The camera pans across the sold-out crowd in Boise, Idaho as pyro explodes on the stage. Fans are cheering, shouting, and getting rowdy as Anarchy comes on air!
Todd: Welcome to tonight’s edition of XWF Anarchy, folks- and boy do we have a doozy lined up tonight!
Bama: That’s right, Todd! We’ve got a Number One Contendership on the line, we’ve got Charlie Nickles on the card, and we’ve even got a marquee main event featuring a steel cage match for the XWF Anarchy Championship!
Todd: We’re not just following Bad Medicine tonight, Bama….we’re OVERSHADOWING it! And taking the first step towards the Relentless stage!
Bama: And it all starts NOW!
The camera cuts to a gaggle of wrestlers already assembled inside the XWF ring. The stars of tonight’s opening match are each taking their space in the ring as the crowd cheers for their favorite stars.
Bama: And baby, we ain’t got no time to waste in getting started with the action here tonight!
Todd: Buckle up folks: because ANARCHY is just getting started!
DEENA HIXX
- vs -
KENTUCKY TAGGART
- vs -
SAFARI STU
- vs -
DOM DURANGO
- vs -
EL LANDERSON
OVER-THE-TOP-ROPE BATTLE ROYALE
The last person left inside the ring wins!
|
The bell rings and the arena goes up as all five competitors immediately start sizing each other up, circling like a Safari Stu nature documentary about to go very wrong. For about two seconds it's respectful. Then Deena Hixx just dives at the nearest person, which happens to be Dom Durango, and it becomes a five person pileup in about a second and a half!
El Landerson’s the first one to pop back out of the scrum, screaming that nobody touch the mask, and he goes charging off the ropes looking to clean house with a clothesline! Problem is he's not looking where he's going and just absolutely levels Safari Stu, who wasn't even involved, who was just standing there minding his business! Stu goes down like a folding chair. El Landerson stands over him, completely unaware that Deena Hixx has climbed up behind him on the middle rope!
Todd: Deena Hixx has her eye on a target!
Bama: The Greek Goddess is about to strike!
She leaps!
She actually gets some real air!
And she just misses him entirely, sailing past and crashing into the mat, because El Landerson took a half step forward at the last second to keep posing. He didn't even see her. He's still talking to the crowd. Deena's on the mat holding her ribs going "how" over and over.
Bama: DAMN! She missed em’!
Todd: She’s going to feel that in the morning!
Meanwhile in the corner, Kentucky Taggart has calmly picked up Safari Stu by the back of his vest like he's confiscating a toy, and just holds him out at arm's length while Stu's legs pedal in the air like a cartoon character. Stu is not fighting this. Stu appears to have accepted his fate. Taggart just sort of considers him for a second, shrugs, and tosses him toward the corner turnbuckle instead of out of the ring, because apparently even Taggart thinks eliminating a guy that easily is beneath him. Stu hits the turnbuckle and slides down into a seated position, dazed already. Then, Tuck sets his sights on El Landerson! He knocks his head clean off with a big boot that causes him to hit the mat!
Bama: Safari Stu is out of his depth in this slobber knocker!
Todd: And this is exactly the environment that guys like Kentucky “Tuck” Taggart can thrive in!
Across the ring Durango turns around and gets absolutely blindsided by Deena Hixx, who has recovered from her earlier misfire. She unloads on him with a flurry of forearms, backing him into the ropes, and the crowd is chanting along with every hit. El Landerson, who has also gotten back up and apparently has selective memory about who hit him, sees Durango getting worked over and decides now's a great time to pile on, running in from the other side!
Except Durango ducks at the last second, because pure survival instinct kicks in even through the fog of getting smacked around, and El Landerson's running forearm sails clean over him and connects with Deena Hixx instead! Full impact!
Todd: Durango is getting worked over by everyone in the ring! But in the end, they’re all eating a piece of the chef’s shepard pie!
Bama: Dom cooked shepard’s pie tonight- and he didn’t bring me any?!
Across the ring, Safari Stu has recovered enough to stand up in the corner, and he decides this is his moment. He climbs the turnbuckle again, for reasons that remain unclear even to him, and starts scanning the crowd with his hand shading his eyes like he's spotting a rare bird migration. Someone in the front row points and yells that Kentucky Taggart is right behind him. Stu does not process this information in time.
Taggart plucks him off the top rope again. Same as before. Stu doesn't even resist, just goes limp like a stuffed animal, and Taggart carries him a full lap around the ring while Stu waves at fans like he's on a parade float. Taggart finally gets bored of the bit and just drops him outside the ropes onto the apron, not eliminating him, seemingly just done carrying him around. Stu lands on the apron, looks mildly disappointed the ride's over, and immediately starts climbing back through the ropes.
Todd: I think Kentucky forgot that you need to throw them OUT of the ring! Safari Stu’s feet never touched the floor, only the apron!
Bama: Tuck didn’t forget a thing, Todd- he just knows that Safari Stu isn’t even worth the effort! He’s sending a message!
Now Taggart turns his attention to the ring at large, and this is where things get serious. Deena Hixx and El Landerson are back to trading shots in the middle, both way too committed to notice a mountain of a man walking up behind them. Taggart grabs one head in each hand.
"Oh no," says Safari Stu, who sees it coming from across the ring and immediately backs into the corner to watch from a safe distance, hands over his own face like he can't bear to look but is also absolutely looking.
Taggart smacks their heads together like two of Stone Cold’s beers, giving each of them a red mask! El Landerson and Deena stand there wobbling, woozy, and completely vulnerable as Taggart rears back-
AND HITS THEM WITH A DOUBLE POWER SLAP!
El Landerson and Deena Hixx tumble out onto the floor in a heap of limbs, both eliminated in the same instant. The referee signals it. The crowd is losing their entire minds!
| DEENA HIXX AND EL LANDERSON HAVE BEEN ELIMINATED |
Todd: KENTUCKY JUST TOOK THEM BOTH OUT WITH ONE POWER-SLAP!
Bama: You can’t teach that kinda power in a wrestling school! That’s purebred Kentucky strength right there!
Taggart stands up, dusts off his hands like he just finished stacking firewood, and doesn't even look at the fans.
He doesn’t even look at Dom Durango, who is sneaking up right behind him!
Bama: Look out, Tuck!
But Taggart can’t hear Bama! Before Taggart even realizes what’s happening, he’s being lifted up over the top rope by his tights! He tries to fight it, but he’s too late: Dom Durango has already thrown him over the top rope!
| KENTUCKY TAGGART HAS BEEN ELIMINATED |
Todd: And just like that, we only have 2 men left standing!
Bama: TAGGART, NOOOO!
Durango, sensing the finish line, immediately switches into kill mode. Durango whips around and comes charging with a wide clothesline meant to send Stu packing! Full sprint, arm cocked back, already halfway into his post match celebration face.
Todd: Durango is going for elimination number 2 here!
Bama: Stu had better run! He’s not getting out of Dom’s kitchen alive!
Stu panics. Genuinely panics, eyes clenched shut, and ducks straight down with absolutely zero technique or awareness, purely a flinch reaction to a large man running at him. It is not a wrestling move. It is a scared person avoiding their impending doom!
Todd: This is gonna be tough to watch, Bama!
Bama: Dom’s about to take that poor son of a bitch’s head clean off!
But Durango's clothesline sails through empty air where Stu's head used to be! His own forward momentum, still carrying every bit of speed from that dramatic sprint, takes him clean over the top rope, arms still out in clothesline position the entire way down, like he's still trying to hit someone who isn't there anymore! He crashes to the floor right next to Taggart, who is still lying there staring at the ceiling.
Safari Stu opens his eyes very slowly, half expecting to be in pain somewhere. He is not. He is just standing alone in the ring!
The referee grabs Stu’s wrist and shoots it into the air, and Stu's face goes through about four different emotions in two seconds, confusion, disbelief, cautious joy, and finally full blown delight, jumping up and down like he just won something he didn't expect to even be involved in by the end!
Todd: I…I…I can’t believe it! Safari Stu just won this match! This could be the upset of the century!
Bama: First, he took down that Germanfreude Clown! And now, he just took down 4 competitors in 1 night: without even throwing a single punch!
Todd: Safari Stu is finally making a name for himself on Anarchy! But something tells me Taggart and Durango aren’t quite done with him yet!
Bama: Well if they want to get their revenge, they’re going to have to wait until our next show: because tonight, we still have so much more action to get to- and it’s all coming up next!
No music, no fanfare, Yummy Wish just walks down to the ring in total silence. He stands in the center of the ring and looks towards the entrance way as the arena goes dark. A spotlight shines on the Edgecrusher, who pushes out a shopping cart overflowing with random fireworks. He proudly points at his collection and shouts.
Edgecrusher: I spent all week finding these.
He sets most of them up on the stage as several perplexed ring crew members follow him out. He hands the men some bundles and points towards the ring. They oblige and run down to the ring, setting a bundle up on each ring post before vanishing backstage. The Edgecrusher shoots a thumbs up towards the spotlight which shuts off leaving the stage in darkness.
Announcer: (looking annoyed) And his opponent... Hailing from...
The announcer pauses and double checks what his notecard is telling him. He sighs, then takes a deep breath.
Announcer: Hailing from your mom's house, weighing...
The announcer pauses again and chuckles under his breath.
Announcer: weighing in at 235 pounds and standing six foot tall. The... the greatest legend in wrestling history...
The announcer shakes his head.
Announcer: THE EDGGGGGEEEEEEEE CRUSSSSHHHHEEEERRRR!
