Backstage Miss Rocky Mountains is with Victoria Lyons and Darien price set up for an interview.

Ms. Rocky Mountains: I'm here with Bombshell Internet Champion Victoria Ly….

Before Rocky can finish Victoria grabs the mic from her.

Victoria: You can go now, you're no longer needed.

After a short awkward silence and a glaring look from Victoria Miss Rocky takes her leave, Victoria takes the mic and speaks into the camera.

Victoria: Let me make this perfectly clear, there will be no disrespect towards me, your woman of the year and your Bombshell Internet Championship. All I wanted to do was have a mini celebration of my success but Harper Mason and her sour grapes just had to involve herself.

Victoria shakes her head.

Victoria: If you wanted to be invited you could have asked. Instead all you did was complain about how I stole your opportunity and you took shots at my fiance? How dare you Harper. You have no right to judge our relationship. We have every right to celebrate and love each other how we choose.

She pauses.

Victoria: You want to earn another opportunity? That's fine, take your time. If or when you get that opportunity I'll be there waiting to knock you right back down. The truth is if you're really that upset about me finding a way to insert myself into a championship match then you're not ready to be a champion.

She laughs.

Victoria: I am your Bombshell Internet Champion and I am going to have another memorable Championship reign and there's nothing Harper Mason, or any other bombshell can do about it and honestly I dare them to try. Just don't cry to me if you end up on the wrong side of the lion's paw.

Victoria grins as Darian hands her the spiked glove, and she slips it on, forming a fist and giving an intimidating look into the camera has the scene cuts out.

BOMBSHELL ROULETTE CHAMPIONSHIP - REMATCH FROM HIGH STAKES XV
Alicia Lukas © vs Alexandra Calaway

Everything comes into focus as we are taken to the backstage area. It is there where we are able to see upstart and young wrestler Brayden Williams along with his beautiful girlfriend “CRAVE” Carleigh Raye Annis. The blonde just stays on his arm as she looks deeply into the heart of the cameras.

Carleigh: Darlin you know what sounds really messed up?! It’s the simple fact that people actually think that this Eddie Lyons is such a tough and workhorse within SCW. He ain’t got nothing on you Darlin. I reckon he doesn’t even have your skillset and he clearly isn’t on your level.

Brayden just shakes his head as he looks into the camera.

Brayden: You damn right he isn’t a workhorse, it’s a bunch of noise. I am the only one fitting of being called a workhorse in this company. It’s all about me, and I am going to do everything in my power to prove I am the best damn wrestler in this company. I am a third generation talent and I am elevating wrestling on an everyday basis.

Carleigh: Exactly, my boyfriend is pretty as a peach. My peach would beat anybody who crosses his path and Brayden is madder than a wet hen because he knows for a fact he is better than some man from the Lyons Den. Sure he might be from a family of wrestlers but my boyfriend IS wrestling!

Brayden: Wrestling all day, every day, and with my precious little Southern Belle at my side I can’t be denied. You want a fight, I will give a war all day and all night!

Brayden flashes that cocky Hilton smirk, Carleigh cuddled tight against his arm, when the mood shifts with the sound of heels clicking on the concrete. The camera pans slightly to reveal SCW General Manager Evelyn Hall walking into frame, tablet in hand, a knowing smile playing at the corner of her lips.

Evelyn Hall: Well, if Brayden wants a fight so badly, it would be downright rude of me not to be gracious and indulge him.

Brayden straightens up, ego swelling as he brushes the mist of imaginary doubt off his shoulders.

Brayden: That’s what I’m talkin’ about! Finally, someone in charge who…

Evelyn raises a hand, cutting him off with polite authority.

Evelyn Hall: Next week, you’ll get exactly what you’re begging for. You want a war? You’ve got one. Because your opponent will be … this man.

She gestures calmly for Brayden to turn around. Brayden snorts, rolling his eyes as he slowly pivots, already half-laughing.

Brayden: Whoever it is, I’ll…

The words die in his throat.

Standing inches from him, looming in the shadows of the hallway lights, is the ghoulish, painted face of the “Clown Prince of Chaos” Anthrax. Wild, smeared colors. Dead eyes. That twisted, unnatural grin carved across his features.

The crowd in the arena can be heard reacting through the monitors as Brayden’s eyes go wide.

Carleigh: Oh… oh no, Darlin…

Anthrax just stares at Brayden, head tilting to one side with an almost childlike curiosity, lips twitching in a silent, horrific smile. No words. No laughter. Just that cold, lingering gaze. Brayden swallows hard, trying to keep his bravado.

Brayden: You think I’m scared of some clown, I…

Without warning, Anthrax surges forward and unleashes a cloud of thick, inky *black mist* straight into Brayden’s face!

Brayden: AAAAAAGH!!!

He drops to his knees immediately, clutching at his eyes, black streaks running down his cheeks as he thrashes on the floor.

Carleigh: BRAYDEN! OH MY GOD! SOMEBODY HELP HIM!

Carleigh drops beside him, screaming, trying to wipe at his face with her hands, only making the mess worse as Brayden writhes and claws at his eyes in agony.

Brayden: MY EYES! I CAN’T SEE! I CAN’T SEE!

Anthrax stands over the chaos, shoulders shaking with a soft, silent laugh, before he slowly backpedals out of frame, never breaking eye contact with the cameras, that chilling grin still etched on his face.

Evelyn’s smile is gone, replaced by a sharp look of concern as she snaps her fingers and waves frantically down the hall.

Evelyn Hall: We need medical in here, now! Trainers! Paramedics!

Officials and medical staff rush onto the scene, pushing past the camera as Carleigh sobs and tries to stay close, being gently pulled back so the medics can work.

Carleigh: Brayden, Darlin, talk to me! Please, baby, talk to me!

Brayden continues to scream and flail as the paramedics try to rinse his eyes, black fluid streaking down onto the concrete. The last shot we see is Carleigh’s terrified face and Brayden’s blinded, panicked screams echoing down the hallway, while, far in the background, Anthrax’s painted silhouette lingers at the end of the corridor… before slowly fading into the darkness as the scene cuts away.

Justin: This match is scheduled for one fall… introducing first… hailing from Halmstad, Sweden… Zenna Zdunich…

The opening guitars of "Freeky People" by Kidneythieves hits. The lights start flashing red and purple as Zenna makes her way out to the ramp pulling the devils horns above her head. She smirks at the crowd before she runs down and slides into the ring and sits on her knees, savoring the sounds of appreciation from the crowd. She climbs up onto the top rope and pulls the horns in front of her face while her tongue hangs out and she yells like she's at a rock concert before she jumps off awaiting her opponent.

Justin: and her opponent… hailing from Norwich, England. Kayla Richards.

"I will kill your dreams."

The voice of Kayla Richards gives way to the opening guitar riff of Bad Omens "Like a Villian" The lights flash from being on and bright to dark and switching between a dark purple and red. Kayla Richards steps out onto the stage in her gear, a black leather jacket over it, her long hair flowing down as she makes her way to the ring, she runs and slides up and across the apron on one knee before getting into the ring and putting both her hands in the air, one crossed over the other to make a "K" with her fingers before they turn into a double bird and move down to a fingergun pose pointed at the crowd.

She takes off her jacket, before the ref moves in and check both for weapons before indicating for the bell to be rung…

DING DING DING!

Zdunich and Richards circle the ring before stopping and moving in and locking up in the centre of the ring, where they jockey for position before Richards begins to push and bit by bit pushes Zdunich back towards the corner, but Zdunich then drags Richards around and into the corner, where she holds Richards in place for a few moments, before the ref moves in and places themselves between Richards and Zdunich, which forces Zdunich to back off.

Simone: Zdunich and Richards circle and then move in and lock up, where they jockey for position and do a little bit of pushing and shoving as they move to the corner and Zdunich drags Richards into a corner but is quickly forced back by the referee.

Zdunich moves away with her hands up, as Richards gives a small glare at her before moving from the corner, as Zdunich watches Richards, as they circle the ring once more before moving in and locking up once again, where they jockey for position as Zdunich this time pushes Richards back and as they got close to the corner, Richards this times pulls Zdunich in and drags her into the corner. Once in the corner the ref moves in and breaks Zdunich and Richards apart once more and Richard reluctantly backs away.

Lunam: they circle the ring once more before moving back in and locking up again, where they jockey as this time Zdunich pushes Richards back and Richards copies Zdunich and drags her into the corner, and once more the ref moves in and breaks it up.

Moving from the corner, Zdunich and Richards move around the ring once more as they take their time before moving in and locking up once again, but this time Richards breaks and grabs Zdunich’s wrist and then locks in a hammerlock. She then breaks and grabs her head into a headlock before taking her down to the mat. Once on the mat, Richards holds the headlock in place, as at first Zdunich doesn’t look for a way out, as the ref moves in and checks for shoulder but also to see if a submission might happen.

Simone: We go back to the beginning, as they move around the ring once more before moving in and locking up again, as this time Richards breaks and locks in a hammerlock, she then breaks and takes her down to the mat.

Lunam: Zdunich takes a moment before looking for a way out of the move.

Zdunich slowly brings a leg up and wraps it around Richards’ neck and before Richards can react, Zdunich locks in her other legs for headscissors, as Richards grabs at Zdunich legs, as she takes moment before thrusting her legs outwards and breaks free of the headscissors before they both make their way back to their feet but Zdunich blinks first and grabs Richards and drags her in for a headlock of her own. Zdunich proceeds to drop to a knee to add extra pressure before rising back up and then takes her down to the mat.

Simone: Zdunich gets her legs up and round Richards’ head, Richards takes a moment before kicking her legs out and breaking free of the hold.

Lunam: They both get back to their feet but Zdunich blinks first and grabs Richards and locks in a headlock of her own before taking her down to the mat.

Richards is quick to get an arm up into Zdunich face, as the ref continues to check for any pins or submission, Richards looks to see a way out as she then copies Zdunich escape and gets her legs up and around Zdunich head and neck for a headscissors, which Zdunich is now looking for a way out and she thrusts her legs out but she doesn’t escape and she takes a moment and tries again and this time she escapes.

Simone: A lot of copying here. As Richards now look for a way out and she repeats Zdunich process and wraps her legs around Zdunich’s head and Zdunich hunts for a way out. It takes her a couple attempts but she gets free.

She and Richards make their way back to their feet as this time Richards is the quicker of the two and grabs Zdunich and locks in a headlock on her and then cranks on her head and neck, as Zdunich takes a moment before firing in forearm shots to Richards torso before dragging her back against the ropes before pushing her away and Richards bounces off the ropes and as she comes back Zdunich goes for a wild swing, but Richards ducks and skips passed Zdunich and bounces off the ropes and grabs Zdunich and hits a slingblade.

Lunam: they make their way back to their feet, as Richards moves quickly and she grabs Zdunich and locks in a headlock and works on it before Zdunich quickly battles free with forearm shots to Richards torso before pushing her away and Richards bounces off the ropes and come back at Zdunich, who goes for a wild swing, but Richards ducks and bounces off the ropes and hits a slingblade.

Zdunich goes down holding her neck, as Richards makes her way back to her feet and grabs Zdunich and pulls her up, where she then Irish whips her into the corner, which Zdunich then steps from the corner and Richards rushes in with a boot to the face and then goes for a pin as she uses a little bit of the ropes…

Simone: That shows Zdunich inexperience… as Richards grabs Zdunich and pulls her up, where she sends her into the corner and as Zdunich stumbles out of the corner, its right into a boot.

The ref counts…

ONE!

Lunam: Foot on the ropes.

Before noticing the use of the ropes and stops then count and then reprimands Richards, Richards shakes her head and climbs to her feet as she glares at the ref and exchange a few words before turning back to Zdunich and grabs her once more and drags her up and Zdunich suddenly shoves Richards back before leaping up and hitting a standing dropkick and sends Richards down. Zdunich makes her way to feet as Richards scrambles back to her feet and charges at Zdunich, Zdunich gets an elbow up and catches Richards and she turns and stumbles backwards and Zdunich rushes forward and grabs Richards by the head and hits a bulldog.

Simone: Richards is busted trying to cheat, but in that moment of running her mouth, she has allowed Zdunich back into this match and she gives Richards a shove and follows up with a standing dropkick.

Lunam: Impressive, as Zdunich makes her way back to her feet as Richards charges in but Zdunich gets an elbow up and Richards connects and Zdunich rushes forward and hits a bulldog.

Zdunich then goes for a cover…

ONE!

TWO!

Kickout!

Simone: Richards kicks out.

Zdunich shakes her head, as she slowly climbs to her feet and the proceeds to stomp on Richards over and over venting some her frustration as Richards tries to cover up the best she can, as Zdunich then stops and she turns and leaps onto the ropes and hits a springboard moonsault onto Richards. She does cover Richards, but instead she climbs to her feet and grabs Richards and pulls her up, where she spins her around to and goes to set up for the Fatal Kiss, but Richards wraps a leg around Zdunich’s and blocks it.

Lunam: Richards kicks out, as Zdunich stomps on Richards in frustration, as she then drags Richards up and tries to end the match with the Fatal Kiss, but Richards blocks it.

Zdunich tries again, but blocked and Zunich releases and shoves Richards forward before grabbing a handful of hair and drags her back and wraps an arm around Richards neck as she looks to hit the family tradition but Richards fires in some punches to Zdunich torso and Zdunich releases and Richards kicks the back of Zdunich’s knee, who drops to a knee and Richards follows up with a shining wizard to the back of Zdunich head.

Simone: Zdunich tries again with the Fatal Kiss, but it’s blocked and she shoves Richards forward and then she tries for the sliced bread into the edge-o-matic but it’s blocked and Richards kicks Zdunich in the back of her knee and fires in a shining wizard.

Zdunich is rocked, as Richards grabs Zdunich and sits her up and the proceeds to fire in martial art kicks to Zdunich body. She then stops and grabs Zdunich by the hair and drags her to the ropes, where she fires in some more kicks before backing away and rushes in and hits the Dreamkiller (V-Trigger).

Lunam: Zdunich is knocked loopy, as Richards then steps up the brutality and fires in load of martial art kicks before finishing off with the Dreamkiller and into the pin.

