(The EMF logo flashes on the screen)
(We open up into the darken arena as pyrotechnics blasts on the stage. The lights turn on, and fans yell, and wave the signs. The camera gets a few shots of the crowd. Then the camera zooms to display the location information. We get one more shot of the crowd as the commentators speak over the shot.)
JR-Welcome to Saturday Shockwave. I’m good ol’ JR, Jim Ross. I’m joined by Jerry “The King” Lawler, and Kris “KG” Gaffney.
King-Tonight Patrick Payne will take on Austin Jameson Mercer.
Kris Gaffney-The Maledictum and the Amigos clash.
JR-Let’s get started with the opening match.
The arena lights dim as an eerie hush falls over the crowd. The tension is palpable, the anticipation thick in the air. Then, the opening bassline of Stayin' Alive by the Bee Gees hits the speakers, and suddenly, the stage begins to rumble. A circular platform in the center of the ramp slowly rises, bathed in golden, flickering flames like a ritualistic summoning. From the depths below, Ziggy Thickness emerges, standing motionless atop the platform, arms folded across his chest, wearing oversized, dark-tinted sunglasses. His expression is impossibly serious, his stance almost menacing. The flames surrounding him flicker dramatically, casting ominous shadows across his frame.
He whips off his sunglasses and launches them into the crowd like a rockstar throwing a guitar pick. The second the glasses leave his hand, his entire demeanor shifts. Ziggy explodes into dance, his hips shimmying, his hands snapping, and his feet gliding in rhythm with the music. He struts down the ramp with the confidence of a 1970s disco king, slapping hands with fans, twirling dramatically, and even high-fiving a confused referee at ringside.
The ring announcer steps forward.
"Making his way to the ring, fighting out of the Boogie Wonderland! Weighing in at two hundred and sixty-five pounds of pure love, standing at a dangerous five feet and nine inches… he is The Prettiest Nightmare, Ziggy Thickness!"
Ziggy reaches ringside, hops up onto the apron, and wipes his forehead like he’s just put in a hard shift at Studio 54. With a dramatic deep breath, he slowly steps through the ropes before stopping in the center of the ring. Arms outstretched, he stands perfectly still for a moment, soaking in the energy of the crowd.
Without warning, he launches into a perfect backflip, landing with the grace of a gymnast and the confidence of a man who absolutely should not be that agile. The audience erupts in cheers as Ziggy raises his arms, basking in his own magnificence before casually moonwalking to his corner, giving a deep, over-the-top bow to the referee.
With a wink at the camera and a knowing smirk, Ziggy Thickness leans against the turnbuckle, ready for whatever comes next.
(As the lights in the arena plunge into darkness, an eerie silence descends over the crowd. The faint sound of wind howling fills the air, sending shivers down spines. Suddenly, the opening notes of "Wolf Totem" by The HU (featuring Jacoby Shaddix) thunder through the speakers, primal and haunting. A blood-red light floods the entrance ramp, illuminating a swirling mist of smoke that creeps along the ground like tendrils of something alive.
The screen above the stage flickers to life, showing the silhouette of a massive wolf prowling through a dark forest. As the beat drops, bursts of flame erupt from the stage, casting wild shadows across the arena. Through the flames and smoke emerges Fenrir Kaine, "The Demonic Werewolf." His imposing frame is silhouetted against the fiery backdrop, his head lowered, and his crimson eyes glinting beneath his hooded brow.
Ring Announcer: Now making his way to the ring! Fighting out of the Shadows of the Abyss! Weighing in at two hundred and ninety-five pounds and standing six feet and four inches tall! He is "The Demonic Werewolf" FENRIR KAINE!
Fenrir’s presence is palpable, an aura of raw, predatory menace that freezes the audience in place. As he begins his slow, deliberate march down the ramp, the flames on stage ignite once more, illuminating his every step. The red lights follow him like a spotlight, casting a sinister glow over his powerful frame. The mist clings to his boots as if the darkness itself refuses to let him go.
He reaches the ring steps and pauses, turning his gaze to the crowd. Their boos and jeers are drowned by the pulsating rhythm of his theme song, yet Fenrir remains unfazed. A low, guttural growl escapes his lips as he climbs the steps and enters the ring.
Once inside, Fenrir moves to the center of the ring, his massive frame towering over the referee. He throws back his head and lets out a bone-chilling howl, synchronized with a final burst of flame erupting from the ring posts. The lights flicker back to full brightness, but the chilling aura lingers as Fenrir Kaine removes his hood and glares out at the crowd with predatory intent.
He moves to his corner, leaning against the turnbuckle like a wolf surveying its prey, waiting for the match to begin. The arena buzzes with tension, every eye fixed on the terrifying force that is Fenrir Kaine.)
JR-This is an odd team.
King-All Maledictum, right?
Kris Gaffney-That’s…..questionable.
[The arena dims, setting the stage for a dramatic entrance. The opening notes of "KICK BACK" by Kenshi Yonezu fill the space, its energetic and upbeat rhythm instantly gripping the audience. The titantron comes alive with vibrant animations reminiscent of action-packed anime sequences.]
Announcer: "Making his way
to the ring, from London, England, weighing in at 275 pounds, he is 'The Samurai Otaku'... Mansa Carthage!"
[As the music swells, the lights pulse in sync with the beat, casting bright, dynamic colors across the stage. Mansa Carthage bursts onto the scene with an exuberant energy, wearing a fusion of samurai-inspired attire and modern streetwear, complete with symbolic touches from his favorite animes.]
[Mansa moves with a playful yet confident swagger, embodying the larger-than-life characters he admires. He performs exaggerated, anime-style poses and martial arts moves, engaging the crowd and drawing them into his world of fantasy and excitement.]
[As he makes his way down the ramp, the titantron displays iconic scenes from various animes, interspersed with clips of Mansa's own in-ring highlights, showcasing his agility and strength.]
[Upon reaching the ring, Mansa leaps onto the apron with a flourish, pausing to strike a dramatic samurai pose, complete with a mock sword drawing gesture. He then flips over the top rope with acrobatic ease, landing in a superhero landing pose that sends the crowd into a frenzy.]
[With the music reaching its climax, Mansa bounds to each corner of the ring, energetically engaging with the fans, showing off his charismatic and playful side. He then centers himself, closing his eyes for a moment as if channeling the spirit of both anime heroes and samurai warriors, preparing himself mentally and physically for the battle ahead.]
[As the song fades, Mansa opens his eyes, poses, and now focused and ready, his playful demeanor giving way to the serious, disciplined side of a warrior ready for combat.]
