up for in mystery. One championship belt for each trench coated shoulder. His eyes are focused and evident through the white mask absconding his identity.
1st Champion
BLACK ANGEL
A titan of muscle, massive in stature not just physically, but for his time in the sport. A once hero, now, he is a betrayer, joining the Dark Age. There is no sense of shame with his smirking expression.
2nd Champion
BODA
A whirlwind of color, a form of taut muscle and artistic expression. She stands stoic, the championship belt over her shoulder. Does she care? Only she knows. Her moment has arrived, seemingly unstoppable, one of the greatest beginnings to a PRIME career of anyone. The Vanguard of the Golden Age. A trendsetter.
3rd Champion
KARINA WOLFENDEN
Behind crimson glasses protecting his eyes, a seminal figure. Chiseled from granite, his tattoos prominent, if ever a man stood as The Supreme Machine, it is he. The ender of the K-Wolf’s era before it even started. Later, the hand chosen by Tyler Nelson to put an end to a Universal charade. When one speaks of PRIME, his name is one of the first to come.
4th, 8th Champion
KILLEAN SIRRAJIN
The winds behind him sweep about, blowing his majestic hair with perfect photogenic bravado. The only true Son of God. His appearance has not changed, even today, proving his parentage. The Last Judgment features prominently on his tights. Chicago’s favored son, the roar his mere visage elicits is one of the loudest of the night. Under his hand, you shall be crucified and saved.
5th Champion
HOYT WILLIAMS
Before him were titans in stature, but in their place comes one in sheer brutality. His fists and forearms are taped for battle, his muscle built for performance and savagery. Inhuman. A wrecking ball in human form. From nowhere, he arrives at this pinnacle, only to be knocked from it in the greatest upset in the history of PRIME. He will regain it from one of his greatest rivals, The Supreme Machine on the biggest stage. Years later, he returns from the sidelines, managing to defy expectations to put a temporary halt to The Murder Show. Rushmore features him prominently. He stands as one of the truest of greats.
6th, 9th, 21st Champion
TCHU/MATT WARD
A goofy wire of man. The most unassuming of all. So long of a shot, his chance comes in the middle of Revolution, a clear expectation of how easy he shall be steamrolled. A Christmas Miracle. Perpetually silly, the joke is not only the Inhuman Being, but also, all those who thought so little of him.
7th Champion
CLYDE WALKINS
Born from the stars, beloved by all, charismatic, amongst the most skilled the sport has ever seen. He has returned from injury to claim his rightful place, but failure is all that meets him. In this moment, the drums of war sound, the very foundation of PRIME under threat from Machavallian forces. The star rises and turns his back on the fans and people who believed in him, joining the ranks of the devils who claim him to be their friend. Clean shaven, burned by the light. He fights off a record number of challengers. He is where the balance of PRIME rests.
10th Champion
NOVA
The balance of power shifts. Her face, her essence, are intrinsically linked with PRIME, but in this moment, she is an assumed outsider. This moment changes not only her place in the company, but in her life. Home. The ultimate trendsetter. The Queen of the Ring becomes The Final Boss twice over. Her spot amongst the very greats is without question. In this building, she was the one to close out the prior era. Without her, where we stand today isn’t possible.
11th, 13th Champion
LINDSAY TROY
The rival to the Queen. Scum looks down upon him. A betrayer of friendship, of allegiance, all for self service. So many times, he fell, unable to answer the challenge, and in doing so, all rejoiced. Driven mad, Ahab manages to rise in his final stand, capturing his illustrious white whale.
12th Champion
SONNY SILVER
Mismatched eyes, lacerating fingernails, and diminutive stature. In one night, she nearly conquers the Halo. In her next match, she manages to usurp the Queen. Scary and unknowable, a chameleon who can assume the identity of any she chooses. She lacks her own agency and identity, yet here, for a time, she can claim the Universal Championship as her own.
14th Champion
COZEN
The Man in Black hides his pieces and scars under a dress shirt and slacks. A mess of black hair falls along the sides of his face. Many claim him to be emo, but they will come to know him as the ruiner, death incarnate. His war against PRIME will eventually lead to its closure. Even here, with a painted black middle finger, his detestment of PRIME is evident.
15th Champion
DEVIN SHAKUR
Charisma personified. In truth, his arrival to this pinnacle has been foreseen for ages. His potential is limitless, yet in critical moments, he falters. Until here. Until now. Until he realizes the promise after years of toil made to look like a designer accessory. His presence is legendary. A hero to so many. Brash and arrogant to others. Regardless, he is can’t miss, must see, and unforgettable. His reign, to this point, lasts longer than all others before.
16th Champion
CHANDLER TSONDA
The Unbeatable. The Unconquerable. Awoken from dream, The Original Villain stops fighting with mere bits of his true skill and strength. The path he cuts lasts over a year, and in its wake, promising careers, legendary challenges, and destinies all fall under his heel. Gone, but never forgotten. Though some draw close, he walks away into the annals of history never having lost the most prestigious prize in the sport.
17th Champion
JASON SNOW
From the distance, from the ether, his face painted with black, the oddest of sorts, his skin pale, he returns. The Intense Championship is marked as his in all of lore, but after conquering the Halo, he soon after fulfills an impossible destiny, capping off a Hall of Fame career with the final piece it lacked.
18th Champion
VANGELUS OLSIG
Hollywood beckons. A silver screen savant, he brings with him pomp, circumstance, and a director’s vision. An outsider who rises.
19th Champion
CASTOR V. STRIFE
The monster incarnate. The Murder Show. Burly, powerful, a viking from a long forgotten age who has spent an age in PRIME without realizing the fullness of his potential. It is remembering what it is to be dominant that he ascends to his throne, leaving behind a wake of broken bodies and dreams. For a time, the lineage ends with brutality under his knuckles. The oppressive, uncompromising final champion of the Revolution.
20th, 22nd Champion
HESSIAN
The spear of the ReVival comes from the Revolution. Before this moment, he is considered the greatest to never win ‘the big one’. After over a decade away, the Tower of Babel rises, removing all doubt, finally taking his place amongst the true greats, perhaps marking himself as greater than all. For others in this era, this prize is transient. For him? They are one.
23rd, 29th Champion
BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD
A life’s work. Destroy the past and present and burn it all away so the future can rise. The Humble Proprietor has spent his life as an afterthought, cast aside, treated less than human despite his love of the sport he has dedicated his life to. Their cackles and machinations forge an intensity fitting for a monster. The threat. The killer. Robbed of the result of it all. Even in the distance, his name brings chills to the air.
24th Champion
PHIL ATKEN
Lights, camera, pucker and kiss. The Anti-Christ. Under t-shades and salt shoes, he brings with him an apocalypse in tracksuit and baby blue. Despised and thought little of, the ultimate cockroach doesn’t just survive but thrive. His threats carry weight because he makes good on his promise. Nobody on this list has a hope of ever being this COOL.
25th Champion
CANCER JILES
The Event Horizon, the future, all of the ReVival’s promise and dreams comes in his chiseled form. His reverence to PRIME’s past is known, but he makes his own history, taking the Universal Championship for his own and under the most dire of circumstances. He stumbles, but in Hell, he overcomes not only the yang to his ying, but the oppressive boot of the Soviet state.
26th, 28th Champion
HAYES HANLON
Punk rock in all forms, a fighter through and through. He doesn’t care about the championship, just what it brings to him in the ring. The greater fights. The ability to test his penchant for destruction. He snuffed out the promise of the horizon in his void. A goat kick to the head. A free spirit for rebellion against the norms.
27th Champion
REZIN
Some would call him a relic of a begotten age, a frozen monstrosity thawed and set upon the world to maul and reign under a banner, an ethos that demands both domination and subjugation. An ageless goliath, The Russian Bear returns to the field of professional wrestling battle after over a decade in seclusion. And in his wake? Utter carnage. A warrior from the old age set upon the present and future, not only striding, but surmounting all.
30th Champion
IVAN STANISLAV
Few can claim to be worthy of being phenoms in the new era of PRIME, yet the pillars of such are rarefied. But for the French Super Athlete, The Neck Collector, the Lizard King, he stands not only above, but perhaps beyond all. His arrival to this place is the culmination of an undefeated year. A winning streak unmatched by ALL before him. He is the weapon promised, the embodiment of The Humble Proprietor’s vision. A puzzle perhaps unsolvable.
31st Champion
FLAMBERGE
From oblivion he rises, as if from a waking coma. Drenched with guilt, self made, self perpetuated. Look upon the clown who makes those laugh, yet do not notice his weight, his tears. Ascend from the murk and stand ready, violently so, in the face of so many oppressors. Black Sheep never again.
32nd Champion
JARED SYKES
The ultimate simp. Seemingly helpless. But powered by his love and his dedication to his Amazing Life Partner, he perseveres, and does what most think is nigh impossible for someone of his ability level. He finishes the story, and now, we live in an epilogue dictated from his success.