She then goes for a pin…

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Simone: Richards puts an end to Zdunich’s hopes.

DING DING DING!

Justin: Winner of this match via pinfall… Kayla Richards.

Richards music hits over the p.a, as she climbs off Zdunich and moves to her feet, as the ref raises her arm in victory.

We get a camera shot of Bill Barnhart and when he looks into the camera we can tell he is upset about something so we are hoping he will comment on it. When Bill sees that the camera person is focused on him Bill launches into some comments.

Bill: Glad a camera person came along so that I would air out a bit and grind up some of the frustration I am experiencing lately. No it is nothing serious. It is simply feeling at times that those of us in Sin City Wrestling do not get the push for Championship matches as often as we should be getting them.

Bill pauses for a moment before continuing with his comments.

Bill: Here is what I am seeing recently. I have held Championships in Sin City Wrestling several times. Yes I have been placed in Championship matches since that time but often the type of matches are multi-wrestler matches where I would prefer to have a one-on-one match with the Champion as it is harder to win a multi-wrestler match for a Championship.

Bill gives a stern look into the camera.

Bill: One example is the arrival of L J Kasey in Sin City Wrestling. It appears, to me anyway, that he quickly got pushed up in the rankings to challenge for Championships while others were overlooked, or like me got left out of the Championship rankings, and stuff like that tends to frustrate other wrestlers. Even though that is how I see things I tend to do what I need to do as a Wrestler in Sin City Wrestling and not whine and complain about not getting as many Championship matches because I am here for Sin City Wrestling Federation and not the other way around.

Bill pauses his comments then he points into the camera.

Bill: Since I arrived in Sin City Wrestling years ago I always made it a point to stand back and allow Management to decide whether I am to challenge for a Championship or not. However things turn out the will turn out how Management wants them to turn out for the benefit and advancement of Sin City Wrestling. Thanks for taking your time to listen to my comments and please remember that I am ready to challenge for a Championship when Management makes that decision to assign me to a Championship match.

Bill indicates to the camera person that he is done with his comments then Bill turns away from the camera and walks down the hallway.

BOMBSHELL INTERNET CHAMPIONSHIP
Victoria Lyons © vs Harper Mason

Referee Jasmine St. John steps inside of the ring to officiate this upcoming championship match!

Justin: Ladies and gentlemen! The following contest, scheduled for one fall, is for the Internet Championship!

The crowd cheers!

Justin: Introducing first - the challenger!

"I'm Made of Wax,Larry,What Are You Made Of?"by A Day to Remember plays while blue and white lights strobe over the stage. As Ryan’s entrance video is shown in the titantron the man himself walks out to take center stage. With a bright smile playing on his lips he does a confident pose before slowly making his way down the ramp. Ryan’s wearing a Black tight tank top with “Key Style” lettering, and under it is his small wet look ring trunk. His “Key hole” designed knee high boots and arm bands with the words “Ryan”in one and “keys”on the other showed off his style.

Justin: From Las Vegas, Nevada! Weighing one hundred and eighty pounds! Ryan! KEYS!

Slapping the hands of the fans to his side he jogs closer to the ring until he slides in through the bottom ropes. As he makes way up the corner ring post he stops and looks around to hear the cheers of the crowd as he teases them with tearing off his shirt and tossing it to the side. Showing the same confident pose as before he hops down and extends his leg over the ring post to stretch them out and show his flexibility before the match starts.

Simone: Ryan Keys is the epitome of the classic cliche of an underdog! People look at him and see his looks and party boy personae but just a handful of weeks ago, he took Miles Kasey to the brink of disaster!

Lunam: He not only nearly took the Internet gold away from Miles, but he was also the only one te accept Miles’s open challenge!

Justin: And his opponent…!

"Throne" by Bring Me The Horizon hits the speakers—opening with the haunting keys before that first crashing riff. The Arena plunges into darkness. A single spotlight beams down onto the stage as blue and gold lights begin to swirl like a storm forming. The opening instrumental kicks in heavier, and the fans immediately erupt, knowing who’s coming. A slow roll of fog creeps along the ramp, and just as the beat drops...

BOOM!

A burst of golden pyro erupts from both sides of the stage, and Miles Kasey steps through the smoke, hood up, head down. His long jacket flows behind him, the blue and gold design of his gear catching flashes of light like armor under moonlight. The hood casts a slight shadow over his face, but the grin is unmistakable. He pauses at the top of the ramp, slowly raising his head. Camera zooms in on his eyes.

The hook hits: “So you can throw me to the wolves…”

Miles throws his arms out in a wide, defiant pose as a wave of gold and blue pyro explodes behind him, illuminating the arena in heroic brilliance.

Justin: From Manchester in the United Kingdom! Weighing two hundred and fifteen pounds! He is the reigning and defending Internet Champion! Miles! KASEY!

“…Tomorrow I will come back, leader of the whole pack!”

He rips the hood down, revealing that confident smirk. Fans are on their feet, feeding off his energy. Miles starts his slow, swagger-filled walk down the ramp. He slaps a few hands, points out some fans in the crowd, and gives a subtle nod to the camera like "Yeah, this is mine tonight."

At ringside, he climbs the apron with ease, wipes his boots, and leaps over the top rope in one smooth motion. He heads to the turnbuckle, climbing to the second rope. Miles raises a single fist into the air as a final golden spotlight hits him, the crowd roaring behind him. Then he hops down, shrugging off his jacket like it weighs nothing. His eyes lock onto his opponent, ready.

Simone: If ever there was the perfect definition of a fighting champion, it would be that man, right there! Miles Kasey! How many champions do you know out there offering up open challenges?

Lunam: And how many of those same champions offer rematches to the challengers who came so bloody close to taking away their title?

Jasmine takes the Internet title belt from Miles and shows it to Ryan who pats the central plate for luck. Jasmine then holds the championship title up high for everyone in Tempe to see! The crowd cheers!

Simone: The fans cannot wait for this championship rematch!

Jasmine passes the gold out to the time keeper and calls for the bell!

DING DING DING!

The opening bell rings sharp and clear and both men are already circling, the roar of the SCW crowd swelling into a low, eager hum. Miles Kasey and Ryan Keys close the distance and lock up in a tight collar-and-elbow tie, muscles bunched and faces set with that familiar mix of focus and respect. Miles shifts his hips and slides into a quick side headlock, cinching tight, but Ryan plants his feet and shoots him off toward the ropes. Kasey rebounds with pace, ducks a blind swing of a forearm, rebounds from the far side and Ryan drops flat, making Miles leap over him and hit the ropes again. On the third pass, Ryan pops up for a hip toss, but Miles hooks the arm and whips him over with a crisp arm wrench takedown that snaps Keys to the canvas and keeps their chain wrestling smooth and flowing.

Simone: Listen to this crowd, Erik! They remember High Stakes XV and they know these two can put on a classic!

Lunam: Oh they absolutely remember, Belinda. Ryan Keys took Miles right to the brink for that Internet title, and he’s back tonight to prove that wasn’t a one-off, yeah?

With Ryan down, Miles keeps hold of the wrist, rolling through and twisting Ryan’s arm into a standing armbar. Keys grimaces, but you can see the gears turning as he rolls forward, kips up, and spins through the pressure, reversing the hold into an arm-wringer of his own. He yanks Miles down into a sudden arm-wringer slam, dropping the champion onto the canvas shoulder-first. Ryan maintains control, sliding a knee into Kasey’s back while pulling back on both arms, a surfboard variation that shows off his technical precision. Miles rocks his body, scooting his boots toward the ropes, and hooks an ankle over the bottom strand. The referee calls for the break and Ryan releases instantly, raising both hands to show he’s playing this straight, the crowd applauding the clean break.

Simone: Ryan said after High Stakes he wanted another chance, but to earn it the right way. You can see that respect, even in how he lets go.

Lunam: Aye, but respect doesn’t mean he’s going to go easy. The lad knows he’s one three-second count away from makin’ his career here.

Miles gets to his feet, rolling his shoulder, and both men nod at each other before stepping back into the center. Another lock-up, but this time Miles shifts low, catching Ryan’s leg and sweeping him into a quick single-leg takedown. He floats over, grabbing the wrist and flipping Keys across with a slick Japanese arm drag that sends the challenger skidding toward the corner. Ryan rolls to a knee, but Miles is already in motion, charging with a burst of speed. Keys drops down, using that Matrix evasion to lean back beneath a running strike, the champion’s arm whiffing harmlessly overhead. As Miles stumbles past, Ryan pops up, hits the ropes, and comes back with a running hurricarana that snaps Kasey over and sends him tumbling across the ring.

Miles rolls through to his feet, but the momentum carries him into the ropes and Ryan stays on him, cutting the ring off with a sharp chop to the chest that echoes through the arena. Another chop, then a third, and the crowd responds with every crack. Ryan switches it up with a stiff forearm to the jaw, then pivots, hooking Miles’ head and dropping him with a hangman’s neckbreaker that whiplashes the champion’s neck against the mat. Ryan immediately dives across the chest, hooking the far leg.

ONE!

TWO!

Kick out!

Simone: Ryan Keys going for that first cover, testing the waters, but Miles Kasey’s not staying down that easily.

Lunam: No chance, not this early. But every near fall forces the champion to spend a bit more energy kickin’ out, and that adds up as the match goes on.

Ryan doesn’t argue the count. He grabs Kasey by the arm, dragging him up, but Miles fires a shot into the ribs to slow him. Keys answers with a knee to the midsection and whips the champion into the corner. Ryan rushes in behind, handspringing off the middle rope and snapping back with a handspring elbow that crushes Miles against the turnbuckles. The champion falters forward, breath knocked out of him, and Ryan uses the opening to yank him down into a one-handed bulldog, spiking his face and chest into the mat. Again, Ryan hooks both legs this time, leaning back deep.

ONE!

TWO!

Kick out!

Miles twists his shoulder up, grimacing, and Ryan sits back on his heels, nodding to himself before taking a breath and switching tactics. He stands and circles behind the champion, stamping on the back of Miles’ leg with a targeted stomp before dropping to the canvas to hook up a grounded hold around the neck and shoulder. With his free hand, he threads an arm behind Miles’ knee, cranking the body at an awkward angle to test both the neck and leg at once. Miles grits his teeth, reaching out, fingers clawing at the canvas, the crowd starting to rally with rhythmic claps to urge the champion on.

Simone: Ryan’s ring IQ is on full display, Erik. He’s working that neck after the hangman’s neckbreaker, and that leg to limit Miles’ high-risk game.

Lunam: Exactly, because the higher Miles can fly, the more dangerous he gets. Cut the legs out from under him and suddenly those moonsaults and reverse 450s aren’t quite so easy, are they?

Miles works to a knee, powering his way up with Ryan still attached to him. With a burst of strength, he reaches back, hooks Ryan around the waist, and pops his hips, snapping the challenger overhead with a clean backdrop suplex. Ryan lands hard on his upper back and shoulders, rolling onto his side, his grip finally broken. The champion takes a brief moment, rubbing at his neck and leg, then pulls himself up using the ropes as the crowd roars at the momentum shift.

Miles stalks after Ryan, grabbing him by the wrist and whipping him toward the ropes. On the rebound, Kasey steps in and drives a solid Irish Hammer forearm into Ryan’s chest, knocking him flat. Without wasting motion, Miles hits the far ropes, rebounds, and leaps, driving both boots down into Ryan’s sternum with a double foot stomp that makes the whole ring shudder. Ryan curls around his ribs, gasping, and Miles folds him over for a quick cover, pressing his forearm across the face.

ONE!

TWO!

Kick out!

Simone: Miles Kasey answers in kind! That stomp could have broken a lesser man in half!

Lunam: Ryan’s tough as old boots, Belinda. But you can see him clutchin’ those ribs; that’s going to make every breath hurt from here on out.

Miles hauls Ryan up by the arm and swings him into a corner, following closely. He steps onto the middle rope, grabbing a fistful of Keys’ hair to steady him as the crowd counts along to a barrage of right hands into Ryan’s forehead. After ten, Miles pauses, arms raised to soak in the cheers, then shifts his grip, spinning around and launching himself out of the corner with a flying arm drag that whips Ryan halfway across the ring. Ryan rolls under the bottom rope from the momentum, spilling to the floor as he tries to regroup.

The champion gauges the distance, grips the top rope, and waits, the crowd rising because they know what’s coming. As Ryan pulls himself upright, dazed, Miles takes a running start, springboards off the middle rope and sails outward with a graceful diving crossbody, crashing into Keys and sending both men to the floor. The collision pops the crowd in unison, a wave of cheers rolling through the arena.

Simone: Vintage Miles Kasey! That diving crossbody right on target to the outside!

Lunam: That’s the risk taker he is. It hurts both men, but it hurts Ryan just that little bit more when he takes the full weight of the champion.

Both men lay on the outside for a moment, the referee’s count beginning to climb. Miles is the first to stir, shaking his head clear, and he grabs Ryan by the back of the neck, rolling him back into the ring to keep the match alive rather than take any count-out. Climbing onto the apron, Miles waits for Ryan to stagger up, then leaps onto the top rope in a fluid motion and launches into a springboard moonsault. Ryan, on pure instinct, steps forward and manages to twist his body just enough that Miles only catches him partially, turning what should have been a clean impact into more of a glancing blow that still knocks them both down but leaves neither with a clear advantage.

Ryan crawls toward the ropes, using them to pull himself up, and Miles rises behind him, stumbling slightly on the still-bothering leg. Keys turns into a boot to the gut that doubles him over. Miles seizes the moment, hooking both arms and lifting straight up, holding Ryan vertical in the air. The crowd counts along as Miles displays his strength with a stalling vertical suplex before dropping Ryan straight down, the ring bouncing on impact. The champion rolls through into a lateral press, hooking the near leg.

ONE!

TWO!

Kick out!

Simone: Another close one! Miles is pressing the advantage, but Ryan refuses to stay down.

Lunam: You can see the frustration just flickerin’ in Miles’s eyes. He knows this isn’t just any defense; this is the lad who nearly took the belt off him on the biggest stage.