The arena is plunged into eerie darkness. A single spotlight beams down on the entrance stage, revealing an enormous 20-sided die (D20), its numbers glowing with arcane energy. The haunting opening chords of “Binks’ Sake” start to play, gentle and mysterious, the crowd immediately clapping along.
Suddenly, on the massive LED screen, a colossal animated dragon bursts forth—its scales shimmering violet and gold. It coils and roars, unleashing a torrent of digital flame straight down the ramp. As the fire rushes forward, spotlights follow, making it seem as if the very ramp itself is set ablaze, leading to the ring.
At that moment, from beneath the stage, a ring of real flames erupts. Rising through the fire, guitar in hand and bathed in flickering orange and purple light, stands The Dungeon Master. He strikes a rockstar pose, head thrown back, hair wild, the guitar gleaming across his chest. The arena explodes with cheers.
He launches into a flamboyant air guitar solo, strutting to the music, every step in sync with the rolling animation of the D20, which now tumbles down the ramp in perfect time with his movement—projected to look as if it’s rolling just ahead of him, leading the way to destiny.
Each of his steps triggers a cascade of lighting effects—arcane runes illuminate underfoot, bursts of fireworks erupt from the ramp, and shooting flames flare on either side. He spins and dances, encouraging the crowd to join in, then leaps onto the ring apron, pausing to soak in the roaring energy of the fans.
With a grand flourish, he vaults into the ring, landing center stage in an epic rockstar stance. He rips a final, thunderous strum on his guitar—at that precise moment, golden sparks rain down from the rafters, surrounding him in a shimmering storm, as purple and gold spotlights swirl around the ring.
As the music fades, the dragon on the screen loops and lands atop a mountain of dice, bellowing one last time as flames curl around the frame.
Announcer: Making his way to the ring… hailing from the Astral Plane… but Louder! Weighing in at two hundred and twelve pounds… he is the BARD of BRUTALITY… the MASTER of MAYHEM… THE DUNGEON MASTER!
The Dungeon Master drops to one knee, raises his guitar like a legendary sword, and flashes a wild, infectious grin as the crowd erupts—his legend already unfolding before the match has even begun.
JR-Even though this team hasn’t had too many matches, they have had more than their opponents.
King-That is going to be an advantage
[Fenrir Kaine and The Dungeon Master pace around the ring they ring, they lock up Fenrir Kaine connects with a knee lift into the gut, and he whips him to the ropes. The Dungeon Master bounces off of the ropes, Fenrir Kaine connects with a super kick that puts him down on the mat. The Dungeon Master gets up to his feet. Fenrir Kaine connects with a few fists to the face, and he whips the Dungeon Master to the ropes, and he bounces off of the ropes. Fenrir Kaine throws the Dungeon Master in the air, and he connects with a pop up samoan drop that puts down the Dungeon Master, Fenrir Kaine goes over to Ziggy Thickness, and makes the tag to Ziggy Thickness. Ziggy Thickness comes ito the ring, and he connects with a quick senton that puts down on the mat. Ziggy Thickness goes into the cover on the Dungeon Master, and the ref counts 1………….2……….KICK OUT by the Dungeon Master!!]
JR-The Dungeon Master was able to kick out.
King-Someone call Scott Steiner…I think he could effect this situation.
Kris Gaffney-Only if we add Kurt Angle to the mix…
[The Dungeon Master gets picked up, but he slides out of the back. Ziggy Thickness turns around, and The Dungeon Master hits ZIggy Thickness with a few palm strikes, and spinning chops. Ziggy Thickness throws a wild fist to the face, and The Dungeon Master duck sunder, and he connects with a super kick to complete the Nat 20 Combo. The dungeon Master makes the tag to Mansa Carthage. Mansa Carthage steps inside of the ring, and he knocks him down on the mat. Mansa Carthage connects with a big boot to the face of Ziggy Thickness, and Mansa Carthage goes into the corner, and he waits for Ziggy Thickness to get up to his feet, and once he gets up to his feet, Mansa Carthage connects with a super man punch that puts down. Mansa Carthage goes into the cover on Ziggy Thickness, the ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1………2……..Fenrir Kaine breaks up the three!]
JR-Fenrir wasn’t going to find out whether or not Ziggy would kick out.
King-Could be a strong strategy.
[The Dungeon Master attacks Fenrir Kaine. Ziggy Thickness gets up, Mansa picks him up, and he drops him with the Dragons Descend!! Mansa Carthage holds Ziggy Thickness for a pin. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1………….2………….3!!]
JR-Mansa Carthage gets the victory for his team.
[The arena hums on a low voltage as camera lights glitter and a sea of heads bows into a rolling murmur. Roman Reigns parts the curtain with a slow, imperial stride, chin tilted and eyes like cold iron, soaking in a mixed reaction that leans toward hostility the longer he holds the frame. He steps to the center of the stage and lifts his hand, palm down, demanding silence that does not come. He allows himself the smallest curl of a smile and begins the measured walk, each footfall like a judge’s gavel. At ringside he circles the steps with unhurried confidence, glances around as if counting his kingdom, then climbs the steel and wipes his boot with ritual care. He steps along the apron, turns to face the crowd with a stare that says you will acknowledge me, and then threads the ropes to enter the ring as if the squared circle belongs to him by ancient decree. He paces the perimeter, fingertips brushing the top rope, then stops at dead center, spreads his arms, and draws the noise toward him like a tide, a sovereign inviting a storm. He lowers his head, presses knuckles to his heart, and then points at the hard camera before retreating to his corner with a measured exhale, all the patience of a hunter who knows the prey will wander into the open.]
Jim Ross: Roman Reigns looks like a man who fully expects to walk out with his hand raised. That is supreme confidence bordering on arrogance.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: Bordering? He sprinted past the border and planted a flag. I like it. Winners act like winners, JR.
Kris Gaffney: He moves like the ring owes him money and he came to collect.
(The arena lights suddenly cut out, plunging everything into darkness. For a brief moment, the only sound is the murmur of the crowd, uncertain of what’s about to happen. Then, with a crackle of static, “My Way” by Frank Sinatra begins to play. But it’s not the smooth, classic version everyone knows—this one is slightly distorted, as if being played on an old, warbled record.
A lone spotlight flickers on, illuminating the entrance ramp where Jack "The Anarchist" Lynch stands, his silhouette stark against the chaos flashing on the titantron behind him—glitchy visuals of riots, fires, and carnage intercut with scenes from black-and-white films, all overlayed with the words "The Anarchist" in jagged, graffiti-style text.)
Announcer: Making his way to the ring. Fight from Wellington, New Zealand
. He stands 6'1" and weighs 230 pounds. He is The Anarchist, Jack Lynch!