33rd Champion
JONATHAN-CHRISTOPHER HALL
The Crownless King. A wrestling nomad. Across near every continent, he has fought with his all, governed by an unyielding love of the sport of professional wrestling. His role was ordained to be The Never Was, the fountain of knowledge, the bridge to the future. Not marketable. Taken for granted. Yet bitterness never seeps in, never taints his drive and passion. In this, the final year of his quest, he does what some think he could not do…something many others believed he always had capacity to achieve. The crown achieved. Now, The King of Conquerors.
34th Champion
CORAL AVALON
With the final image fading away and the song having reached its crescendo, a final shot of the Universal Championship upon its velvet table is shown. And then, we cut to black.
For twenty years, these two men have been on this path. Yin and yang. Rivals. Enemies. Friends. They know each other intimately well. Nothing the other does will be of surprise.
On one end, the fearless conqueror, a champion whose reigns began a year ago. Nobody has held the Universal Championship through more defenses in a single reign. The Wolf. Re-writer of Histories. The Undaunted.
Facing him is the only man who can claim to have held the Universal as close and for as long as he. While his opponent traveled the world, The Tower of Babel made PRIME his home. Had settled his foundation. Had become its legend. If the King is to etch his name, then it can be argued it is upon the stone in which The Diamond forged.
A man’s career.
The Universal Championship.
Everything is at stake.
The seminal preamble to all PRIME Universal Championships now completed, all focused returns to SoFi Stadium. Elvis Nixon remains standing beside Vince Howard, his eyes outward, toward the crowd before him. His focus is sure. Howard draws the microphone to his lips, and as the cheering tenor of the sold out Los Angeles crowd begins to rise, his voice once again begins to boom.
Vince Howard: Introducing first! The challenger!
Growing and growing to a fever pitch.
♫ “Trust Me” by Brad Fiedel ♫
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!
Richard Parker: Nick…you say it every time…so say it. Say the line…
Nick Stuart: The mood…has officially changed.
The first percussive beats power through SoFi Stadium’s sound system, many in attendance getting to their feet in anticipation. A wide spanning shot of the stadium crowd slowly pans before we then cut to the locker room area, where a door explodes open with tremendous force, nearly coming off its hinges.
From inside, Brandon Youngblood steps on out. Adorning his upper body is not his signature branded white hoodie, but instead, a variant. The diamond logo across the chest is replaced with an embroidered golden winged fanged skull, the various logos of PRIME over its history subtly etched within the feather, a litany of inscribed bolts of aged parchment affixed with red wax seals adorning the shoulders and arms. Imperialis. Purity seals. Oh yeah…we’re doing the total Warhammer 40k buy in. Just you wait. The stamp of the wax seals take on a few forms. The face of the Universal Championship for two of them, the days held, the opponents bested, all scrawled across. Three 5-Star Championships. The Jewel in the Crown, including each opponent defeated en route to winning the tournament in 2009. The Divine Blade Imperial, for the 2022 Seymour Almasy Invitational. The ReVival PRIME logo for the 2022 Wrestler of the Year; the Revolution PRIME logo for the Hall of Fame.
The stride of the Tower of Babel resolute as the camera follows him, his expression focused and intense. He moves, undaunted, through the hallway as it transitions from locker room doors to the backstage, to the metal supports and the black drapery making up the lead to the entrance ramp. The challenger never wavers, always looking forward to the path he is on.
As he nears the steps leading to the Argyle Position, he and the camera stop. His head turns. Suddenly, from the perimeter, a face not seen in PRIME in decades enters, getting more than a few eyebrow raises. Shock coming over the audience. Amy Campbell. It’s shocking how healthy, how vibrant she looks compared to the last time she competed in a PRIME ring all the way back as a member of the Sin City Championship Wrestling roster, holding their Universal Championship in a battle against Chandler Tsonda at Cataclysm. A battle she came out on top of. Wearing her man’s Suplex Family Reunion shirt, she clasps his cheek with one of her hands, drawing him in for a brief kiss.
Then, as quick as it occurs, it’s over. She disappears, and after she does, his hand throws back the curtain, with him stepping within. The cameraman lingerings, the soundtrack having reached its final beats. The fans are ready. And as the show goes back to the arena, we can see the fever pitch is about to reach another level in a few short moments.
Another wide panning shot, this time from over the ring. The bright lights.
Suddenly, they die.
But the PRIMEview acts as a beacon, bleak as the visual may be. The center video board glows in a foreboding deep red. A world in the throes of its death, awash in soot and ash, the skies bloated out yet the piles of bones, of skulls, start to collect. Wind sunders and strips away. Piles become hills. Hills become mountains. And mountains…become a tower, above all. Above king and queen. Beyond petty conquerors.
Beyond even God.
“Your God Is Dead” by Really Slow Motion, in utero. A sudden rising tenor. Interwoven with it, the voice of Peter Giles, speaking as the corrupted Azariah Kyras.
And what is this path?
We zoom into the twilight, into the belly of the beast. Through the chambers of this monolithic figure towering above all.
This meaning?
The halls are built of spines, ribcages, arms and legs, so much, fused and smashed together. Ancient. Inmutable. A work of terror. Something to strike fear in any who believe themselves worthy to even broach this haunt.
This purpose to which we gather the skulls of our foes?
Seated, center, amongst the flicker of sconces a frightening throne. Something designed not for comfort, but as a symbol. Those foolish enough to have dared. The figure sat upon it is cloaked in mostly shadow, save the boots and leggings of a massive set of obsidian terminator armor.
There is no meaning.
The light begins to filter across the lap of the one sat upon the throne, more and more harrowing ornate details visible.
No purpose.
A massive talon, made of a lightning claw, grasps at the arm of the throne.
Innocent.
The shots are quick. The Anglo Luchador. Nitz Donnelly.
Guilty.
Tony Gamble. Bobby Dean. Sun Tzu. Tyler Rayne. Chainz. Wilhelm Kael. Rose. Elise Ares.
Strong.
Hessian. Jason Snow. Nova. Karina Wolfenden. Vangelus Olsig.
Weak.
Impulse. Tyler Adrian Best. Angelo Deville.
Honest.
Dave Gibson. Matt Ward. Troy Douglas. Dusk. Jonathan Winters.
Deceitful.
Cancer Jiles. FLAMBERGE. Hayes Hanlon. Jonathan Christopher-Hall.
They will scream.
They will burn.
And for no purpose but that mighty Khorne may revel in their bloodshed.
Suddenly, from the head of the beast, a blaze. The eyes from the void. His visage finally shown.
In this void of purpose…
The Diamond rises in his armor, the Serpent’s Scales, smiling.
…we shall at long last…
Upon his shoulders? The pelt of the wolf he is about to show what conquest truly means.
Be free!
Black.
And then…The Battlecry.
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE
LET THE GALAXY BURN
Load blasts of pyro. The heat of flames. The stadium lights return as Bloodsport (World Domination) by HEALTH surges, and as it does, the ramp, the video wall, the video board come alive with the PRIMETron of Brandon Youngblood. Across it is a variable who’s who in the sport of professional wrestling, countless who have walked the hallowed halls of PRIME, and in them, a staggering constant; they all wilt before raw, unbridled physicality and domination. Suplexes. Strikes. Spinebusters. The highlight reels of catching and destroying would be challengers. The championships won. The accolades minted.
Sets of red and white laser lights from on high and below cut through the air, and then, he arrives, each step powerful as he stalks his way down the massive his eyes forward and focused. His expression is stoic. Stone. Reaching the point before the descent, he unzips his hoodie, showing the emblem over the chest of the hoodie is matched by his singlet.
He paces forward, walking to the steps and making his way up them, his dominion whole on the ring apron. At the halfway point, he steps between the ropes, taking the center of the ring.
Vince Howard: Introducing first…THE…CHALLENGER! Hailing from Bandera, Texas by way of Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada… weighing in at 265 pounds… he is…THE DIIIIIIAMOND! THE TOWER OF BABEL! HE IS! BRAAAAAAAANDON! YOUNGBLOOOOOOOOOD!
Pacing about the ring, Youngblood pulls from his hoodie pocket a mouthpiece which he fits into his maw. He undoes the arms of his top, pulling it off before handing it to a ring attendant, working with his back against the ropes, testing how tight they are, all before focusing center, toward the ramp, toward the man he has known for so long.
For the man he wants nothing more than to beat.
…
The lights go out in SoFi Stadium, and that means that the champion will soon be taking his time to get to the ring. Get settled. Get ready.
The PRIMEview comes to life. A shot of the ground. A hallway somewhere in the stadium, judging from how close the walls were. The camera pans up. The hall is occupied. Oh, how it’s occupied! Several dozen men and women, dressed as the crew of the USS Octane, stand in two rows. Each one of them has a little drum strapped in front of them. The drums of war. The drums of wolves.