Miles sits back, hands on his thighs, then reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose as if reminding himself to stay calm and patient. He pulls Ryan up again, but Keys responds with a desperate body shot, then another, backing Kasey off with a sharp forearm to the jaw. Ryan, breathing hard, hits the ropes and comes back with a low, sharp chop block to the champion’s leg, sending Miles sprawling. Immediately sensing opportunity, Ryan grabs the champion’s ankle, twisting it and stomping on the hamstring to further damage the limb.

The challenger drags Miles toward the corner and steps out onto the apron. Climbing the turnbuckles, he stands tall on the top rope, balancing carefully as the crowd buzzes. Ryan measures the distance, then launches himself into a beautiful back-flip off the top rope, crash-landing all his weight down across Miles’s torso in a kind of senton splash. The impact knocks the air from Kasey’s lungs and Ryan clutches his own ribs, but he forces himself into a cover, hooking both legs deep.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-Kick out!

The arena gasps as Miles jerks his shoulder off the mat at the last possible heartbeat, the referee holding up two fingers while Ryan stares up at the lights in disbelief for a moment.

Simone: That was so close! Ryan Keys was half a second away from becoming the new Internet Champion!

Lunam: If he had just managed to press his weight down a little tighter over the chest, that could have been it, Belinda. Miles is hangin’ on by threads now.

Ryan runs a hand through his hair, fighting the ache in his ribs and neck, and pulls himself up. He paces in a small circle, trying to shake the sting from his back after that flip, then turns and sees Miles pushing to hands and knees. Seizing the moment, Ryan charges the ropes, rebounds, and goes for a corkscrew dropkick, twisting his body in mid-air to nail Miles just as he turns. But Kasey reads it at the last second and throws himself flat, Ryan’s boots scything through empty space. Keys lands awkwardly, rolling through but clutching at his side.

Both men scramble up almost at the same time. Ryan swings, but Miles ducks underneath and snaps up behind him, lifting and dropping Keys with a sharp lung blower, driving both knees into Ryan’s back while yanking him down across them. Ryan snaps and flips over, hand shooting to his spine as he writhes on the mat. The impact leaves both men down, Miles holding his leg, Ryan arching in pain, and the referee starts a double count.

Simone: That lung blower came out of nowhere! Both champion and challenger are down!

Lunam: This is where we see what they’re made of. All the training, all the preparation, all the heart… it all comes crashin’ down to this stretch.

At the count of six, both men begin crawling in opposite directions. Miles uses the ropes to pull himself upright in one corner while Ryan reaches a knee in the opposite. They turn and lock eyes across the ring, sweat-drenched and breathing hard. The crowd surges to its feet as they stagger toward center, trading forearms back and forth. Ryan lands one, then Miles answers with his own. Another from Ryan, another from Miles, and the rhythm builds until Miles suddenly strings three in a row, rocking Keys backward.

Miles hits the ropes, limping slightly, and barrels back with a running Irish Hammer that smashes into Ryan’s chest and sends him flipping backward to the canvas. The champion doesn’t stop; he grabs Ryan’s head, hauls him up, and plants him with a head grip mat slam that bounces the challenger’s skull off the mat. With Ryan stunned, Miles rushes to the corner, climbs quickly to the top rope despite the pain in his leg, and stands poised, arms spread. He leaps off with a classic moonsault, twisting gracefully before crashing down across Ryan’s body. Miles hooks the far leg, pressing down tight.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-Kick out!

Ryan explodes a shoulder off the mat, the entire arena erupting in disbelief at the near fall.

Simone: Ryan Keys just kicked out of a picture-perfect moonsault from Miles Kasey! How much more can these two possibly have left?

Lunam: Whatever’s left, they’re about to spend it. That was championship-caliber from both men, and we’re not done yet.

Miles sits back, eyes wide for a moment, then nods, almost smiling through the exhaustion. He drags himself to his feet, signaling to the crowd that he’s going to end this, and reaches down for Ryan’s wrist. As he tries to pull the challenger up into position for his finishing sequence, Ryan suddenly drops, rolling through between Miles’s legs and popping up behind him. Before Miles can turn, Ryan springs onto his hands and flips, catching the champion with a surprising handstand leg-drop right across the back of the neck.

Miles goes down hard, chest and face hitting the mat. Ryan sprawls to the side, dragging himself to the ropes and using them to climb. He sees Miles pushing up and makes a split-second decision. Charging forward, he leaps, wraps his legs around Kasey’s head, and snaps off a running hurricarana that sends the champion tumbling into the corner, slamming back-first into the turnbuckles.

Ryan staggers to his feet again, clutching his ribs, then backs up and charges, leaping into a handspring toward the corner. He rebounds from the ropes and attempts to crush Miles with another handspring elbow, but at the last second, Kasey surges forward and catches him around the waist. In one fluid movement, Miles spins, uses Ryan’s momentum, and drives him down with a modified backdrop suplex that plants Keys in the center of the ring. Miles bridges for the pin, straining through the pain.

ONE!

TWO!

Kick out!

Simone: Again a kick out! They’re throwing everything at each other and it’s still not enough!

Lunam: They’re diggin’ deeper than they did even at High Stakes, Belinda. You can see it. Neither of them wants to leave here wonderin’ if they could’ve done more.

Both men roll away from each other, chests heaving. Miles is up, slow but determined, and he pulls Ryan up with him. He tries to lift Keys into position for a suplex, but Ryan counters, slipping down behind and yanking him backward into a schoolboy roll-up, stacking the champion’s shoulders.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-Kick out!

The arena collectively inhales and then erupts as Miles bursts free at the last heartbeat. He rolls through, ending up on a knee, and Ryan, shaking his head at how close he came, charges again. This time he aims for a corkscrew dropkick, twisting mid-air, and he connects flush, both boots crashing against Miles’s chest and knocking him onto his back. Ryan collapses from the effort but throws an arm across the champion’s body.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-Kick out!

Miles shoots a shoulder up again, misery and determination etched across his face.

Simone: I cannot believe what we’re seeing! Ryan Keys has come within a heartbeat of victory multiple times!

Lunam: And every time, Miles finds just enough to keep the lights on. That’s what makes a champion, Belinda. But how long can that last?

Ryan pushes himself off the mat slowly, looking almost spent. He drags Miles up, hooking the head as if to go for another hangman’s neckbreaker, hoping one more shot to the neck will end it. But as he spins, Miles plants his feet and shoves him off, sending Keys stumbling toward the ropes. Ryan rebounds and Miles explodes upward, catching him with a sudden Standing Spanish Fly, flipping both of them in a breathtaking arc before crashing down with Ryan driven into the canvas.

The crowd explodes, chanting loudly as both men lie sprawled on the mat. After a long few seconds, Miles crawls over, draping an arm across Ryan’s chest.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-Kick out!

Ryan’s arm jerks up, barely breaking the count, and Miles rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling in disbelief.

Simone: Standing Spanish Fly and it’s STILL not enough! Ryan Keys will not stay down!

Lunam: They’re emptyin’ the whole armory now. Signature after signature and neither man can keep the other there for three.

Miles slowly rolls over and pushes himself upright, leaning heavily on the ropes. He looks out at the crowd, then nods to himself, understanding that there’s only one way this ends. As he turns, though, Ryan is already fighting up on unsteady legs. Keys, refusing to quit, surges forward with a last burst of speed and swings for another running hurricarana, hoping to catch Miles off guard one final time.

This time, though, Kasey is ready. He catches Ryan in mid-rotation, hands slipping under the challenger’s legs and shifting his balance. The motion flows seamlessly as Miles adjusts, hoisting Ryan up onto his shoulders in one smooth, practiced movement. The crowd rises as they recognize the setup, a surge of noise blasting through the arena.

Simone: He’s got him! Miles is going for it!

Lunam: This could be Hail to the Queen time!

With Ryan struggling weakly on his shoulders, Miles plants his feet, despite the pain screaming in his leg, and swings Keys around, bringing him crashing down with Hail to the Queen, the brutal Storm Breaker-style maneuver landing flush. Ryan’s body smacks into the mat, bouncing once before going limp beneath him. Miles collapses with him, draping himself across Ryan’s body and hooking the far leg as tight as his exhausted muscles will allow.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING!

The bell rings and the arena erupts into a standing ovation, the noise almost deafening as both men lie spent in the center of the ring.

Justin: Here is your winner - and STILLLLL Internet Champion! MILES KASEY!!!

Simone: He did it! Miles Kasey retains the SCW Internet Championship in an incredible match!

Lunam: What a war, Belinda! That was every bit the sequel to High Stakes XV and then some! Ryan Keys pushed the champion right to the edge, but Hail to the Queen seals it for Miles one more time!

Miles slowly rolls off Ryan and lies on his back, chest rising and falling rapidly. The referee retrieves the Internet Championship belt from the timekeeper and kneels beside them, checking on both competitors. With some effort, Miles gets to a seated position, sweat-soaked hair hanging in his face, and the referee raises his arm, placing the title in his lap. The crowd keeps cheering, chanting his name, but there’s an equal swell of appreciation for Ryan Keys, who is clutching at his neck and ribs as he’s helped to a sitting position as well.

Miles looks over at Ryan, then drags himself to his feet with the ropes and limps across the ring, championship still clutched in one hand. He stands over the challenger, then extends his other hand. Ryan looks up, chest heaving, eyes full of frustration and pride. After a moment, he takes the hand and Miles hauls him up. The two stand face to face, battered and exhausted, before Miles lifts Ryan’s arm for the crowd, acknowledging the fight and the heart that nearly dethroned him.

Simone: That’s what SCW is all about, Erik. Championship-level competition, mutual respect, and both men walking out with their heads held high.

Lunam: Couldn’t have said it better, Belinda. Miles Kasey keeps the Internet Championship tonight, but Ryan Keys just proved he belongs at the very top of this division. I’d watch these two go at it a third time any day of the week.

As Ryan steps back, leaving the ring to give the spotlight to the champion, Miles climbs the turnbuckles, gingerly favoring his leg, and raises the Internet Championship high overhead, soaking in the thunderous ovation. The camera lingers on the image of the battered champion standing tall, belt raised, before panning to Ryan on the ramp, looking back with a mixture of disappointment and respect.

Miles is still catching his breath at ringside, sweat in his curls, Internet Title strapped over his shoulder. The crowd in Tempe is LOUD, chanting his name. A ring attendant hands him a mic and Miles steps back between the ropes, leaning on them with a grin before raising the mic as his music fades down.

Miles: Tempe... TEMPE! Did you enjoy that match or WHAT?!

Crowd pops hard. Miles nods, pacing with a smug little half-smile.

Miles: Good! Because Ryan Keys came to fight tonight. That man nearly took my bloody head off more than once... but here I stand STILL your SCW Internet Champion.

Another big pop. Miles taps the plate of the belt.

Miles: Now... I’d love to stand here and talk about the work I’ve put in. The hours. The grind. The whole deal—But it seems like some folks in the back want to do that for me.

Miles shifts tone, irritation threading into his voice.

Miles: Apparently...Apparently being the SECOND-tier champion...Apparently working my ass off every single week...Apparently being the guy who defends this title and elevates this division...

He holds the belt up.

Miles: ....makes me worthless in the eyes of a certain leader of Wolfslair.

Crowd boos loudly. Miles nods knowingly.

Miles: Yeah. Yeah, you heard that right. According to one Alex Jones, the self-anointed King of Wolfslair, THIS,

Miles taps his belt with a smirk.

Miles: Means nothing to the great Hall of Famer that seems to think that all of it is just not good enough. According to Alex... the Internet Champion isn’t good enough. I’M not good enough.

He lowers the belt, eyes narrowing.

Miles: Yet... funny, innit? Funny how the “great leader” of Wolfslair had absolutely no problem watching me get DRAGGED when I did what I had to do to Finn. Oh, suddenly then I was a monster. Suddenly then all the tough guys had opinions. But now? Now that I’m champion? Now that I’m standing tall?

Miles spreads his arms.

Miles: Now I’m worthless. Make it make sense, yeah? If we’re going to do double standards, then fucking say it, bruv.

Crowd chants “MILES! MILES! MILES!”

Miles: BUT OH it gets better. Because Alex isn’t even saying this TO me. No, no, no....He’s got his little puppet Aiden to do the talking. He was saying what big strong Alex is too damn scared just a few weeks ago or too damn busy stroking his own ego to say himself. It finally started to flow out of his own mouth when he took on my brother last week. What’s amazing is my phone number hasn’t changed after all this time and I KNOW that I’m still on the rotor.

Some fans boo at Aiden’s name. Others laugh.

Miles: You guys want to talk about me? You all want to dissect my career? You want to act like you’ve got some grand insight into who I am and what I’ve earned?

Miles steps to the ropes facing the stage, leaning forward.

Miles: Then SAY. IT. TO. MY. FACE.

Crowd roars.

Miles: Alex Jones....I’m right here and I’m standing here as THEE Internet Champion. The “worthless” one. The one you think is beneath you.

Miles motions to the ramp.

Miles: So how about you come out here and tell me exactly what you’ve been running your mouth about in every locker room except the one I’m standing in? You say I’m not good enough? Then come down this ramp and PROVE IT. Say it to me, man to man. Right here. Right now.

Miles drops the mic to his side, staring intensely at the entrance. Crowd chants “SHOW YOUR FACE! SHOW YOUR FACE!” Miles lifts the mic for one more line, voice low, dangerous.

Miles: Because I’m done listening to whispers. If you’ve got something to say, Alex Jones, here is your shot...The floor is yours.

Miles throws down the mic and steps back, chest heaving, ready and waiting for Alex Jones to appear. He stares up the ramp with that familiar look of expectation slowly souring into annoyance. The Tempe crowd buzzes, some chanting for Alex to show, others booing at the no-show already. Miles sighs and leans down grabbing the mic again.

Miles: Alright. Yep. There it is. I figured as much, I should have put an invitation in the mail or online and have him RSVP to the fucking thing to actually get his attention.

He paces near the ropes, title still draped over his shoulder, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Miles: But see, this is what I’m talking about. This right here. Alex Jones is really comfortable talking about me when I’m not around. He’s real comfortable calling me “worthless,” real comfortable acting like this title, the Internet Championship, is somehow beneath him. But when it comes to walking out here...When it comes to saying a damn thing to my face?