DUE TO THE GRAPHIC NATURE OF THIS PROGRAM LISTENER DISCRETION IS ADVISED
Fear Factory's "Edgecrusher" kicks in over the arena speakers and the lights raise up. The Edgecrusher is still standing in the same spot, but now he holds a remote with a single large red button. He presses the button and all the random pyro scattered across the stage goes off. A mismatched line of fireworks lights the stage up only inches behind EC. On one side, something similar to a Roman candle spurts random flames, directly behind him a giant flash of light followed by raining sparkles, the other side just a straight up sparkler. He slowly walks down to the ring waving and clapping in traditional 80's midsouth jobber fashion. The back of his hair visibly singed and leaving a trail of smoke. He casually gets into the ring and does a few half assed stretches. Then he sees it. Between the ring and the guardrails blocking the audience, a wooden folding table. It's already set up; a similar table is also set up on the other side of the ring in the same place. He places his remote in his pocket and walks over to the ref as he rings the bell. He looks at the table, then at the ref, then to the crowd, back to the table, then back to the ref again.
THE EDGECRUSHER
- vs -
TOMMY WISH
TABLES MATCH!
The first person to go through a table LOSES!
|
EC: ...Wait a minute...
He points to the table outside the ring.
EC: That's... that's the kind of table?
The ref nods as EC climbs between the ropes and stands on the hardest part of the ring.
EC: Nobody told me it was this type of table; I lost all my money trying to learn how to play blackjack!
EC leans over the top rope; the middle rope hits the remote button in his pocket. He feels this and freezes.
EC: Uh ohhh
KABOOOOOOMMM!!!!
Every remaining piece of totally not stolen pyro detonates all at once. The stage disappears behind a wall of multicolored pyro; the explosions echo around the arena. Smoke cannons fire, sparklers erupt, all four corners spray flames upwards, and random Roman candles launch sideways into the crowd. Startled EC jerks backwards, his feet slip off the apron and he falls backwards, crashing through the table. One of the metal legs with a chunk of wood still attached bounces off the guard railing and nails a little old lady in the face. She lets out a sick moan and falls backwards into the crowd. The ref calls for the bell as well as emergency medical assistance.
The arena is bathed in a deep red light that brings out the shadows in every nook and cranny as "Deep Set" by Greg Puciato starts to play. Kristoffer Arroyo steps through the entrance way, looking cool and confident behind is bright pink shades. He saunters down to the ring, taking his time and seeming to savor the moment before suddenly exploding into a slide into the ring. He then steps through the ropes onto the ring apron, where he wraps his legs around the middle rope and hangs himself upside down with his arms outstretched like an inverted cross. He smiles for the camera, revealing long sharpened incisors, before sitting up and rolling up and over the top rope and to the canvas. He then proceeds to get to a neutral corner and wait for the contest to begin.
TODD: Arroyo has been absolutely dominant on Anarchy! He and Micheal Graves, the Midnight Stalkers might go down as the most dominant Anarchy Tag champs of all-time!
BAMA: It took a whole-ass Woke Mind Virus to part those two from the belts, Toddy baby!
TODD: It’s true! And tonight Arroyo is back in singles competition on Anarchy! Arroyo’s been ruthless in the ring! But how will he perform against the Workhorse Monster of Thursday Night?
…
As the song starts, fog forms across the stage as the lights go dim. Lights adorning the stage aim their beams towards one specific spot. The camera angle changes to the ramp, as it slowly goes up, and Oz's silhouette starts rising from the stage, his back to the ramp. As the chorus is about to end, his hands go up and as the singer is about to belt out 'FUCKING BOW DOWN!' Oz swings his arms down, causing stage fireworks to start go off and once done, he spins around his right leg swinging out stomping on the ramp on the word 'DOWN!', causing a bunch of fireworks to blast out from the Xtron. As he walks down to the ring, he looks over to the crowd and only acknowledges the ones with signs about him. He jumps to the ring apron, causing ring post fireworks to go off, as he steps over the top rope and goes to stand in the middle of the ring, beating his chest before swinging his arms with his index fingers pointing to the ground to reiterate the top of the song yelling out but being drowned out by the music 'FUCKING BOW DOWN!' before going to his corner, getting ready before the match starts.
TODD: And there is Mister Oz! Last we saw him at Bad Medicine, he and Dom Durango went to WAR in Oz’s trademark Meathooks of Horror Match!
BAMA: That was less a wrestling match and more a live audience version of a true crime documentary! Blood and guts galore!
TODD: We’ve seen Oz look gloriously violent… but how will he handle an opponent as dominant and imposing as the Vamp, Kristoffer Arroyo!
Kristoffer Arroyo stands in the center of the ring with his hands folded neatly behind his back, posture immaculate, chin held high as though he were posing for an oil painting instead of preparing for sanctioned violence.
Across from him, Mister Oz simply stares.
Unblinking.
Unwavering.
The expression on his face is neither anger nor excitement.
It is judgment.
TODD: "Here we go! X-Treme Rules! No count-outs, no disqualifications, no limitations whatsoever!"
BAMA: "Boy, somebody oughta lock the exits. One of these fellas ain't leavin' here under his own power."
The bell rings.
KRISTOFFER 'VAMP' ARROYO
- vs -
MR. OZ
X-TREME RULEZ MATCH!
Anything goes as these two juggernauts lay it all on the line! |
Oz doesn’t charge, he simply begins walking forward.
Measured.
Steady.
Every step deliberate.
Arroyo laughs defiantly, as Oz looms forward menacingly.
TODD: Arroyo seems unphased by Oz’s approach.
BAMA: Most people would be frozen in fear with the Butcher of Chi-Town looking to carve them into vittles! But Arroyo ain’t most people!
The moment Oz crosses the center of the mat towards his opponent…
Arroyo explodes across the canvas with startling speed!
TODD: Incredible acceleration by Arroyo!
A blistering shoot kick cracks against Oz's thigh.
THWACK!
Another.
THWACK!
Another.
Oz barely budges.
BAMA: Hot damn! Arroyo’s got strikes sharper than a set of steak knives! And Oz is tanking his way through like… well, like a Sherman tank!
His leg reddens, but ultimately remains steady…
Arroyo pivots—
A vicious chest kick.
CRACK!
Oz's torso rocks backward half a step.
The audience gasps.
Arroyo grins.
He spins—
ROUNDHOUSE—
Oz ducks beneath it.
Before Arroyo's foot even touches the canvas—
BOOM!
Oz drives a shoulder directly into Arroyo's ribs.
The impact launches Kristoffer halfway across the ring, SLAMMING with a metallic thud into the turnbuckle!
TODD: That HAD to hurt!
Arroyo rebounds off the turnbuckle… tumbling into a front somersault, rolls through beautifully, never allowing himself to actually fall, sliding to one knee with a smug smile still plastered across his face.
But he's breathing just a little harder!
TODD: Good Lord! Oz nearly folded him in half, but… Arroyo looks wholly unharmed! Guess that’s the power of being an immortal vampire, huh, Bama?
BAMA: He may be immortal, but he didn’t go unlicked by Oz’s shoulder block… he’s just too damn proud to let Oz think his strikes hurt! I think that’s something these fellas have in common!
Arroyo brushes an invisible speck of dust from his shoulder.
He rushes again.
This time faster.
A low leg sweep.
Oz loses his footing—
Only for Arroyo to capitalize immediately with a brutal shoot kick to the spine before Oz can fully fall.
SMACK!
Another to the shoulder.
Another to the kidneys.
Another to the ribs.
Each strike lands with sickening precision.
Oz finally drops to both knees.
Arroyo circles him almost elegantly.
TODD: Arroyo’s moving like a shark with the grace of a ballet dancer!
BAMA: Ooh, Shark Ballet. Now there’s something the Ice Capades don’t got the balls to show.
Arroyo reaches down—
Grabbing Oz by the chin.
Then—
SLAP.
Not a strike.
A humiliation.
The arena erupts.
Oz's head barely turns from the impact.
Slowly...
Very slowly...
He looks back toward Arroyo.
The smile hasn't changed.
If anything—
It's grown.
Arroyo's own grin falters.
Just slightly.
Oz rises to one knee.
Then both feet.
TODD: Arroyo has come into this match looking to break Oz’s will.
BAMA: Oz’s will is almost as unbreakable as his body! Arroyo’s been sending a message, but Oz is saying nothing, just wearing that eerie grin!
Arroyo throws a forearm.
Oz eats it.
Another.
Oz absorbs that too.
A third—
Oz catches the arm.
The smile never leaves his face.
His grip tightens.
Arroyo's confidence finally cracks for the briefest instant.
Not fear.
Confusion.
He pulls.
Nothing.
Pulls harder.
Still nothing.
Oz calmly yanks him forward.
CRACK!
A headbutt detonates directly into Arroyo's forehead.
Kristoffer stumbles backward, eyes watering instantly.
Oz advances.
No wasted movement.
No celebration.
Just another step.
Arroyo shakes the cobwebs loose and charges again.
Oz catches him around the waist.
Lifts.
Almost effortlessly.
THUD!
A crushing body slam rattles the ring.
Before Arroyo can breathe—
Oz drops a knee directly across his sternum.
THUMP!
Another.
THUMP!
Another.
Each one slower than the last.
Each one more deliberate.
TODD: "Oz spacing these strikes out… As if he wants Arroyo to have just enough time to anticipate the next impact! It’s torture! This is exactly what Oz talked about! He's not in a hurry—he's making Arroyo endure this!"
BAMA: "That ain't wrestlin', Todd. That's punishment."
Oz reaches down.
Wraps both hands around Arroyo's throat.
Arroyo's eyes narrow.
Then—
He shoves thumb toward Oz’s eyes!
Oz’s head jerks to dodge it!
His grip loosens just enough.
Arroyo tears free, before scrambling backward into the corner, wiping his mouth…
Oz raises both hands, beckoning Arroyo forward!
The crowd starts to pop with anticipation.
TODD: Oz inviting Arroyo to come at him! Not that Arroyo needs an invitation!
BAMA: Yum yum, come getcha some!
Arroyo explodes from the corner!
Running knee!
Oz blocks with both forearms—
THWACK!
—but the impact still drives him backward a full step.
Arroyo rebounds off the ropes!
Another knee!
This one catches Oz flush beneath the jaw!
The giant rocks backward!
Before he can recover—
SMACK!