We see that this drumline doesn’t just stretch down the hallway, but even around the corner as the camera makes its way down the hall. The drums continue. It’s a droning, powerful beat. The kind you might not want to hear when you’re waiting for your opponent, though it’s certain that Brandon Youngblood is patiently waiting in the ring.
The camera pans down again. It’s a nice floor. Very nice. Very well-maintained. Big clean. When it pans back up, we’re in front of a set of double doors. After the merest of pauses, the doors are opened up and the camera walks inside.
Inside, it’s the Throne Room. Well, a makeshift one, built in a locker room instead of the skyboxes that the Throne Room could usually be found in. There, you will find a bevy of Bandits. Jiles is nowhere to be seen, likely still being attended to by doctors after his brawl with Jonathan-Christopher Hall. (if Tony and Hess are champions) Tony Gamble and Hessian stand on either side, the PRIME Tag Team Championships over their shoulders. (if they aren’t) Tony Gamble and Hessian stand on either side, both wearing scowls. The camera rolls past them. Bobby Dean can be seen on one side, sleeping peacefully despite the drums and the presence of a person playing a morrin khurr (Mongolian fiddle) to the other side.
And then there’s the man who sits upon the throne.
For 168 days and counting, he has sat upon this throne. From Kleptomaniac, to Crownless King, to Golden Bandit, to King of Conquerors. His ring gear, which is usually a PRIME blue, is a stark black for one night only. His leonine fur cape is nowhere to be seen, but the Universal championship is strapped conspicuously around his waist. His face is grim and serious, for his opponent is a specter of his past, a man that he feels he must surpass.
Coral Avalon, the PRIME Universal Champion, is just minutes away from capping off his incredible 2024 campaign.
If the lions want war, we gonna fight until the battle ends.
Oh.
Oh, this isn’t the normal version of The HU’s “Wolf Totem”. No. This is Colossus. This isn’t just the eGG Bandits. This is Coral Avalon’s eGG Bandits, at least for the next thirty minutes. And that means… He has made an alteration. He has chosen to bang. He has chosen to do so absolutely.
He has chosen the version of “Wolf Totem” with Papa Roach in it.
God help us.
If the tigers come running, we gonna fight them to the bloody end.
Keep in mind, the whole drum crew is chanting in Mongolian right back at us, because as we’ve previously established at Tropical Turmoil, every member of the USS Octane knows the lyrics to “Wolf Totem”. Avalon lets the second chant go, and then slowly rises from his throne.
When the elephants come, they gonna bow to my brethren.
Avalon takes two steps forward, and then stops. He sets his feet. To his sides, Lunchbox Limerick and an invisible man who vaguely looks like Doozer taking a break from his latest yacht trip have brought something with them. It’s a very familiar fur cloak, with two lion’s heads mounted upon the shoulders. The heads on this cloak look so big and heavy that it’s a miracle Avalon can keep this damn thing on at all.
Lock ‘em in a cage, parade them to the lion’s den.
Doozer and Lunchbox Leeuwenhoek step back off-screen, giving Avalon the space. He stands there for a silent moment, nods, and then Avalon makes his march towards the door. Gamble and Hessian fall into step behind him. The camera steps backwards through the doors and back into the hall, and Coral Avalon follows his creed: He moves forward.
As Avalon walks, the drum line to his sides moves with him. And seeing that they more or less lead the procession, it isn’t long before this procession starts filtering out onto the stage.
Speaking of, we’ve cut to the stage. Lights come up along the entrance ramp with spotlights shining down on the stage proper. Just enough visibility to see the absolute stream of war drummers coming down to the ring.
Richard Parker: Where does this guy find all these people!?
Nick Stuart: Home Depot?
More and more drummers stream in, forming lines on each side of the entryway. They never stop their rhythm as “Wolf Totem” intensifies. The drummers march until they’re very nearly all the way to the ring, without even an appearance by the champion yet.
And you’ll wait longer.
Two men walk out first. Hessian and Gamble part the curtains. There’s a long pause. Anticipation builds.
Wait longer.
The spotlights go out again as fog billows out from behind the curtains. It’s like a goddamn wall. A light billows out from behind the fog, casting a familiar silhouette around a single man who stands there.
The PRIMEview comes alive with some familiar words.
CORAL AVALON
KING OF CONQUERORS
The eGG Bandits are not the most popular guys around, generally speaking. They’re all crumbs. Cancer Jiles and Vickie Hall could be counted amongst their number. Yet even now, as Coral Avalon walks through the fog and into the spotlight, the crowd still goes nuts for the PRIME Universal Champion.
He walks like there’s a rarified air to everything he does. After all, not very many men have the ego or the clout necessary to call themselves “King of Conquerors” without being laughed out of the building. An international journey spanning two decades has finally brought him to Colossus.
Avalon bumps fists with Hessian and then Gamble, and then the two eGG Bandits reluctantly turn to head to the back. With the Bandits gone, as Avalon had agreed to before the show began, the champion makes his march to the ring.
Vince Howard: HIS OPPONENT! CURRENTLY RESIDING IN SEATTLE, WASHINGTON! WEIGHING IN TONIGHT AT TWO HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN POUNDS! HE IS! THE GOLDEN BANDIT! HE IS! THE KING! OF! CONQUERORS! HE IS! THE PRIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPION! THIS! IS! CORAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLL! AVALOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNN!!!
Avalon smiles at Howard’s announcement as he marches past his lines of drummers.
Nick Stuart: It’s pandemonium here in SoFi Stadium!
Richard Parker: I can’t believe people still like this guy after he joined the eGG Bandits!
The champion makes it to ringside, but he doesn’t immediately get into the ring yet. Instead, he takes a little detour, walking around the length of the ring until he reaches a particular corner on the hard camera side. There, seated front row, is Coral Avalon’s wife Annabelle. A little embrace, a little kiss, and the King of Conquerors is ready to take on the world.
Avalon hops up onto the apron and walks to the center. Two fists go up, pinkies and ring fingers out. The symbol of his Kingdom. Avalon turns to find that Brandon Youngblood is now face-to-face with him. A staredown. Senior referee Elvis Nixon has to make sure they don’t immediately come to blows before the match officially begins. Eventually, Youngblood backs off so that Avalon can actually enter the ring.
The champion climbs up onto the second turnbuckle, and peels the Universal championship from around his waist. After a short moment of staring at the championship in his hands, he kisses it and then holds it up with one hand. All the while, the drummers that have drummed Avalon on his way to the ring have fallen silent, and “Wolf Totem” fades.
Avalon looks over his shoulder at Youngblood, who’s gone back to his corner, ready to go. Avalon hops off the turnbuckles, turning in midair so he lands facing his challenger. Without ever taking his eyes off of his opponent, he slowly removes the leonine cloak from his shoulders. This is an affair made all the slower by the fact that Avalon still holds on to the Universal championship in one of his hands.
The champion tosses his cloak over the top rope, landing in the waiting arms of a ringside attendant. He holds up the Universal championship again for everyone to see. His prize. The goal he’d set for himself so long ago had been reached. Everything since then has been the long epilogue, and now everyone is left wondering… is tonight the night that this epilogue comes to a close?
After a long moment, Avalon passes the Universal championship over to Nixon.
…
Referee Elvis Nixon turns from Coral’s corner to Brandon’s for one last check. Youngblood steps forward and jams his thumb over the outside of his right nostril, blowing a huge wad to the mat. By the time he’s a step and a half towards the center, Avalon’s marching to the center of the ring as well. Nixon lowers his head and tries to see if these two fine Colossus Main Eventers would be so kind as to return to their corners, because he has to at least try. He already knows the outcome.
They’ll step back when they damn well please.
Avalon and Youngblood aren’t “nose to nose”, per se, but if this were Daytona Diamonds and Don Winters, or Nate Colton and FLAMBERGE, or Vickie Hall and Any Blonde Man That Isn’t Jonathan-Christopher, you might call this “kissin’ distance”.
Lip readers won’t catch every word – because this isn’t for the fans. This isn’t for the viewers at home.
This conversation is for the two men who are sharing the biggest match on the biggest stage that professional wrestling has to offer – the main event of Colossus for the Universal Championship.
What we do catch from the Tower of Babel is the clear expression that this moment, this stage, is everything he has built his life and his career around – that nothing means more to him, that he’s been preparing for decades and he’s been ready for years – that he’s promised Coral something, and that tonight’s the night he fulfills that promise.
The King of Conquerors is generally pretty relaxed about the whole thing, believe it or not. These two men go back a long, long time, after all. Avalon has always known Youngblood to be a very serious man – and to Youngblood’s credit, it’s why he’s a Hall of Famer. It’s why he’s a former Universal Champion. It’s why he’s been a Wrestler of the Year. It’s why, in many ways, the solar system that is the ReVival Era of PRIME has always rotated around the sheer gravity that Brandon Youngblood pulls.