He looks up the ramp again, exaggerated, hand shielding his eyes.

Miles: Nothing. Not a damn thing. I stayed out of my brother’s match last week because he doesn’t need me to fight his own battles. I’m not like that. So Alex, if you have something to say, and I invite you out here, if you don’t show...what does that say about you, mate?

The crowd pops with a mixture of cheers and “oooohs.”

Miles: But hey....maybe Alex is busy. Maybe the great leader of Wolfslair needed a night off from all that talking he loves to do. Or maybe... he’s waiting for the right moment to run his mouth again where he doesn’t have to back any of it up.

He smirks, nodding knowingly.

Miles: So let’s make this real simple, Alex. I’m not going to stand here much longer and scream at a curtain or into the void. You want to call me worthless? You want to question what I’ve built, what I’ve worked for, what I’ve bled for? Then next week...

He points directly up the ramp.

Miles: You bring your ass out here and you say it to me. To my face. Not online, not on twitter or facebook. Not in the back. Not through Aiden. Me. You. Same ring. ZERO fucking excuses.

Crowd pops again.

Miles: Because I’m done with the peanut gallery commentary. I’m done letting anybody, especially someone like you, pretend you know what I’ve done to make this title matter again, especially when Wolfslair hasn’t given a flying fuck about me for over a year. You wanna talk about “worthless”? Come out next week...And find out for yourself just how wrong you are.

Miles drops the mic with finality, raises the title high to another big reaction, and steps through the ropes, still staring up the ramp on his way out, daring Alex to change his mind even now.

Backstage at Mullett Arena in Tempe, the camera finds a strange little scene tucked against a cinderblock wall. A battered folding table has been turned into something between a shrine and a prank: three scented candles flicker in mismatched jars, a tiny stuffed raven perches in the middle with googly eyes glued on crooked, and a piece of gaffer tape on the wall behind it has ALEXANDER RAVEN scribbled across it in thick black marker. The SCW World Heavyweight Championship sits front and center on a black towel, polished until the plates glow under the harsh fluorescent lights.

Off to the side, a small stereo rests on a production crate, cheerfully playing the bouncy tune of Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo, its light, whimsical melody completely at odds with the supposed “ritual” going on in front of it.

"Salagadoola mechicka boola bibbidi-bobbidi-boo
Put 'em together and what have you got
Bippity-boppity-boo

Salagadoola mechicka boola bibbidi-bobbidi-boo
It'll do magic believe it or not
Bippity-boppity-boo"

Helluva Bottom Carter stands there in full gear, ring jacket half open, a bundle of sage or incense in one hand and the title belt in the other. He waves the smoldering bundle through the air in big, sweeping motions, fanning the smoke around the belt, the stuffed raven, and then over his own head like he’s blessing himself. He hums along to the song under his breath, moving in time to the music as he does.

HBCarter: Out, bad juju, out. Be gone, spooky Twitter poetry. No more toxic energy, no more sad boy vibes, out of my space!

He circles the incense over the stuffed raven and then flicks the smoke at the taped-up name on the wall, lips pursed in exaggerated concentration. As he leans in to waft smoke directly at the googly-eyed toy, Ms. Rocky Mountains walks into frame, microphone in hand. She slows to a stop, eyebrows climbing almost to her hairline, then glances from the candles to the stuffed raven to the happily playing Cinderella track, her expression hovering somewhere between confusion and barely-contained laughter.

Ms. Rocky Mountains: Um, Carter? I’m almost afraid to ask, but what exactly are you doing right now?

Carter straightens with a flourish, one hand on his hip, the other holding the smoking bundle like a ceremonial scepter. He turns toward her and grins, eyes bright with mischief.

HBCarter: Oh, this? This is a very serious spiritual procedure, babe. I am purging this entire backstage area. I am getting rid of all the toxic energy, all the sad boy vibes, all the doom and gloom, because I don’t need Alexander Raven’s midlife crisis anywhere near my world title match tonight.

He sweeps the sage in a big circle around the belt for emphasis, then gestures at the stereo with a flick of his wrist.

HBCarter: You hear that? That is not ominous chanting, that is not a Latin hymn, that is Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo. That is the soundtrack to undoing every depressing monologue that man has ever cut about fate and destiny and whatever else he found in his notes app.

He wafts a final plume of smoke toward the stuffed raven, then fans it away from Ms. Rocky Mountains in a mock-gentlemanly gesture.

Ms. Rocky Mountains: Well, since you’re clearly… preparing in your own unique way, I have to ask. Tonight you’re defending the SCW World Heavyweight Championship against Alexander Raven. How are you feeling heading into this match?

Carter’s grin softens into something sharper, more focused. He lays the sage down in a metal tray, then picks up the title and drapes it over his shoulder, fingers tapping the main plate.

HBCarter: How am I feeling? I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. Ever since Raven decided he was gonna jump Alex Jones, jump me, and then run off with this belt like a raccoon that found a shiny thing in a dumpster.

He gives the plate a little pat, almost protective.

HBCarter: You don’t put your hands on the champion, you don’t put your hands on my friend, and you definitely don’t walk out of the arena hugging my belt like a comfort pillow and think there isn’t going to be a receipt. I have been waiting, very patiently, for the chance to do this the right way, in the ring, where there are no sneak attacks, no cheap shots from behind, no smoke and mirrors. Just me, him, and the reality he keeps trying so hard to avoid!

Ms. Rocky Mountains: You mention the belt. I have to ask, after everything that happened with Raven and Luna, how does it feel having it back on your shoulder?

Carter rolls his eyes dramatically and looks down at the championship as if it might answer for its own trauma.

HBCarter: Honestly? Traumatized is the word, Rocky. I had to boil this thing. I am not even kidding. I took the plates off, I looked at where it had been, and I said absolutely not. I boiled it, scrubbed it, emptied a whole can of Lysol on it. Because knowing it had been that close to Luna’s, well, you know…

He shudders theatrically, shoulders hunching.

HBCarter: Some stains are spiritual, and I am not carrying that into this match with me.

Ms. Rocky Mountains fights a losing battle against a laugh and then regains her composure as she lifts the microphone back up.

Ms. Rocky Mountains: Alexander Raven has been very vocal leading up to tonight, insisting he still deserves to be in the World Heavyweight Title picture. Any final thoughts on that going into your match?

Carter blinks at her like he can’t quite believe what he’s heard, then lets out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head.

HBCarter: You know what blows my mind, Rocky? The level of delulu we are working with here. This man attacks people from behind, steals a championship he didn’t win, gets caught, gets called out, and somehow still thinks he is the rightful heir to my throne. He really believes he’s owed this, like the universe wrote his name in the stars and the rest of us are just supporting characters!

He adjusts the belt on his shoulder, posture straightening, the playful edge in his voice giving way to something colder.

HBCarter: Here’s the truth. You are not owed anything in this business. You earn it, night after night, in that ring. I did. I beat the best to become World Heavyweight Champion, and I have carried this title with pride ever since. Raven? He has spent more time cutting cryptic promos in shadowy corners than actually winning the big one. And tonight, he gets his reality check!

Carter turns slightly toward the camera now, eyes locked on the lens, the candles still flickering behind him, the silly stuffed raven hovering over his shoulder like a prop in his own joke.

HBCarter: So to answer your question, Rocky… no, I cannot believe he still thinks he should be in line for this. But that’s the beauty of tonight. This is my chance to close out the Raven. End the chapter, shut the book, and prove, once and for all, that this fairytale does not have his name on the ending!

He gives the title one last firm tap, Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo still playing lightly in the background as the camera lingers on his confident smirk before the scene cuts away.

The scene opens backstage at Climax Control where we see Young Justice, the tandem of Cassie Wolfe and Harper Mason who are about to be interviewed ahead of their tag team Main Event against Mercedes Vargas and the World Bombshell Champion Crystal Zdunich AKA Fire and Fury by Pussy Willow.

Pussy Willow: Ladies, tonight you are up against Fire and Fury…………

Harper: Or Ember and Passive Aggression.

Pussy Willow: Err, what?

Josh, standing off to the side of the two young Bombshells, shakes his head.

Joshua: Here we go.

Cassie: Or Sparky and Butt Plug!

Harper doubles over with laughter as Pussy’s jaw drops.

Pussy Willow: CASSIE! Mercedes and Crystal are Hall of Famers…………..

Cassie: And I don’t care!

Harper: Look, we both agree that Fire and Fury is a lame as fuck team name for two women who are Hall of Famers.

Joshua: Two time in Mercedes’s case.

Harper: So we’ve taken to giving them alternate team names, my other one was Golden Shower Girls.

Pussy is at a loss for words.

Cassie: Anyway, we’re going to kick Old and Worthless’s asses tonight.

Harper: Man, I wish I had thought of that.

Young Justice walk off and Josh sighs.

Joshua: This is going to be a long December.

Josh walks off after them as the scene fades.

Referee Dawn Barnes steps through the ropes as the next match is set to begin!

Justin: Ladies and gentlemen! The following Non-Title match is scheduled for one fall to a finish!

The crowd cheers!

Lunam: Oh we know what that means is coming!

Justin: Introducing first…!

As the opening rift of 'Kafka' by Jinjer begins to play out the lights change to a darkish blue, filling the area with a hazy blue. Smoke billows from the entrance way, covering the ramp and creating a cloud big enough for a person to stand in at the entrance curtain.

'Hardly in the spirit of the era. Dedicate and thin skinned.
One appeared in front of the jury. Face uncovered in front of the jury.'

Alexander bursts from the smoke cloud, eyes open wide as he slowly casts his gaze over the crowd. His face drawn and stoic, the slight flaring of his nostrils as he nods a little to himself. His hand extends out to his side, as Luna Pasilno steps through the smoke, taking his hand in hers. The two of them slowly beginning to make their way down the ramp, hand in hand.

Justin: He is accompanied to the ring by Luna Pasilno! From San Antonio, Texas! Weighing two hundred and twenty five pounds! He is the Broken Messiah - Alexander RAVEN!

'Beauty of looks, beauty of faults.
Frightened and offhand. Deaf to a command.'

As they reach the ring apron, they let go each others hands, Alexander stepping up onto the ring apron, and turns to look back at Luna. The two of them locking eyes as he slowly steps backwards through the ropes, never breaking gaze from her. An unspoken acknowledgement as he slowly steps backwards toward the centre of the ring, Luna making her way around the ringside area taking up place nearby. Alexander coming to a stop in the middle of the ring, eyes still locked on her. Waiting for the bell.

Simone: This match has been well over a month in the making! Ever since Alexander Raven attacked both Alex Jones AND Helluva Bottom Carter! And all in the name of stealing the World Heavyweight title belt!

Lunam: I could listen to this fella all day and still not understand a damn thing he says! How he can still justify believin’ he deserves the World title is beyond me!

Justin: And his opponent…!

The dancing techno beat of Lady Gaga's LGBTQ anthem, "Born This Way" kicks up over the sound system. The crowd turns to the stage where Helluva Bottom Carter dances out onto the stage amidst the cheers of the SCW Universe! Clad in his favorite Ostrich jacket and sparkling lavender shades over his eyes, Carter bows and sweeps at the waist, blowing a kiss.

Justin: From Seattle, Washington, weighing one hundred and seventy six pounds, he is the "Hardcore Bottom" -- Helluva Bottom Carter!

Carter runs toward the ring, slapping hands offered out to him all around the ringside area. He then hops up onto the ring apron in a split and slides beneath the bottom rope. He crawls seductively on all fours until he arrives in his corner. He pulls himself up and removes his shades and jacket, passing them out to the ringside attendant before laying across the top corner.

Simone: The World Heavyweight Champion, Helluva Bottom Carter! Since May, he has turned away every challenger for that title and the one name that remains on his list is the man he is facing tonight! Alexander Raven!

Lunam: That’s because Raven has made it his life’s mission to ruin Carter! Everything Carter loves, Raven wants to take away!

Dawn Barnes calls for the opening bell!

DING DING DING!

The bell has barely finished ringing when Carter explodes out of his corner, his eyes locked on Alexander Raven with a fury that makes the crowd swell into instant noise. Raven strides forward to meet him, unfazed, and the two collide in the center of the ring with a tight collar-and-elbow tie-up that lasts all of half a second before it dissolves into swinging fists. Carter throws sharp, fast forearms to the jaw, snapping Raven’s head back, but the bigger man answers with a heavy straight punch to the ribs that rocks the champion and drives him back a step. They’re not feeling each other out tonight; this is a fight, pure and simple, and the referee is already warning them to open the fists as Carter fires a shot that glances dangerously close to Raven’s eye and Raven answers with a snatching handful of hair to yank Carter down to one knee.

Simone: This is not about rankings or contendership tonight. This is hatred spilling over. Carter and Alexander Raven absolutely despise one another.

Lunam: You can see it in every swing, Simone. There’s no hold-for-hold start here, it’s straight to the grudge. They’re tryin’ to hurt each other already, not pace themselves.

Raven drags Carter into the corner by that clutch of hair, ramming his forearm into Carter’s jaw again and again until the referee starts the mandatory count. He breaks on four with a smirk, then buries a shoulder into Carter’s midsection, driving the air from the smaller man. A second shoulder tackle folds Carter over the top rope, and Raven rears back for a third—only for Carter to snap his knees up, trapping Raven’s head. For a heartbeat it looks like a guillotine, but Carter uses the rope for balance, swinging around and snapping Raven down to the mat with a tight headscissors that sends the crowd roaring. Carter rolls through, pops to his feet, and greets the staggering Raven with a perfectly timed standing dropkick that catches the bigger man right under the chin and sends him tumbling back to the canvas.

Simone: Classic Helluva Bottom Carter! Snatched a reversal out of nowhere and sent Raven flying!

Lunam: That dropkick was like a bullet, lass. He planted that right on Raven’s jaw, he did.

Carter keeps the momentum flowing, grabbing Raven by the wrist as he rises and twisting into a crisp wristlock. With a fluid spin, he launches Raven over in a smooth wristlock arm drag, the bigger man skidding across the canvas toward the ropes. Raven tries to roll out, but Carter’s already on him, sprinting past and rebounding off the far ropes. He comes back low, whiplashing Raven’s head with a slingblade that whirls the mega heel to the mat, then drops to one knee to line up his next shot. As Raven pushes up, dazed, Carter charges and snaps off a basement dropkick to the side of the head, rolling him over onto his back and hooking a leg immediately.

