(Copyright information flashes over the screen. We open up to the picture of Azar Vulcan actions that cost Tony Ikeda the chance to be world champion at First Blood. Then Azar Vulcan winning the world championship. We go to various clips of Billy Breeze also as champion. The three get a mesh clip of times they were champion as we fade out. We go into an introduction screen that welcomes us to Hell on Earth 2025. The arena is darken, pyrotechnics blasts on the Hell on Earth. The lights turn on after the pyrotechnics end. The fans yell, and wave their signs. The camera’s get a few shots of the crowd. We zoom out to display the location information. We get one more shot of the crowd as commentators speak over it.)
JR-Welcome to the 2025 edition of Hell on Earth. I’m good ol’ JR, Jim Ross. I’m joined by Jerry “The King” Lawler, and Kris “KG” Gaffney.
King-Tonight Azar Vulcan will take on two wrestlers who aren’t better than him!
Kris Gaffney-What about everyone watching him?
King-Not good enough to watch his greatness!
JR-Let’s get started with the first match of the night.
(“Radio” blasts on the PA system. Zack Ryder walks out on the stage with his web camera. He walks down to the ring, and he steps inside of the ring.)
The arena goes dark. The sound of a wolf howl erupts from the speakers. A wolf face appears on the tron then the words "I'M HUNGRY! TIME TO FEED!" and "Hungry Like The Wolf" by Duran Duran plays. Killer Tschida shows up on the ramp way wearing a wolf mask and let's out a big wolf howl. He walks to the ring, crawls under the ring ropes then climbs to the top turnbuckle and takes off his mask as he looks to the crowd and does another big wolf howl as the crowd howls with him.
JR-This team has a lot on the line.
King-But they raised up one time.
Kris Gaffney-Let’s see if they can catch lightning in a bottle.
The arena lights flicker and then cut out, plunging the crowd into darkness. A deep, rumbling bass echoes throughout the arena as "I Am Colossus" by Meshuggah begins to play. Thick, ominous smoke begins to billow from the stage, covering the ramp in a dense fog that swirls menacingly. Dark, crimson lights start to pulse in sync with the slow, crushing beats of the music, casting eerie shadows across the arena. Suddenly, a series of sharp, thunderous booms erupt, sending shocks of fire across the stage, creating a wall of flames that parts to reveal the silhouette of a giant figure. The smoke parts as Malek Voss, towering at 7'2" and 500 pounds, steps through the flames, his form barely visible through the heavy mist. The crowd murmurs in awe as Malek slowly begins his deliberate march toward the ring, his eyes locked ahead with cold, unwavering focus. Each of his footsteps seems to shake the very ground beneath him as the smoke follows his path. The crimson lights continue to pulse, casting him in and out of shadow, emphasizing his monstrous presence. Behind him, the fire burns brighter, leaving a trail of embers in his wake. Malek reaches the base of the ramp and pauses for a moment, taking in the energy of the arena, his expression stoic and unreadable. He places one massive hand on the apron, pulling himself up with ease, his eyes never leaving the ring. With a simple, yet intimidating motion, Malek steps over the top rope, entering the ring as the crimson lights swirl around him. Once inside, he slowly raises one arm to the sky, and as he does, a violent explosion of fireworks bursts from the turnbuckles, bathing the ring in a fiery glow.
EMF Ring Announcer: "Standing at 7 feet 2 inches tall, weighing in at 500 pounds… from the depths of destruction itself... The Mad Titan, Malek Voss!"
[The lights return to their dim, crimson hue as Malek strides toward the center of the ring, his massive frame illuminated by the glowing red light. He stands tall, motionless, exuding power and menace, his eyes scanning the crowd as the arena settles into an eerie silence. The music fades, but the oppressive aura of Malek Voss lingers as he waits for his opponent, like a predator stalking his prey.
The arena lights dim as the first beats of "Lie, Cheat, Steal" by CFO$ echo through the speakers. Golden spotlights begin to flicker across the stage, and the screen above the entrance flashes the words "NO GOOD" in bold letters. The crowd starts to react as Vince "No Good" Navarro steps out from behind the curtain, a sly smirk on his face. He’s dressed in his sleek ring gear, adjusting his sunglasses as he pauses at the top of the ramp, arrogantly soaking in the crowd’s reaction. Vince walks down the ramp with exaggerated swagger, pointing to his chest and mouthing to the crowd, “The Bad Boy’s here!” As he struts forward, the golden lights continue flashing in rhythm with the music, highlighting his every step. Vince taunts fans along the way, blowing kisses to a few and brushing off the boos with a cocky laugh.
EMF Ring Announcer: "Making his way to the ring, from the Streets of Sin City, weighing in at 205 pounds, he is the 'No Good,' 'Dirty' Vince Navarro!"
Vince reaches the apron and dramatically wipes his feet on it before stepping into the ring, taking his time as he climbs through the ropes. Once inside, he walks to the center of the ring and spreads his arms wide, showing off to the crowd, as if basking in invisible applause. He then walks over to the ropes, standing on the middle rope and raising his hand to his ear as if daring the fans to boo louder.
Vince Navarro: "All eyes on me, baby! The Bad Boy’s about to show you how it’s done!"
He casually leans against the turnbuckle with a cocky grin, his sunglasses still on. The music fades, and Vince waits with an air of superiority, confident and ready for whatever—or whoever—comes next.
JR-The former tag team champons are looking to regain the championships.
King-The Amigos could very well bounce back tonight.
(“Game on” blasts on the PA system. Tony Ikeda walks out on the stage, and he walks down to the ring. He steps inside of the ring.)