(Jack takes a slow, deliberate step forward, his barbed-wire baseball bat resting casually on his shoulder. He wears a long, tattered trench coat covered in patches and scribbled phrases that look like they were done in a fit of madness. With each step, the crowd’s anticipation builds, his presence commanding yet erratic, like a ticking time bomb.
As he strides down the ramp, Jack’s grin is wide and manic, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of what’s to come. He stops suddenly, halfway down, as if a thought has just occurred to him. With a playful shrug, he pulls a flask from inside his coat, takes a swig, and sprays the liquid into the air. The mist catches the spotlight, creating a shimmering, chaotic halo around him as he continues toward the ring.
Reaching ringside, Jack doesn’t just walk up the steps like everyone else—no, that’s too predictable. Instead, he makes a sudden, wild dash toward the barricade, leaping onto it with the grace of a cat, balancing precariously on the edge. He taunts the crowd, swinging his bat playfully, then balances along the top of the barricade as if it were a tightrope, laughing all the while.
Finally, he jumps down and slides into the ring under the bottom rope, rolling to his feet in one fluid, exaggerated motion. He twirls his bat in his hand like a gunslinger ready for a duel, his eyes scanning the crowd as if daring anyone to challenge him.
Once inside, Jack heads straight for the nearest turnbuckle, leaping up onto it with a wild, unhinged energy. Perched there, he looks out over the crowd with a mix of madness and glee, as if soaking in the chaos he’s about to unleash. With a sudden, dramatic swing of his bat toward the titantron, the screen behind him glitches violently, flashing between images of destruction and his own maniacal grin.
Jack then hops down from the turnbuckle, casually tossing his bat to a ring crew member with a wink and a smirk, as if he’s just handed them a live grenade. He leans back against the ropes, whistling the last notes of "My Way" as if it’s all just a part of his twisted, chaotic day.)
Jim Ross: Jack Lynch is not blinking. He knows exactly what is across from him and he is running toward it, not away.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: Running toward a truck does not make you brave. It makes you a hood ornament.
[The referee checks both men and signals for the bell. Roman does not move at first. He makes Jack cross the ring to meet him. When they lock up it is a wall meeting a wave. Roman plants his feet and shoves Jack back three steps with a single surge. Jack rolls his shoulders, circles, and shoots for another collar tie that becomes a quick go behind. Roman peels the hands away with ease, drapes a massive arm over Jack’s head, and wrenches into a standing side headlock that grinds like a vise. Jack pushes to the ropes and shoots Roman off. Roman rebounds and mows him down with a shoulder block that sends Jack rolling to a knee, blinking. Roman smirks, taps his own shoulder, and mouths that he hits harder than the truth. Jack answers by springing up, ducking a second lockup, and firing a brisk calf kick to the thigh. Roman checks his leg, expression flat, then steps forward and clamps a two hand shove that launches Jack into the buckles. Jack absorbs, pops onto the second rope, and flies with a crossbody that Roman catches out of the air with insultingly little effort. Roman shakes his head, tosses Jack up to reset, and buries a right hand into the ribs before planting him with a textbook fallaway slam that skids Jack to the apron.]
Jim Ross: That is raw power from Roman Reigns. Jack Lynch needs to adjust his angles or he is going to get flattened.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: Adjust to what, gravity He is getting thrown like laundry on spin cycle.
Kris Gaffney: At least he landed on delicate. Roman could have set it to heavy duty.
[Jack pulls himself to his feet on the apron, shaking life back into his arms. Roman steps in to grab him and Jack answers with a shoulder to the gut between the ropes, then slingshots over Roman’s back to land behind him. Jack hits the ropes and comes back with a low dropkick to Roman’s knee that finally jars the giant’s balance. Jack chains it into a second dropkick to the same leg and a standing backflip kick that clips Roman on the jaw. Roman stays upright but his head snaps. Jack takes the top turnbuckle in a spring and leaps with a high crossbody that lands true this time and takes Roman down. Jack hooks the leg for a quick cover and gets one and a half as Roman powers out with authority. Jack slides off, retrieves Roman’s wrist, and whips him. Roman reverses and yanks Jack into a tilt a whirl that he converts midstream into a Samoan drop with crunchy finality, the kind of landing that steals air from a building. Roman sits up slow, eyes cutting sideways at the camera, then drapes a forearm across Jack’s face and pushes down while the referee counts a disrespectful two that Jack fights free of with a shoulder jerk.]
Jim Ross: Roman is making every movement feel heavy. He is trying to slow the pace and pull Jack into deep water early.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: Smart water. Deep water. Any water. The guy is drowning and we are only a couple of minutes in.
Kris Gaffney: Someone throw a floaty. A life ring. A donut. I am not picky.
[Roman stands, reaches for Jack’s hair, and the official swats his wrist. Roman glares, then switches to a more legal chinstrap and hauls Jack vertical. He guides Jack to the ropes and threads his throat across the middle strand, pressing down with a forearm while counting out loud to four then releasing with a saintly splay of fingers. The chorus of boos tastes like breakfast to him. He steps back and detonates a drive by, the running dropkick that scythes Jack’s head against the rope and bounces him to the canvas. Roman slides back in with zero hurry, plants a knee on Jack’s chest, and hits a pair of methodical right hands that sound like a bat on wet leather. He stands and raises an index finger to his lips for hush, then whips Jack into the corner and follows with a clothesline that dents the buckles. He does not let go of the wrist, drags Jack out, and clotheslines him down again. It becomes a rhythm. Whip, line, whip, line, a metronome of punishment. When Jack crumples to a seat, Roman places his boot under Jack’s chin and nudges his head up as if addressing a child, whispering something unkind that only Jack can hear.]
Jim Ross: This is the arrogance that drives me up a wall. He is using the rules to his advantage and talking while he does it.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: If you are good at something, narrate it. The man is providing a public service.
Kris Gaffney: The audiobook of pain is five stars and comes with a free ice pack.
[Jack’s answer is gutsy and simple. He grabs the boot and shoves it away, then blasts a short forearm to Roman’s midsection. He fires another, and another, building a little stack of defiance. Roman hooks the head and tries for a quick snap suplex, but Jack floats over, lands behind, and drives Roman sternum first into the corner. Jack hits rope to rope on a diagonal and dials up speed, returning with a forearm smash that snaps Roman’s head. He shimmies under a desperate swing, dumps Roman with a leg sweep, and kips up to a roar that feels like a power chord. He scrambles to the apron, springboards, and nails a flying forearm that gets a convincing two count. Roman shoves him off at the last blink. Jack does not let the air out of his tires. He snares the nearest arm into a quick arm wringer, drags Roman to a knee, and tries to isolate for a hammerlock. Roman rolls through with absolute force, stands, and clubs Jack across the shoulders with a sledge of a forearm that makes the front row wince. Roman hoists Jack up on a shoulder, takes a step, and drops him like a bad habit into a running powerslam that shakes the lights. He covers with a grapevine on the near leg, face pressed into Jack’s cheek, and the count is close to three before Jack yanks loose like a fish snapping the line.]