A blistering shoot kick caves into Oz's ribs.
SMACK!
Another to the thigh.
SMACK!
Another to the chest.
Oz suddenly lunges—
Arroyo ducks underneath!
The vampire rebounds off the opposite ropes!
TEATRO GROTTESCO!
A running knee explodes into Oz's face!
The impact snaps Oz backward into the ropes!
Arroyo leaps effortlessly onto the middle strand—
One knee!
Two!
Three!
Four!
Each strike driving Oz's head violently backward as the crowd counts along!
TODD: "Teatro Grottesco! Arroyo is lighting Mister Oz up!"
BAMA: "Boy's throwin' knees like he's collectin' frequent flyer miles!"
The final knee sends Oz stumbling through the ropes—
But not to the floor.
He lands awkwardly on the apron...
...and smiles.
Again.
Arroyo rolls his eyes.
He charges—
Looking to knock Oz to the floor—
Oz catches him!
One massive hand around the throat—
The other around his waist—
And with terrifying strength—
OVERHEAD GORILLA PRESS!
The arena gasps as Arroyo is launched high into the air before crashing violently onto the ringside floor!
CRASH!
The impact echoes through the arena.
TODD: "OH MY GOD!"
BAMA: "Lord Almighty! He done threw that vampire clean back to Transylvania!"
Oz doesn't follow immediately.
He steps through the ropes with maddening patience.
Each step measured.
Each breath calm.
Arroyo coughs violently, dragging himself toward the barricade.
Oz reaches him...
Grabs him by the hair...
And drives him face-first into the steel barricade.
CLANG!
Again.
CLANG!
Again.
CLANG!
Arroyo slumps against the railing, his lip split open.
His hair hangs over his face.
Oz grabs him by the jaw.
Oz cocks his arm—
Arroyo drives a boot into his knee!
Oz buckles!
Arroyo follows with a vicious spinning back kick to the temple!
Oz stumbles into the commentary table!
Without hesitation, Arroyo hooks Oz around the waist—
A tremendous effort—
Muscles straining—
And somehow—
BELLY-TO-BELLY OVERHEAD!
Oz sails across the announce desk!
CRAAAAASH!
Monitors explode.
Headsets fly.
Todd and Bama dive for cover as splintered wood rains across the floor.
TODD: "Our table! Our table!"
BAMA: "What, was it your grandmama’s? Quit cryin'! We got another fifty in the back!"
Arroyo stands over the wreckage.
Chest heaving.
Blood dripping from his lip.
He spreads his arms dramatically to the audience.
The cheers are deafening.
Then...
The pile of broken table begins moving.
A massive hand emerges.
Then another.
Oz slowly rises from the debris.
A shard of wood hangs from his suit jacket.
He calmly removes it.
Dusts himself off.
Then walks forward.
Arroyo actually laughs.
The two collide in the aisle with a barrage of forearms!
SMACK!
Oz!
CRACK!
Arroyo!
THUD!
Oz!
WHACK!
Arroyo!
Neither man gives an inch.
Each strike harder than the last.
Each impact answered immediately.
The crowd rises with every blow.
TODD: "They're not trying to outwrestle each other anymore!"
BAMA: "They're tryin' to prove whose soul's tougher!"
Oz suddenly fires a devastating Big Boot!
Arroyo barely ducks!
He springs onto the barricade—
Launching backward—
CROSSBODY!
Both men crash onto the concrete!
Neither stays down.
They stagger upright almost simultaneously.
Arroyo suddenly steps in.
He hooks Oz's head.
An arm around the neck.
The position is unmistakable.
TODD: "Romeo's Lament! If he plants him here, this could be it!"
Arroyo kisses two fingers...
Presses them toward Oz's lips...
Oz's eyes suddenly snap open.
His free hand shoots forward—
Straight into Arroyo's mouth!
MANDIBLE CLAW!
The crowd erupts!
Arroyo's eyes bulge instantly!
Oz's fingers wrench deep into his jaw!
He forces Kristoffer backward, squeezing relentlessly.
Arroyo thrashes wildly.
His arms flail.
His knees buckle.
Oz bears down harder.
Arroyo's movements slow.
His eyes glaze.
His hand hovers over the mat.
The referee drops beside them.
"DO YOU SUBMIT?!"
Arroyo doesn't answer.
His hand trembles.
Once...
Twice...
The audience leans forward.
TODD: "He's fading!"
BAMA: "Ain't no shame tappin' to the Claw!"
Arroyo's hand begins to fall...
Toward the canvas...
Toward surrender...
Then his eyes flash open.
Wild.
Animalistic.
Without warning—
CHOMP!
His teeth sink into Oz's hand with every ounce of desperation he has left!
Oz's expression finally changes.
Pain.
Real pain.
Blood immediately pours from between Arroyo's clenched teeth.
Oz rips his hand free with a roar, staggering backward, cradling the mangled limb against his chest.
TODD: "HE BIT HIM! HE BIT HIM AGAIN!"
BAMA: "That's one way to escape the Mandible Claw!"
Arroyo spits a mouthful of blood onto the mat.
Breathing hard.
His smile returns.
Crimson now staining every tooth.
Oz charges.
Arroyo waits until the very last second—
He leaps!
Flipping over Oz's shoulders—
Hooks both arms—
Plants his feet on the top turnbuckle behind them—
The arena realizes all at once—
TODD: "NO WAY—!"
FINALE ROSSO!!
The avalanche Mexican Destroyer spikes Oz straight down onto the crown of his head with horrifying velocity!
BOOOOOOOM!!
The ring shakes.
Neither man moves.
The audience erupts into a standing ovation.
Arroyo is the first to stir.
Every movement is agony.
He crawls.
One forearm at a time.
Finally draping an arm across Oz's chest.
The referee slides into position.
ONE!
...
TWO!
...
Oz's shoulder twitches—
...
THREE!!
DING! DING! DING!
| Winner: Kristoffer ‘Vamp’ Arroyo |
TODD: "HE DID IT! KRISTOFFER ARROYO SURVIVES THE BUTCHER OF CHICAGO!"
BAMA: "Survived's the right word, Todd! Ain't neither one of these boys walkin' out better than they walked in!"
Arroyo remains sprawled across Oz for several long moments, scarcely able to breathe. Finally, he pushes himself upright, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, raising an arm in response to the crowd’s cheers.
![[Image: wireline.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/xCmXvVpR/wireline.png)
The scene opens live from the Extramalie Arena in Boise, Idaho. The arena is done up in pure VilaroGLOBAL propaganda, including a giant banner of Marisol holding up the Reveloution championship high in the air. The ring is a red carpet with a VilaroGLOBAL logo, as all of a sudden Shake It Off by Taylor Swift hits over the public address as the fans boo loudly as the music of the Reveloution Champion. The fans' reactions swell into loud boos as a spotlight appears on the ramp, and paparazzi soon come out as out from the back, looking like a Miss USA pageant contestant is none other than the Fitness Queen herself, Marisol Vilaro. She is clad in a black Divina Couture gown, with a tiara, matching black Divina Couture high-heel pumps, and lace gloves. She does an arrogant pageant wave as the fans boo loudly. Flanking her is her long-time manager and partner, Nessa Wall, in a pink Divina Couture gown and pink Louboutins. As they walk, Marisol takes center stage, posing smugly for shots, letting them soak it all in. The Reveloution title is placed neatly on her shoulder; she raises it high in the air, allowing the whole world to get a look. As she holds it over her head, she saunters her way down to the ring. She eventually makes her way to the stairs and walks up the steps as the paparazzi still take shots of her entrance with the belt over her head, once they make their way to the steel steps, The Ambitchous one makes he up the steps demanding the ropes be held for her as the referee does, Nessa Wall enters but orders the stage hand who helpd them to hold the ropes as The Fitness Queen soon sautners up the steel steps with title above her head letting the world ge a look at it, as she soons saunters up the steel steps her heels clacking against the steps. As she soon does another raise of the title belt, and Marisol Vilaro soaks in the reaction, the flashbulbs, and everything else. After that she enters the ring posing with her brand new championship and her manager, Nessa Wall, as she soon is handed a microphone alongside Nessa Wall, as her theme music soon cuts. Soon, the Ambitchous blonde begins to speak in a smug, proud tone.
Nessa Wall: Well, well, looks like Summer Page came up short, and that we told you so. We told you that her time as Revolution champion was about to be up, and that the Revolution Championship was due to be given to someone who truly is revolutionary. Someone who has created a billion-dollar portfolio that none of you can compare to, the woman who since her return, has not only improved the lives of some of the once ugliest people I have ever laid eyes on, almost as ugly as all of you.
The fans boo loudly as Nessa scoffs before speaking.
Nessa Wall: So, please welcome the true Luminary, the Billion Dollar Queen, your Empress of VilaroMaxxing, Marisol VILARO!
Marisol steps forward with a smug smile as if she were the belle of the ball, as she smugly waves as she soon puts the microphone to her glossed lips.
Marisol Vilaro: I know, hold your applause, because I have something important to say and I want to thank everyone who helped make this come through, and all of those who supported me along the way. Starting with my amazing mentor and friend, Nessa Wall.
Nessa waves as the fans boo loudly, as Marisol continues.
Marisol Vilaro: I also want to thank all of those who have supported me throughout my time, all those wrestlers who followed my system and reached the next level of their careers, and I want to thank all of my haters because of you, and your word of mouth, you helped me get rich even quicker than I would have on my own. And I want to thank my millions of subscribers, and customers who have Entrusted in Mari, and have became the best verison of thereselves, and finally last but not least I want to thank the most important person, the biggest infulence in my success. I want to think one single person who has inspired me to be the very best I can be and that person is…
Marisol takes a long pause, before speaking in a loud proud tone.
Marisol Vilaro: AND THAT PERSON IS NONE OTHER THAN MARISOL VILARO!
The fans boo even louder at the arrogance as the Catalonian beauty soon begins to speak.