ONE!

TWO!

Kick out!

Raven powers out, shoving Carter off with a grunt of irritation rather than fear. Carter doesn’t argue the count; he glides back to his feet and keeps the speed advantage pressed. He hauls Raven up, hooks an arm, and whips him into the corner. The impact rattles the turnbuckles, and Carter charges right behind him, launching into a handspring toward the corner, flipping through at the last second and crashing into Raven with a handspring clothesline that snaps the taller man back into the turnbuckles and slumps him down into a seated position. The crowd rises because they know what that usually means, and Carter, sweat already beading at his hairline, flashes a wicked little grin.

Simone: Carter has Raven in a very bad position!

Lunam: Aye, and the champ’s lookin’ for a bit of revenge fun, I’d say.

Carter backs up all the way to the opposite corner, shakes out his limbs, then dashes forward at full speed. He launches into the air and crashes into Raven’s chest with a bronco buster, legs pistoning and hips grinding as he ruthlessly rides Raven down, slamming him rhythmically against the turnbuckles. The crowd pops huge, laughing and cheering as Carter makes a spectacle of humiliating his arch-rival. The referee starts another count, and Carter pops off at four, arms wide, soaking in the reaction while Raven clutches his ribs and snarls in frustration.

From the floor, Luna Pasilno slaps the apron furiously, barking instructions and outrage in equal measure, her eyes burning holes in Carter’s back. Carter shoots her a smirk and a little mocking bow, only to turn right back into a desperate burst from Raven. The bigger man surges out of the corner with a looping lariat attempt. Carter ducks under, rebounds off the far ropes, and leaps—going for a spinning wheel kick—but this time Raven has had just enough of the punishment. He sidesteps and swats Carter’s supporting leg out from under him mid-spin, sending him crashing awkwardly down onto his lower back and shoulders.

Simone: That was a nasty fall! Carter landed hard, and Raven saw that one coming.

Lunam: That’s the thing about Alexander Raven. Ye give him a few licks, he learns, he adapts, and then he’ll bloody make ye pay for it.

Raven wastes no time capitalizing. He drops a sudden standing elbow drop right across Carter’s sternum, the impact jolting the smaller man. Another elbow follows, this one buried into the ribs, and then Raven doesn’t bother with finesse—he just starts brawling. Heavy, clubbing forearms rain down onto Carter’s upper back and neck, each one punctuated with a sharp exhale from the mega heel. When the referee pushes him back, Raven flashes an insincere smile, then drags Carter up by the arm, pulls him close, and snaps him overhead with a smooth belly-to-back suplex that sends Carter crashing to the mat in a back arch of pain.

Raven floats over for a quick lateral press, grinding his forearm across Carter’s face.

ONE!

TWO!

Kick out!

Carter twists his shoulder free, but Raven is in his rhythm now. He yanks Carter up by the hair, ignoring the referee’s warnings, and moves behind him, cinching his waist with a tight grip. In one controlled motion he bridges back and hurls Carter over with a crisp German suplex, the champion’s legs folding over his head upon impact. Raven keeps the bridge, shoulders pressed to the mat.

ONE!

TWO!

Kick out!

Carter barely rolls the shoulder, his face a mask of pain as he clutches his neck and lower back. Luna claps appreciatively at ringside, shouting for Raven to “break him in half.” Raven stands, adjusts his grip tape, and then stalks around to Carter’s legs, seizing both ankles. With a cruel smile, he steps through and turns, sitting hard into a Boston Crab right in the center of the ring, wrenching Carter’s spine backward with surgical precision.

Simone: This is where Alexander Raven is at his most dangerous. He’s not just throwing big moves—he’s systematically targeting the back, the neck, making sure Carter’s high-flying game is grounded.

Lunam: Aye, he’s tryin’ to rip the lad in half. Look at the angle on that Boston Crab. That’ll take the spring right out of ye.

Carter’s face contorts as Raven sits deeper, leaning back to increase the pressure. Carter claws at the canvas, fingertips digging into the mat as he inches agonizingly toward the ropes. Every few seconds Raven jerks backward, bending him further, and Carter cries out, teeth gritted, sweat dripping from his brow. The crowd rallies, chanting for Carter, clapping in unison as he drags himself inch by inch across the ring. Raven snarls, shakes his head, and leans even further back, his own legs trembling with how deep he’s sitting, but Carter stretches out one arm and slaps his hand onto the bottom rope.

The referee immediately calls for the break. Raven counts along mockingly with the official—one, two, three, four—and only then releases the hold, giving Carter’s ankles a petulant extra shove. Carter curls into himself, hands wrapped around his tortured lower back. Raven stays on him, stomping down on that same area, then yanks him up just enough to drive him face-first into the top turnbuckle. He traps Carter seated on the mat again, this time in the corner, and backs up.

Raven charges, lifting his boot, and scrapes the sole across Carter’s face with a vicious facewasher boot, the impact whiplashing Carter’s head back against the pads. Carter collapses sideways, dazed, and Raven drags him away from the ropes by an arm, dropping down for another cover.

ONE!

TWO!

Kick out!

Carter refuses to stay down, rolling a shoulder and shoving weakly at Raven’s chest. Annoyed, Raven grabs both of Carter’s arms and threads his boots behind Carter’s knees, rolling him onto his back and then bridging, hoisting Carter up in a Romero Special. Carter’s body is suspended above Raven’s, arms wrenched back, knees bent the wrong way, his spine bowed in a brutal arc as Raven pulls on his wrists and yells something spiteful up at him. Carter’s cry of pain echoes through the arena, but he shakes his head when the referee asks if he wants to submit, his legs trembling as Raven pulls harder.

Simone: Romero Special locked in! Raven has Carter trussed up like a sacrifice!

Lunam: He’s bendin’ him like a bow. The more he punishes that back, the less flight Carter’s gonna have left. That’s a brilliant, if cruel, strategy.

Through sheer stubborn will, Carter manages to wrench one wrist free, then twists his hips just enough to cause Raven to lose balance. The hold collapses in a messy heap, both men rolling away from each other. Raven is first to his feet, but Carter meets him with a sudden burst of defiance, slipping behind and snapping off a sharp back suplex that surprises the bigger man and slams him onto the back of his head and shoulders. Carter lands on his own damaged back and clutches it, gasping, but he forces himself back up, knowing he can’t give Raven time.

He hits the ropes, rebounds, and drops into a smooth split-legged leg drop across Raven’s chest, his hips dropping right into the impact. Carter hooks a leg, leaning his weight across Raven’s shoulders.

ONE!

TWO!

Kick out!

Raven powers free again, but the momentum has shifted. Carter pushes himself upright, fighting through the pain in his back, and as Raven gets to one knee, Carter charges in with a sudden Shining Wizard, his knee cracking right across Raven’s temple. Raven slumps down, and Carter collapses too, both men sprawled on the canvas, breathing heavily as the referee starts a count. Carter is up first on wobbly legs, using the ropes to steady himself. He measures Raven, waits until the mega heel stumbles upright, then darts forward, hooking Raven’s head and whipping him over in a tilt-a-whirl hurricanrana that sends Raven tumbling toward the corner.

Simone: Carter is digging deep! That speed and agility are still in there despite all the punishment to his back!

Lunam: The lad’s fightin’ like his life depends on it, and maybe it does, in his own head. This is personal. He wants to put Raven down tonight.

Raven ends up seated in the corner again, head lolling. Carter sees the opening and the crowd knows what’s coming. He stalks forward, grabs Raven by the hair, and pulls him forward just enough to thread his legs around Raven’s head. With a wicked little smirk, Carter plants his hands on the top ropes, tightens his grip with his legs, and starts slamming Raven’s face repeatedly into his backside in rapid-fire fashion.

Simone: Buttocks Injection! Carter’s signature humiliation move!

Lunam: If Raven weren’t dizzy already, he will be after that. That’s insult and injury in one package.

Carter finally lets go, and Raven slumps facedown on the mat, dazed and furious. Carter drags him out to the center, drops down across his chest, and hooks the far leg.

ONE!

TWO!

THR–Kick out!

The crowd gasps at the near fall as Raven just barely jerks a shoulder up, rolling slightly onto his side. Carter looks stunned for a second, shaking the sweat from his eyes, then nods in grim understanding. He’s going to have to go even higher. He pulls Raven up and underhooks him, looking for the Metallic Driver, but as he lifts, his punished back seizes up, and his legs wobble. Raven takes full advantage, bucking his hips and shoving Carter backward. As Carter staggers, Raven lunges in with a Lou Thesz press, tackling him to the mat and raining down straight, brawling punches to Carter’s face and skull, his knuckles thudding in uncontrolled rage.

The referee pulls him off, warning him about closed fists, and Raven shoves the official back just shy of a disqualification, his focus never leaving Carter. He jerks Carter up by the wrist and, in a flash, pulls him down into a jarring armbar, dropping to the mat and hyperextending Carter’s elbow. Carter screams in pain, free hand clawing at the canvas as Raven twists and wrenches, barking at him to tap. Carter fights the hold, rolls his hips, and finally manages to stack Raven on his shoulders for an impromptu pin attempt to force the break.

ONE!

TWO!

Kick out!

Raven releases the armbar to avoid being pinned and scrambles up, but Carter is already moving, clutching his arm. He ducks under a thrust kick, bounces off the ropes with a wince, and comes back in a blur, leaping and catching Raven’s head with his legs for a flying mayorana that spikes the bigger man down onto his shoulders. Carter rolls through, uses pure adrenaline to scramble to the corner, and climbs to the top turnbuckle.

Simone: Carter’s going high risk with his back in this condition!

Lunam: Sometimes that’s the only way he knows, Simone. All or nothin’.

Carter steadies himself, draws a deep breath, and launches off the top with a soaring diving Meteora, his knees slamming into Raven’s chest and driving the air out of him as they crash to the mat. The impact knocks Carter backward, forcing him to clutch his lower back again, but he grits his teeth and crawls forward, draping an arm over Raven’s chest.

ONE!

TWO!

THR–Kick out!

Another razor-thin near fall, and Carter’s eyes go wide with disbelief. Raven’s chest heaves as he sucks in the air Carter just blasted out of him. On the outside, Luna grips the apron with white knuckles, shouting for Raven to get up, her face flushed with fury at every second that Carter is in control. The champion pulls himself up by the ropes, every movement showing the wear on his spine. He grabs Raven’s legs, stepping through and looking to turn him over for a Texas cloverleaf, but as he starts to twist, Luna hops up onto the apron, shouting at the referee.

Simone: Oh, come on! Luna Pasilno with the distraction!

Lunam: She’s like a vulture out there, always circlin’ when Carter’s got the edge.

The referee immediately turns, ordering Luna down from the apron. In that split second of distraction, Raven reaches up and jabs a thumb right into Carter’s eye. Carter recoils, hands flying to his face as he stumbles backward, blinded. The ref turns back just in time to see Raven “innocently” pushing himself up, while Luna drops back to the floor, her expression all feigned concern. Raven takes advantage of the moment, stepping in with a sharp thrust kick to Carter’s injured midsection, doubling him over. He hits the ropes and comes back with a springboard elbow, leaping off the middle rope and driving the point of his elbow into the back of Carter’s neck, sending him face-first to the canvas.

Raven rolls him over and hooks the leg.

ONE!

TWO!

THR–Kick out!

The crowd erupts in relief as Carter manages to jerk his shoulder off the mat at the last possible heartbeat. Raven looks incensed now, eyes wild. He slams his fist on the mat, then drags Carter up and underhooks both arms from behind, setting up for The Kingslayer. He lifts, ready to spike Carter with the double hammerlock DDT, but Carter frantically squirms, throwing his legs out and twisting, managing to slip one arm free and roll forward. Raven hits the mat awkwardly and Carter stumbles to his feet, bleeding momentum and balance but still moving.

Simone: Carter just escaped The Kingslayer by sheer desperation!

Lunam: If Raven had hit that clean, this one might’ve been over, lass.

Summoning one more burst, Carter grabs Raven by the waist, spins him out, and sends him flying with a giant swing, rotating the bigger man around the ring in dizzying circles. After several rotations, Carter lets go, and Raven skids across the mat, ending up on his back with the world clearly spinning. Carter staggers, almost falling over from the strain on his own spine, but he forces himself upright and stomps over, straddling Raven’s waist. He drops down into a mounted position and starts Ride ’Em Cowboy, raining down rapid-fire punches, then cuffing Raven around the head, the crowd counting along with every blow.

He grabs Raven’s arm afterward and transitions smoothly, threading it around Raven’s own neck while trapping the opposite limb to cinch in a modified Full Windsor Knot submission, torqueing the neck and shoulder at an ugly angle. Raven thrashes, his face contorting in pain as Carter leans his weight into the hold. The referee drops down to check, but Raven grits his teeth, refusing to tap. He inches his body toward the ropes, finally draping a boot over the bottom strand, forcing Carter to break the hold. Carter does so at once, hands going to his back again, the accumulation of damage clearly catching up.

Both men drag themselves back up, exhausted, sweat-slick and breathing hard. The crowd buzzes with that restless energy that says they know the end is coming soon. Carter throws a forearm to Raven’s jaw. Raven responds with a straight right hand to Carter’s cheek. They trade shots in the center of the ring, each one slower but more desperate than the last. Finally, Carter ducks one of Raven’s wilder swings, slips behind, and in a last surge of athleticism, snaps Raven over with an inverted Frankensteiner, planting the mega heel on the top of his head. The crowd explodes, but Carter folds over clutching his back, the move costing him dearly.

Simone: Inverted Frankensteiner! Carter may have knocked Raven out cold, but can he capitalize?

Lunam: That back is screamin’ at him, Simone. He’s payin’ for every big move tonight.