Suddenly, the powerful tones of “Twilight of the Thunder God” by Amon Arnath engulfed the arena. Lights went pitch black for a moment, and when they return, they danced in a patriotic sequence of Red, White, and Blue while sparks rained down from the ceiling. The camera panned around quickly, searching for the source of the entrance, finally setting halfway up the stands in the crowd. There stood Jackson Gunner followed by Wade Wilson, surrounded by a sea of ecstatic fans. The crowd’s roars intensified as he tore off his tank top, throwing it to a lucky audience member. In a gesture of sheer energy, he beat his chest and threw his hands into the air, forming an X, signaling his readiness for battle as his Championship drapes over his shoulder.)
Announcer: Ladies and Gentleman! Making his way through the crowd, hailing from Honolulu, Hawaii, standing at 6’4” and weighing in at 250 pounds… he is the reigning EMF TV Champion, “THE SMILING WARRIOR” JACKSON “KOA KOA” GUNNER!
JR-The current tag team champions are going to have a big challenge on their hands.
King-That’s for sure, they know what both teams can do.
Kris Gaffney-And they don’t have to be pinned to lose the championships.
[Killer Tschida, Zack Ryder, Vince Navarro, Malek Voss, Jackson Gunner, and Tony Ikeda stand in opposite sides of the ring. The bell rings, and the ring erupts with brawling. Most of the competitors spill out on the outside of the ring. Killer Tschida is in the ring, and he ducks under a wild fist to the face. Vince Navarro runs towards the ropes, and he bounces off of the ropes. Killer Tschida connects with a one man flap jack that sends him flying down on the mat. Killer Tschida waits for Vince Navarro is slow to get up to his feet, and once he gets up to his feet. Killer Tschida connects with a super kick that puts down Vince Navarro. Killer Tschida goes into the cover on Vince Navarro. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1…………2……Malek Voss breaks up the three count. Zack Ryder steps inside of the ring, and he connects with a few fists to the face. Malek tries to go for fist, but Zack Ryder ducks under. Malek is on the ropes, and Zack Ryder connects with a clothesline that puts him on the outside of the ring.]
JR-Killer Tschida tried to end it quickly, but Malek Voss was there to break up the pin.
King-In this match that shouldn’t be shocking.
Kris Gaffney-But still, you see a chance, you got to take it.
[Zack Ryder measures up, and he sling shots himself over the top rope, and he goes for a cross body block, but it’s caught by Malek Voss. Malek Voss runs towards the ring post, and he smashes Zack Ryder back first into the ring post. Zack Ryder is in pain. Tony Ikeda rushes in, and they throw fists to the face, Tony Ikeda ducks under one of them, and he goes for a full nelson, but it’s countered with a back elbow. Malek Voss kicks Tony Ikeda, and he sets up Tony Ikeda, and he lifts him up, and he hits a modified cataclysm on the ring apron. Malek Voss throws Tony Ikeda into the ring where Vince Navarro is waiting, and he sets him up, and he lifts him up. He sets him up into vertical suplex position, and he drops him with a vertical suplex, and he lifts him up, and he drops him with another vertical suplex. Vince rolls up Tony up, and he connects with a final vertical suplex to complete the amigos forever. Vince Navarro goes to the outside of the ring, and he climbs up to the top rope.]
JR-The former tag team champions might be moments away from becoming champions again.
King-Good for them, not so good for a lot of reasons.
[Vince Navarro jumps off, but at the last moment Tony Ikeda moves out of the way. He crashes into the mat. Jackson Gunner steps inside of the ring, and he ducks under a wild fist, and he connects with a release german suplex that sends Vince Navarro flying into the across the ring. Jackson Gunner gets up, but gets knocked down by Malek Voss, Tony Ikeda is able to connect with a reverse jaw breaker that knocks back Malek Voss backwards. Tony Ikeda gets up, and he connects with reverse jaw breaker that knocks back Malek Voss. Tony Ikeda runs towards the ropes, and he connects with a clothesline that knocks Malek Voss over the top rope, and Tony Ikeda crashes down on the mat around ring side. Jackson Gunner waits for Vince Navarro to get up to his feet, and once he gets up to his feet. Jackson Gunner connects with a few fists to the face that knocks him backwards. He tries to whip Vince Navarro to the ropes, but Vince reverse the whip. Navarro lowers his head, but it’s countered with a running DDT!! Jackson Gunner goes into the cover on Vince Navarro. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1………..2….Killer Tschida breaks up the count.]
JR-Killer Tschida throwing out all the stops.
King-He’s going to have to.
Kris Gaffney-Can’t blame him there, I doubt anyone in this match will.
[But before any reaction can happen. Malek Voss throws him shoulder first into the ring post. Tony Ikeda gets kicked in the gut, and he gets dropped with the cataclysm!! Voss gets turned around, Voss goes for a fist on Killer Tschida. Killer ducks under, and Killer Tschida connects with a Killer Kick that sends him flying over the top rope. Killer Tschida hooks on the Tschida Lock on Tony Ikeda. Tony Ikeda seems like he’s taking a lot of punishment, before he considers tapping. Jackson Gunner comes out of no where and boots Killer in the face. Killer gets up, and throws a wild fist to the face, and Jackson ducks under. Jackson picks up Killer, and he drops Killer Tschida with the Burning Samoan!! Jackson Gunner goes into the cover on Killer Tschida. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1……….2……….3!!]
JR-Killer got really aggressive at the end, but understandably so, Jackson did what he had to.
[The arena hums with anticipation as pulsing cobalt lights sweep across the stage. A grinding metal riff hits and Brian Cage storms through the curtain—“The Machine” flexing every sculpted muscle, jaw set in titanium determination. He pounds a fist to his chest, then marches to ringside, rolling beneath the ropes and hitting a front double‑bicep pose that sends camera flashes strobing through the crowd.]
Jim Ross: “Look at the sheer power of Brian Cage—285 pounds of explosive athleticism.”
Jerry “The King” Lawler: “He calls himself a machine, JR, and tonight he’s looking to run right over Jaxzon Blade.”
Kris Gafney: “Someone tell Blade’s chiropractor to keep the engine warm.”