Marisol Vilaro: Because it was me, it was my vision, my planning, my tenacity that has lead me to this moment, and has lead me to this Championship.
Marisol once again shows off her Reveloution Championship as she speaks once again.
Marisol Vilaro: I created a corporate revolution, and unlike all of those fake revolutionary types you know the ones who spot nonsense about eating the rich? I will usher in a true Reveloution one where standards once again are returned front and center to Anarchy. Standards, and a new proper culture one that embraces the core values of VilaroGLOBAL and VilaroMaxxing and to anyone who thinks they will stand in the way of the new culture of Anarchy I will leave you with this.
Marisol paused briefly before speaking.
Marisol Vilaro: ENTRUST IN MARI, IT IS YOUR ONLY PATH FORWARD!
She soon raises the belt high in the air as she smugly smirks as Shake It off by Taylor Swift hits over the public address system. Pyro, soon blast’s all over the arena as her wide smile is the last hing the cameras land on before the scene fades to black.
TODD: Folks, this next one promises to be… X-Treme? That’s an understatement! Pandemonium! Closer, but… oh my God, Bama, how would describe this next match?
BAMA: Like two human monster trucks are pointing at each other! This ain’t gonna be long and it ain’t gonna be technical. It’s gonna be like a knife fight in Tijuana. Quick, bloody, and it’s gonna take a week to get the smell of alcohol off of everyone involved, spectators included!
…
As Nirvana's Tourette's blares through the loudspeakers, the cameras pan around the arena before finally spotting Frances Marigold
He appears in the stands, smoking a cigarette, jamming out with the fans. He cracks open a can of beer pours it down his throat before heading to the ring.
TODD: There he is! Frances Marigold! An absolute enigma, a bastard prince of wrestling’s territory days!
BAMA: Born in a Bingo Hall wrestling ring and talks like Confucius with a concussion!
TODD: Frances has proven to be a charismatic enigma! And an effective one in X-Treme matches, finding a way to upset former Anarchy champion, Kristoffer Arroyo earlier this year! But, he’s facing a fellow X-Treme icon tonight! How will Frances stack up?
Bullet With a Point begins to blare over the loudspeakers as CHARLIE NICKLES makes his way down the ramp... He flashes a shit-eating grin at the audience members as he stands on the apron, eager to inflict pain!
TODD: Here he is! Charlie Nickles! A man with a legitimate claim to being the most X-Treme competitor in the history of the XWF!
BAMA: As long as the X-Treme title exists, Nickles is a-huntin’ for it! He’s thrown his body through glass, through cables, through steel, through barbed wire… And he never stops coming!
TODD: But today, no X-Treme title is on the line! Just bragging rights to being X-Treme! Charlie claims his opponent is an imitation Charlie, but not his equal! Can Charlie prove he’s the superior X-Treme competitor tonight?
Charlie slides into the ring, mean-mugging Marigold…
The camera catches Charlie standing in the center of the ring, shoulders squared, staring across at Frances Marigold. The Nickleman isn't bouncing on his feet. He isn't pacing. He isn't wasting energy.
He's just waiting.
Frances, meanwhile, looks like a man who wandered into the wrong building and somehow ended up in a fight. A crooked grin crosses his face as he sways slightly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Charlie slowly raises one finger.
Not at Frances.
At the crowd.
Almost like he's telling them to watch.
TODD: Charlie Nickles has been very clear about what he thinks of Frances Marigold. He doesn't see him as a dangerous opponent. He sees him as an imposter. Someone pretending to be broken.
BAMA: And Charlie thinks he's the real deal, because he ain't pretending. That's the scary part, Todd.
DING DING!
FRANCES MARIGOLD
- vs -
CHARLIE NICKLES
X-TREME RULEZ MATCH!
Anything goes as these two juggernauts lay it all on the line!
|
TODD: The bell has rung, and you can feel the atmosphere change here tonight! No disqualifications, no count-outs, no rules except one: survive! This is exactly what Anarchy was made for!
BAMA: Todd, don't give me that fancy explanation. There ain't no rules because neither one of these men should be trusted around a wrestling ring with rules!
TODD: That's a fair point. Especially when you're talking about Charlie Nickles.
Charlie steps forward.
Frances steps forward.
And immediately—
BOOM!
A right hand from Nickles crashes into Frances' jaw.
The sound echoes.
Frances stumbles backward.
Another punch.
Another.
Another.
Charlie unloads with a barrage of body shots, hooks, and uppercuts, driving Frances into the corner. Each strike comes with a little more anger behind it.
TODD: Charlie Nickles is unloading right away! He isn't trying to wrestle Frances down, he's trying to make a statement! These strikes are desperate!
BAMA: There’s no desperation in those hands… more like disgust! In Charlie's mind, this ain't a match. This is an execution.
Frances staggers back, but Charlie grabs Frances by the wrist and pulls him in close quarters!
Irish whip!
Frances crashes into the opposite turnbuckle.
Nickles charges—
RUNNING KNEE!
Frances collapses into the corner.
Charlie doesn't cover.
He doesn't even consider it.
Instead, he looks down at Frances with a cold expression.
He grabs Frances by the hair and drags him up.
TODD: This is where Charlie Nickles is at his most dangerous. He doesn't just want to win. He wants to hurt people.
Charlie hooks Frances.
DDT!
Frances' head bounces off the canvas.
The crowd boos as Charlie sits up and stares at his opponent.
But Frances starts laughing.
A low, broken laugh.
Charlie pauses.
BAMA: Uh-oh.
TODD: Frances Marigold is laughing!
Frances rolls onto his side, looking up at Charlie with a wild grin.
Charlie looks confused for just a moment.
Frances shoves his way off the match, throwing a wild artless punch!
Charlie eats it on the chin, and catches Frances’ fist against his chest!
BAMA: Bad decision. Frances has got guts for days but Charlie’s got weight and power on him. It’s like punching a brick wall!
Charlie twists the arm.
BODY PUNCH!
Frances doubles over.
BIG BOOT!
Frances flips backward.
Charlie steps over him, looking down.
TODD: Charlie Nickles has been dominating this match from the opening bell!
Nickles walks to the corner and grabs a steel chair.
The referee immediately backs away.
Charlie unfolds the chair.
Frances slowly gets to his knees.
Charlie raises the chair.
The crowd erupts.
BAMA: Come on, Frances! Do something!
Frances looks up.
The chair swings down—
NO!
Frances moves!
The chair smashes into the mat!
And Frances fires back!
CRACK!
A desperate elbow catches Charlie right across the side of the head.
The Nickleman stumbles.
For the first time all night—
Charlie Nickles is rocked.
TODD: Frances Marigold with a desperation strike!
Frances doesn't waste the opportunity.
He grabs Charlie.
He hooks him.
The crowd rises.
TODD: WAIT A SECOND!
BAMA: No way!
Frances pulls!
He's trying to lift the Nickleman!
He's trying to hit the…
NO
CUSHION
PILEDRIIIIIIIIIIIIIVER!!!!!!!!
…
But no! Charlie brings his trunk back down onto the mat!
BACK BODY DROP! Frances gets flipped up and over, landing on his back!
Charlie spins around… Frances, in a desperate effort to slow Charlie down, grabs Charlie in a sideheadlock!
TODD: Holy shit! A technical wrestling move! In THIS match?!?
BAMA: Some moron on Kalshi who bet ten bucks I think just won a grand!
Nickles turns his body to face Frances… Frances clings onto what little of the hold he can…
Nickles drives his fists into Frances' ribs.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Frances' grip loosens.
Charlie slips free.
Both men stagger to their feet.
Frances swings wildly—
Charlie ducks.
DEVIL HOOK DROP!
The double-arm DDT plants Frances into the canvas.
The crowd explodes.
Charlie rolls away, breathing heavily.
But he doesn't cover.
Again.
He isn't satisfied.
TODD: Charlie Nickles had the match won right there!
BAMA: That's the problem with Charlie. Winning ain't enough.
Charlie looks outside the ring.
And he smiles.
The kind of smile that makes the arena uncomfortable.
He reaches down.
And slowly removes his belt.
TODD: Oh no...
BAMA: You knew this was coming!
Charlie steps back into the ring.
Frances is barely moving.
The Nickleman cracks the belt against his own hand.
SMACK.
Charlie looks down at Frances.
"You wanted X-treme?"
The crowd rains down boos.
Charlie swings.
SMACK!
The belt wraps around Frances' back.
Again.
SMACK!
Again.
SMACK!
TODD: This is absolutely sickening! There is no hesitation from Charlie Nickles!
BAMA: Todd, you gotta understand something. Frances wanted to live in this world. Charlie Nickles built this world.
Charlie grabs Frances by the hair.
SMACK!
One more shot.
Charlie throws the belt aside.
He drags Frances up.
The crowd knows what's coming.
Charlie hooks him.
Lifts him high.
BIG SIDEWALK SLAM!
Frances crashes down with incredible force.
The entire ring shakes.
Charlie finally drops down for the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING!
TODD: Charlie Nickles has done it! The Nickleman has defeated Frances Marigold in one of the most brutal displays we've seen here in Anarchy!
BAMA: And that's the difference, Todd. Frances Marigold might be crazy. He might be fearless. He might not know when to quit.
But Charlie Nickles?
Charlie Nickles enjoys making people quit. Likes it more than anything. Charlie didn’t see an opponent, he saw a stubborn horse and a chance to break it.
The camera focuses on Charlie sitting beside Frances, staring down at the fallen man.
No celebration.
No smile.
Just a cold, empty look.
Then the lights go out.
When they come back on, a masked man stands behind Charlie Nickles with a chair in hand. In fact, this mask looks familiar. Corpse paint, that ornate white and red mask. The figure brings the chair across the back of Charlie Nickles. He takes the chair shot and winces, but turns around to face his attacker.
Bama: Is that who I think it is?
Todd: Sure looks like XXXVI. We haven’t seen him since Leap of Faith!
Bama: And if he ain’t careful, Charlie Nickles might put him back on the shelf for good!