Carter crawls, inch by inch, toward Raven’s prone body. He drapes an arm across Raven’s chest, but the delay costs him; Raven still manages to roll a shoulder at two. Carter groans, frustration and pain mixing on his face. He forces himself upright again and stumbles to the corner, climbing the ropes once more. The crowd rises with him, sensing one last gamble. He stands on the top rope, wobbly but determined, then launches into the air for a front dropkick off the top.

Raven, however, has just enough life left to throw himself sideways at the last second. Carter crashes and burns, slamming into the mat back-first with a sickening thud. He arches in agony, jaw clenched in a silent scream as his already-damaged spine absorbs the brunt of the fall. Raven drags himself up by the ropes, seeing his opportunity. He stalks to the opposite corner, eyes narrowing, hands shaking just slightly as he lines Carter up.

Simone: This is bad. This is very bad. Alexander Raven has that look in his eyes.

Lunam: Aye… he’s thinkin’ of one thing, and that’s Raven’s Spine.

Carter slowly gets to his feet, legs trembling, one hand braced on the small of his back. He turns—right into Raven charging full speed. Raven hooks him inverted, legs threading over Carter’s shoulders, and in one brutal, fluid motion, he spikes the champion with Raven’s Spine, the running vertebreaker snapping Carter’s neck and back at a horrific angle before they crash to the mat. Carter crumples, unmoving, his body twisted, and Raven sprawls over him, hooking one leg deep and pulling back hard on the other.

The crowd is on its feet, half screaming, half begging. Carter’s right leg flops, and in one last instinctive act, his boot falls against the bottom rope, just barely draped across it. The referee drops to count.

ONE!

TWO!

From the floor, Luna Pasilno sees the boot and moves in a heartbeat. With a vicious shove, she knocks Carter’s foot off the rope, hiding her hands against the apron as the boot falls lifelessly back toward the center of the ring, out of the official’s line of sight.

THREE!

DING DING DING!

Justin: Here is your winner! ALEXANDER RAVEN!!!

The bell rings and the arena fills with a wall of boos instantly directed at Luna and Raven. The referee, thinking he’s just counted a clean pin, raises Alexander Raven’s arm in victory as the mega heel lies there, panting, a grim smile curling on his lips. Luna slides into the ring, all fake innocence gone, and wraps her arms around him, pointing down at Carter with glee.

Simone: No! No, that is highway robbery! Carter’s foot was on the bottom rope! The match should have been over in a rope break, not a pinfall!

Lunam: I saw it clear as day, Simone. You saw it, I saw it, everyone here saw it—Luna Pasilno knocked Carter’s leg off that rope. That was his salvation, and she stole it from him!

Carter rolls slowly onto his side, one hand clutching at his neck, the other reaching instinctively toward the ropes that should have saved him. His eyes are glassy, but as he realizes what happened, his expression twists into a mix of fury and heartbreak. The referee tries to help him sit up, unaware of the controversy, while Raven lets Luna hold his arm high, basking in the white-hot hatred of the crowd. He stares down at Carter with a cold, satisfied smirk, mouthing something that only his fallen rival can hear.

Simone: Alexander Raven just pinned the World Heavyweight Champion—albeit in the most tainted way possible. This wasn’t about titles tonight, but the statement he just made is going to echo through Sin City Wrestling.

Lunam: Aye, and it’s a statement written in lies and shortcuts. Carter had the heart, he had the fight, and he might’ve had the escape… but Luna and Raven stole this one right out from under him.

As Raven and Luna exit up the ramp, reveling in the storm of boos, Carter pulls himself to the ropes, using them like a lifeline to stand. He glares up the aisle at his retreating enemy, hand still on his abused back, eyes burning with a promise that this war is far from over. The camera lingers on that look—pain, fury, and determination all bound together—before fading on the image of the wronged champion staring daggers through the man who just stole a victory and perhaps set the stage for an even more violent confrontation still to come.

SCW INTERNET CHAMPIONSHIP
Miles Kasey © vs Alex Jones

The camera cuts to the backstage interview area where Stone Scott Oliver stands with a microphone in hand. The crowd in the arena can be heard faintly behind him. LJ steps into frame, dressed casually but clearly still taped from last week, a faint bruise on his jaw but carrying himself with that familiar determined posture.

Stoner: Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome my guest at this time “The Kingslayer” LJ Kasey. LJ, first off, good to see you up and moving after that hellacious main event last week against Alex Jones. How are you feeling?

LJ chuckles lightly, rolling his neck before answering.

LJ: I’m good, Scott. Sore? Yeah. Beat up? A little bit but it’s the name of the game and I’ve been in worse condition. I’ll be back in the ring soon enough. Alex and I... we put each other through hell last week. That’s the gig. That’s the job. That’s what I signed up for. I’ll be ready to go again real soon.

Scott nods, shifting the mic slightly.

Stoner: There was a moment after the match, when the cameras caught Alex Jones kneeling beside you, saying something. Social media’s been buzzing about it since. Are you willing to shed any light on what he said?

LJ smirks, you can tell he is tired and guarded, but confident.

LJ: Nope. As much as it’s appreciated that people are curious, that part is between him and me. Do I wanna say more? Yeah, but this is not the time at the moment and that’s all I’m gonna say about it.

Scott raises his brows, trying a different angle.

Stoner: Fair enough. But LJ, speaking of veterans, one in particular seems to have taken issue with you and several of the younger stars in SCW. “Bulldog” Bill Barnhart’s been firing off some... interesting shots lately. He’s has mentioned your name especially more than once. Any idea what’s gotten into him?

LJ laughs, this one less tired, a little sharper, a little more amused.

LJ: Scott, my man, I wish I knew. Maybe the man is bored. Maybe he’s mad the business moved on without asking his permission. Maybe he woke up cranky and decided to yell at the clouds. Who knows?

He shrugs casually.

LJ: But look, if Barnhart wants to talk about me? Cool. If he wants to take shots at the younger guys? That’s just fine. Everybody’s brave behind a camera and a keyboard nowadays. But if he wants to actually do something about it well...let me just put it this way...

LJ tilts his head, lips curving into a cocky grin.

LJ: If “Bulldog” can manage to find his feet over that gut of his, he’s welcome to jump in the ring any time he wants. And I won’t lose sleep over it.

Scott tries to hide a smile at the comment.

Stoner: So you’re saying the door’s open?

LJ: The door’s wide open, Scott. Barnhart wants to bark? Let him bark. But if he wants to bite... he knows where to find me. Now if you excuse me, I’m gonna go watch the rest of the show.

LJ pats the microphone lightly, nods to Scott, and steps off-camera.

Stoner: Well, there you have it. LJ Kasey is here tonight, and he’s watching and waiting. Back to ringside.

The scene opens backstage in front of the Climax Control logo backdrop. Reporter Ms. Rocky Mountains stands center frame, microphone in hand, flanked by Hall of Famers Crystal Zdunich, the current World Bombshell Champion, and Mercedes Vargas, looking composed but clearly driven. The crowd’s buzz can still be heard faintly from the arena as the camera zooms in.

Ms. Rocky Mountains: Ladies and gentlemen, we are moments away from our main event. Tonight, Fire and Fury, Mercedes Vargas and the new World Bombshell Champion, Crystal Zdunich, team up to take on Young Justice, the team of Harper Mason and Cassie Wolfe. But before we get there, I have to ask—High Stakes was quite the night for both of you. Mercedes, you lost the Bombshell Internet Championship in that triple threat against Victoria Lyons and Harper Mason, while Crystal made history, becoming a six-time World Bombshell Champion. Mercedes, what’s your mindset heading into tonight?

Mercedes steps forward slightly, eyes locked on Rocky with intensity, while Crystal adjusts her title belt with a smirk.

Mercedes: You know, Rocky, High Stakes didn’t go the way I wanted—no excuses. Champions aren’t defined by one night—they’re defined by how they respond. Tonight is about rewriting High Stakes. Harper Mason might have been in that match too, but now she gets me one-on-one—or as close as a tag allows. And when I win, that’s history. I’ll become the winningest wrestler in SCW history and the most successful on Climax Control. That’s not ego. That’s excellence refusing to fade.

Crystal nods approvingly but shoots Mercedes a quick side-eye, gripping her championship tighter as Rocky pivots.

Ms. Rocky Mountains: Strong words, as always. And Crystal, what a moment for you at High Stakes—defeating Frankie Holliday to capture the World Bombshell Championship for a record-setting sixth time. How does it feel to be back on top of the mountain?

Crystal: Don't call it a comeback - I've been here for years. High Stakes was about redemption for me. People said my time had passed, and yet, here I am—six-time World Bombshell Champion. That’s not luck; that’s legacy. Frankie Holliday brought everything she had, but I refused to be denied. But being champion again doesn’t mean I get to take my foot off the gas.

Mercedes: Harper and Cassie want momentum, but they picked the wrong night to test us. Fire and Fury? We’re veterans, we’re hungry, and we’re about to show everyone what championship-level teamwork looks like.

Mercedes crosses her arms, glancing at Crystal with a faint nod of respect, as Rocky presses on.

Ms. Rocky Mountains: Harper nearly took the Bombshell Internet Championship, Mercedes. Unfinished business?

Mercedes leans in aggressively toward the camera, fire in her eyes.

Mercedes: Oh, absolutely. We already beat Young Justice the last time we met—Harper and Cassie know what Fire and Fury can do. Harper wants to make a name for herself, but names don’t get bigger than the ones standing right here. I respect her talent, but she’s still learning what it takes to stay at the top. And Cassie—she’s talented too, but tonight, she and Harper are stepping into deep waters. We’re not just competing; we’re reminding everyone why experience, composure, and legacy matter.

Crystal: And when that bell rings, it’s not just two veterans—it's two icons. Tonight, Harper and Cassie find out what happens when history meets motivation.

Mercedes: And why Latinas do it better.

Crystal: Lights. Camera. Action. It's showtime.

Crystal raises the World Bombshell Championship toward the camera as Mercedes crosses her arms with a faint, confident smile. Rocky nods toward the camera.

Ms. Rocky Mountains: The main event is next—Fire and Fury versus Young Justice. Experience against ambition, Mercedes chasing history. Don’t go anywhere—Climax Control continues after the break!

The scene fades out as Mercedes and Crystal exchange a confident glance and walk off screen.

Lunam: It’s time for the Main Event!

Referee Drew Patton sets foot inside of the ring to officiate the final match of the night!

Justin: The following tag team attraction is scheduled for one fall, and it is your Main Event of the evening!

The crowd cheers!

Justin: Introducing first…!

The intro to Jonathon Young's cover of the Earth's Mightiest Heroes theme hits the speakers and Cassie and Harper emerge from the back ready for action and accompanied by their manager Joshua Acquin! The two Hero Academy Graduates pose back to back with their arms crossed at the top of the ramp before pointing to the ring with a gun like motion as they wait for their introduction.

Justin: Introducing, at a combined weight of 233ibs, and being accompanied by Joshua Acquin, Cassie Wolfe and Harper Mason, YOUNG JUSTICE!

Once they are announced the two metalheads throw up the devil horns and share a fist bump before they run down to the ring, Cassie leaps into the ring between the middle and bottom rope before rolling to her knees whilst Harper slides into the ring! They two youngsters share another fist bump before posing for the fans.

Lunam: I think Cassie Wolfe has been getting treated unfairly. The lass was right to be upset over being left off the biggest event of the year.

Simone: Perhaps so but how she handled it was the real issue. Verbally berating staff and Candy alike. At least tonight she has Harper at her side for a rare tag team match.

Justin: And their opponents!

The crowd waits in anticipation and all of a sudden the lights in the arena begin to go off. An old Hollywood movie countdown appears on a screen and as soon as it reaches zero flame pyros begin to go off one after the other. A red carpet is rolled all the way to the ring and photographers begin to line up. It isn't long before two females walk from behind the curtains. Crystal Caldwell and Mercedes Vargas begin to pose for the crowd. Boos, jeers, and even cat calls welcome the duo but the two actresses slowly make their way to the ring taking in all of the hatred from the crowd. Crystal flips off somebody in the crowd, as Vargas yanks her hand back not wanting to engage with any of the audience.

Justin: Ladies and gentlemen introducing to the ring at a combined weight of 240 pounds they are Crystal Caldwell and Mercedes Vargas, Fire & Fury!!!!

The two finally reach the ring where Crystal stretches her legs onto the apron and does a split to enter the ring. Meanwhile Mercedes walks up the stairs slowly and seductively enters into the ring. The two join together inside where they give one another a hi five before taking their spots in the center of the ring for a posed photo for the following of paparazzi. The crowd boos loudly but they just ignore them as they prepare for their match.

Simone: Crystal and Mercedes have been on a dominant tear as of late in SCW. Mercedes with an impressive run as the Internet Champion and Crystal now the World Bombshell Champion!

Lunam: An’ between the two of them, they been supporting each other for weeks!

Simone: Indeed, lately Crystal has been more supportive to Mercedes than she has her own wife.

And Drew calls for the bell!

DING DING DING!

The bell rings and the crowd’s buzz turns into a focused roar as Harper Mason steps out through the ropes onto the apron, leaving Cassie Wolfe to start for the face team. Across the ring, Crystal Caldwell smirks confidently as she circles out from her corner, Mercedes Vargas leaning over the top rope and shouting something in Spanish that draws jeers from the fans. Cassie bounces lightly on the balls of her feet, eyes bright, one hand raised to test the distance, while Crystal lounges in almost lazy fashion, shoulders loose, head tilting as if she has all the time in the world. They close in toward the center, hands out as if for a cautious lockup, only for Crystal to suddenly snap a quick kick toward Cassie’s thigh, testing her reflexes and ring awareness.

Cassie reacts fast, checking the kick with an instinctive step back and firing off a quick arm drag the moment Crystal lunges in again. The momentum whips Crystal across the canvas, sending her to a seated position, surprise flashing across her features as the crowd applauds the quick exchange. Cassie stays on her, bouncing off the ropes and returning with a dropkick that snaps Crystal back down. Crystal rolls instinctively toward her corner, hand up as if to plead off, eyes wide in exaggerated offense.

Simone: Cassie Wolfe starting this one off at a blistering pace, and Crystal Caldwell does *not* like being embarrassed this early.

Lunam: Oh now, that’s the thing about speed, Simone. When yer as quick as Cassie, ye turn the ring into a playground, and Crystal’s just after takin’ the first slide to the mat.