Jim Ross: Jack Lynch is not quitting. He keeps carving extra seconds onto his night.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: Extra seconds of what, pain He should be charging Roman rent for living in his ribcage.
Kris Gaffney: If he charges by the suplex, he might retire after this.
[Roman stands over the downed Lynch and flexes his hands. He turns his wrist in a slow circle and the camera catches the faintest shake of the head before he leans down and murmurs that this is as good as it gets for Jack. Then he helps Jack stand only to strap him back down with a headbutt that splits the rhythm of the crowd. He cinches a front facelock, muscles Jack up vertical, and holds him suspended for a long, mean count before dropping him in a stalling suplex that lands flat and hard. Roman does not go for a cover. He peels Jack up by the ears on either side, whips him again, and this time hoists for a back suplex that Jack converts at the last millisecond, rolling forward and flipping into a sunset pin that surprises Roman into a two and a quarter. Roman kicks free and Jack rolls away, then shoots in for a low single like a wrestler desperate for ankle. Roman sprawls and rains hammering forearms into the shoulder blades. He drags Jack back up by the wrist and steps through into a short arm lariat that nearly turns Jack inside out.]
Jim Ross: Good grief. That lariat would have stopped a truck.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: This is why I tell you not to run toward trucks, JR.
Kris Gaffney: Someone get the number off the bumper.
[Roman draws a deep breath and looks to the rafters. He backs into the corner and slowly raises the right arm, opening his hand, fingers splayed, the unmistakable signal for a Superman Punch. The crowd surges with dread and hope. Jack groans to a knee. Roman stalks out of the corner with that smooth prowl, hops into the punch, and Jack slips under it by the width of a thought. Jack continues past, hits the ropes, and rebounds into a running neckbreaker that cuts Roman down. Jack stays on the gas. He scrambles to the top rope and launches with a missile dropkick that lands flush on Roman’s chest, popping the champion onto his back. Jack clutches a rib but crawls into a lateral press and gets two and nine tenths. The place comes unglued for a heartbeat at the nearness of it. Jack rubs his jaw, nods, and grabs Roman’s wrist to pull him up. He tries for a ripcord knee. Roman shoves him off with two flat hands, steps in, and crushes Jack with a clothesline that looks like a car crash. Roman falls to a knee, one palm on the mat, and glares through wet hair toward the ropes.]
Jim Ross: Every time Jack builds something, Roman runs over it. The margin for error is microscopic.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: You cannot build a house on quicksand. Buy better land.
Kris Gaffney: Or bring stilts. Jack could use stilts right now.
[Roman stands and peels Jack up again, this time threading an arm between the legs to lift for a powerbomb. Jack throws wild elbows and manages to slide down Roman’s back, landing behind with enough presence of mind to shove Roman chest first into the ropes. Roman bounces backward and Jack spins him into a crucifix pin, dragging him down and stacking his shoulders for a two count. Roman punches out and rolls to his side, frustrated enough to bark at the official. The referee holds up two fingers. Roman steps forward to argue more and Jack uses the breath to climb the ropes for a risk. He sets, balances, and leaps for a crossbody. Roman meets him with a midair shot that is not quite the full Superman Punch but carries the same malice, a rising right hand that knocks Jack for a painful loop and leaves him draped over Roman’s shoulder. Roman drops Jack throat first on the top rope and then, with the crowd huffing anger, rushes the opposite ropes and catapults into another drive by that almost decapitates the recovering underdog. He slides back in and this time he decides not to waste the moment. He crawls into a cover and hooks both legs. Jack rolls a shoulder off the mat at two and a half.]
Jim Ross: That is as close as we have been. Jack Lynch just moved a mountain.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: Mountains do not tap. They avalanche.
Kris Gaffney: Roman is the cliff and Jack is the climber. Fingers slipping.
[Roman Reigns picks up Jack Lynch, Jack counters by throwing Roman backwards and he connects with the Pandemonium Kick. Jack plants a hand on his thigh, pushes up, and stares Roman down. He points at him, points to the sky, and the chant of his name rolls like thunder. He pulls Roman to his feet and strings together a trio of sharp chops that blossom red on chest and pride. He whips Roman, who reverses, and Jack uses that reverse to spring onto the second rope and snap back with a jumping back elbow that rattles Roman’s jaw. Jack lands, hits the far ropes, ducks a swing, and darts behind to ripcord Roman into that knee he has been hunting all night. It lands snug on the orbital. Roman staggers. Jack vaults to the top rope in a single hop and launches with a corkscrew senton that crashes both men to the mat. Jack crawls onto the cover and the count comes within a hair of three. Disbelief and resolve wage war on Jack’s face. He stands, threads Roman’s head between his knees, and looks for a package driver. Roman widens his base like a tree takes root and backdrops Jack over with authority. Jack lands rough but springs to his knees, only to eat a heavy right hand that buckles him to all fours.]
Jim Ross: That right hand has changed fights. It is changing this one right now.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: Roman’s jaw is insured. Or it should be.
Kris Gaffney: If fists had signatures, that one wrote a novel.
[Roman shakes life into his shoulder after the post impact. He prowls behind Jack and takes the wrist, guiding him up. He pivots, sets his feet, and yanks Jack right into a Superman Punch that lands like a thunderclap. Jack rockets backward and collapses, eyes lost for a moment. Roman kneels beside him, both palms on the mat, and exhales slowly while the crowd groans. He looks to the corner again and slides back into his launchpad. He slaps the top rope once, twice, a third time, each slap a drumbeat for destiny. Jack stirs on the canvas, rolls to his side, clutches his ribs, and uses the rope to chase vertical. Roman charges. The Spear is a silver line flashing across the ring. Jack twists and hops, Roman’s shoulder swiping air as Jack vaults over him. Roman hits the far buckles chest first and staggers out. Jack pounces with a schoolboy roll up and stacks Roman for two and three quarters. The place loses its mind at the audacity and the razor edge of it. Roman powers free and both men scramble up, the ring spinning under them.]
Jim Ross: Jack Lynch is juggling dynamite and somehow keeping all the fuses lit.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: He is going to run out of hands. Then boom.
Kris Gaffney: Someone alert the insurance adjuster.