Charlie kicks the masked man in the stomach and he doubles over and the chair falls beneath them. Charlie grabs him by the head, hooks both arms, Devil Hook — No! The masked man kicks Charlie right in the family jewels. Charlie falls and rolls on the mat in pain. XXXVI scoops up the chair. He rams it top first into Charlie’s ribs. Then he places the chair across Charlie’s midsection. He scales the top rope.
Bama: Could it be? Could we be seeing the Final Countdown?
Todd: Couldn’t be happening to a nicer guy.
The masked man leaps, double foot stomp onto the chair on top of Charlie Nickles!
The man starts untying the mask and pulls it off.
Bama: That’s Charlie’s former partner in the B.o.B! It’s Jordan Penn!
Todd: Of course it is, Bama! Charlie attacked him at Bad Medicine, costing them a chance to regain the tag team titles.
Bama: Yes, but don’t forget the why. Jordan took out Jennie, Charlie’s sister!
Jordan takes a microphone. He plants the feet of the chair over Charlie’s neck.
Jordan Penn: You. Me. Red Dead Relentless. Bull rope match.
He stomps Charlie.
Penn: Bitch.
He drops the microphone and takes the chair backstage.
TODD: Folks, the match before our main event is a DREAM match-up! Two women who have dominated the wrestling world everywhere they’ve gone meeting for the very first time in a wrestling ring!
BAMA: One’s wrestling royalty, Toddrick! A RAVEN who at this point might be the Giselle to Jimmy’s Tom Brady in terms of bringing more to the table! The other is a legend of the industry, decades in the game, who’s still managing to maintain her position among the highest echelons of the industry!
TODD: Two titans are about to collide! But only one can win! And with it will come the opportunity to challenge for either the Revolution Title OR the Anarchy Title!
The sound of a vintage picture reel began to click and pop, the screen illuminating up counting down like a picture show. The pops, scratches, nicks and debris covered the screen, the numbers counting down, 5...4....3....2....1....as the reel continued, electric synth music cuts, industrial and ominous
##The road I walk is paved in gold###
##To glorify my platinum soul##
##I'll buy my way to talk to God##
##So he can live with what I'm not3##
On the screen, a barrage of action shots, in still form from Apathy's career, centered and fixated, like an old film would. As the arena went down, red and white lights bathing the fans in a sea of color, Elizabeth rises from beneath the stage, head lowered, arms outstretched. A mixed chorus of boos, jeers and cheers pelted at her. She gradually raises her head, soaking in the animosity and fervent support. Inhaling it like a drug
##This selfish blood runs through my veins##
##I gave up everything for fame##
##I am the lie that humans are##
##I feed the rich and fuck the poor##
TODD: Here she is! Apathy! Last we saw her on Anarchy, she beat Thursday Night’s workhorse, Mister Oz! No small feat!
BAMA: Absolutely not, Toddrick! Apathy’s 5’8” and 220 pounds. And we saw her bench-pressing, strength-training… she’s got that ox strength! That hoss POWAH! That made the usually imposing, dominant Oz look like he was fighting someone his size!
TODD: Apathy is strong! She’s got a lot of experience from decades in the ring! And she’s driven by a desire to keep her name recognition in the interest of being there for her daughter who’s making the climb from the independents to the major leagues! But tonight might be one the biggest challenges of her lengthy career! Can she get the job done tonight?
As the heavy bass kicks in and the words reverberate through the arena, she snaps her head up, a cocky self-assured smirk creeping across her lips as she saunters her way to the ring casually engaging towards the fans either encouraging more of their venomous verbal harassment or acknowledging the respect and adoration from her legions and devotees, basking in the glow
#I got what you want#
#It just don't stop#
#I got what you want#
#It just don't stop#
#This is entertainment#
#Lies are entertainment#
#You are down on your knees#
#Begging me for more#
…
The arena blacks out and few seconds pass before the words
HELLO DOVES glitch across the screen.
Automatically the crowd pops with a thunderous
OPA! in unison and in just milliseconds after...
....BOOM
Pyro explodes in ultraviolet and hot pink flames! The first synth of “Alphapussy” hits like a strobe heartbeat and Atara Raven, Aphrodite Incarnate appears posed at the top of the ramp with her hips cocked and arms overhead. She begins her her strut to the ring, each step synced to the beat, and her hips rolling in a figure-eight roll and every movement teasing and deliberate.
TODD: THE APPLAUSE IS DEFEANING FOR ATARA RAVEN! One of the XWF’s most beloved personalities is BACK on Anarchy!
BAMA: And it feels more like Anarchy with Atty Raven in the building! She’s dominated and turned heads everywhere she’s gone in the wrestling world! But can she beat Apathy, one of the best to ever do it?
TODD: Atara Raven has that grit… that gear… to take a match against any opponent and take it on any night! But will it be enough tonight to take on one of the most learned opponents in all of wrestling?
Mid-ramp she stops and whips her hair while melting into a body roll that slows into a low grind that ends with a sharp pop of the hips before she's upright and strutting towards the ring again. Shimmying up the steps, Atara walks to the middle of the apron and throws a leg over the middle rope and enters the ring with the ol 2000s Diva bend over pause.
Middle of the ring, she poses arms wide, hips pulsing, head thrown back as lasers explode and the music distorts into and fades away.
…
The arena is already buzzing with anticipation but the ring is still.
On one side, Atara Raven—the Greek goddess of combat. A woman who carries herself like she stepped out of a marble statue, all elegance and confidence, but whose hands have been trained to hurt people. The fans roar as she bounces lightly on the balls of her feet, shoulders loose, eyes locked on her opponent.
Across from her stands Elizabeth Devereaux-O’Rourke. The woman known as Apathy.
A completely different kind of fighter.
No bouncing. No wasted movement. No theatrics.
Just a woman built like she was carved out of a fortress wall, staring across the ring with the expression of someone who has already survived worse than anything waiting for her tonight.
TODD: “Ladies and gentlemen, you can feel the atmosphere in this building right now. This is not just a match. This is a collision between two philosophies of professional wrestling!”
BAMA: “Philosophies? Todd, they're two people trying to hit each other until one of them can't get up. Don't overcomplicate it.”
TODD: “You say that, but look at the resumes of these two women! Atara Raven is one of the most unique athletes in the sport today. Her pankration style combines ancient Greek combat traditions with modern wrestling. Apathy is a veteran who has fought through injuries, adversity, and years of punishment to remain one of the most feared competitors in this company.”
BAMA: “Yeah, and one of them looks like she drinks protein shakes and the other one looks like she drinks regret for breakfast.”
The bell rings.
ATARA RAVEN
- vs -
APATHY
NUMBER 1 CONTENDER'S MATCH!
The winner of this standard singles match becomes the no. 1 contender to the blue show championship belt of their choosing!
|
The two circle.
A lockup.
And immediately, the difference is obvious.
Atara shoots for positioning, trying to get around the side, but Apathy plants her feet.
The smaller movements, the quick adjustments, the subtle shifts of weight—Atara is looking for angles.
Apathy is looking for a collision.
Atara tries to slip behind.
Apathy catches her.
The crowd erupts as Apathy wraps her arms around Atara's waist and lifts.
A thunderous overhead belly-to-belly suplex!
Atara crashes hard and rolls through, quickly creating distance.
TODD: “OH MY! Apathy just picked Atty Raven up like she weighed nothing!”
BAMA: “That’s the problem with all that fancy footwork. Sometimes you dance yourself right into somebody who can throw you through the floor.”
Atara sits up, rubbing her back.
She nods.
She rises and returns to her stance.
This time, she moves faster.
Atara darts forward.
A jab snaps against Apathy’s guard.
A second strike follows.
A sharp body shot.
A quick kick to the thigh.
Apathy tries to close the distance, but Atara is already gone.
The crowd begins to buzz as Atara strings together combinations, moving with the kind of fluidity that comes from years of combat sports training.
TODD: “Look at the difference! Apathy wants to grab hold and turn this into a power contest. Atara Raven wants to keep this at her pace!”
BAMA: “Atty ain’t just wrasslin’, she’s taking this match to a style only she’s mastered: that combination of rhythm and combat! That beautiful violent dance called pankration! And that's smart. You don't play tug-of-war with a bulldozer, Todd. Unless you want to become a speed bump.”
Atara lands a heavy right hand.
Apathy staggers back half a step.
The crowd gasps.
TODD: Holy SHIT, Atara actually knocked Apathy off-balance!
BAMA: Not a good sign for Atty when we’re all impressed she managed to gently nudge her opponent! But that is more than most can do against Apathy! Good on her!
Atara sees the opening.
She runs.
A flying knee—
Apathy catches her.
The arena explodes.
Apathy has her.
The speed has been neutralized.
Atara struggles, trying to shift her weight, trying to escape.
Apathy doesn't let go.
She drives forward.
A crushing suplex to the corner!
The ring shakes.
TODD: “THE POWER OF APATHY!”
BAMA: “That's the thing, Todd. You can be as pretty and graceful as you want, but eventually gravity always gets involved.”
Apathy doesn't waste time.
She pulls Atara up.
A second attempt at a suplex.
But Atara adapts.
She twists.
Uses Apathy’s own momentum.
A beautiful escape.
She lands behind her.
A quick strike to the back.
Another to the shoulder.
Then Atara hooks Apathy’s arm and transitions into a wrestling hold, trying to drag the powerhouse off balance.
Apathy grunts.
She tries to muscle through.
Atara uses leverage instead of strength.
The crowd reacts as the two philosophies clash in real time.
TODD: This is a truly beautiful contrast! Power versus technique. Force versus precision.
The veteran brawler versus the modern combat athlete.
Apathy tries to overpower the hold.
Atara tries to make Apathy carry her own weight.
For a moment, neither woman gives an inch.
Then Apathy roars.
She simply stands.
With Atara still attached.
The crowd rises.
Apathy turns.
And launches Atara across the ring with sheer force.
Atara lands, rolls, springs back to her feet—
But Apathy is already charging.