[The lights cut to black—then a rapid‑fire strobe of electric blue ignites the entranceway as a hard‑rock track blares. Jaxzon Blade bursts out, denim vest unbuttoned over rippling power, arms spread wide. He points at Cage with a confident grin and slaps the metal stage, pyro cannons ignite behind him. Blade strides to the ring, vaults over the ropes in one motion, and meets Cage center‑ring—two titans nose‑to‑nose. The referee squeezes between them, signals for the bell, and the collision begins.]
[Blade and Cage lock up, muscles bulging as they jockey for leverage. Cage powers Blade back two steps—Blade plants his feet and muscle‑whips Cage into the corner instead. Cage snarls, charges; Blade ducks a lariat, rebounds, and both men collide with dual shoulder blocks that neither budges. A second collision—stalemate. They exchange heavy forearms, each blow like a hammer on steel.]
Jim Ross: “It’s a heavyweight car crash, folks—neither man giving an inch!”
Jerry Lawler: “You can feel the ring posts shaking!”
Kris Gafney: “Tell the production crew to reinforce the canvas—this is a demolition derby.”
[Blade gains the first edge, ducking a swing and hoisting Cage in a gut‑wrench suplex that rattles the mat. Cage pops up, answers with a pump‑handle fall‑away slam that sends Blade rolling to the apron. Blade skins the cat back in, springboards—Cage catches him mid‑air in a powerslam position, but Blade shifts weight, lands behind, and nails a release German suplex that spikes Cage high on his shoulders. The crowd roars as Blade flexes, adrenaline pumping.]
[Cage staggers to his feet; Blade explodes with a running clothesline flipping Cage inside‑out. Hooking a leg—one… two… Cage powers out. Blade pulls Cage up, aims for a Spinebuster, but Cage slips free and dead‑lifts Blade into a sit‑out powerbomb—cover—one… two… Blade kicks. Cage slashes his throat, signaling the Drill Claw. He hooks Blade—Blade back‑drops out, hits the ropes, and levels Cage with a roaring elbow. Blade senses the moment, he kicks Cage in the gut, and he sets him up, and he drops Cage with the Hell Over Paradise.]
Jim Ross: “Hell Over Paradise! He got all of it!”
Jerry Lawler: “The Machine just malfunctioned!”
Kris Gafney: “Jaxzon pulled the plug in one shot—cover him, kid!”
[Blade drops into a stack pin, hooking both legs. The referee counts—one… two… three! The bell rings as Blade’s theme erupts again. He rises, pounding his chest while the crowd roars approval. Brian Cage rolls to the apron, stunned, as Jaxzon Blade climbs a turnbuckle, flexing triumphantly beneath swirling blue lights.]
Jim Ross: “What a victory for Jaxzon Blade—power met power, and Blade came out on top!”
Jerry Lawler: “Tonight, the Machine got shredded by a Blade.”
Kris Gafney: “Give credit where it’s due—Jaxzon just carved himself a bigger piece of the EMF pie.”
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The arena lights dimmed as the crowd hushed. Smoke soon crawls across the canvas surrounding everyone in the ring, at ringside and the front rows of the audience who begin anticipating the arrival of The Wretched Nobody when the monitors all go static. A single spotlight shone on the center of the stage as a low, as the ominous tune filled the air. Suddenly, the sound of thunder roared through the speakers as the arena shook with each strike as thick red curtains parted, revealing a large black casket positioned in the center of the stage. "Marche Funèbre MMXXIII" begins to play, the casket starts to rise slowly from the stage, flickering in and out of sight with each flash of strobe lights. As the casket ascended, smoke began to pour out of its cracks and crevices, creating an eerie atmosphere. Suddenly, the lid of the casket burst open, revealing a thick mist from which a massive hand shot out from the depths of the casket, grabbing onto the edge and pulling The Wretched Nobody out of his resting place. The crowd erupted in cheers as The Wretched Nobody emerged from the casket, which fell away in pieces as he stood up towering over seven feet tall and covered in various tattoos and scars. The Wretched Nobody paced back and forth, staring down at the ring with an unflinching glare. The Wretched Nobody broke step as the lights flicker again, as he strides down the ramp, ignoring the fans' outstretched hands and taunts.
Ring Announcer: Making his way down the aisle THE DARK STAR OF EMF! hails from The Danvers State Lunatic Asylum, Salem Massachusetts and at Six Foot Eleven inches tall – at Four Hundred and Twenty Pounds he is… he is Your former Six Time EMF Heavyweight Champion of the Woooooorld! DEATH HIMSELF! THE WRETCHED NOBODY!
As he approached the ring, bolts of electricity shot out from the turnbuckles, illuminating the darkness around him. The Wretched Nobody climbed up onto the apron, peering down his opponent with a look of pure disdain. Wretch easily stepped over the top rope and made his way to the center of the ring, where he raised his arms and let out a guttural roar. The crowd responded with deafening cheers, their excitement building to a fever pitch. The Wretched Nobody rocks side to side, staring down his opponent ready to charge forward, to unleash his wrath upon anyone who dares to stand in his way.
Jim Ross: “There comes the monster who put Degenerate on the shelf for who knows how long. And tonight, he faces a wrathful giant in CaRnAgE.”
Jerry “The King” Lawler: “CaRnAgE isn’t just big, JR—he’s furious. If anybody can match Wretch’s power, it’s the seven‑foot wrecking machine.”
Kris Gafney: “Great. Two skyscrapers punching holes in each other—hope the insurance premiums are paid up.”
[The lights blast white as a thunderous industrial riff screams across the loudspeakers. CaRnAgE storms through the curtain, all 7'2", 420 lbs of muscle carved from rage. His eyes burn with vengeance for his fallen friend Degenerate. Without breaking stride, CaRnAgE barrels down the ramp and slides under the ropes, pointing a massive finger at The Wretched Nobody and mouthing, “You pay tonight.” The ref barely has time to backpedal before calling for the bell.]