Cassie doesn’t give Crystal the chance to slither all the way to safety. She grabs a handful of wrist, pulling Crystal up and whipping her toward the ropes, but Crystal plants her heel, reverses, and sends Cassie in instead. As Cassie rebounds, Crystal swings for a Flashing Lights chick kick, the heel slicing through the air, but Cassie ducks low, continuing past and rebounding off the far ropes. Crystal spins around and eats a flying clothesline from Cassie, the smaller high-flyer throwing her full body into the impact and sending Crystal sprawling.

Cassie pops back up to cheers, glancing to her corner and giving Harper a quick nod. She drags Crystal toward the neutral ropes and whips her firmly into the face corner instead, Crystal’s back striking the turnbuckles. Cassie charges, but Crystal slips out at the last second, ducking to the side so Cassie collides chest-first with the padding. Crystal lets momentum carry her, grabbing Cassie’s hair and yanking her down into a sharp hair toss that flips Cassie backward to the mat. The official immediately steps in, warning Crystal about the hair, but she throws her hands up innocently while stepping back toward her corner.

Simone: That’s the Crystal Caldwell we’re used to seeing. If there’s a shortcut, she’s taking it.

Lunam: That wasn’t a shortcut, that was a full-on scenic route through Shady Tactics Valley, Bel. The poor lass’s head nearly got yanked clean off.

Crystal, wearing an innocent smile that fools no one, backs into the heel corner and extends her hand. Mercedes Vargas leans in, slaps the tag, and slips through the ropes with smooth confidence. As Cassie starts to rise, Mercedes is already in motion, hitting the opposite ropes in a crisp run and sliding low for a sharp baseball slide to Cassie’s ribs that sends her rolling toward the center of the ring. Mercedes pops up fluidly, hair flipping over one shoulder as she circles Cassie like a shark, then stomps down with those precise, circling stomps, each one aimed at the shoulder or midsection, forcing Cassie to cover up and absorb the punishment.

Mercedes grabs Cassie by the hair and arm, pulling her up to a kneel. With a cruel little smirk, she hooks arms and flips over into a somersault cutter, snapping Cassie’s jaw down across her shoulder and planting her to the mat. The impact jolts the crowd, and Mercedes smoothly rolls Cassie over, hooking the leg with an arrogant back press for the first cover of the match.

ONE!

TWO!

Kick out!

Cassie shoots the shoulder up, Mercedes rolling away with a look of mild annoyance rather than frustration, as though she expected to toy with her opponent for a while. She stalks back over, reaching down to drag Cassie up again, but Cassie responds on instinct, shoving Mercedes back just enough to create space and cracking her with a sudden superkick that catches Mercedes under the jaw. The blow sends Mercedes stumbling back, dropping to one knee near her corner, while the crowd surges with energy.

Simone: Cassie Wolfe with a superkick out of nowhere! She needs to make that tag!

Lunam: Tag yer partner, Cassie! Ye’re not in there to prove a point, ye’re in there to win the thing!

Cassie crawls toward her corner, clutching her ribs and jaw, hand outstretched. Harper Mason is on the apron, arm extended, fingers spread, the crowd clapping in unison. Mercedes shakes her head, trying to clear the cobwebs, and turns just as Cassie dives forward and slaps Harper’s hand. The place erupts as Harper vaults over the top rope with a burst of energy, rushing straight at Mercedes before she can retreat.

Harper rattles off a flurry of Taekwondo-style kicks, sharp and precise, targeting Mercedes’s legs and body. A low roundhouse cracks against Mercedes’s thigh, followed by a spinning back kick to the midsection that sends Mercedes doubling over and stumbling backward to the ropes. Harper doesn’t hesitate. She grabs Mercedes’s arm, whips her to the opposite side, and on the rebound steps in with a crisp lariat that turns Mercedes inside out, planting her flat on the canvas.

Harper doesn’t cover immediately, instead pulling Mercedes by the wrist toward the face corner. She tags Cassie back in, keeping the pace fast, and together they whip Mercedes into their corner. Harper drops down, bracing herself, and Cassie runs in, using Harper’s back as a step to launch herself into a high angled forearm strike, smashing into Mercedes in the corner. Mercedes slumps, winded, and Harper quickly steps through the ropes at the ref’s count of four, obeying the tag rules as Cassie drags Mercedes forward.

Cassie whips Mercedes toward the ropes, but Mercedes manages to reverse again, sending Cassie in instead. Cassie rebounds, ducks a wild clothesline, keeps running, hits the opposite ropes, and this time comes back with a flying hurricanrana that whips Mercedes across the ring and sends her sliding toward her own corner. Mercedes’s ring awareness kicks in; she rolls through, uses the momentum to pop up, and dives forward to slap Crystal’s outstretched hand.

Crystal vaults in with a springboard, hopping up onto the second rope and launching herself in a springboard hurricarana, twisting through the air as Cassie turns around. The timing works perfectly; Crystal’s legs snap around Cassie’s head and she whips her forward, sending Cassie tumbling across the ring and crashing near the ropes. Crystal lands on her knees, grinning, then pushes up and saunters toward Cassie with a predatory gleam in her eyes.

Simone: The pace is ridiculous already. These four are pushing the tempo faster and faster each time they cycle out.

Lunam: Me neck hurts just watchin’ those hurricanranas. Crystal’s after treatin’ Cassie like a training dummy at this point.

Crystal grabs Cassie by the hair, uses a sharp hair-pull mat slam to bounce the back of her head off the canvas, and then drags her by the arm toward the heel corner. She tags Mercedes back in quickly, keeping the rotations crisp. Mercedes enters, and together they whip Cassie into the ropes. On the rebound, Crystal drops down, and Cassie hops over her. Mercedes steps in and catches Cassie with a tilt-a-whirl DDT of her own, twisting Cassie in midair and driving her skull-first to the mat. The crowd groans in sympathetic pain as Cassie sprawls on her back.

Mercedes wastes no time, rolling Cassie onto her shoulders with a fluid la magistral cradle, her body twisting around Cassie’s to hold her tight.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-Kick out!

Cassie bursts free at the last possible second, the near fall sending a wave of excitement through the venue. Mercedes sits up, slapping the mat once in frustration, then rolls to her feet and looks toward Crystal. She drags Cassie back by the wrist and tags Crystal again. The heel duo are making rapid, frequent tags, carving the ring in half and isolating Cassie from Harper.

Crystal steps in and immediately goes for the legs. She sweeps Cassie’s base out from under her with a quick leg sweep, then drops down behind her with a snapmare, sending Cassie in a seated position. Crystal backs up just a step and then cracks a stiff kick to Cassie’s spine, the sound echoing as Cassie arches in pain. Crystal runs to the ropes, rebounds, and goes for Smell The Roses, the handspring standing moonsault, flipping gracefully through the air and crashing across Cassie’s torso.

Crystal hooks the far leg, pressing her weight down with a smirk.

ONE!

TWO!

Kick out!

Simone: How is Cassie still in this? Crystal and Mercedes are tagging in and out like a well-oiled machine.

Lunam: It’s pure ring smarts, Bel. They’ve carved Cassie off from Harper like a slice of ham on a Sunday table, and they’re just takin’ turns carvin’ away at what’s left.

Crystal looks annoyed now, a flush of effort on her cheeks. She drags Cassie up again, shoving her back into the heel corner. She presses in with a forearm to the throat, allowing Mercedes to reach in and yank Cassie’s hair while the referee counts. At four, Crystal backs off with her hands up, and Mercedes drops back to the apron, both women wearing innocent expressions, but the damage is done. Cassie coughs and clutches at her throat, legs wobbly.

Crystal drives a few short shoulder thrusts into Cassie’s midsection before tagging Mercedes yet again. Mercedes rushes in, planting a corner foot choke, pressing her boot against Cassie’s jaw while clinging to the rope for leverage. The ref counts again, and Mercedes breaks at four, stepping back with a mocking bow to the official. As Cassie gasps and hangs in the corner, Mercedes steps forward and unleashes those short-arm knife-edge chops, two, three, four in rapid succession, each chop leaving a red welt and drawing “Wooo!” chants from the crowd. She finishes with a short-arm clothesline that sends Cassie stumbling out of the corner and down to the mat.

Mercedes takes a breath, runs to the ropes, and rebounds with a running low-angle dropkick to Cassie’s face, snapping her head back. Harper leans over the top rope, shouting encouragement, clapping in rhythm to try and rally the crowd behind Cassie. The chants grow louder, the sound of Cassie’s name rolling through the building as she tries to crawl on instinct toward her corner. Mercedes grabs her ankle, dragging her back again, but this time Cassie twists, rolls onto her back, and uses both legs to shove Mercedes away with a desperate kick to the chest.

Simone: There’s the opening! Cassie *has* to make that tag now!

Lunam: Crawl like ye life depends on it, lass, because in that ring, it kinda does.

Cassie claws forward on her elbows, body aching, eyes fixed on Harper’s outstretched hand. Mercedes regains her footing and lunges forward to grab her by the ankle again, but Cassie spins, kicks her hand away, and dives with everything she has left. The slap of hands echoes as she finally tags Harper, and the crowd explodes in relief.

Harper vaults over the top rope and charges straight at Mercedes, catching her with a running dropkick that sends Mercedes tumbling backward. Crystal rushes in to intercept, but Harper sidesteps and snaps off a quick arm drag that flips Crystal across the ring. Harper springs up and nails a second dropkick on Mercedes as she rises, then ricochets off the ropes and drills her with a running DDT, planting Mercedes face-first into the mat. The momentum is all on the faces now.

Simone: Harper Mason is on fire! This is the last thing Crystal and Mercedes wanted!

Lunam: Fresh legs in the ring, Bel, ye love to see it! Well, unless ye’re Crystal or Mercedes, then ye probably hate every second.

Harper drags Mercedes up and sends her into a neutral corner, following with a running forearm smash. She quickly steps back, grabs the ropes, and hoists herself up to the second turnbuckle, raining down short punches as the crowd counts along. At six, Mercedes pushes under and slips away, but Harper lands on her feet, spins, and nails a sharp martial arts combo—low kick, mid kick, then a spinning head kick that snaps Mercedes’s head sideways and sends her crumpling to a knee.

Seeing the opportunity, Harper grabs Mercedes’s head, spins under her arm, and plants her with a crisp suplex, bridging up into a pin attempt.

ONE!

TWO!

Kick out!

Mercedes rolls to the side, clutching her neck, and Harper sits up, nodding. She quickly turns and tags Cassie, wanting to keep the momentum going and give her partner another chance to capitalize. Cassie, though battered, takes a breath and climbs the turnbuckles in one smooth motion. The crowd rises, knowing what that trajectory means. Harper drags Mercedes a bit closer to the corner to line up the shot, then retreats to the apron as the ref counts the legal time.

Cassie steadies herself on the top rope, then leaps into a graceful moonsault, twisting through the air and crashing down across Mercedes’s torso. The impact rocks the ring. Cassie hooks both legs in deep.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-Kick out!

Simone: So close! Cassie nearly put Mercedes away with that moonsault!

Lunam: If ye blinked there, ye might’ve missed the endin’. Mercedes just barely managed to get the shoulder up before the three.

Cassie takes a moment on her knees, panting, then forces herself up and drags Mercedes toward the face corner again. She tags Harper back in, the frequent exchanges keeping their offense fresh. Together they whip Mercedes into the ropes; Cassie drops down, Harper leapfrogs over a rebound, and as Mercedes returns, she runs straight into Harper’s hurricanrana, getting sent flipping across the ring and landing close to the heel side.

Mercedes, dazed, crawls on instinct, reaching for Crystal. Harper sees it and tries to cut her off, but Crystal leans low over the rope, slapping Mercedes’s hand at just the right instant to make the tag legal. Harper grabs Mercedes’s ankle, only to be blindsided a heartbeat later by Crystal launching herself over the top rope with a slingshot crossbody, crashing into Harper and sending them both to the mat.

Crystal pops to her feet with a flourish, arms wide as she basks in the heat from the booing fans. She grabs Harper by the hair and jerks her up, whipping her into the ropes. Harper rebounds and Crystal catches her with a tiltawhirl armdrag, sending Harper spinning head over shoulders. Harper rolls through and scrambles to her feet, but Crystal is already in the air, nails a springboard armdrag from the middle rope, and sends Harper across the ring yet again.

Simone: Say what you will about Crystal, but her athleticism is undeniable.

Lunam: Oh, she’s a gifted athlete, no doubt. Shame that talent’s attached to a personality that’d make a snake blush.

Crystal, enjoying her flurry, grabs Harper’s wrist and yanks her up. She goes for a quick small package, rolling Harper up tightly in the center of the ring.

ONE!
TWO!
Kick out!

Harper powers out, and Crystal slips to her feet, immediately driving a short boot into Harper’s ribs. She drags Harper toward the heel corner and tags Mercedes back in. The two heels work in tandem, driving alternating kicks into Harper’s midsection, the ref’s count forcing Crystal to step out just before five. Mercedes keeps Harper grounded, hooking a front facelock and then transitioning into a float-over DDT, spinning them both down and spiking Harper’s head into the mat.

Mercedes rolls her over and hooks the leg.

ONE!
TWO!
Kick out!

Harper’s resilience shines through, even as she clutches her neck and rolls to her side. Mercedes shakes her head, then slides behind Harper and wraps her legs around Harper’s waist, applying a tight body scissors. At the same time, she snakes her arms around Harper’s neck for a grounded sleeper, leveraging the mat to maximize pressure. Harper’s face contorts as she struggles, the crowd clapping and chanting her name to try and spur her on.

Simone: Mercedes has that body scissors cinched in, and combined with the sleeper, Harper’s in serious trouble here.

Lunam: This is where ye find out what ye’re made of, Bel. Strategy from Mercedes, wearin’ down the core, cuttin’ off the air, makin’ it harder to get that Masonline Special or Sun//Eater later on.