Atara ducks.
Apathy hits the ropes.
Atara pivots.
A picture-perfect martial arts kick catches Apathy across the jaw.
Apathy stumbles.
Atara steps forward.
A combination.
One.
Two.
Three.
Apathy covers up.
Atara fires again.
Apathy absorbs.
The crowd is losing its mind.
TODD: “This is exactly what the fans came to see! Two elite competitors with completely different approaches, and neither one has been able to solve the other!”
BAMA: “I'll give them this, Todd. They're both stubborn enough to make this a problem.”
Atara backs away, breathing hard.
Apathy wipes her mouth.
A small smile crosses her face.
Atara sees it.
And she nods back.
[CONTINUE FROM HERE]
TODD: “You can see the difference right now, Bama. Atara Raven has spent years maintaining herself as an athlete. Her entire philosophy is discipline, conditioning, longevity.”
BAMA: “Yeah, and Apathy has spent twenty years lifting things AND getting hit by things that would make normal people call an ambulance.”
TODD: “That's not exactly a training regimen.”
BAMA: “No, Todd, but it builds character.”
Atara sees the opening.
She steps forward.
A sharp jab.
A second strike.
A quick kick to the ribs.
Apathy reaches for her—
Atara slips away.
TODD: A beautiful display of efficiency by Raven! Every movement has purpose.
BAMA: Atty ain’t wastin’ energy trying to overpower Apathy anymore. She knows better. Instead, she’s chippin’ away, one strike at a time!
Strike.
Slip out of Apathy’s reach!
Strike.
Apathy throws a desperate haymaker to try and catch Atty off-guard!
…NO! Instead, Atara catches Apathy’s arm.
A wrist lock.
A transition.
Suddenly she is behind the bigger woman, dragging her down into a grounded hold.
Apathy grits her teeth.
She reaches.
She pulls.
But Atara adjusts.
A knee pressed into the shoulder.
A forearm across the upper back.
TODD: “Atara Raven has completely changed the pace of this match! She recognized that she doesn't need to beat Apathy in a strength contest!”
BAMA: “Smart. You don't try to out-muscle a freight train. You just figure out where the tracks are and get out of the way.”
Apathy snorts frustrated, muscling herself off the mat, fighting back to her feet.
Atara immediately snaps a kick into the back of Apathy’s thigh.
Apathy drops to one knee.
Atara moves in.
Another strike.
Another.
BAMA: Atty knows you ain’t bring a fort down from the top floor, you break it down the foundation and let the structure collapse on itself!
TODD: But this crowd knows Apathy! They know she’ll never stay down as long as she’s got breath in her body!
BAMA: Lizzie’s a tank alright, but you ain’t gotta break a tank’s engine to stop it, you just break its treads.
The crowd starts to rally behind the veteran.
Apathy suddenly surges up with her hands!
SNAPMARE! Raven goes up and over!
Atara zips back to her feet before Apathy can regain a vertical base!
Apathy shoves her way off the mat just as Atty charges!
Looking for a…
JUDGMENT OF PARIS!
…
NO! Apathy catches her.
The entire arena erupts.
A sudden explosion of strength.
Apathy hooks Atara around the waist.
Lifts.
Turns.
FALLAWAY SLAM!
The ring shakes as Atara crashes onto the canvas.
TODD: “WHAT POWER!”
BAMA: “And that's why you can't get comfortable against Apathy! You can be winning every second of the match, and then suddenly you're looking at the lights!”
Apathy rolls over.
She barely has enough energy to crawl.
But instinct takes over.
She drapes an arm across Atara's chest.
One.
Two—
KICKOUT!
Atara shoots a shoulder up just before three!
The crowd explodes.
Apathy closes her eyes for a moment.
Not frustration.
Exhaustion.
She knows exactly how close she was.
She tries to push herself away from Atara, trying to recover.
But Atara is still dangerous.
The moment Apathy turns—
Atara moves.
Her legs snake around Apathy’s head.
Her body twists.
The crowd realizes what is happening.
TODD: “WAIT! WAIT A SECOND!”
Atara locks her hands.
GOGOPLATA!
Apathy’s eyes widen.
The pressure begins.
Atara isn't just trying to choke her out.
She's trying to make the strongest woman in the match submit.
BAMA: “Now this is where experience matters! Lizzie’s got the size advantage, but that doesn't matter if you can't breathe!”
Apathy claws at Atara's legs.
Her face turns red.
The referee drops down.
“Do you want to quit?”
Apathy doesn't answer.
She shakes her head.
No.
Absolutely not.
The crowd begins chanting.
“APATHY! APATHY! APATHY!”
Atara tightens the hold.
Apathy’s hand rises.
The referee watches closely.
For a moment, it looks like the end.
Then—
Apathy’s eyes change.
TODD: You can see it in Apathy’s eyes! That stubbornness. That refusal. That thing that has carried her through every broken bone, every setback, every person telling her it was time to stop!
She starts lifting.
TODD: “WHAT IS SHE DOING?!”
Apathy plants her feet.
She’S LIFTING ATARA
With the choke STILL locked in!!!
The crowd cannot believe it.
TODD: “I’ve… I’ve never seen anything like this!
BAMA: “Cuz that ain’t a wrestling move! That's a woman having a disagreement with physics!”
Slowly.
Painfully.
Apathy forces Atara's back off the mat…
SHE REACHES HER FEET! WITH RAVEN ON HER SHOULDERS IN POWERBOMB POSITION!
The crowd is thunderous.
Elizabeth turns.
TODD: She is trying to powerbomb her way out!
POWERB-
…NO!
At the last possible second—
Atara releases.
She front rolls over Elizabeth's back.
Landing behind her.
Elizabeth spins around.
Confused.
Atara is already moving.
She sprints.
The crowd rises.
Elizabeth turns.
She sees Atara coming.
She lowers her shoulder.
Looking to flatten her.
But Atara leaps.
She launches herself forward.
A flash of pink and black.
A perfectly timed strike.
JUDGEMENT OF PARIS!
…
KERACK!
TODD: AHHHHHHH! That knee sounded like a THUNDER CLAP!
The running knee crashes into Apathy’s skull.
The sound echoes.
Apathy collapses backward.
Flat on her back.
Atara falls with her momentum.
The entire arena erupts.
TODD: “JUDGEMENT OF PARIS! SHE GOT ALL OF IT!”
BAMA: “That might be it! Nobody gets hit with that and just gets back up!”
Atara crawls.
Every movement hurts.
Every breath burns.
But she reaches.
She hooks the leg.
Cover.
ONE…
TWO…
THRE-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Apathy’s shoulder explodes off the mat!
The referee's hand stops inches from the canvas.
The crowd loses their minds.
Atara is shot off Apathy’s chest! She stares upward at the rafters in shock!
TODD: Atara is beside herself! She can't believe that didn’t do it!
Atara rolls onto her back.
Both women are down.
Both women are breathing hard.
Both women are staring at the ceiling.
The referee begins counting.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
The crowd rises with every number.
Five.
Six.
Atara pushes onto one elbow.
Elizabeth rolls onto her knees.
Seven.
Eight.
They look across the ring.
Nine.
Both women pull themselves up!
The crowd is already on its feet before either woman has even fully made it vertical.
[CONTINUE FROM HERE]
TODD: This crowd is absolutely on fire!
BAMA: Because everyone in the building understands what they are watching! This ain’t a contest of who’s philosophy is better… This is a battle of who wants it MORE!
Atara Raven wipes the sweat from her brow and takes a deep breath.
Elizabeth Devereaux-O’Rourke rolls her shoulders, her entire body screaming at her to stay down.
Neither listens.
TODD: “Ladies and gentlemen, I don't know how either of these women are still standing!”
BAMA: “Because they're both too stubborn, Todd. That's the answer. Neither one of them has the good sense to stay down.”
Atara steps forward first.
A sharp right hand.
Apathy blocks and fires back!
Elizabeth fires back.
A heavy forearm catches Atara across the chest.
Atara stumbles.
Apathy follows.
Another strike.
A third.
TODD: Some mean, ugly strikes from Apathy!
BAMA: Ugly but effective! Lizzie ain’t throwing punches like a boxer. She’s throwing punches like a woman trying to knock down a wall.
Atara absorbs the impact.
Backs away.
Then fires back.
A lightning-fast combination.
Palm strike.
Elbow.
Kick to the leg.
Apathy’s knee buckles slightly.
Atara sees it.
She moves in.
She wants to end this.
A running knee—
Apathy ducks.
Atara lands awkwardly.
Elizabeth spins.
SPINNING BACKFIST!
The crowd gasps.
But Atara ducks!
The fist cuts through empty air.
And in the same motion—
Atara moves behind her.
A flash of brilliance.
She drives her shoulder into Apathy’s back.
She hooks her arms.
The crowd recognizes it immediately.
TODD: “WAIT! WAIT! SHE'S GOT HER! BIRTH OF VENUS!”
BAMA: The move that has put away a helluva lotta opponents!
Atara arches her back, lifting Apathy up looking for that devastating off-the-shoulder…
BIRTH!
OF!
VENUS!
…
……
NO!
Apathy fights the lift.
Her legs swing.
Her weight shifts.
And somehow—
Somehow—
Elizabeth lands on her feet!
The building explodes.
BAMA: “OH COME ON! THAT WOMAN JUST SAID ‘NOPE’ TO GRAVITY!”
Atara turns around.
Her eyes widen.
Elizabeth grabs her.
The crowd erupts.
The exhausted veteran reaches down and summons what strength she has left!
Strength.
Power.
Pure stubbornness.
She lifts Atara.
The crowd knows what’s coming…
Elizabeth adjusts her grip.
Atara is fighting.
Kicking.
Reaching.
But Elizabeth has her.
The spin.
The drop.
The IMPACT!
DEATH
BEFORE
DISHONOR
…
……
CONNECTS!
Atara Raven crashes face-first into the canvas.
The entire ring shakes.