But Coral Avalon is a Hall of Famer now, too. He’s a Universal Champion now, too. He’s the frontrunner to become 2024’s Wrestler of the Year. And no man has had a more successful calendar year than the champ…main eventing three straight PRIME PPVs, which no one else has done in the ReVival era; seven consecutive victories in championship matches, with tonight’s match a possible eighth; and despite all the Banditry, the shenanigans with the Octane, Lunch-sure Suit Larry, or the Throne Room, Coral Avalon is just as much of a very serious man in between the ropes as anyone.
It’s an in-your-face intensity meeting a quiet confidence. Emotionally unstoppable forces meeting an emotionally immovable object.
Avalon says a few words in response to Youngblood that we don’t catch. We get the sense that neither man can or will be shaken by their opponent, that they know everything there is to know about what the other man has to offer. Almost by requirement, one of them will be proven wrong tonight.
These two are already all-timers; a Universal Championship victory in this moment adds the sort of historical exclamation point that makes an argument that they could be considered the GOAT.
Other wrestlers might look to the sheer heights at the edges of SoFi Stadium and soak in the tens of thousands of PRIMEates who are on their feet, cheering and screaming and chanting, anxiously anticipating their arrival at the Fireworks Factory.
Youngblood and Avalon? They haven’t broken eye contact. And they still don’t break it as they each step back into their respective corners.
Elvis Nixon is thankful for this resolution, and the moment both men touch their backs to their corners, he signals for the bell.
DING DING
RRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
Nick Stuart: Everything is on the line! The King of Conquerors, looking to defend his hard-earned crown from The Dream Killer, already one of the most decorated wrestlers in PRIME history!
Richard Parker: NOTHING is bigger than this, partner!
The crowd is still on their feet, cheering loudly for both men – we get the sense that there are pockets of fans all around the stadium trying to out-yell their counterparts in other sections.
Both men take measured stances and slowly step out of their corners. They keep their distance, reading each other, studying – two gunslingers, waiting for the first twitch of the finger.
Brandon thinks he sees a tell and pivots hard to the side with quickness – Avalon reads it and darts away. Both men pause and reset.
The measured stances return. Youngblood’s hands are elevated, filled with potential energy that just radiates off of him, and Avalon starts slightly bouncing off his heels as the two men slowly circle each other.
Coral thinks he sees a tell and winds up as if he’s expecting to throw a counter – Youngblood feints a charge forward before backing off, gauging Avalon’s reaction to the non-contact. Both men pause and reset.
Nick Stuart: These two competitors have so much history, they’re students of the game, and they’re students of each other. When you know each other this well, there are layers of complexity and timing with every single movement.
Richard Parker: Nobody wants to make the first mistake – when you know every counter on counter on counter the other guy’s got, how do you make a move??
Elvis Nixon points towards both competitors and draws his fingers inwards to the center of the ring. As the two men square up and circle each other for the third time, there’s a noticeable uptick in pace. Each man seems to lift a shoulder or a knee or a hand in an increasingly complex sequence of Magnus Carlsen-level “I know you can see twenty moves ahead and I’m looking for the twenty-first move” concentrated, focused positioning.
Two pots on the fire, about to boil over.
Youngblood boils first.
Sprinting forward with tremendous agility, The Diamond closes the distance and reaches his arms out to engage in a tie-up. Avalon wraps an arm around Youngblood’s neck and pivots his hips – HEADLOCK TAKEOVER!
To some small surprise, someone has a slight advantage in a ground grappling position over Brandon Youngblood…but it’s not for very long. Youngblood is able to engage and pivot his hips over, using his tremendous core strength and leverage to stack Coral high on his shoulders!
ONE!
Coral reverses the momentum back, still maintaining the headlock. He’s grinding his feet into the mat, looking to literally squeeze as much out of this little advantage as he possibly can.
This does not work for Youngblood, and he pivots, yanks, and even gets a bit of a bridge on this pin, Avalon’s feet pointing to the sky!
ONE!
Avalon can’t just go back to where they started this time, and instead kicks his hips up so that his feet fall backwards over his own head, a sort of reverse roll through that now finds both men on their stomachs. Amazingly, Coral still has the headlock.
Nick Stuart: Of all the strategies and game plans I would have expected out of Coral Avalon tonight, “Intentionally Grapple Brandon Youngblood” was just about at the bottom of my list!
Richard Parker: And it looks like it was at the bottom of Youngblood’s, too – but that’s the thing about Coral Avalon! All bets are off with this guy. When the bell rings, he’s as capable as anyone in the world of surprising you.
Nick Stuart: With so much on the line – not just the Universal Championship, but potentially a career – there’s no reason to leave anything on the table.
Richard Parker: Zig when they think you’ll zag!
Nick Stuart: Exactly.
Richard Parker: Is Youngblood’s big bald head turning purple?
Not quite – but it’s definitely more red than he generally prefers.
Both men continue to press on each other, Avalon holding on for dear life with this headlock. Youngblood continues to use his superior strength and size to dictate where the rest of their bodies should go.
He chooses “up”, and so they go up. Coral still has the hold, but he’s losing the war for leverage. Soon, they are both upright, and Youngblood fights to get under Coral’s arms and break this hold or get something locked in himself, or something to turn the tide of battle…but that damn pest won’t let go.
The momentum of Youngblood’s weight pushing and pressing to gain some sort of advantage leads them to the ropes, and soon Elvis Nixon begins his five count. Avalon releases on four, cleverly holding one arm under the top rope to maintain his out-of-bounds status; but Youngblood is free now. In his eyes, it’s been a long time coming.
Youngblood backs off and beckons Avalon to rejoin him in the center of the ring. Avalon chooses to do so, but on his own schedule, thank you, HE’S the champion after all.
The dance begins anew, but this time it’s short-lived.
“Let’s see Coral counter THIS”, one imagines running through the mind of Suplex Daddy as he goes a bit lower, ducking beneath a swinging lariat and wrapping his arms around the waist of the champion. Avalon fights to “get heavy” and keep his feet planted as Youngblood fights for a lift.
He almost gets that left – but Avalon is able to slip out and chain it into a rear wristlock, transitioning into another headlock takeover, planting the challenger to the mat. The frustration on Youngblood’s face grows.
Nick Stuart: I can’t believe this is WORKING, partner!
Richard Parker: No joke – Youngblood is the master of slowing down the pace and grinding down opponents, but Coral Avalon has turned that on its head!
Youngblood’s scalp is turning deep crimson. “No, fuck this shit,” one imagines running through his mind now.
He decides not to fight the headlock, not to turn it into a pin, not to go through any of the same technical counters that it seems like Avalon has studied and re-studied and prepared to counter himself.
He’s the muscle daddy here. He’s the strong boy. He’s the biggest and the toughest and the baddest. Let’s use that.
Raw, brute strength from the challenger brings both men vertical. Raw, brute strength from the challenger lifts the champion off the ground, into vertical suplex position – but something’s off in his face. This isn’t the position he’d prefer, something’s off – and then it registers.
Avalon’s still got his arm wrapped around Youngblood’s head.
Doesn’t matter.
Youngblood falls back and SLAMS Avalon to the mat with a delayed vertical suplex, but seems to take some damage himself from the impact – but, thank goodness, at least the headlock broke up. That was the big thing.
No time to waste following up.
Youngblood scrambles to his feet and scuttles over to Avalon, throwing a downward elbow to the back of his thigh. Avalon yelps out, pivots so that he’s facing his challenger, and uses both legs to push him off. As Youngblood is forced back, Avalon kips up.
And then the bulls lock horns properly with a collar and elbow. Wrestlers of their generation might call it “snug” – others might call it “trying and failing to break each other’s collarbones with their bare hands”.
Avalon’s using more force than one might expect to see from the smaller man in this exchange, and why not – it’s just his entire livelihood on the line. But there’s no out-muscling the Tower of Babel here.
Youngblood pushes Avalon into the corner, and the elbow strikes start raining in. Face, chest, ribs, wherever he can find an opening. Elvis Nixon begins a count to get out of the corner ropes – at 3, Avalon pushes with both arms as hard as he can, then throws a European Uppercut!
It connects! Youngblood staggers back!
Nick Stuart: Another European Uppercut! Another! Avalon’s on a roll here! Now he’s – oh! WOW! The king went to grab Youngblood’s head again, but the Diamond was ready that time! Double leg takedown!
Richard Parker: He’s got the mount now, this is not where you want to be if you’re Avalon!
Indeed, Youngblood is in perfect position to begin raining down picture-perfect 12 to 6 elbow strikes onto the prone champion. Coral raises his arms to guard, but a few strikes find their way through.
After a particularly sharp elbow hits Avalon squarely between the eyes and drops his guard, Youngblood shoots the half!
ONE!