Harper flails for a moment, hand reaching toward the ropes, but they’re just out of reach. Cassie leans in, shouting encouragement, pounding the turnbuckle pad with her palm. Harper plants her feet, tries to rise, but Mercedes rolls with her, tightening the pressure. Harper’s movements slow for a moment, and the ref moves in, checking if she’s still responsive. Harper responds with a grim nod, teeth gritted, and then makes a slow, determined attempt to turn.

Using her core strength, she twists her body, rolling onto her knees and forcing Mercedes onto her side. With one hand, Harper pushes against Mercedes’s leg, prying at the body scissors, while inching closer to the ropes. It’s agony, but she drags them both forward until finally her fingers brush the bottom rope. The ref calls for the break, and Mercedes reluctantly releases at four, hands raised as she backs away.

Mercedes sees the fatigue on Harper’s face and moves to capitalize, pulling her up and whipping her into the ropes. As Harper rebounds, Mercedes swings for a spinning roundhouse kick, but Harper ducks at the last second. She continues to run, hits the opposite ropes, and on the return, she explodes with Into the Earth, that ripcord roaring elbow catching Mercedes flush on the jaw. Mercedes spins and collapses to the mat, sprawled out.

Simone: Into the Earth! That might have turned Mercedes’s lights out!

Lunam: If she’s still seein’ straight after that, I’ll eat me hat.

Harper, battered and winded, stumbles toward the ropes instead of going for the cover right away. She steadies herself, then turns and sees Cassie, arm fully extended, crowd chanting for the tag. Harper drags herself across the ring and finally slaps Cassie’s hand, unleashing the high-flyer once more.

Cassie hits the top rope in a heartbeat, perching there like it’s her natural habitat. Mercedes is still on the mat, dazed, and Crystal is yelling at her to move. Cassie stands tall and then launches into a breathtaking Air Aussie—450 splash—rotating cleanly before crashing down onto Mercedes’s torso. If the building had a roof, it’d come off with the reaction. Cassie hooks both legs, folding Mercedes in half.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-Kick out!

Somehow, some way, Mercedes wrenches a shoulder up at the last possible instant, the near fall breaking the hearts of the crowd in a collective groan. Cassie rolls onto her back, staring at the lights in disbelief for a second, then pushes up, determination burning through the pain.

Simone: What does Cassie Wolfe have to do to keep Mercedes Vargas down?

Lunam: Short of bringin’ a tranquilizer dart or a brick, I’m not sure, Bel. That was a picture-perfect Air Aussie.

Cassie pulls Mercedes up, looking to keep the pressure high. She hooks Mercedes for the Down Under Driver, trying to set the brainbuster, but Mercedes drops her weight, blocking the lift. She drives a knee into Cassie’s midsection, once, twice, then uses a sudden burst of strength to swing Cassie up and over with a catapult backbreaker, dropping Cassie spine-first across her knee. Cassie cries out and rolls away, clutching her lower back.

Mercedes, gasping, makes a dive toward her corner and tags Crystal back in. Crystal slips through the ropes, eyes locked on Cassie like a predator spotting wounded prey. She grabs Cassie by the hair as Cassie tries to rise, yanking her into a hair-pull over-the-shoulder snapmare that sends her flying. Crystal follows immediately with a rolling necksnap, snapping Cassie’s head forward, then slamming it back to the canvas.

Crystal runs to the ropes, springboards off the middle strand, and drops a leg across Cassie’s throat, the impact making Cassie jerk and roll to her side. Without missing a beat, Crystal scrambles into position, hooking Cassie’s far leg and leaning into the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

Kick out!

Cassie refuses to stay down, even if every kickout takes more and more out of her. Crystal snarls now, the veneer of smug control slipping. She slaps the mat once in frustration, then pulls Cassie up and whips her toward the ropes. On the rebound, Crystal launches for Standing Ovation, the spike hurricanrana, but Cassie manages to hook her legs just enough to prevent the full snap, rolling through into a surprise small package of her own, trapping Crystal’s shoulders.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-Kick out!

Crystal explodes free, nearly getting caught by her own signature style of roll-up. She scrambles to her feet, furious, and charges blindly. Cassie ducks and surges forward, launching herself into a quick tag to Harper’s outstretched hand. Crystal barely has time to skid to a stop before Harper is in the ring, blasting her with a sharp dropkick that sends her stumbling backward into her own corner.

Harper takes advantage and rushes forward, springboarding off the middle rope on the adjacent side. In one smooth motion, she flips into the Sun//Eater, a springboard 450 splash—but Crystal, running on pure instinct, drops and rolls under the trajectory, leaving Harper to crash to the mat chest-first. The impact knocks the wind out of Harper, and she curls in pain, coughing.

Simone: High risk, high reward, but this time Harper came up empty!

Lunam: That’s the cruel mistress of high flyin’. Ye hit it, ye’re a hero. Ye miss it, and the canvas becomes yer worst nightmare.

Crystal seizes the opening. She drags Harper up, delivering a stiff enziguri that rings out, the kick connecting with the side of Harper’s head and dropping her to a knee. Seeing Harper wobbling, Crystal runs to the ropes, rebounds, and crushes Harper with Flashing Lights, that chick kick snapping against the jaw. Harper collapses flat on her back, arms spread.

Crystal drops into a lateral press, hooking the leg.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-Kick out!

Harper somehow, miraculously, gets a shoulder up, the entire arena roaring in disbelief and relief. Crystal stares at the referee, eyes wide, then shoves Harper back down and screams at the official about his count speed. The ref holds up two fingers, firm in his decision. Crystal fumes, but then something shifts behind her eyes—a cold calculation returning. She glances toward Mercedes and gives a nod.

Crystal tags Mercedes back in, the two heels exchanging a quick word. Mercedes enters, and Crystal lifts Harper just enough for Mercedes to catch her with a front-flip facebuster, somersaulting and driving Harper’s face into the canvas. Crystal backs out to the apron as Mercedes rolls Harper over into a jackknife pin, folding her in half.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-Kick out!

Harper’s resilience borders on heroic now, one leg kicking hard enough to break the leverage. Mercedes sits back, chest heaving, frustration clear, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, she pulls Harper up and whips her into the ropes. On the rebound, Mercedes swings for a discus clothesline, but Harper ducks, keeps running, and on the next rebound swings her arm over the top rope, launching herself in one fluid motion.

Masonline Special.

The buckshot leg lariat connects flush with Mercedes’s chest and jaw, flipping the veteran bombshell down hard. Both women collapse, the crowd losing their collective minds.

Simone: Masonline Special! Harper hit it out of nowhere!

Lunam: The impact of that nearly knocked me out o’ me chair! Cover her, Harper! Just throw an arm over!

Harper can’t move immediately, the match’s punishment catching up to her. She lies on her back, chest rising and falling, eyes closed. The crowd claps, stomps, and chants, trying to will her back to life. Mercedes stirs, rolling onto her side, clearly out of it. Cassie is on the apron, arm stretched as far as it can go, screaming for the tag.

Slowly, Harper starts to crawl. At the same time, Crystal paces the apron, eyes wide in realization that the match might be slipping away. She screams at Mercedes to move, to roll, to crawl, but Mercedes is sluggish, her body refusing to respond quickly. Harper inches closer to Cassie, the crowd’s noise rising with every movement.

Harper reaches out and, with the last of her strength, slaps Cassie’s hand. The arena erupts as Cassie vaults in. Mercedes, still mostly prone, pushes onto her hands and knees, trying to orient herself. Crystal is shouting warnings, but Cassie is already in flight. She bolts to the ropes, rebounds, and drills Mercedes in the side of the head with The Greenest Wizard, shining wizard knee smacking against temple.

Mercedes falls flat. Cassie scrambles onto the top rope, perching quickly. She points to the sky, signaling for one final high-risk maneuver, and the fans respond with a tidal wave of cheers. She launches into a picture-perfect shooting star press, body tucking and rotating before she crashes down across Mercedes’s ribs.

Cassie hooks both legs tightly.

ONE!

TWO!

Crystal dives in from the apron, breaking the pin with a desperate stomp to the back of Cassie’s head. The crowd boos thunderously, and the referee immediately stands, admonishing Crystal and forcing her back to the corner. Cassie sits up, wincing and holding her head, while Harper pulls herself onto the apron, fury written all over her face.

Simone: Crystal Caldwell just saved the match for her team, but she did it in the most underhanded way possible.

Lunam: She’s not out here to make friends, Bel. She’s out here to steal wins, and she’s after showin’ it plain as day.

Cassie, rubbing the back of her head, pulls herself together and turns toward Crystal, who is retreating to her corner under the official’s stern count. The distraction costs her. As Cassie turns back, Mercedes surges up from behind, adrenaline giving her one more burst. She grabs Cassie in a rear waistlock and abruptly shifts her weight, swinging Cassie around and driving a forearm into her lower back to stun her.

Mercedes doesn’t rush. With cold precision, she hooks Cassie’s leg and arm, pulling her into position for the Cortina Roja. She ducks low, delivering the STO backbreaker first, dropping Cassie across her knee and arching her spine in a sickening angle before transitioning fluidly, never letting go, to pull Cassie forward into the full nelson facebuster that plants her face-first into the mat. The ring shakes with the impact, and Cassie’s body goes limp.

Simone: Cortina Roja! Mercedes hit the Red Curtain flush on Cassie Wolfe!

Lunam: That’s all she wrote if they can keep Harper outta this!

Harper, seeing the peril, tries to climb through the ropes, but Crystal is already there to intercept. She darts along the apron, grabs Harper’s ankle, and yanks her down off the apron, Harper’s jaw hitting the edge on the way down. Harper crumples to the floor, clutching her face, and Crystal immediately throws her hands up innocently, backing away as the referee turns to see Harper on the outside.

Inside the ring, Mercedes rolls Cassie over and hooks both legs for the cover, but instead of simply pressing down, Crystal leans in and grabs Mercedes’s wrists from the outside, pulling her backward to add extra leverage, forcing all of Mercedes’s weight down over Cassie’s shoulders. The positioning hides Crystal’s interference from the official’s vantage point.

The crowd erupts in outraged boos.

ONE!

TWO!

THR-Kick—

Cassie’s legs twitch, but the leverage is too much, and her body fails her. The hand hits the mat solid on three!

DING DING DING!

Simone: No! Come on!

The bell rings, the chime cutting through the hostile noise of the crowd as Mercedes releases the pin and Crystal lets go, stepping back from the apron with a satisfied smile. The referee signals for the end of the match, raising Mercedes’s arm as she rises, dazed but victorious.

Lunam: Ah, that’s a rotten way to win it. Mercedes hits Red Curtain, and then Crystal turns it into a full-on robbery at the end there.

Simone: Harper Mason and Cassie Wolfe gave everything they had in this match, but in the end, Crystal Caldwell and Mercedes Vargas used every dirty trick in the book to steal the victory.

Crystal slides into the ring, shoving past the referee to grab Mercedes’s wrist and lift it high herself, claiming shared credit for the win. Mercedes, catching her breath, smirks and raises her other arm, soaking in the jeers like they’re applause. On the outside, Harper checks on Cassie, helping her roll toward the ropes, fury and disbelief etched on her face as she glares into the ring.

Cassie, still recovering from the Cortina Roja and the leveraged pin, sits on the apron with Harper by her side, both women staring at the celebrating heels. Cassie shakes her head, frustrated, mouthing that she had it, that they were so close. Harper squeezes her shoulder in consolation, promising with her eyes that this isn’t the end, that they’ll get another shot.

In the ring, Crystal and Mercedes continue their triumphant pose, Crystal miming wiping her hands clean, as if they’ve simply done what was necessary, while Mercedes makes a belt motion around her waist, hinting at future ambitions. The crowd rains down boos, but the two heels just smile wider, feeding on the hostility.

Simone: Crystal Caldwell and Mercedes Vargas walk out tonight with the victory, but there’s no denying that Cassie Wolfe and Harper Mason pushed them to their absolute limit.

Lunam: If I were Crystal and Mercedes, I’d not be restin’ easy tonight, Bel. Ye can only steal so many wins before the debt comes due, and Harper and Cassie look like two women who’ll be collectin’ sooner rather than later.

The camera lingers a final moment on the contrast: Crystal and Mercedes preening and smirking in the center of the ring, arms raised high in tainted triumph, while Harper and Cassie stand together at ringside, bruised, angered, and silently vowing that this unjust ending will not be forgotten.

Lunam: I’ll tell ye, Bel, that might not’ve been the ending any of us wanted, but no one can say Harper Mason and Cassie Wolfe didn’t leave it all out there tonight. They were a heartbeat away from winnin’ it clean as a whistle.

Simone: Absolutely, Erik. Tonight the record books will show Crystal Caldwell and Mercedes Vargas with the victory, but everyone in this building knows the story is a lot more complicated than that. Crystal’s interference, that extra leverage on the pin… this will be a hard pill to swallow for Harper and Cassie, and you can bet they won’t let it go unanswered.

Lunam: Crystal and Mercedes stole one tonight, plain and simple. But the thing about stealin’ wins is, it always catches up with you. Sooner or later, the bill comes due.

Simone: And when that day comes, you know Harper and Cassie will be ready. For now, though, Crystal Caldwell and Mercedes Vargas stand tall in the spotlight, and the questions about what comes next will have to wait for another night.

Inside the ring, Crystal has claimed the very center, World Bombshell Championship draped over her shoulder, the gold glinting under the arena lights as she smirks into the hard camera. Mercedes stands at her side, one arm still raised, the other hand tapping an invisible watch on her wrist as if to say it’s their time now. They exchange a look, a shared, arrogant smile that makes the boos from the crowd swell even louder. At ringside, Harper and Cassie have made it halfway up the ramp, both of them pausing at the top to look back one last time. Harper keeps a steadying hand on Cassie’s shoulder, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the two celebrating heels, while Cassie nods once, her expression shifting from hurt to hardened resolve. In the ring, Crystal lifts her title high overhead and Mercedes spreads her arms wide, basking in the heat as the camera slowly pulls back, the image of champions gloating over their ill-gotten win framed against the seething reaction of the crowd. The shot lingers on that picture of triumph and unfinished business, then the arena lights dim around the ring, the scene fading out to black as the show comes to a close.

THANK YOU! To everyone who wrote for this show. Match writers and segments are always appreciated and highly valued! Without all of you, there would be no SCW!