[CaRnAgE attacks first, hammering Wretch with sledgehammer forearms that echo through the arena. He powers Wretch into the corner, unleashing rapid body blows that shake even the monster’s granite frame. Wretch answers with a vicious headbutt that staggers CaRnAgE, but the giant roars, scoops Wretch up, and drives him down with a thunderous body slam. The mat trembles. CaRnAgE peels Wretch off the canvas, hoists him into a short‑lived military press—but mid‑air, Wretch rakes the eyes, slips free behind, and chop‑blocks the colossal knee. CaRnAgE drops to one leg and howls.]
Jim Ross: “What a display of raw power from CaRnAgE, but The Wretched Nobody’s survival instincts just flipped the momentum!”
Jerry Lawler: “That eye rake might be cheap, but it’s legal—and deadly effective against a big man.”
Kris Gafney: “The monster saw his opening. Now watch him dissect.”
[With unsettling calm, Wretch wraps a massive hand around CaRnAgE’s throat and, in one horrifying motion, yanks him to his feet for the “Spine Chiller” chokeslam backbreaker. CaRnAgE’s spine concaves over Wretch’s knee before he spills to the mat. The crowd gasps. Wretch doesn’t cover. Instead he lifts CaRnAgE again, this time hoisting the leviathan into a punishing torture‑rack backbreaker, parading him in circles while CaRnAgE’s face contorts in agony. After long, merciless seconds, Wretch flings him forward like refuse.]
Jim Ross: “Good Lord, nobody man‑handles CaRnAgE like that! The tide has turned, and it’s horrifying.”
Jerry Lawler: “We’re watching a monster systematically break another monster.”
Kris Gafney: “Welcome to the asylum, CaRnAgE—no visitors, no mercy.”
[CaRnAgE claws at the ropes to stand; Wretch stalks from behind and snaps on the Iron Claw, crushing skull and temple. CaRnAgE flails, throwing wild haymakers that graze but cannot dislodge the vice‑grip. Wretch transitions, yanking CaRnAgE head‑first into a brutal Reverse Chokeslam that plants the giant face‑first. The ring quakes. The Wretched Nobody rises, backs into the far corner, and crouches—boot cocked.]
Jim Ross: “He’s loading Trephination! Somebody stop this!”
Jerry Lawler: “CaRnAgE is barely on all fours—he’s ripe for the killing blow!”
Kris Gafney: “Sayonara, skyscraper.”
[CaRnAgE staggers upright; The Wretched Nobody explodes across the ring, driving the “Trephination” running big boot square into CaRnAgE’s jaw. The impact echoes like a gunshot. CaRnAgE collapses in a heap. Wretch plants a solitary, disdainful foot on the giant’s chest. The referee counts—one… two… three.]
Jim Ross: “It’s over—and in dominating fashion. The Wretched Nobody just flattened a mountain!”
Jerry Lawler: “CaRnAgE fought with fury, but Wretch fought with something scarier—cold, methodical brutality.”
Kris Gafney: “Degenerate’s hospital bed just got a roommate.”
[“Lux Aeterna” resumes as The Wretched Nobody stands over CaRnAgE’s motionless body. EMTs rush in, Wretch gives CaRnAgE one last contemptuous stare, and lumbers up the ramp—victorious, remorseless, leaving behind shattered flesh and the echo of dread.]
[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.]
JR-Mansa Carthage is not a new comer to the EMF, but he has been getting more spotlight as of late.
King-We’ll see if he can turn it to gold.
Kris Gaffney-Either way, this is always a big test for talents.
(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.)
JR-Jack Lynch is the former Extreme Champion.
King-Tonight he has a chance to regain it.
Kris Gaffney-We’ll see how it goes.
(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-Fenrir Kaine is a force, but give him weapons, he’s even more dangerous.
King-That’s not good news.
Kris Gaffney-Guess not.
[Mansa Carthage, Jack Lynch, and Fenrir Kaine looks for someone to make the first move. Mansa Carthage goes after Jack Lynch. Jack Lynch ducks under, and he connects with a flurry of kicks, and blows. Mansa Carthage throws a wild fist, and Jack Lynch ducks under, and he pushes him towards Fenrir Kaine who falls out of the ring, and Jack Lynch is right there, and he connects with a spinning back fist to complete the Anarchy Blitz. Knowing that he has to strike fast, and take advantage, he goes into the corner. He waits for Mansa Carthage to get up to his feet, and once he gets up to his feet. Jack Lynch connects with the Pandemonium Kick to the face that drops Mansa. Jack Lynch goes into the cover on Mansa. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1………..2…….Fenrir Kaine reaches into the ring, and he pulls Jack Lynch off of the cover.]
JR-The former Extreme Champion hit a few big moves, and possibly almost gave him a chance to be champion again.
King-Although, that’s the nature of this match.
[Fenrir Kaine gets into the ring, and Jack Lynch gets up, and he gets knocked down with a super kick that puts down Jack Lynch. Jack Lynch rolls out of the irng. Fenrir Kaine goes to the outside of the ring, and he picks up Jack Lynch, and he throws him hard into the ring steps. Fenrir Kaine goes to the inside of the ring. Fenrir Kaine waits for Jack Lynch to get up to his feet. Fenrir Kaine runs towards the ropes, and he bounces off of the ropes, and he jumps through the ropes, and he connects with a suicide dive on Jack Lynch. Fenrir Kaine grabs Jack Lynch. Fenrir Kaine throws him into the ring. Fenrir Kaine picks up Jack Lynch, and he connects with a spinning uranage on Jack Lynch. Fenrir Kaine goes into the cover on Jack Lynch. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1………….2………Mansa Carthage breaks up the count.]
JR-Mansa Carthage just saved the match.
King-Also for Jack Lynch.
Kris Gaffney-If you want to look at that way….