[Jack strikes first in the scramble. He leaps for a springboard cutter. Roman catches his waist in midair, shifts, and plants Jack with a sudden release powerbomb that detonates the ring. Roman staggers back into the corner to breathe and the camera catches the shift in his face from annoyance to inevitability. He straightens, shakes the shoulder once, and then lowers into that coiled stance again, eyes never leaving Jack. The crowd rises with him, half pleading with volume, half bracing. Jack crawls, one elbow at a time, to the middle of the ring. He pushes to a knee, chest heaving, head hanging. He looks up and Roman is already moving.]
Jim Ross: If Roman hits it clean, this is over.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: If He is about to turn Jack Lynch into a postcard.
Kris Gaffney: Wish you were here. Glad I am not.
Roman explodes from the corner and cuts the ring in half, body a line drawn by a furious god, but Jack Lynch ounters with a knee lift. Jack Lynch lifts up Roman and he drops him with the Pandemonium driver!! Jack Lynch goes into the cover on Roman. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1............2........3!!]
JR-Jack Lynch did it!
(“Radio” blasts on the PA system Zack Ryder walks out on the stage with his web camera, he walks down to the ring.)
JR-Zack Ryder looks to be the next one to face down the Azar storm that has raged since Tony Ikeda became world champion.
King-Good luck…I mean he was already better than everyone else.
Kris Gaffney-A question I’m sure he considers every day…
[I’m better than you and you know it” Is said over the loud speakers right before Lamb Of God- “Overlord” hits. The crowd erupts in boos as the lighting begins to flash green and gold. The ramp fills with images of money as Azar Vulcan steps out from the back with a smug grin on his face. He stops atop of the ramp laughing at the fans.]
Announcer: Ladies and gentleman, making his way to the ring, weighing in at 215 pounds and standing 5’11”. He is The EMF World Heavyweight Champion, The Best In The World, Azar “Mastermind” Vulcan!
JR-As mentioned Azar’s aggression has gone up.
Kris Gaffney-So has Kings.
King-Maybe their connected!?
[Zack Ryder and Azar Vulcan pace around the ring. They lock up, Zack Ryder gets hit with a knee lift that sends him doubled over. Azar Vulcan connects with a hard fist that puts down Zack Ryder. Azar Vulcan brings him up, Azar Vulcan whips him to the ropes, and Zack Ryder connects with a flying knee to the face that puts down Zack Ryder. Azar Vulcan waits as Zack Ryder kicks Zack Ryder in the gut, and he connects with a brain buster. Azar Vulcan connects with a few mounted fists to the face, the ref makes him stop after a while. Azar Vulcan waits for Zack Ryder to get up to his feet, and he connects with a body slam, and he runs otwards the ropes, and he connects with a second rope moonsault on Zack Ryder!!]
JR-Azar Vulcan aggression might be getting out of control.
King-That’s just what it looks when someone is just that much better than everyone if it was you JR, you would have imploded due to the awesome the first step you made into the ring.
Kris Gaffney-Sounds messy.
[Azar Vulcan goes for another second rope moonsault, but Zack Ryder gets his knee’s up, and this drives the air out of Azar Vulcan. Zack Ryder and Azar Vulcan struggles to get up to their feet, Zack Ryder connects with a DDT that puts down Azar Vulcan down on the mat. Azar Vulcan rolls away after being spiked on the mat. Zack Ryder takes a few moments to rest up, Azar Vulcan gets up in the corner, and Zack Ryder connects with a clothesline on Azar Vulcan. Zack Ryder backs out of the corner. Azar Vulcan falls into a seated position. Zack Ryder backs up, and he fist pumps (woo! Woo! Woo!). Zack Ryder connects with a broski boot to the side of the head. Zack Ryder brings Azar out of the corner. Zack Ryder goes into the cover on Azar Vulcan, the ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1………..2……..KICK OUT by Azar Vulcan!!]
JR-Zack Ryder almost got the three there.
King-Azar let that happened.
Kris Gaffney-I’m certain that’s what Azar is saying to himself.
[Azar Vulcan slowly gets up, Zack Ryder goes for the Rough Ryder, Azar pushes him backwards into the ref the ref dives away, but this allows Azar to get away with a low blow. Azar Vulcan connects with the Money Maker on Zack Ryder. Azar Vulcan goes into the cover on Zack Ryder. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1…………..2……………3!!]
JR-Azar Vulcan tactics get more brutal and more and more questionable
King-How dear you question Azar King hits a low blow on JR
[The arena lights shift and pulse as the opening chords of "Game On" by Disciple hit the speakers, drawing an immediate roar from the crowd. Tony Ikeda bursts through the curtain with a focused intensity that feels equal parts confidence and fire, slapping hands on both sides of the aisle while pointing toward the ring like he has already marked tonight’s destination in stone. He pauses halfway down the ramp to nod toward a cluster of fans chanting his name, then pounds his chest twice and breaks into a quicker stride, eyes locked forward. At ringside he slaps the apron with both hands, climbs onto it in one smooth motion, and vaults over the top rope to another wave of cheers. Inside the ring Tony paces in a tight circle, rolling his shoulders and neck, then backs into a corner and drops into a short crouch, hands on his knees, staring toward the stage with the look of a man who came to outwork, outfight, and outlast whoever walks through that curtain.]
Jim Ross: Listen to this crowd for Tony Ikeda. They know what this man brings to the table every time he steps into the ring.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: Sure, they love him now, JR. Let us see how much they love him after Ragnar Ayerswindale turns this into a Viking funeral.
Kris Gaffney: I am mostly hoping nobody actually brings fire to the ring. The paperwork gets ugly.
The arena lights dim, plunging the space into an anticipatory darkness. A hushed silence falls over the crowd, broken only by the distant sound of thunder. Suddenly, the opening notes of "Medieval Viking Music - For Honor (Ft. Peyton Parrish)" resonate through the speakers, their haunting melody echoing in the vastness of the arena.
As the music swells, the titantron flickers to life, displaying a mist-covered Nordic landscape. Towering mountains and dense, shadowy forests under a twilight sky fill the screen, creating an atmosphere of ancient, rugged wilderness.
Amidst this mystical backdrop, scenes of Viking lore begin to unfold on the titantron. Images of longships sailing through stormy seas, warriors brandishing shields and axes, and ethereal figures of Valkyries descending from the heavens captivate the audience, weaving a tale of epic battles and Norse mythology.
A deep, bellowing horn sounds, reminiscent of a Gjallarhorn, heralding the approach of a warrior. The crowd stirs with excitement as a lone figure emerges from the backstage, his silhouette imposing and powerful.
Ragnar Ayerswindale steps into the light, his figure colossal and commanding. He stands for a moment at the top of the ramp, surveying the arena with a calm, unyielding gaze. His attire, a fusion of traditional Viking elements and modern combat gear, complements his muscular build, and Norse runes glint on his gear under the arena lights.