TWO-NO! Avalon gets a shoulder up!
Determined, Youngblood prepares for his next attack. He waits for Avalon to get vertical again, timing a chop block perfectly. Youngblood throws another stiff strike into the back of Avalon’s thigh before claiming the leg as his own, stretching out Coral in a Boston Crab!
Nick Stuart: Elvis Nixon checking to see if the champion is ready to submit here, but something tells me it’s going to take more than this to end Avalon’s historic reign.
Richard Parker: You’re probably right about – ah hell, what in the world? No, NO! Get him out of here! Get all of them out of here!
There’s a bit of a commotion in the arena. We first get a view of tonight’s Throne Room, where we might expect to see the rest of the eGG Bandits watching the match…but no one is there.
We then get a shaky view of the floor seats, specifically the section that Coral Avalon is forced to face while trying to fight out of the Boston Crab.
Making their way to a row of miraculously open seats, to a cascade of boos and yells and commotion, are Tony Gamble, Hessian, Bobby Dean, Cancer Jiles…and Vickie Hall. There’s another seat next to them that we must assume Doozer is using. No word on Cardboard Dan Ryan.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
Nick Stuart: We all know the stipulation here, folks – the eGG Bandits are barred from ringside! What are they doing here in the second row??
Richard Parker: It’s that damned Cancer Jiles trying to loophole his way around the rules, that’s what it is. Sure, “he’s not ringside”, fine, whatever – but he’s TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT, partner.
Bobby’s got more than enough snacks for the entire crew, though it remains unclear how many items he actually intends to part with.
Vickie is all over Jiles, rubbing her hand up and down his sternum like it’s a genie’s lamp and giggle-snorting in that obnoxious sort of way that only Vickie Hall can.
Jiles, for his part, looks pretty beat up and somewhere between hating everything about his life at the moment and loving every second of it. T-shades possibly hiding a black eye, he vaguely reaches over for a handful of popcorn from one of Bobby’s tubs and starts feeding pieces one-by-one into Vickie’s continuously-open mouth. This technique seems to be the most efficient way to stem the tide of any possible drunken word vomit, replaced with gross popcorn chomps.
Youngblood still has the Boston Crab locked in, but it’s critical to note that his back is to the Bandits. He hasn’t seen them, he doesn’t see them now.
Coral does, though. And in a brief moment, we catch him locking eyes with Jiles.
Avalon’s face grows very serious, and he quickly shakes his head a couple of times in the direction of King Crumb. Jiles does not respond at all, because why would he…he’s in a very cool seat at a very cool show, shoveling popcorn into the vague idea of a woman, and he doesn’t have to work anymore tonight.
Nick Stuart: Clear message sent – Avalon does not want any interference in this match, under any circumstances. We knew this going into tonight’s match.
Richard Parker: Yeah, well, Jiles is the worst person I’m aware of, so we’ll see if that comes to pass.
With a renewed sense of urgency or adrenaline, Avalon army crawls with his arms and un-crabbed leg until he can reach the bottom rope. Youngblood, for his part, breaks the hold as soon as Nixon starts counting – this ring is sacred, after all, and NO ONE will accuse Brandon Youngblood of taking any shortcuts now that he’s finally reached the heights of the Universal Championship Match at Colossus. He will have this victory be clean, please and thank you.
It seems like we’re starting to see Youngblood’s strategy take full focus as the match progresses: he’s prepared for a very physical match, but he’s going to grind down Coral Avalon in this ring – no one is better between the ropes. He proved as much with his grueling Ironman Match victories against Wilhelm (née Max) Kael and FLAMBERGE in the League From Hell leading up to Colossus.
Youngblood charges across the ring, throwing a big clubbing lariat – Avalon ducks under! Youngblood catches himself in the ropes – are those T-shades he sees? – before turning back around…
CRACKKKK!
AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Coral Avalon’s boot has never struck truer.
Nick Stuart: TERMINAL CANCER FROM CORAL AVALON! Terminal Cancer?!?!
Richard Parker: I HATE IT!
Nick Stuart: Coral goes for the cover!
ONE!
TWO – Youngblood gets the shoulder up!!
Avalon’s wry smile tells the tale of the cheeky little angle of attack he thought he had, but no bother. He didn’t come into this fight assuming one move would end it, even if that move happened to be Cancer Jiles’s vaunted superkick.
We catch a glimpse of Jiles whispering something into Bobby’s ear. Bobby laughs and spills a plate of nachos – fortunately, he has four more. We are left to assume that it’s shit-talk about how much better Jiles is at that kick than literally anyone in the world.
Youngblood gets to his feet – this time, it’s Avalon who’s quicker to the punch, as he charges across the ring and absolutely WHOMPS Youngblood with a lariat, sending him over the top rope and spilling out onto the ring apron!
Avalon looks to follow it up with a second superkick – WHICH CONNECTS!
CRACKKKK!
This sends Youngblood crashing to the floor!
Nick Stuart: Youngblood on the outside now, and you know this isn’t where he wants to be!
Richard Parker: He’s a purist, he wants this match between the ropes, he wants – well, he wants a freaking TON of things, doesn’t he? Coral Avalon showing that he’s not in the business of giving Brandon Youngblood everything he wants!
Avalon steps through the ropes and hops to the floor, looking to follow up on his combination offense. Elvis Nixon begins a count that probably won’t be necessary as Youngblood gets to his feet in a hurry – maybe a little off balanced – as he grabs Avalon by the shoulders. He attempts to throw the champ back into the ring, not interested in anything that could tarnish the sanctity of this career-punctuating moment. Avalon fights hard to keep his balance firmly on the floor and not where Suplex Daddy wants to throw him.
In a brief moment, Avalon locks eyes again with the Bandits in the second row – or at least, the eyes of the Bandits he can see. It appears that Tony Gamble has been crushed between the manspreading behemoths, Bobby Dean and Hessian, who are splitting a bucket of wings (two guesses on who’s got the cleaner bones).
Vickie Hall fawns over a few nearby fans who happen to be blond. It’s hard to tell if Jiles notices this, because behind the T-shades he’s boring a hole into Avalon’s fivehead, and leaning ever so slightly forward in his seat. Avalon quickly shakes his head one more time before returning his full focus to his opponent.
The Crowned King attempts to go for another headlock, but Youngblood’s ready for it this time (and he’s a half-step ahead of the returning-from-minor-distraction Avalon), and he uses his leverage to hoist Avalon off the ground and beneath the bottom rope, rolling him into the ring. Youngblood climbs up to the apron and begins to step through –
Nick Stuart: I can’t believe it, he’s got the headlock on Youngblood AGAIN!
Richard Parker: I mean, we all get the genius here – a frustrated Youngblood is a sloppy Youngblood, and a beatable Youngblood – but this is playing with fire! A frustrated Youngblood becomes a scary-ass goblin real quick!
Nick Stuart: Let’s see if Avalon can – oh wait! Youngblood’s got the arms wrapped! Avalon’s up – AND HE’S PLANTED with a side suplex by Youngblood!
Richard Parker: Okay, and now he’s gone to the well one too many times.
Suplex Daddy is sick of this headlock shit. Coral Avalon will never pull that on him again.
He’s an athlete and a student, he’s watched enough championship matches – not just professional wrestling, but all sports – where at The Big Game, a team comes in with a look that’s just completely different than anyone expects…but that’s a trick with a shelf-life. Once it’s figured out, it’s going to go back to the foundational core of all sport – the fundamentals.
Rear lock, S grip, position the feet, lift with your legs, position the opponent, lift again, arch back, watch out for the beach ball sized skull…
WHAMMMMMMM!
Nick Stuart: German Suplex from Youngblood!
Transition grip, maintain body pressure, reposition, relink the grip high near his armpits, lift with your legs, position the opponent, re-lock S-grip, lift again, tilt a bit, watch out again for the beach ball…
WHAMMMMMMM!
Nick Stuart: Butterfly Suplex!!
Richard Parker: Suplex Daddy’s home!
Nick Stuart: Cover by Youngblood!
ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT!!
Nick Stuart: Everything Youngblood is doing here is wearing down Coral Avalon bit by bit – the cover, the throws –
Richard Parker: Speaking of throws!
By the time our commentary team had to explain about 80% of the intended point, Youngblood had already engaged Avalon in a front facelock and a leg hook.
Avalon throws a few shots into Youngblood’s rib, which doesn’t seem to slow him down as he arches back and tosses Avalon across the ring!
WHAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!
Nick Stuart: Oh what a BEAUTIFUL Release Fisherman Suplex!
Richard Parker: Avalon’s been going for a ride since action returned to the ring!
And unfortunately for Coral Avalon, as much as he might want to GET OF MR. BONES’ WILD RIDE, it’s way too soon for that.