[Fenrir Kaine is slow to get up to his feet, Mansa Carthage hits a kick to the gut that doubles him over, and he whips him hard into the corner. He stumbles out of the corner, and Mansa Carthage grabs him around the throat, and he lifts up Fenerir Kaine, and he connects with a choke slam. Fenrir Kaine rolls out of the ring, and Jack Lynch is slow to get upt o his feet, knowing that he has to go after Jack Lynch. First Mansa pushes down on the back of Jack Lynch which chokes him. Mansa runs towards the ropes, he bounces off of the ropes, he jumps in the air, and he comes down on the back of Jack Lynch. Mansa picks up Jack Lynch. He connects with a few fists to the face, and he whips him to the ropes. He bounces off of the ropes, and he connects with a power slam. Mansa goes into the cover on Jack Lynch. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1………….2……Fenrir Kaine comes into the ring, and he smashes Mansa with a chair. ]
JR-Despite being an extreme match, it’s been clean until now.
King-Well…Jack Lynch does love chaos.
Kris Gaffney-Then he must be in heaven.
[Mansa Carthage rolls out of the ring, and Fenrir Kaine puts the chair down, and he sets up Jack Lynch, and he drops him with the Eclipse driver on the chair. Fnerir Kaine goes into the cover on Jack Lynch. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1…………2………3!!]
JR-Fenrir Kaine retains the Extreme Championship.
[House lights plunge to ominous crimson as a guttural war‑drum beat rolls from the speakers. A Samoan war chant layers atop the percussion, and Jacob Fatu steps through the curtain, chest bare, lava‑lava fluttering, tribal tattoos glistening beneath the glow. His eyes burn like twin torches of ancestral fury. He snarls at a heckling fan, slaps his own chest hard enough to echo, then points to the ring with lethal intent. Fatu marches down the ramp, grabs the middle rope, and slingshots his 300‑plus pounds into the ring with shocking agility. He stalks a tight circle, jaw locked, waiting for Payne’s arrival.]
Jim Ross: “Jacob Fatu’s intensity could melt steel tonight.
Jerry Lawler: “Look at the way he paces—like a caged tiger. Fatu’s ancestors would be proud; that’s warrior energy in spades!”
Kris Gafney: “If Patrick thinks he can showboat tonight, he’s about to get dribbled like a basketball.”
[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.
Jim Ross: “Patrick Payne is all swagger.
Kris Gafney: “The man uses selfies of his traps as currency. But hey, if he can send Fatu to dreamland, maybe he earns that ego.”
[Payne hits the apron, wipes his boots with exaggerated nonchalance, and steps through the ropes. Fatu barrels forward; the referee reacts fast, wedging himself between giants and barking for restraint until the bell. Payne tilts his head, lips curling in a smirk so smug it verges on artistry. Fatu just snarls louder, veins popping. The official confirms both are ready and calls for the bell.]
They explode together center‑ring, collar‑and‑elbow tie‑up that looks like two rhinos colliding. For three long seconds nobody budges. Their neck muscles cord like steel cables. Payne shifts, sinks hips, wrenches a side headlock. Fatu roars, shoves him off, Payne rebounds—shoulder tackle. Fatu doesn’t move. Crowd pops. Payne grins, hits ropes again; another tackle, Fatu steps into it—no movement. Payne’s smirk twitches with frustration. Fatu slaps his own massive chest and howls in Samoan, inviting more. Payne charges third time; Fatu meets him with a blast of his own shoulder—Payne staggers half a step. On instinct he swings a lariat; Fatu ducks, rocks Payne with a brutal headbutt that sounds like a shotgun blast. Payne reels. Fatu scoops him in a snap Samoan drop so quick the crowd gasps. Payne clutches his ribs, stunned.]
Jim Ross: “Good grief, did you hear that headbutt? Fatu’s skull might as well be forged titanium!”
Jerry Lawler: “Payne’s gonna be seeing cartoon birds for a week!”
Kris Gafney: “Headbutts—nature’s reset button. And Payne just hit Ctrl‑Alt‑Delete.”
[Fatu yanks Payne up by the hair, whips him to a corner so hard the turnbuckles shake, then follows with an avalanche splash that sandwiches Payne’s lungs flat. Payne stumbles out, all wind knocked out. Fatu hits the ropes—running cross‑body that levels both men, but Fatu pops up first and lets out a war cry. He covers—one… two… Payne gets a foot on the rope.]
[The first five minutes are a Fatu mauling: machine‑gun chops that welt Payne’s pecs bright red, a spinning heel kick that shows frightening agility, and a rope‑hung neck‑snap that flips Payne inside out. Payne rolls outside to regroup. Fatu pursues—big mistake? He rushes; Payne catches him with a drop toe‑hold face‑first into the steel steps. The clang reverberates. Payne retreats into the ring to reset the count; Fatu’s nose trickles blood but his eyes blaze hotter. He climbs in at seven, and Payne pounces with stomps like piledrivers.]
Jim Ross: “Patrick Payne raked the table edge—veteran savvy, dirty but effective.”
Jerry Lawler: “He’s not paid by the hour, JR. Win first, apologize never.”
Kris Gafney: “Fatu tasting his own plasma; now the Prime Predator smells blood.”
[Payne shifts gears to power‑wrestling dominance: a gut‑buster over his knee, a delayed vertical suplex holding Fatu aloft for eight Mississippi before crashing him down, and a punishing camel clutch cranking Fatu’s neck back while Payne grins for the cameras. The ref checks Fatu; he growls “No!” Payne releases only to drive elbows across the trapezius. He hauls Fatu up, Irish‑whips him—tilt‑a‑whirl backbreaker, lateral press—one… two… Fatu kicks with authority.]