As he begins his descent down the ramp, the music intensifies. The titantron shows images of thunderous battles juxtaposed with serene, majestic landscapes of the Nordic fjords, symbolizing the duality of Ragnar's nature – both a fierce warrior and a stoic guardian of ancient traditions.
Ragnar's movements are deliberate and measured, exuding confidence and a sense of purpose. He occasionally pauses to make eye contact with fans, his expression unchanging, an embodiment of the calm before the storm.
Reaching the ring, Ragnar ascends the steel steps with ease. He stands on the apron for a moment, closing his eyes as if to draw strength from the gods themselves. Then, with a swift and fluid motion, he steps over the top rope and enters the ring.
The music reaches a crescendo, and Ragnar raises his arms, acknowledging the crowd and the arena. The Norse imagery on the titantron gives way to a single, ancient rune, glowing brightly as if imbued with mystical power.
As the music fades and the lights return to normal, Ragnar begins his pre-match ritual, a silent nod to the Viking warriors of old. The arena buzzes with anticipation, the presence of this modern-day Viking leaving an indelible mark on all who witness his entrance.
Jim Ross: Ragnar Ayerswindale looks like trouble personified. Big, dangerous, and not interested in anybody’s approval.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: That is because approval does not win matches, JR. Mean men win matches.
Kris Gaffney: He looks like he chews gravel for the calcium.
[The referee steps between the two men to deliver final instructions, but the tension is already so thick it feels like a second body in the ring. Tony never blinks. Ragnar barely acknowledges the official and instead leans sideways to keep staring around him. The referee forces them apart, checks both corners, and signals for the bell.]
[The bell rings and Ragnar immediately stalks forward, using his size to crowd Tony before there is any room to establish rhythm. Tony circles away to his left, flicking a quick low kick to the thigh and getting out before Ragnar can answer. Ragnar snorts in annoyance and lunges with a collar and elbow tie-up that turns into a shoving match more than a hold, his raw power forcing Tony backward two steps before Tony drops his hips and twists free. Tony comes back with a stiff palm strike to the jaw that snaps Ragnar’s head a half inch, then a second to the ear and a third to the chest before darting away again. Ragnar charges, trying to cut him off near the ropes, but Tony lowers himself and snaps off a side headlock, only for Ragnar to shove him off and flatten him with a shoulder block on the rebound that sends Tony rolling to a knee.]
Jim Ross: Ragnar Ayerswindale just ran through Tony Ikeda like a truck with bad intentions.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: Sometimes all the technique in the world loses to a man built like a siege weapon.
Kris Gaffney: The good news is Tony only got hit by the front bumper.
[Tony rises quickly and the two men circle again, the opening exchange already establishing the shape of the fight. Tony wants movement and angles. Ragnar wants collisions and control. They lock up again and this time Tony immediately works into wrist control, twisting the arm and trying to drag the bigger man down into a grounded position. Ragnar powers through the torque and swats Tony away with brute force, but Tony re-enters fast with a dropkick to the knee that finally makes Ragnar reset his base. Tony follows with a kick to the calf, then another, then a running forearm to the jaw that stuns Ragnar long enough for Tony to hit the ropes and come back with a flying shoulder block that knocks Ragnar into the corner. Tony rushes in with body shots, short and sharp, then a snapmare that pulls Ragnar down from the corner to a seated position. Tony hits the ropes and lands a low dropkick right between the shoulder blades, popping the crowd.]
Jim Ross: That is smart wrestling from Tony Ikeda. Chop the base, keep the big man moving, and do not give him time to settle.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: Which sounds great until Ragnar grabs him once and folds him like a lawn chair.
Kris Gaffney: Tony is trying to turn a bear into a ballet dancer. Difficult, but entertaining.
[Tony hooks a quick cover after the dropkick, but Ragnar powers out at one and launches Tony upward enough to send him scrambling backward. Ragnar gets to one knee and Tony jumps on the opening again, hammering a kick to the ribs and then pulling the head under his arm for a front facelock. Tony tries to shift his weight into a suplex, but Ragnar blocks with a wide stance and then surges up, lifting Tony clean off the mat and driving him backward into the turnbuckles to break the hold. Ragnar follows with a heavy shoulder to the midsection, then another, then drags Tony out of the corner by the wrist and flings him across the ring with a beal that sends Tony tumbling awkwardly to the mat. The crowd groans at the impact. Ragnar stalks after him and plants a boot into Tony’s ribs before hauling him up again by the head and smashing him with a short range lariat.]
Jim Ross: That strength advantage is real and it is ugly when Ragnar gets momentum.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: I told you. Mean men and moving furniture. That is the whole offense.
Kris Gaffney: Tony just got rearranged like a living room.
[Ragnar slows the pace and begins leaning into control. He drags Tony up into a standing bear hug, arms cinched high around the ribs and lower chest, and squeezes until Tony’s face tightens in pain. The referee asks if he wants to submit, but Tony shakes his head hard and starts fighting with short punches to the side of Ragnar’s neck and ear. Ragnar squeezes tighter and even lifts Tony off his feet for a second before Tony manages to stamp both boots down and shift his hips, creating just enough space to fire three sharp elbows into the side of Ragnar’s face. Ragnar finally loosens the hold and Tony bounces to the ropes, but Ragnar catches him coming back with a huge back body drop that sends him flipping through the air. Tony hits hard and arches from the landing while Ragnar spreads his arms toward the crowd, drinking in the mixed reaction.]
Jim Ross: Ragnar Ayerswindale is imposing his kind of match now, and that is bad news for Tony Ikeda.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: See, JR, this is what I call educating the audience. Big man, big moves, big problems.
Kris Gaffney: Class is in session and the syllabus is just one word. Ouch.
[Ragnar lifts Tony by the back of the head and drags him toward the ropes, placing Tony’s throat across the middle strand and leaning down with his full upper body until the referee forces a break at four. Ragnar backs off with a smirk, then immediately turns and drives a knee into Tony’s upper back as he stumbles away from the ropes. Tony drops to all fours and Ragnar clubs him across the shoulders with one forearm after another, each shot heavy enough to echo through the building. Ragnar then hooks Tony’s head and spikes him with a vertical suplex, floating over into a cover for two. Tony kicks out, but the strain is obvious now. Ragnar sits up on one knee, glaring down at him like he cannot decide whether he is annoyed or impressed that the match is still going.]
Jim Ross: Credit Tony Ikeda. He is absorbing a tremendous amount of punishment here and he is still fighting the pin.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: Sure, but being brave while getting mauled is still getting mauled.