Avalon staggers to his feet, using the corner ropes to help him up. What might be best described as a hobgoblin of piss and vinegar stalks over and uses those same corner ropes to deliver sharp shoulder-tackles into Coral’s lower back. He then lifts his arms up and through, locking in a Full Nelson, before lifting, twisting and turning into a Full Nelson Suplex!
WHHHHHHHHAM!
Avalon is flat on his stomach. Youngblood SHOVES him hard to roll him over to his back for another pinfall attempt. The shove was perhaps too hard – before Youngblood can really cinch in a legal pin, Coral has continued to roll and finds himself on his stomach again.
As Youngblood reaches back over to pull him to the flat of his back again, he gives the impression that Avalon has somehow tripled in weight and the task has become a bit arduous. Finally, Avalon is on his back, and Youngblood hooks the far leg!
ONE!
TWO!
COUNTER BY AVALON! He frees himself and goes for a Crucifix pin!
ONE!
COUNTER BY YOUNGBLOOD! High stack!
ONE!
TWO!
COUNTER BY AVALON! He rolls through the pinning predicament and sits on Youngblood’s chest, both legs hooked!!
ONE!
TWO!
KICK OUT BY YOUNGBLOOD!
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!
With the last-second kick out from Youngblood, both men take the opportunity to increase the space between them for a moment, if for no other reason than the pins are getting tighter and the margins are getting narrower and now is not the time for a split-second-late kick out to cost you everything that’s on the line tonight.
Right, guys? Right.
Avalon seems to be recovering fairly well for a man who’s just been thrown hither and yon. Youngblood, for his part, looks like he’s about ready for another round just like the last one.
Nick Stuart: Momentum shifting back and forth, partner – first Avalon had a bit of an edge, then Youngblood had the clear advantage – and now we’re back at a stalemate.
Richard Parker: Brandon Youngblood has put away a lot of opponents with just a perfectly-executed suplex, and Coral Avalon knows that as well as anybody.
It’s unclear at this point if Brandon Youngblood has registered that the eGG Bandits are as close as they are to the ring barricade…if he wasn’t absolutely and completely focused on the singular task before him, almost tunnel-visioned on Coral Avalon, he would clearly see some familiar faces past Avalon’s shoulders in the second row – Bandits Banditing, Vickie Hall back to rubbing Cancer Jiles’s injured pecs to some serious half-annoyance, and an empty chair for Doozer.
Nor is it clear how heavily the Bandits weigh in the back of Avalon’s mind right now. They’re literally and figuratively behind him, but you know what they say about Bandits, and what Bandits do.
They Bandit, if that’s unclear.
The two competitors in the ring can’t afford to think about them right now, though. They’re not in this match. Only the two of them.
And it’s time to clash steel once more.
Brandon stomps forward and engages Avalon, using his great strength and size to bully Avalon into a corner – only for Avalon to slip around at the last moment. With Youngblood’s back to the turnbuckle, he connects with a BIG headbutt.
CLONK!
And then two more for good measure.
CLONK! CLONK!
He shakes his own cobwebs out and quickly assesses the damage – no broken noses, and he’s hurt Brandon more than he’s hurt himself. Net positive. Avalon often surprises larger opponents with his own bursts of strength – Youngblood may not be surprised, but he has been caught.
Backbreaker.
And a cover!
ONE!
TWO!
Youngblood gets a shoulder up! He sits up, but Avalon is already to his feet – quick snapping kicks to Youngblood’s chest!
WHAP! WHAP!
He takes a step back and goes for a short running start, swings the leg back –
Nick Stuart: Youngblood catches the leg! He’s dragged Avalon back to the mat, and he’s going for it – the Heel Hook! Does he have it? Avalon’s fighting like hell!
Richard Parker: He’s awfully close to getting it locked in!
Avalon flails and scrambles and bucks and broncos as best as he can to keep his leg out of this predicament as Youngblood fights to apply more pressure!
The Heel Hook is just about locked in – just as Avalon finds a way to make it to the bottom rope!
Elvis Nixon begins the five count, but Youngblood’s already released the hold by two. He looks to re-engage, grabbing at the leg once again – Avalon pushes off! Short dropkick to Youngblood’s knee sends him back down to the mat! Avalon rushes forward once again to deliver that kick he tried before – SWINGS…
Youngblood ducks and gets his hands up!
THWCK?
Brandon Youngblood: Ah, FUCK!
Nick Stuart: Youngblood displeased, let’s see if we can get another look at that.
Replays inside the arena show the ugly, if perhaps unintentional, outcome of Avalon’s kick and Youngblood’s attempts to avoid said kick.
Avalon punted Youngblood squarely in the fingers with the point of his toe. And they did not all move in the same direction after impact.
Elvis Nixon steps in to check on Youngblood who, tells him to fuck off because he’s fine (he’s clearly not fine, but you try telling Brandon Youngblood to chill out because of a hand issue. Or ever.)
It’s Avalon’s turn to stalk forward this time, and he throws a short sharp kick that connects with Youngblood’s rib cage again, and another. He’s peppering the challenger with these pointed, sharp kicks, until Youngblood EXPLODES to his feet, grabs Avalon, and BLASTS him with a huge Spinebuster!
BAMMMMMMMM!!!
He stretches out his fingers some more and shakes them out, pulling Avalon’s head towards him with mostly his palms. He sets Avalon up, and fuckin’ SPIKES him on his head and neck.
THUDDDDD!!!
Nick Stuart: OH MY! What a hellacious Dream Killer by the challenger! He’s got Avalon in a high stack, this could be it!
ONE!
TWO!
…
THR-
KICK OUT!! Avalon throws his whole body into that one, and his face is full of dazed pain as he works through the shell shock of what he just experienced.
Youngblood isn’t worried about it – he’s got a task at hand. And he feels like he’s getting really, REALLY close.
Why not go for the Diamondplex? That seems like a pretty fucking sound strategy.
And so Youngblood grapples Avalon up to get him in a German Suplex position. Avalon’s cobwebs are definitely shaken out now as he realizes the predicament he’s in, and he starts throwing elbows back towards any head bone he can hit. They only glance off the challenger, and soon he has Avalon lifted up!
…
…
AVALON FLIPS OUT OF IT! He lands on his feet! HE GOES FOR ANOTHER TERMINAL CANCER!
…
…
YOUNGBLOOD DUCKS! He goes for Avalon’s plant leg!
Nick Stuart: HEEL HOOK! IT’S LOCKED IN, CENTER OF THE RING!
Avalon is too far away from the ropes to go for the same escape as before – he has to think of something different, FAST, or this thing is going to be over.
He looks to his left, and his right – nothing there. He looks forward.
Oh hey, Cancer, nice tongue down your throat, we all hope it’s everything you dreamed it would be.
Richard Parker: Avalon’s gonna tap!
Something about the absurdity of the image of Vickie Hall and a nonplussed Cancer Jiles doing whatever the hell it is they’re doing while next to two enormous men now working on the largest drinks that have ever been served to a human as they deprive Tony Gamble of the ability to breathe…something about it all must have cracked something open inside of Avalon.
What a freaking ride it’s been, hasn’t it, Coral? What a bizarre sort of “you might be wondering how I got here” moment of your life.
Youngblood drops to the ground to try to apply more body weight to the Heel Hook, and it’s clearly causing way more pain to the champion. A lesser man, or maybe this man in a lesser moment, would have probably saved his Achilles by now.
But in this moment, on this stage, Coral Avalon is never. And I mean EVER. Going to give up.
There just has to be a different way forward, and to know that is to find the first step towards something like peace.
…
And he sees it.
Youngblood wants to grapevine Avalon’s other leg, but he hasn’t succeeded yet. Why would that leg be so important when the other is the one being shredded like so many phone books on Beakman’s World?
Because when it’s free, it’s a liability.
Avalon does some quick mental calculations – yep, his legs are about the same length as each other, and yep, Youngblood’s hands are around one of those legs.
The same hands he kicked the shit out of not too long ago.
Why not kick them some more?
Avalon thrusts his leg over and over at Youngblood’s hands, and even the grazing shots seem to be doing damage to the Diamond’s grip. The Tower of Babel is more than prepared to go through serious pain in this match, though, and so he’s not letting this go without first doing as much legal damage as possible.
Youngblood turns his shoulders, grimacing in pain and exertion, as Avalon’s thrusting kicks turn into makeshift heel stomps that squarely crack into Youngblood’s hands. Eventually, the challenger is forced to release the grip.
Avalon would LOVE to take immediate advantage of the situation, but he has a serious problem – sure, he didn’t submit, but the leg that just went through two rounds of Heel Hooking is now absolutely throbbing in pain.
Richard Parker: We’ve got a champion without a leg, and we’ve got a grappler without hands! What are they supposed to do now?
Nick Stuart: You know, I spoke with both of these men privately in the days leading up to this historic match…Brandon Youngblood told me that he views this match as the end of an era of sorts, that he and Coral Avalon are the last two of their breed from their generation of professional wrestling, a generation of talent that we are unlikely to see ever again.