[He lines Fatu for a pump‑handle slam, but as he lifts, Fatu kicks the leg, slides behind, shoves Payne chest‑first into the ropes and lands a leaping neckbreaker. Both giants down, breathing like furnace bellows. Crowd claps rhythmically. Referee counts to six. Payne crawls for ropes; Fatu to his knees. They meet center‑ring trading forearms—Payne, Fatu, Payne, Fatu—each blow stiffer than the last. Momentum seesaws. Payne knees the gut, whips Fatu—Fatu reverses—Payne rebounds into a monstrous pop‑up Samoan drop that shakes cameras on their tripods. Fatu kips up (!) and the arena explodes. He slaps his chest, pointing skyward.]
Jim Ross: “Fatu with a standing kip‑up at 300 pounds! Unreal athleticism!”
Jerry Lawler: “He’s found a second wind, JR, and Payne’s in deep water!”
Kris Gafney: “Cue Jaws soundtrack.”
[Fatu drags Payne to a corner, climbs to middle rope, raining furious headbutts. Crowd counts to ten. Fatu hooks Payne’s head—super Samoan cutter off the second rope plants Payne face‑first. Cover—one… two… Payne just escapes! Fatu howls, drags Payne up for a fireman carry; he wants the Signature Samoan Pop‑Up Moonsault. But Payne rakes the eyes mid‑lift, wriggles behind, hits a desperation German suplex—doesn’t let go—rolls hips, second German—crowd counts—third German, bridging—one… two… Fatu kicks out, bridging high. Payne curses, slapping the mat.]
[From here the match enters its middle act: each man sits in the driver’s seat for micro‑intervals, but something small tips the wheel. Payne tries a top‑rope superplex; Fatu headbutts him off and flies with a jumping splash—Payne rolls away, Fatu crashes belly‑first. Payne lines a knee trembler; Fatu surprises with a discus clothesline. Near‑falls mount—Payne’s sit‑out powerbomb (two‑count); Fatu’s running hip‑attack (two‑point‑nine).”]
Jim Ross: “This is a slugfest for the history books.
Kris Gafney: “The ring crew might invoice hazard pay.”
[At the eighteen‑minute mark Fatu signals for the top‑rope moonsault that ended many foes. He climbs, 300‑plus poised precariously. But Payne stumbles up, clubs Fatu’s calves, ascends. They trade perilous headbutts. Payne hooks for a top‑rope belly‑to‑belly but Fatu resists. Instead Payne rakes eyes again, steps onto very top—wraps arms—avalanche Exploder suplex! Both crash, ring ropes whip. Payne drapes an arm—one… two… Fatu’s shoulder fires up! Payne sits, disbelief etched.]
[Anger overtakes arrogance. Payne unlaces a knee pad, exposing bone. He slaps his kneecap, screaming “Game Over!” He stalks Fatu, loading the kill knee strike. Fatu wobbles up—Payne charges—Fatu springs with a superkick that detonates flush on Payne’s exposed knee, buckling the joint! Payne yelps, clutching his leg. Fatu roars, hits a second superkick to the jaw. Payne staggers. Fatu hooks—flipping Samoan neckbreaker lays Payne out. Crowd melting. Fatu covers—one… two… Payne kicks!]
[Fatu breathes heavy. He drags Payne closer to a corner—signals again for the moonsault. He climbs—top rope now—blood dotting his nose. He steadies, roars, leaps—hang‑time seeming eternal—he crashes but Payne JUST rolls, a hair’s breadth; Fatu pancaking the mat sends shockwaves through his own ribs. Gasps ripple. Payne crawls to ropes, using strands to pull upright. He sees Fatu coughing, eyes glassy. Something cruel twists Payne’s mouth.]
[Payne limps but hoists Fatu—dead‑lift sheer will—onto shoulders in torture‑rack position, wincing on his bad knee. He roars “Painkiller!” and swings Fatu into a rack bomb that BLASTS the mat. The ring post quivers. Payne covers, hooking both legs—one… two… Fatu kicks AGAIN! Payne’s eyes wild—he slaps Fatu’s face repeatedly out of frustration.]
Jim Ross: “What resilience by the Samoan Werewolf!
Jerry Lawler: “Patrick’s used to men staying down. He’s entering unfamiliar territory: desperation.”
Kris Gafney: “He better improvise or face extinction.”
[Payne drags Fatu outside, seeking the steel steps. He signals to drive Fatu’s head but Fatu blocks, fires headbutts. Payne wobbles; Fatu hoists Payne in a uranage style and slams him flat onto the steps with a sickening clang. Payne spasms. Fatu breaks the count, rolls in/out, then lifts the limp Payne, tossing him back into the ring. Crowd electric. Fatu crawls to apron, climbs top again despite agony. He steadies, leaps—Samoan 300‑Pound Moonsault connects perfectly! The arena detonates. Cover—one… two… th—NO! Payne kicks out, foot barely nudging the bottom rope mid‑count. The referee saw it; crowd groans, some cheer Payne’s grit.]
[Fatu slams fists into canvas, frustrated but undeterred. He yanks Payne up for the Samoan Spike—but Payne slips behind into a schoolboy, grabbing tights—one… two… Fatu powers free. Payne pops up, nails a desperation lariat—the force outsized by cunning angle—Fatu drops. Payne stands over him, breathing fire, gestures cut‑throat again. He pulls Fatu between legs, double‑underhooks—the Predator’s Precipice piledriver? Fatu back‑drops! Payne crashes. Fatu hits ropes—hand‑spring back elbow (a nod to cousin Umaga) clobbers Payne into corner. Fatu pulls him out of the corner
[Fatu senses finish. He drags Payne, fireman carry, but Payne elbows temple, slips down. He kicks him in the gut, and he sets up Jacob, and he drops him with the Payne Per View. He crawls into a stack pin, hooking both legs deep as ref counts—one… two… THREE!]
Jerry Lawler: “He got him!”
Jim Ross: “Payne survived the onslaught and put the Werewolf down!”
Kris Gafney: “Predator stays prime. And good luck telling him he didn’t earn it.”