Kris Gaffney: Inspirational posters rarely include a bear hug and a throat across the rope.
[Ragnar hauls Tony up again and whips him hard into the corner. Tony crashes into the buckles and stumbles forward straight into a huge scoop slam that rattles the ring. Ragnar does not cover this time. Instead he backs into the opposite corner and measures Tony with bad intentions, waiting for him to rise. Tony reaches one knee and Ragnar charges for a running boot, but Tony narrowly rolls aside at the last second and Ragnar’s leg thunders into the turnbuckles. The sudden miss changes the temperature of the match. Tony rolls to his feet and starts hammering kicks into Ragnar’s planted leg and exposed side, one after another, trying to cash in before the bigger man can recover. Ragnar swings wild on instinct. Tony ducks, fires a palm strike to the jaw, then another, then a spinning back kick to the gut that doubles Ragnar over. Tony bounces off the ropes and lands a running knee strike that finally puts Ragnar down to both knees.]
Jim Ross: There you go. That is the opening Tony Ikeda desperately needed.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: Needed, yes. Let us see if he can do anything useful with it before Ragnar remembers he is enormous.
Kris Gaffney: The giant has been reduced to large. Progress.
[Tony senses the moment and goes all in. He hits the ropes and lands a shotgun dropkick to the chest that sends Ragnar spilling onto his back. The crowd surges as Tony pops up and stalks the rising Ayerswindale with intensity written all over his face. Ragnar gets to a knee and Tony lights him up with quick strikes, a kick to the chest, another, then a buzzsaw kick that clips the side of the head. Ragnar stumbles to the corner. Tony charges in with a running forearm smash, then climbs to the second rope and rains down right hands while the audience counts along. He gets to eight before Ragnar powers up underneath him and walks out of the corner, turning the mounted punches into a powerbomb position. The building gasps. Tony fights with downward shots to the head and shoulders, manages to slide free behind Ragnar, and instantly shoves him chest first into the buckles. Ragnar rebounds and Tony catches him with a bridging German suplex for a dramatic two count.]
Jim Ross: Beautiful counter by Tony Ikeda and that was awfully close.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: Too close for Ragnar’s comfort and too far for Tony’s celebration.
Kris Gaffney: Two point nine and all the hope money can buy.
[Tony rises breathing hard, but now it is clear the match is in a different phase. Ragnar is no longer walking through everything. Tony is making him react. Tony drags Ragnar up by the arm and whips him toward the ropes again, but Ragnar reverses with force and sends Tony careening across the ring instead. On the rebound Tony tries a flying forearm. Ragnar catches him in midair and turns the interception into a vicious powerslam that shakes the mat. Both men stay down for a moment, neither with much left to spare. Ragnar crawls over and hooks the far leg. One. Two. Tony gets a shoulder up. Ragnar sits back in frustration, then pounds the mat once and stands, deciding to escalate.]
Jim Ross: Ragnar Ayerswindale thought he had him there.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: He should have. Tony Ikeda is running on fumes and applause at this point.
Kris Gaffney: Fumes, applause, and stubbornness. Dangerous cocktail.
[Ragnar drags Tony upright and lifts him onto the top turnbuckle, stepping in close with one forearm under the chin as he climbs to the second rope. The crowd murmurs, knowing something ugly could be coming. Ragnar hooks for a superplex, but Tony fights for his life with body shots, then a palm strike to the jaw, then another. Ragnar headbutts him once and resets the grip. Tony’s legs shake on the top rope, but he digs deep and fires an elbow straight into Ragnar’s temple. The big man wobbles. Tony hammers another elbow. Ragnar slips. Tony shoves him off the ropes and Ragnar crashes backward to the mat. The whole building rises. Tony steadies himself on the top rope, takes one breath, and launches with a flying double stomp to Ragnar’s chest that lands flush and detonates the crowd.]
Jim Ross: What a risk by Tony Ikeda and what a payoff.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: That was reckless, JR. Effective, but reckless.
Kris Gaffney: Reckless is just courage wearing faster shoes.
[Tony crawls into the cover after the stomp. One. Two. Ragnar kicks out with force and rolls to his side, coughing air back into his lungs. Tony slaps the mat once, frustrated but focused, then gets back to work. He circles behind Ragnar as the bigger man climbs slowly to hands and knees, and now the crowd starts to buzz because they know exactly what Tony is thinking. Ragnar senses it too and tries to stand while turning, but Tony clips the knee from behind and drives him back down. Tony threads one arm under, testing the space, trying to pull Ragnar’s arms upward. Ragnar resists, using raw power to keep his base. Tony abandons the attempt for the moment and instead hammers in a kick to the ribs, then a running low knee to the side of the head. Ragnar slumps to one knee again, dazed and vulnerable.]
Jim Ross: Tony Ikeda is trying to engineer the opening for that Full Nelson Suplex.
Jerry "The King" Lawler: Which is easier said than done when the man you are trying to hook up is built like a cabin.
Kris Gaffney: If he can lock the hands, the cabin might still collapse.
[Tony takes a deep breath, backs into the corner, and then charges again with a running knee to the jaw that snaps Ragnar upright. The moment is there. Tony slips behind him and threads both arms underneath, trying to clasp his hands. Ragnar thrashes, elbows back, and breaks the first attempt before it fully closes. Tony stays glued to him, dodging one blind swing and then driving a forearm between the shoulders to keep Ragnar off balance. Ragnar staggers into the ropes and rebounds. Tony catches him again from behind, this time forcing both arms high. The fingers interlace. The full nelson is locked. The crowd explodes.]
Jim Ross: He has got it! Tony Ikeda has the Full Nelson locked in!
Jerry "The King" Lawler: Not yet! Ragnar still has that giant frame under him!
Kris Gaffney: This is the moment where leverage auditions for a lead role.
[Ragnar powers out, and he connects with a snap mare that sends Tony Ikeda flying. Tony Ikeda gets up to his feet, but Ragnar Ayerswindale runs through him with the Gunginar spear!! Ragnar picks up Tony and he lifts him up, and he drops him with the runestone power bomb. Ragnar stacks Tony on his shoulders for a pin. The ref goes itno position to make the count. The ref counts 1…………2………..3!!]
JR-With pure power Ragnar over comes Tony.