Richard Parker: PRIME contains within it the past, present, and future of professional wrestling, if you ask me. And while there’s SOME guys I’d love to see buried in the past forever, and yes I may be talking about Cancer Jiles because I’m so freaking annoyed that we keep panning over to him during this match, I don’t know if I’m ready to say goodbye to this pair.
Nick Stuart: Well we’re still a ways away from any sort of goodbye tonight – somebody’s going to have to dig deeper than they ever have before if they’re going to pull out a win tonight. Coral Avalon told me he’d be at peace no matter what the outcome is – do you believe him?
Richard Parker: Well with the way he keeps getting out of these predicaments, it sure as hell looks like he cares a lot about winning this specific match to me. We’ll just have to see if the damage he’s taken is a bridge too far for the Crowned King.
Avalon rolls away from the middle of the ring and beneath the bottom rope, settling for a moment of respite beneath the bottom rope. We see a popcorn kernel hit Avalon square in the dome, though we miss the throw.
As the camera pans over, we have a pretty good guess at the culprit, whose T-shades must come with a +10 Dexterity modifier tonight…while the evidence is only an ever-so-slight curling of one side of one lip, and a tub of popcorn in Jiles’s lap that now finds its way being fed one at a time to varying parts of Vickie Hall’s face (sometimes the mouth, sometimes the nose, sometimes the ear), it’s more than enough for Avalon to put that two-and-two together, if he even registers that he got hit.
He is in an awful lot of pain, after all.
But he’s able to use the ropes to get himself upright. And a good thing, too, because Brandon Youngblood is charging HARD right at him.
…
Avalon lifts a knee and cracks Youngblood in the mush! He staggers!
Avalon tests his legs out – one’s still good at least, even if the other one isn’t – and he uses every part of his body to reach the top rope, springboarding off of only his good leg and careening across the ring with a one-legged missile drop kick!
It connects!
The impact of the landing could not have felt good to Avalon, but like the challenger, he’s willing to take a little damage if it means delivering even more – and he follows up with a flurry of strikes!
Chops! European uppercuts! More uppercuts! Chops! Strong style machine gun chops that back Youngblood into the corner!
The chops rain down and rain down as Youngblood slinks down, first to the middle ropes, then the bottom, then his ass is on the ground!
Avalon slaps his hurt leg a couple times – well, it’s intact at least, if still awful – and he gets a little distance between himself and the slumped Blood God.
The Crowned King winces, and then sprints at full speed – leaps – THROWS DOUBLE KNEES…
…
YOUNGBLOOD EATS THE KNEES! Avalon drags his opponent by his legs out of the corner – not all the way to the center of the ring, but more than One Youngblood Arm’s Length away – and hooks the near leg!
ONE!
TWO!
…
TH-SHOULDER UP! But Youngblood is clearly dazed here!
Avalon looks to the nearest corner. If he had two perfectly healthy legs, this would be the perfect time for the move he has in mind.
“Everything can’t be perfect,” one imagines as the sentiment running through Avalon’s mind, as he decides “I’ve got all winter to heal up” and climbs the turnbuckles, perching himself on the top rope!
Nick Stuart: Is Coral Avalon about to hit an Armament?? He’s setting up for Carnwennan!
Richard Parker: That crazy sonofabitch only has one leg! What’s he even thinking here??
He’s thinking about winning, Richard. He’s thinking that even if his leg explodes into a million pieces after delivering a patented top rope diving double-stomp, that legs are not shoulders and so there’s no risk of a pinfall.
It’s Colossus, baby. No time to hold back.
Avalon takes his first real, deep look at the sheer magnitude of this arena and the throngs of fans on their feet, screaming their lungs out for the King of Conquerors (or screaming their lungs out at Papa Plex, imploring him to get out of harm’s way).
Jesus – there really might be 100,000 people here. It feels like it, anyway.
…
Coral wonders for a moment if Aoi is still awake.
…
He leaps.
…
…
And connects.
CRASHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!
Nick Stuart: HE’S DONE IT! Coral Avalon’s hit the Armament, he’s hit Carnwennan! It’s all over but the counting! Here’s the coverrrrr!
ONE!
TWO!
…
…
THREENOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
RAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
Nick Stuart: BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD JUST KICKED OUT OF THAT ARMAMENT, ARE YOU KIDDING ME??
Richard Parker: Take a look at Coral! He sure can’t!
Indeed, Coral’s eyes are WIDE with surprise, and then, they’re a different sort of wide as lightning bolts shoot up from his heel through to his hip.
The crowd is absolutely ROARING and every fan capable of standing is on their feet. Many are hopping up and down, the energy of that 2.9 bringing some electricity to the air.
But both men are down. It took a hell of a lot for Brandon Youngblood to be able to draw in enough oxygen to even move, let alone get a shoulder up, after his lungs practically collapsed with that double stomp. Avalon was operating on one and a half legs before – it may be down to one now.
Jiles continues to look as cool as a man can, given the circumstances. Bobby Dean has finished his enormous drink and is now going to take a pee, much to the chagrin of Hessian and the empty chair Doozer’s using. Tony Gamble is stuck – forcibly compressed, more like – into Bobby’s memory foam-esque physique and is apparently also going to the bathroom, whether he needs to go or not. Vickie’s looking exactly how you’d expect.
Nick Stuart: This capacity crowd can’t pick a favorite here tonight, partner – these are two of the most iconic and beloved wrestlers on the PRIME roster! And even though the match almost just ended – with how much that move must have taken out of Coral Avalon’s leg, it’s still anyone’s match!
Richard Parker: Look at Youngblood’s singlet – I swear, I can see the boot prints!
Both men’s torsos heave in and out, desperately trying to get some air. Avalon may be running out of bursts of adrenaline with how much Youngblood has worn him out all night. Youngblood may have survived that bullet, but he knows just how close he was to defeat.
Nick Stuart: A thought occurs to me – Youngblood fought through those two hellacious Ironman matches to earn his spot here tonight. Do you imagine that it served as extra conditioning as we enter the deep waters here?
Richard Parker: It’s either that, or they sapped some critical stamina out of him – who knows. I don’t think that’s the issue here. But also, don’t ask me to pick one factor. There’s too many to choose from. I think if we see this match play out 100 times, we may get a 51/49 type of split.
Nick Stuart: Who do you see as the 51 in that scenario?
Richard Parker: …well, I guess, whoever wins tonight.
Elvis Nixon has been forced to do his job once again, this time in the form of a ten count, as both men struggle to get their feet beneath them.
Elvis Nixon: FOUR! …….FIVE! …….SIX! …………SEVEN!
Avalon gets to his good knee and plants his hands on the mat. He thinks he might have a plan here that doesn’t require legs, which is very important in this moment.
He’s doing the sort of half-crawl half-walk butt-scurry leg-shuffle shimmy of a 14 month old child who’s on the cusp of finally figuring out to work, if only his legs would cooperate. Youngblood, for his part, is struggling.
Seeing Avalon position himself in this moment, Elvis Nixon stops his ten count.
Just in time for Avalon to LAUNCH himself onto the back of the still-mostly-prone Youngblood.
Avalon reaches a desperate arm beneath Youngblood’s chin, searching hard for that windpipe – finding it – and then using his other arm to wrench back as hard as he can.
Rear naked choke. On its way to a sort of body scissors.
…
Why does this look so familiar?
Nick Stuart: …oh my God, Richard, do you know what this is?
Richard Parker: A choke!
Nick Stuart: Yeah, but – it’s the Tarp! Phil Atken’s TARP Choke! This is how Brandon Youngblood lost his Universal Championship back in 2022!!
Richard Parker: OH MY GOD YOU’RE RIGHT! With a major help from FLAMBO, if memory serves! Anyone see that kid this weekend? Where is he??
We don’t see FLAMBERGE tonight. He’s in a cave somewhere, probably.
No, what we see is Coral Avalon choking the shit out of Brandon Youngblood.
As we get a new camera angle on the action, we see something else.
…
Cancer Jiles stands up.
Nick Stuart: No Lizards, but we do have a Crumb out here – are we about to see a repeat of the events of ReVival 13??
Richard Parker: NO! SIT THE HELL BACK DOWN, JILES! SIT DOWN!
Jiles takes the slightest step towards the aisle, not fully committing. He’s studying, evaluating. Deciding if this is the sort of situation that might somehow benefit him if he were to get involved. A cockroach’s calculus, an opportunist’s measurements, a coward forced to put together pieces of a puzzle he really doesn’t want to deal with.