Apathy collapses with her, draping an arm across Atara's chest.
The referee slides into position.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
THE BELL RINGS.
The arena erupts.
TODD: “APATHY HAS DONE IT!”
BAMA: “I'll give her credit, Todd. I didn't think she had enough left in that old engine.”
TODD: “Old engine?!”
BAMA: “I'm complimenting her! That's a compliment where I'm from!”
Apathy rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling.
She doesn't immediately move.
She doesn't immediately celebrate.
She just breathes.
Then she looks across the ring.
Atara is slowly sitting up.
And for a moment, the two women simply look at each other.
TODD: Lot of emotion here! Both these women wanted this one with all they got!
…
Atara nods.
Elizabeth extends her hand.
Atara takes it.
The crowd roars as the two competitors pull each other up.
[blue]TODD: “What a match. What an incredible display of athleticism, heart, and determination from two of the very best in the world!”
BAMA:
“Yeah, yeah. I'll admit it. That was a fight.”
TODD:
“A fight?”
BAMA:
“Fine. A wrestling match. Don't make me say nice things twice.”
TODD: Folks, it’s been an absolute barnburner of a show, but we’re finally onto tonight’s main event! The Anarchy championship is on the line!
BAMA: And we got dynamite, a lit match and a barrel full of YEET! Things are set to explode tonight, Toddy baby!
Main Event Ish hits and he walks out behind the XWF Universe wearing an Yeet Sunglasses and a Yeet shirt with a Fetu logo on the side of his pants and a Yeet on the right side and he makes a stop near the steps and raise his hands up and wave'em his Yeet hands and the Universe was following him and they were doing it alone side with him and he kepts on walking down the stairs and slapping kids and adults high five and making his way down the ring…
TODD: There he is! The man they call ‘Main Event’! Jay Fetu!
BAMA: Fetu called his own number this past week. He specifically requested Miss Furry for the Anarchy Title! And Furry accepted!
TODD: But neither of them knew that Centurion was going to be in this match. Do you think that helps or hurts Fetu’s odds?
BAMA: Fetu isn’t a prizefighter, he’s a sniper! He waits for his moment and SUPERKICKS someone from the side. More variables increase his chances! He ain’t gotta dominate anybody. He’s just gotta pick his moment and strike and we could be looking at the first ever member of the Chain Gang to hold the Big Blue Belt!
Jey climbs over the barricade and sees two Commentary of Bama and Todd slapping hands aloneside with Jey Fetu and he gets inside of the ring in climbs on the top rope and continues waving his Yeet hands towards the Universe and he gets down and the XWF Universe shouts replay it once more and he does and gets right back up on the top rope and repeat the same Yeeting with the Universe and hops down and music fades and waits for his Opponent to appear…
…
The pulsating guitar of Wild Thing echoes around the arena, and the crowd immediately turns raucous and excited as the XWF Legend, Centurion, comes out from behind the curtain. He grins, shining his Television Championship at the top of the ramp as the song explodes.
“WILD THING!”
TODD: Centurion! Three-time Anarchy champion AND long-time Micheal Graves adversary! Somehow, some way, Cent found a way with his very talented rookie partner, Oleandyr Reitan, and they beat the Midnight Stalkers for the Anarchy Tag Titles!
BAMA: That’s Furry’s mentor, Toddrick! That’s a big win headed into this match!
TODD: And one of Cent’s few losses this year was to Miss Furry at March Madness! You have to imagine he’d love to be a double Anarchy champion and erase the memory of that loss… But imagine if he loses twice to Furry back-to-back!
BAMA: Or if he loses to ‘Main Event’ Jay Fetu!
Centurion struts his way down to the ring, slapping the hands of the fans nearby before he rolls underneath the bottom rope. He quickly makes his way to the turnbuckle, holding the TV title on high as the fans pop like crazy for him. He holds himself there for a minute, before hopping off and delivering the TV title off to the referee.
…
The lights dim as the opening drums of She's My Collar roll through the arena. Miss Furry steps out slowly, but doesn’t acknowledge the crowd.
TODD: One-hundred-and-thirty days and counting for Miss Furry’s Anarchy championship reign! When we first saw Miss Furry enter an Anarchy ring, I think no one had any idea she had this kind of run in her! But she’s beaten every challenger that’s dared challenge for her belt… And she continues to be undefeated in singles matches on Anarchy!
BAMA: But tonight could be the night it ends, Toddrick! Furry’s not only facing Centurion, a THREE-TIME Anarchy champion with a score to settle after Furry stopped him from being a four-time champ at March Madness… but she’s also gotta deal with ‘Main Event’ Jay Fetu, who called his own number demanding a match with Furry!
TODD: AND neither of them have to beat Furry for her to lose the title tonight, Bama! It’s first pinfall OR submission OR escape from the cage leaves with the Anarchy Title![/blue]
She calmly walks the ramp and slips between the ropes with minimal effort. She settles into the corner, leaning back casually, licking her paw and cleaning herself in preparation of the upcoming match.
…
The official raises the Anarchy Championship high overhead.
Centurion never breaks eye contact with Miss Furry.
Miss Furry never breaks eye contact with Centurion.
Jay Fetu...
...looks at the championship.
The referee hands the title to ringside through the cage door to the timekeeper.
TODD: Ladies and gentlemen, the XWF Anarchy Championship hangs in the balance inside this steel cage! Three competitors, three ways to win! Pinfall, submission, or escape, and we crown an Anarchy Champion!
BAMA: Which means Miss Furry don't even have to lose to lose, Todd! She can wrestle the match of her life and still watch one of these boys steal her belt if she takes her eye off 'em for one second!
DING! DING! DING!
MISS FURRY ©
- vs -
JAY FETU
- vs -
CENTURION ©
STEEL CAGE CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH!
The first person to escape the cage OR score a pinfall/submission inside the cage is the Anarchy Champion!
|
The official is barely done signalling for the bell before Jay explodes.
"YEET!"
Fetu lunges straight through the middle, throwing both forearms out like a battering ram.
Centurion and Miss Furry barely have time to react before the Samoan powerhouse CRASHES into both of them with a DOUBLE SHOULDER BLOCK, driving them backwards into opposite sides of the cage with a deafening metallic BANG!
The steel rattles.
The crowd erupts.
TODD: Jay Fetu wasting absolutely no time!
BAMA: That's what I've been tellin' you! Those other two got history! Jay's got HUNGER!
Fetu turns immediately toward Centurion, back tangled against the steel.
The veteran's jaw tightens.
He plants his feet.
Jay swings a massive right hand—
Centurion slips underneath.
A sharp elbow clips Jay behind the ear.
Another to the ribs.
Another.
But Fetu refuses to back down!
TODD: Fetu is taking all these blows on the chin!
BAMA: He ain’t letting anything knock him down cuz he could miss his moment, Toddrick!
Cent reels back his arm…
CHOP!
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Fetu snarls, fists tight and he howls in Cent’s face!
YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!
Centurion's eyes widen.
TODD: Centurion looks surprised and impressed!
BAMA: I think that’s just confused. He’s gotta ask one of his daughter’s lovers what the hell ‘yeet’ means after this match.
Cent tries to reel back his fist for another body blow…
But Jay grabs Centurion by the wrist.
Jerks him forward.
BELLY-TO-BELLY!
Centurion flies nearly halfway across the ring before skidding underneath the bottom rope and sliding into the cage!
TODD: Good Lord!
BAMA: That old man just got LAUNCHED!
TODD: YEETED, you mean!
BAMA: …Oh, yeah.
Jay barely acknowledges it.
He spins—
Miss Furry is standing… studying Fetu with her eyes.
Jay takes one heavy step, looking for an overhand punch!
But Furry immediately arm drags him clean over her shoulder.
Jay rolls through surprisingly fast.
Back to his feet.
Furry rushes in—
Short knee.
Another.
Another.
Each one thudding into Jay's ribs.
She hooks his arm.
Twists.
Grounded headlock.
TODD: This is what has made Furry so effective as Anarchy champion! Her eye for wrestling!
BAMA: She ain’t obsessed with ego or proving she’s the best. She just looks at her opponent and really sees them. They’re so busy blowing smoke and hot air, they don’t even see her rolling them up from behind!
Jay powers upward almost immediately, muscles bulging beneath the hold.
Miss Furry doesn't fight the strength.
She simply shifts her weight.
Lets go.
Drops behind him.
Running basement dropkick to the back of Jay's knee.
The wildcard stumbles.
Not down.
Just...
lower.
Exactly where she wanted him.
TODD: That's exactly what Miss Furry talked about! She isn't trying to overpower Jay Fetu!
BAMA: She's tryin' to saw down the most explosive tree in the forest! He ain’t gon’ be able to yeet off one of them superkicks if his leg’s busted!
Fetu collapses onto his back, holding his knee.
Furry grabs Fetu’s leg, looking to do more damage…
When Centurion quietly slips behind the champ!
TODD: Uh oh! Furry took her eye off her opponent!
BAMA: Cuz it was on her OTHER opponent! Triple-threat, baby!
Centurion grabs her around the waist.
Furry’s hair stands on end!
German—
No.
Furry stamps hard onto his foot.
Snaps an elbow backward into his jaw.
Spins.
Jawbreaker.
Centurion staggers.
Furry immediately plants both hands against his chest—
Running Facebuster!
Centurion bounces face-first off the canvas.
The champion doesn't celebrate.
She simply pivots—
As Jay Fetu charges!
TODD: Holy cow! Furry’s taking on all comers!
BAMA: But this is not where you want to be in a triple-threat, Toddrick! The one fighting everybody is the one getting tired the fastest!
Miss Furry darts underneath a wild clothesline from Fetu, catches his wrist, and attempts to roll him into a Leg Trap Roll-Up!
TODD: Furry’s trying to steal this one!
ONE—
Jay kicks out before two, launching Furry halfway across the ring with pure power.
She rolls back onto one knee.
Jay is already sprinting.
FETU SPEAR!!