[div align="center"][video][/bbvideo][/align]
The arena lights dim, and the opening beats of NSYNC's "Bye Bye Bye" blast through the speakers. As soon as the first note hits, bright spotlights flash in sync with the music, and a thick cloud of smoke rises from the stage. The crowd immediately erupts in a mix of cheers and laughter, knowing they’re in for something special. As the beat drops, multicolored fireworks explode around the stage, and through the smoke, Patrick Payne bursts out, dancing his way onto the stage like he’s straight out of a 90s boy band video. Patrick starts hitting the iconic "Bye Bye Bye" choreography, exaggerated and dripping with his own flavor. He smirks at the camera, pointing at random fans in the crowd, and moving with the beat like he’s starring in his own music video. He stops midway down the ramp, faking a pause, and then launches back into the dance, arms waving and hips moving as the crowd sings along to the chorus.
EMF Ring Announcer: From wherever he damn well pleases, standing 6 feet 1 inch tall, weighing in at 210 pounds he is the unpredictable, the unstoppable, Patrick ˜The PP Express Payne!!!
As the music continues, the lights flash in rhythm, and Patrick slides into the spotlight, twirling and dipping to the beat. Nearing the ring, he stops for a second, tilts his head toward the camera, and breaks into a final burst of the dance, fully embracing the ridiculousness of it all. Without breaking his flow, he leaps over the top rope with a fluid, acrobatic jump, landing in a perfect roll before bouncing right back into the Bye Bye Bye dance inside the ring. Patrick moves effortlessly, finishing his routine by running up the turnbuckle, arms wide, and executing a picture-perfect backflip off the top rope. As his feet hit the mat, he drops into a flawless superhero landing, kneeling down, one fist on the ground, with a cocky grin stretched across his face. He rises slowly, arms outstretched, soaking in the crowd’s reaction, while the music fades and the lights settle back to normal. The camera zooms in as Patrick winks at the audience, mouthing, "You’re welcome!" before leaning casually against the ropes, waiting for his match to begin.
JR-Patrick Payne has been more focused since returning.
King-This train is back on track.
Kris Gaffney-HA!
[video size="small" src=""][/video]
[As the unmistakable opening notes of "Money" by Pink Floyd begin to ecFho through the arena, a grandiose display of gold and green laser lights crisscrosses the space, creating an atmosphere of opulence and exclusivity. The entire arena is bathed in a luxurious glow, mimicking the sheen of gold.
The titantron springs to life, showcasing a dazzling montage of Hollywood's most glamorous moments: red carpets, flashing camera lights, and premiere nights, all leading up to the marquee name, "Austin Jameson Mercer," emblazoned across the screen in bold, shimmering letters.
Simultaneously, the entrance ramp transforms into a visual spectacle, resembling a premiere night red carpet. A line of spotlight-equipped drones flies overhead, casting down beams of light that spotlight the path, while confetti cannons strategically positioned at the sides of the ramp blast gold and silver confetti, fluttering down like a cascade of wealth.
Then, with a flair that only he can muster, "Hollywood" Austin Jameson Mercer steps out, clad in a custom-tailored robe that sparkles under the lights, his confident stride in sync with the rhythm of the song. He pauses at the top of the ramp, soaking in the adulation, a smirk playing across his lips as he surveys his domain.]
Beautiful female announcer: "Making his grand entrance from Beverly Hills, California, standing at six feet two inches and weighing in at two hundred thirty-five pounds... He is the blockbuster sensation of the wrestling world, the “Pretty Boy”, 'Hollywood' Austin Jameson Mercer!"
[Austin then makes his way down the ramp, each step calculated to maximize the dramatic effect of his presence. Personal security guards, dressed in sleek suits, flank him, adding to the aura of untouchable celebrity status. He occasionally stops to pose for the "cameras," his every move oozing the charisma and confidence of a true movie star.
Upon reaching ringside, Austin takes a moment to gaze out at the crowd, offering a cocky wave before he discards his robe, revealing his wrestling gear beneath, adorned with gold trim that catches the light perfectly. He ascends the stairs and steps through the ropes with an air of entitlement, as if the ring were his personal stage.
The music fades, the lights gradually return to normal, and the confetti settles, leaving Austin Jameson Mercer standing center-ring. He stretches out his arms, welcoming the audience to his show, a smug smile on his face, ready to prove once again why he is the premier attraction, as the arena buzzes with anticipation for the spectacle to come.]
JR-Austin Jameson Mercer since joining the Maledictum has been more aggressive, and darker.
King-Ashley Irvine is not a fan.
Kris Gaffney-Probably not.
[Patrick Payne and Austin Jameson Mercer pace around the ring, they lock up. Patrick Payne connects with a knee lift into the gut that doubles over Austin Jameson Mercer, and he connects whips him towards the ropes. He bounces off of the ropes. Patrick Payne connects with a back elbow to the face. Austin Jameson Mercer gets up to his feet. Patrick Payne hits Austin Jameson Mercer with an inverted drop. Ausitn Jameson Mercer stumbles around stunned, and he Patrick Payne connects with a diving clothesline that puts him down on the mat. Austin Jameson Mercer hits the mat, and he gets up. Patrick Payne connects with a body slam. Patrick Payne goes to the outside of the ring, and he climbs up to the top rope. Patrick Payne connects with a Flight Risk!! Patrick Payne goes into the cover on AJM, the ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1…………2………KICK OUT by Austin Jameson Mercer!!]
JR-Almost three there.
King-Guess the risk didn’t back fire at least.
Kris Gaffney-There is that…
[Austin Jameson Mercer gets picked up by Patrick Payne. Patrick Payne gets hit with an jaw breaker that knocks him backwards. Austin Jameson Mercer gets up to his feet, and Patrick Payne runs towards AJM after recovering from the move, and Patrick Payne gets countered with a hot shot that sends Patrick Payne into the top rope. Austin Jameson Mercer connects with a Red Carpet that puts down Patrick Payne. Austin Jameson Mercer falls into the ropes, and he takes a few moments to rest up. Patrick Payne is slow to get up to his feet. Patrick Payne is slow to get up to his feet. Austin Jameson Mercer connects with a kick to the gut, and he sets up Patrick Payne, and he connects with the World Premiere with a bridge!! The ref goes into position to make the count, the ref counts 1………….2…………KICK OUT by Patrick Payne!!]
JR-Patrick Payne kicks out.
King-That was good, but it wasn’t perfect.
Kris Gaffney-I really have the urge to throw a towel behind my back, and catch it.
[Austin Jameson Mercer picks up Patrick Payne, and he sets him up. But Patrick Payne is able to slide out of the back. AJM turns around and Patrick Payne sets him up, and he drops him with the Payne Per View!! Austin Jameson Mercer is out of it. Patrick Payne goes into the cover on Austin Jameson Mercer. The ref goes into position to make the count, the ref counts 1…………2………..3!!]
JR-Patrick Payne avoided the possible set up for the Final Cut, and got the victory.
(Patrick Payne celebrates his win as Shockwave goes off the air.)