Avalon wrenches back as Nixon checks on Youngblood – this thing is cinched deep. He throws a few scattered strikes at Youngblood’s hands where he can, though he only has the smallest windows to make this happen – immediately after each jab, he has to grab back hold of his choking arm with all his might to maintain control. It’s still effective, because with each jab, Youngblood’s own grip weakens, his hands still an issue…
…
He’s not tapping out, god damn it. He didn’t tap out the last time he was in this spot, either…his nose was crushed, blood was pouring in through every air hole, and a baby lizard still figuring out himself stole away his shot at saving himself with the ropes.
“No,” we imagine Youngblood thinking to himself, “Never fucking again.”
At the same time, as Avalon grits his teeth and his eyes widen, he catches sight of Jiles, on his feet, frozen.
And he pauses for a fraction of a second.
…
…
Which is all the Tower of Babel needs.
He shoots an arm up and under Avalon’s choking arm and powers through it, breaking the hold in a desperate struggle for control. His face is fire engine red as he bounds upwards in a surge of adrenaline.
Papa Plex is home.
…
THUDDDDDDDDD!!!
Nick Stuart: ……OH MY! How in the hell did he just pull off that Karelin Lift??
Richard Parker: Pure willpower, partner!
Youngblood shakes his hands out – that grip takes a lot of effort as it is, let alone with possibly broken fingers – and then he pauses.
He sees Jiles too.
They lock eyes for the first time tonight.
…
Youngblood lowers the first strap of his singlet, followed by the second. Shaking his head at Jiles the whole time.
The King of COOL decides to keep his powder dry, slowly returning to his seat as Youngblood returns his attention to the writing Avalon, who still feels the effects of being slammed after that Karelin Lift.
Youngblood flexes his hands once – “OW” is all we can read in his eyes for a flash – but he decides they’ve got enough juice for the home run swing.
Youngblood marches over to the prone Avalon, and with the tremendous strength and grace that comes with decades of experience, he hoists Avalon up…
…
…
BOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!!!
RAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!
Nick Stuart: DIAMONDPLEX! DIAMONDPLEX BY YOUNGBLOOD!
Richard Parker: IT’S OVER!
Youngblood hooks the near leg!
ONE!
TWO!
…
……
…
THREEEEENOOOOOOOO!!! CORAL AVALON GETS THE SHOULDER UP AT TWO POINT NINE NINE NINE!
RAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
Nick Stuart: YOUNGBLOOD STILL HAS HOLD OF THE LEG! THAT’S THE SAME HURT LEG AVALON’S BEEN STRUGGLING WITH FOR A LONG WHILE NOW!
The angle is high, and sharp, and untenable for Avalon as Youngblood wrenches and twists and pulls the ever loving shit out of the champion’s ankle.
It’s the nastiest Heel Hook you ever saw. Youngblood is practically pressing Avalon’s twisted foot into his own ear.
And Avalon is fighting like hell to stay in this thing.
…
Every second feels like a minute, every check from Elvis Nixon feels like it’s inevitably the last. Fans are SCREAMING their lungs out, Youngblood fans looking for the tap out, Avalon fans desperate not to see the end of one of the all time great careers…
…
…
Avalon holds his shaking hand above the mat, tears of pain and strain forcing their way out of his eyes…
…
…
……..
…
He’s not tapping.
And for the first time, we notice a new sort of strain peeking through Youngblood’s eyes.
This is the finish he’s imagined for years and years now – in front of tens of thousands, the Colossus main event, the Universal Title on the line against one of his oldest foes and a man who can truly call himself an equal to the Diamond – he just didn’t imagine that it would take so long when he finally got here.
Brandon Youngblood: TAP, DAMN IT! TAP!
…
……
He’s still not tapping.
…
Youngblood’s hands are…they’re struggling. This isn’t one of those holds that normally takes this long to cause more agony than any man can possibly tolerate, and that doesn’t even factor in the damage he’s taken to those hands, so skilled, so historically effective.
…
The grip isn’t quite as secure as it was before.
The twist of the Heel Hook is a little less severe. The arch of the leg gets further and further away from Avalon’s ear.
…
Avalon slaps the mat, compresses himself into as tight a frame as he can, and then ROARS as he explodes out!
Coral Avalon: AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!
The Heel Hook is no more as Youngblood looks at his hands, bewildered. Avalon BURSTS to his feet in a flash!
He charges forward, swinging a fucking 65 Yard Field Goal of a punt kick squarely into Youngblood’s guts!
CRIQK!
As Youngblood doubles over, we don’t have much time to register that horrifying sound. Avalon has locked in double underhooks!
…
He lifts!
AND HE SPIKES BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD’S SKULL INTO THE MAT!!
CRASHHHHHHH!!!
Nick Stuart: THAT’S EXCALIBUR! THAT’S TWO ARMAMENTS! SURELY THAT’S IT!
Richard Parker: THAT’S NOT IT, PARTNER, THAT’S NOT IT!
The King of Conquerors summons every last drop of strength he has left to peel the Tower of Babel off the mat. He starts with a standing headscissors, then lifts Youngblood, standing in a delayed piledriver position…
…
He holds it, and he holds it, and he fucking drops to his knees in gnarliest, most horrifying sort of piledriver you might imagine.
CRRRKKKHCHHHHHHHHHHBOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!
OHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHAIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEE!
At the sight, the crowd freaks the fuck out.
Nick Stuart: MOTHER OF GOD! I THINK THAT MIGHT BE THE MYTHICAL SEVENTH ARMAMENT! IF IT IS, HE’S NOW HIT THREE ARMAMENTS TONIGHT!
Avalon, spent, falls to his own knees, and then splats face-first across Youngblood’s chest. Elvis Nixon wheels around for the count!
ONE!
TWO!
…
….
……………
THREE!!
DING DING DING!
RAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!
“Real Me” by Monster Siren blasts through SoFi Stadium and Lindsay Troy is going to have to call one hell of a roofing company – this one’s been blown clear off.
Vince Howard: HERE IS YOUR WINNER! AAAAAAND STIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILL, PRIIIIIIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPION! THE KING OF CONQUERORRRRRRRS! CORALLLLLLLLLLL AAAAAAAAVALOOOOOOOOOOOONNNN!!!
RAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
Both men are flat on their backs. Avalon can’t contain his emotion as his hands cover his eyes – any pain, any fear, any feeling that this might be the end is slowly washing away. Elvis Nixon helps him to his feet, and while he may still be limping, he is so fucking proud to hold the PRIME Universal Championship high in the air for all the world to see. And the fans are just so, SO, happy for him.
Especially most of the Bandits, who scramble their way from their second row seats and over the barricade in order to celebrate with their leader. All except Jiles, who stays in his row. He’s once again preoccupied by his popcorn wife…but we sense something malevolent under those T-shades. Directed at Coral? You’d have to ask Jiles.
Nick Stuart: You said it from the off, partner – one of these competitors was going to have to dig deeper and find something new within themselves to come out on top tonight, in the main event of Colossus, and on this night, the Crowned King shows why THIS is his time! Why THIS is his moment!
Richard Parker: Almost brings a tear to your eye, doesn’t it?
It does for Coral. Bobby too, for that matter, though his tears may be gravy.
Blue and white confetti pours throughout the arena and fireworks pop off from the entrance ramp. It’s a sea of noise and colors as Coral and his Bandits celebrate an all-time great victory in the biggest stage professional wrestling offers.
…Youngblood is on his feet, holding the back of his neck, hunched over. The Bandits in the ring notice. Coral raises up a hand and the boys give these two gladiators space.
Avalon has the Universal Championship over his shoulder as Youngblood approaches. They lock eyes, exhausted, in no condition for an immediate rematch.
And the Diamond isn’t asking for one.
Youngblood nods, and places a flat palm onto the center plate of the Universal Championship. He pats it a couple of times, and then takes a knee, honoring the champion standing before him, the man who bested him tonight by the slimmest of margins – though Youngblood is not a man who makes excuses in moments like this.
Tonight, Coral Avalon was the better man. And Brandon Youngblood recognizes his place in this moment.
The vanquished challenger makes his way out of the ring, sitting and pausing on the apron for a moment, rubbing his hands that definitely need to be examined by the docs, checking his back, checking his head that’s absolutely throbbing – looking up at the highest rows in the farthest seats in the house for really the first time tonight. What a ride this was for him. A bitterly disappointing way to end that ride, sure, but spectacular nonetheless…and he’s already imagining how next time will be different.
Coral is hoisted onto Hessian’s shoulders as Bobby Dean and Tony Gamble clap for their guy. Avalon raises his championship high in the air and points to the sky.
Nick Stuart: On behalf of everyone here at PRIME – the wrestlers, the crew, the staff, everybody – we hope you enjoyed Night Two of Colossus! And Long Live the King of Conquerors, Coral Avalon! Thank you for tuning in!
We linger on a final shot of the champion, surrounded by confetti and friendship, professional wrestling’s greatest prize still over his shoulder, basking in the glow of one of the greatest nights of his life.
But not the greatest, he thinks.
Those days are still to come.
LONG
MAY
HE REIGN
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