(Animal sounds echo the arena when the lights go black. The lights turn on green and an image of a giant alligator moves up the ramp, when it gets to the top it bites down, fireworks shoot from the sage and from up in the rafters comes sliding Aari Maxwell comes sliding down. Once close enough he unclips himself, lands in the ring, rolls, jumps up ontop of the ring post and shouts "CRIKEY!" To the fans with his arms out. He jumps, springs off of the rope and does a backflip landing on his feet. Aari "The Zoo Keeper, slides into his corner, bends down wrapping his arms around the ropes with his back on the post smiling as he waits for the match to begin.)
JR-Aari Maxwell is looking to regain the IC championship.
King-He did see last time that it wasn’t going to be easy.
Kris Gaffney-But then again, Aari is not someone to back down from a fight even if it’s difficult.
The arena is bathed in darkness.
A deep, guttural whispering slithers through the sound system—indecipherable, eerie, and inhuman, as if a thousand damned souls are muttering their final prayers. The air in the arena feels heavy, suffocating, like the presence of something unholy has seeped into reality itself.
Then, the first haunting notes of "Lucifer" by Behemoth rumble through the speakers, low and ominous, like a funeral hymn for the apocalypse. A single, blood-red spotlight flickers onto the stage, revealing a towering, cloaked figure standing in the center—motionless, head lowered, as if awaiting a divine command.
Smoke pours from the ground, swallowing the entrance ramp in thick, swirling shadows. Suddenly—
FOUR PILLARS OF FLAME ERUPT from the stage, casting monstrous shadows across the walls. A deep, droning bell tolls through the arena, and the cloaked figure finally moves.
Samael Dredd slowly lifts his head, revealing his face beneath the hood—painted in cracked, corpse-like war paint, his abyssal eyes devoid of humanity. The red glow from the flames illuminates him like a demon conjured from hell itself.
Ring Announcer:
"Making his way to the ring… from the Void Between Realms… weighing in at 305 pounds… he is The Harbinger of Despair… The Reaper Prophet… The Plagueborn… SAMAEL DREDD!"
The sound of distant, ritualistic chanting grows louder, creeping under the music like a blasphemous sermon. Samael slowly begins his march down the ramp, his long black trench coat flowing behind him like death’s shroud.
As he reaches the ring, flames ignite along the sides of the ramp, flickering and twisting as if alive. The crowd murmurs, some taking a step back as if an unseen force is pressing against them.
Samael stops at the base of the ring, his head tilting slightly as he gazes into the audience, his expression unreadable—empty, void of empathy, only inevitability. He slowly places a hand on the apron, and as he does—
A FINAL SURGE OF FIRE BLASTS FROM THE RING POSTS.
He climbs the steps methodically, wiping his feet on the apron as if cleansing himself before stepping into his unholy altar. Once inside, he kneels in the center of the ring, head bowed, hands outstretched as if praying to an unseen force.
Then—without warning—he snaps his head back and lets out a guttural, echoing breath, his body shaking as if possessed. The lights flicker violently, and then—
DARKNESS.
For a few seconds, there is nothing. Silence. Stillness.
Then, the lights return, and Samael Dredd is standing in the corner, unmoving, his eyes locked on his opponent.
He does not speak. He does not react. He simply waits.
For the suffering to begin.
JR-This man is a force.
King-You’re a force….of lameness.
Kris Gaffney-Good one!
[Samael Dredd and Aari Maxwell face off as the bell rings. Aari Maxwell fires off fists, but Samael Dredd connects with a eye poke. Aari Maxwell is blinded. Samael Dredd grabs Aari Maxwell, and he puts him down on the mat with a head butt. Aari Maxwell in pain, and Samael Dredd connects with a few stomps on the downed Aari Maxwell. Samael Dredd picks up Aari Maxwell, and he whips him to the ropes, and he connects with the plague winds dropping Aari Maxwell. Aari Maxwell is pain, he rolls under the bottom ropes, and he tries to recover. Samael Dredd falls back watching what is going on next, and Aari Maxwell tries to climb back into the ring. Samael Dredd connects with a kick to the face. Aari Maxwell hangs over the middle ropes, and Samael Dredd sets him up, and he drops him with the Doomsayer’s Curse!! Dredd drags Aari away from the ropes. Samael Dredd goes into the cover on Aari Maxwell. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1………..2……….KICK OUT by Aari Maxwell.]
JR-Samael Dredd with a few big moves, but Aari Maxwell has so far been able to fight back.
King-They say in the wild even when you are blinded, you need to keep fighting.
Kris Gaffney-CRIKEY!
[Aari Maxwell gets picked up, and he gets lifted up, but before another move can be hit. Aari Maxwell connects with a few back elbows to the side of the face, and he lands in front of Samael Dredd, and he connects with a DDT. Aari Maxwell rolls away clearly feeling the effects of the match. He slowly gets up with the help of the ropes. Aari Maxwell see’s that Dredd running at him, and he connects with a drop toe hold that sends him flying into the top rope. Samael Dredd stumbles around. Aari Maxwell jumps on the ropes, and he connects with a spring board cutter that drops Samael Dredd. Aari Maxwell goes to the outside of the ring, and he climbs up to the top rope. He jumps off, and he connects with the 630 senton!! Aari Maxwell goes into the cover on Samael Dredd. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1…………2……..KICK OUT by Samael Dredd!!]
JR-Aari Maxwell has hit a few high flying moves.
Kris Gaffney-That’s how he’ll win.
King-Then maybe he should do a second rope fist drop next.
[Aari Maxwell picks up Samael Dredd, but Dredd counters with an eye rake. Samael Dredd picks up Aari Maxwell, and he drops him with the Judgment’s End!! Aari seems out of it. Samael Dredd goes into the cover on Aari Maxwell. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1………..2…….3!!]
JR-Samael Dredd’s tactics were successful, and got the victory.
King-So much eye poking action.