As Cent charges Furry from behind!
…But Furry leaps over with her catlike reflexes!
Jay's shoulder misses Miss Furry by inches—
—and instead BURIES itself into Centurion's ribs!
The veteran folds in half before both men BLAST through the ropes and slam against the steel cage.
The chain-link explodes with noise.
CLANG!!
The audience gasps.
TODD: Holy cow! Furry is looking dominant tonight!
In the mass of flesh that results from Fetu’s spear, Jay shakes the cobwebs loose first.
He grabs Centurion by the head.
Drives repeated forearms into his back.
One.
Two.
Three.
Centurion answers with a thumb across Jay's eyes.
The referee warns him immediately.
TODD: Cent’s a wily veteran!
BAMA: He ain’t playin’ dirty, that’s not his style. He just knows exactly how to slow down a speedster like Fetu!
Jay covers his eye
Cent shoves Jay backward.
The younger man rebounds off the cage.
Comes right back.
Running Hip Attack!
Centurion ducks.
Jay's hip SMASHES against the steel instead.
The impact echoes throughout the arena.
Jay grimaces.
Furry explodes forward.
CAT'S CRADLE!
A lightning-fast snapmare sends Jay rolling across the canvas before she rebounds off the ropes—
LOW DROPKICK!
CRACK!
The heel of her boot smashes into the back of Jay's head.
The challenger spills forward face-first.
The crowd roars.
TODD: Cat's Cradle! Picture-perfect!
Miss Furry hooks both legs immediately.
ONE!
TWO!
THR-NO! Cent breaks it up with a stomp to Furry’s skull!
TODD: Ooooh, that could have ended it if Cent wasn’t there!
Furry cradles her neck that Cent just stomped, raising her guard to avoid more strikes…
But Cent doesn’t keep striking.
He looks toward the corner.
Looks up.
The top of the cage.
The veteran suddenly sprints.
TODD: Wait a minute!
The audience rises as Centurion plants one boot on the turnbuckle, another against the chain-link, and begins climbing with surprising speed for a man his age.
BAMA: See?! That's why you don't waste time pinning somebody in a triple threat!
Miss Furry's head snaps toward the rattling steel.
Her eyes widen.
Centurion doesn't even look back.
One hand.
Then another.
Already climbing toward freedom while champion and challenger remain tangled on the mat.
TODD: Cent’s trying to turn this wrestling match into a climbing race!
BAMA: That's why he's a three-time Anarchy Champion! You ain't gotta beat nobody if you can outsmart 'em!
Miss Furry springs to her feet.
Centurion is nearly at the top before he hears the chain-link rattle beneath him.
He glances over one shoulder.
Too late.
Miss Furry scales the side of the cage with startling speed, her fingers and feet finding purchase almost effortlessly as she closes the gap.
TODD: Look at the champion climb!
BAMA: I told you she's built like a damn housecat!
Furry reaches up—
Hooks Centurion around the waist—
—and YANKS him backwards off the cage!
The crowd gasps.
Centurion crashes toward the canvas—
—but the veteran twists in midair and lands on both feet, stumbling backward just enough to stay upright.
Furry pushes herself away from the cage.
Launching.
Spinning.
TODD: Furry’s going for Nine Lives Lost!
BAMA: She can hit that move from outta nowhere!
The rapid cutter comes flying toward Centurion's jaw—
NINE LIVES LOST!!
…NO!
Instead, instinct takes over.
Centurion steps backward at the last possible second.
Nothing to catch.
Nothing to cut.
Miss Furry crashes flat onto the mat.
SPLAT!
A sympathetic groan rolls through the arena.
BAMA: I thought cats always landed on their feet!
TODD: She gambled everything on Nine Lives Lost and Centurion just wasn't there!
Furry immediately tries to push herself up.
Centurion doesn't give her the chance.
He grabs both ankles.
Steps through.
Turns her over.
FALL OF ROME!! (Walls of Jericho)
TODD: FALL OF ROME! FALL OF ROME! Cent’s got Furry locked in his submission, dead-center of the ring!
Centurion drops his weight low, sitting deep into the hold.
Furry's back bends violently.
Her fingers claw at the canvas.
Her face twists in agony.
TODD: She's trapped!
BAMA: Nowhere to crawl! Nowhere to hide! That cage just became four brick walls!
The referee drops beside them.
"Do you submit?!"
Furry shakes her head.
Her hand trembles...
Rises...
The crowd comes alive.
Not for the submission.
For something else.
"YEET!"
"YEET!"
"YEET!"
Centurion's brow furrows.
He doesn't look.
He cranks the hold tighter.
The chants grow louder.
"YEET!"
"YEET!"
Finally...
Centurion turns his head.
His expression changes instantly.
Jay Fetu is already halfway up the cage.
TODD: FETU'S CLIMBING! FETU’S GONNA STEAL THIS ONE!
BAMA: Cent was so busy tryin’ ta make Furry tap, he didn’t even realize he left Fetu a free road to the title!
Furry’s arm shakes… Could she tap before Fetu escapes?
…Not enough time! Too risky! Centurion releases the hold without hesitation.
Miss Furry collapses onto the canvas, gasping for air as Centurion explodes toward the corner.
BAMA: That's exactly what this match is! Sometimes the right move ain't the winning move!
Jay reaches the top.
One hand over the rim.
Then another.
One leg swings over the outside.
The Boise crowd is deafening.
"YEET!"
"YEET!"
Centurion reaches him just in time.
He begins hammering clubbing forearms into Fetu's back.
One.
Two.
Three.
Jay hangs on.
Barely.
Centurion starts climbing beside him, refusing to let the younger challenger escape.
The veteran hauls himself level with Fetu.
Both men now balanced precariously atop the steel.
Twenty feet above the ring.
The entire arena rises.
TODD: No... don't even think about it…
Centurion muscles Jay across his shoulders.
The crowd loses its mind.
BAMA: HE'S GOIN' FOR THE THOUSAND MILE SLAM FROM THE TOP OF THE CAGE!!
Centurion shifts his footing.
One more second—
Jay slips free behind him.
Shoves both palms square into Centurion's back.
The veteran windmills desperately.
Trying to regain his balance.
Jay is precariously balanced on the cage!
SUPERKICK!!
CRACK!!
Centurion teeters backward.
The crowd collectively holds its breath.
For one horrifying instant...
...it looks like he's going to fall to the floor outside.
Instead—
He tumbles backward into the ring.
BOOM!!
The canvas shakes violently beneath him.
Centurion rolls onto his back, clutching his ribs and stomach, completely stunned.
TODD: Thank God he fell back into the ring!
BAMA: If he'd fallen the other way he'd be a four-time Anarchy Champion...
...and probably eatin' dinner through a straw!
Jay steadies himself atop the cage…
TODD: Jay has this match won! He’s just gotta climb down!
… But Jay doesn’t look to the outside. Instead, he looks out across the sea of fans.
They already know.
Every arm in the arena shoots into the air.
"YEET!"
"YEET!"
"YEET!"
Jay nods.
Spreads both arms.
Then leaps.
FETU SPLASH!!
From the TOP OF THE CAGE!
TODD: OH MY GOD!
The impact nearly folds Centurion in half.
The ring shudders.
The audience explodes.
TODD: HE HIT IT!! FROM THE TOP OF THE CAGE!!
BAMA: WE GOT A NEW CHAMPION! WE GOTTA HAVE A NEW CHAMPION!
Jay lies motionless for a heartbeat.
Every ounce of energy spent.
Slowly...
Painfully...
Fetu begins crawling toward Centurion.
One elbow.
Then another.
His fingertips stretch toward the cover.
The championship is inches away.
Then...
A hand wraps around his ankle.
Jay looks back.
Miss Furry.
TODD: Oh my GOD! Like a horror movie monster, Furry’s back!
BAMA: Jay burnt his whole body on that Fetu Splash! What’s he got left for Furry!
Furry tries to pull Jay away from Cent…
But Jay manages to wrench his leg back and kick Furry in the chest!
Furry backpedals against the ropes and steel cage!
Fetu kips up!
TODD: Where is Fetu finding this energy!
BAMA: It’s this crowd! Boise is YEET STREET!
Furry staggers toward Jay!
Jay turns and fires off a…
SUPERKICK!
…
NO!
Miss Furry ducks underneath it.
The kick whistles harmlessly over her head.
Jay’s boot sails past, hitting nothing!
He spins to try and catch Furry on the way back…
But Furry’s already leaping to catch where his head’s going to be!
NINE
LIVES
LOOOOOOOOOOST!
The cutter lands flush.
Jay's head spikes into the canvas.
The crowd erupts.
TODD: NINE LIVES LOST! FROM OUTTA NOWHERE!
BAMA: SHE GOT ALL A THAT ONE!
Furry exhaustedly crawls…
She dives across Centurion's battered body!
TODD: She’s covering Cent!
BAMA: Of course she is! That Fetu Splash would have taken down a bull elephant!
The champ hooks both legs.
The referee slides into position.
TODD: NOT LIKE THIS!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING! DING! DING!
| Winner and STILL XWF Anarchy Champion: Miss Furry! |
The bell rings as Miss Furry releases the cover and rolls onto her back, exhausted.
TODD: SHE DID IT! Miss Furry survives again!
BAMA: That's why she's the champion! She didn't hit the biggest move... she hit the RIGHT move! Fetu destroyed Centurion, and Furry was patient enough to let the opportunity come to her!
The official retrieves the Anarchy Championship and kneels beside the champion.
Miss Furry accepts it without celebration.
She simply hugs the title against her chest.
CHARLIE PINS KORVAYNE!
THANKS TO ALL OF OUR WONDERFUL MATCH WRITERS
PETER PRINCIPAL
DOM DURANGO
THE EDGECRUSHER
CHARLIE NICKLES
AND OUR AMAZING SEGMENT WRITERS
JORDAN PENN
MARISOL VILARO
& OF COURSE, THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO RPED FOR THE SHOW! |
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