(“Game on” blasts on the PA system. Tony Ikeda walks out on the stage, and he walks down to the ring.)
JR-Tony Ikeda at First Blood felt like he was close to being champion.
King-Azar was still legal to effect the match however he wanted to.
Kris Gaffney-Even still, he gets a chance to avenge that night tonight.
[div align="center"][video][/video][/div]
[As the opening beats of "Protect Ya Neck" by Wu-Tang Clan start to resonate throughout the arena, the lights dim to a moody, understated ambiance. A single spotlight focuses on the entrance ramp, creating a sense of anticipation and mystery.]
[The titantron flickers to life, displaying a montage of New York City’s shadowy streets and skylines, setting the stage for Billy Breeze’s entrance. The screen then transitions to a spectral figure moving through the darkness, New Yorks own vigilante, The Crimson Wraith.]
[Suddenly, a soft, blue glow illuminates the ramp, casting a cool, ghostly light. A thin layer of fog creeps along the floor, adding to the spectral atmosphere, suggesting the presence of something or someone not quite of this world.]
[Then, emerging from the back, Billy Breeze strolls out nonchalantly, his demeanor calm and composed, but with a readiness that you cannot train for. He’s dressed in his signature ring gear, exuding a quiet confidence. Rex "Retro" Savage follows behind, his flamboyant attire contrasting with Billy’s simplicity, playing up to the crowd and hyping them up.]
Beautiful female announcer: "Hailing from the shadows of New York City, here is the enigmatic, the unpredictable... Specter, Billy Breeze!"
[Billy’s walk to the ring is unhurried, his eyes scanning the crowd with a detached yet intense gaze. The spotlight follows him, keeping him the focal point amidst the dimly lit arena. He occasionally pauses, giving the audience a nod or a slight smirk, but his silence speaks volumes.]
[Upon reaching the ring, Billy slides in effortlessly, his movements fluid and precise. Rex "Retro" Savage takes a position at ringside, continuing to interact with the crowd and serve as Billy's charismatic mouthpiece.]
[The music and lights subtly shift as Billy prepares for the match, the fog dissipating and the spotlight fading, leaving Billy in the ring, a figure both enigmatic and ready for combat, as the arena buzzes with excitement for the upcoming match.]
JR-Billy Breeze is a former champion looking to gain the champion again.
King-Or not, I mean people could let him know how much Azar is better than him, and he might say “meh”.
Kris Gaffney-Interesting.
[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-Azar Vulcan ego might get him in trouble.
King-Or his greatness might lead him to more greatness!
[Tony Ikeda, Azar Vulcan, and Billy Breeze stared down each other from various sides of the ring. They look for the first move. Azar Vulcan is able to jump Tony Ikeda, and he connects with a few clubbing blows, but Billy Breeze attacks Azar Vulcan. Azar Vulcan throws a wild fist, and he ducks under Billy Breeze hooks Azar Vulcan, and he connects with a release german suplex. Azar Vulcan crashes inot the mat, and he rolls under the ropes. Billy Breeze rolls after him as Azar Vulcan attempts to recover, and Billy Breeze goes behind him, and smashes his face into the steel steps. Azar Vulcan stumbles around, and Billy Breeze hooks Azar Vulcan, and he connects with a belly to belly over head throw. Azar Vulcan crashes into the mat. Billy Breeze throws Azar Vulcan into the ring. Billy Breeze stalks Azar as he is slow to get up to his feet.]
JR-Billy Breeze might be looking to end this match.
King-Although he does have to worry about Tony breaking it up.
Kris Gaffney-Maybe if he just ignores him, he’ll go away…that was the strategy in other triple threats.
[Billy Breeze goes for the Specter’s Grip, but it’s blocked, and counters with a snapmare. Billy Breeze gets up, Azar Vulcan pushes him forward. Tony Ikeda, and Billy Breeze crash into each other. Tony Ikeda falls off of the ring. Azar Vulcan waits for Breeze, and he kicks him in the gut, and he runs towards the ropes. Azar Vulcan runs towards the ropes, and he connects with a running knee lift. Billy Breeze stumbles around, and Azar Vulcan connects with a kick to the gut, and he sets up Billy Breeze. Azar Vulcan lifts him up, and he drops him with a brain buster. Azar Vulcan goes into the cover on Billy Breeze. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1……………2……….KICK OUT by Billy Breeze.]
JR-Azar Vulcan made a come back.
King-I think he was just waiting to show how much better than he is compared to everyone else.
Kris Gaffney-Good to know he has a schedule.
[Billy Breeze is slow to get up to his feet, and once he gets up to his feet. Azar Vulcan connects with a Money Maker on Billy Breeze. Tony Ikeda is back into the ring, knowing that he won’t be able to win the match with Tony there, Azar Vulcan stalks him, and he goes for the Money Maker. But Tony Ikeda ducks under, and Azar Vulcan gets hooked, and dropped with a full nelson slam!! Tony Ikeda 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 Vuclan. Tony Ikeda waits as Azar Vulcan gets up, and Tony Ikeda runs at Azar Vulcan, and he connects with a splash in the corner.]
JR-Tony Ikeda might be closing in on a world championship.
King-But then again he pretends he runs a fruit juice bar, but everyone knows he uses inferior fruit, so it doesn’t count.
Kris Gaffney-..I’m sure he looks at it like that.
[Tony Ikeda hooks Azar Vulcan for a full nelson, but it’s countered with a snapmare. Tony Ikeda gets pushed, Tony crashes into Billy Breeze who falls to the outside of the ring. Tony Ikeda gets dropped with a Money Maker!! Azar Vulcan goes into the cover on Tony Ikeda. The ref goes into position to make the count, the ref counts 1…………..2………..3!!]
JR-Azar Vulcan retains!
King-It’s Baddddddd that Tony didn’t know how much better Azar is than him.
(Azar Vulcan holds up the world championship as Hell on Earth goes off the air.)
