OWA Promos

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-There is a TWO promo/2000 word limit for our regular bi-weekly shows and THREE promo/3000 word limit for our major events! *Promo limits may vary for special bi-weeklies or big multi-man matches.*

- Promo deadlines are two days before the show (So, a Saturday show has a Thursday deadline for example.)

-If everyone involved in a match would like to extend or shorten the promo limit due to personal circumstances or preference, you have two days at the start of the new promo week to confirm with a member of the writing team the agreed upon limit for your match, if not it will remain the standard limit set for bi-weeklies and major shows.

-You must wait 48 HOURS before double posting. If your opponent has not responded to your first promo within a 48-hour period and you'd like to release another, you may do so. However, once you hit your limit, you can no longer respond to your opponent. Double posting rules will still apply, but your opponent is free to put up their promos without any comebacks from your end.

-The page is not a place to make challenges or try to book matches!

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Re: OWA Promos April 17th 2024, 12:44 pm by **Emmanuelle**

Pasadena, California
Eaton Blanche Park

Emmanuelle approaches the basketball courts situated in a far corner of the park, a basketball in hand. Once she finally makes her way to center court, she takes a look around the nearly empty park with it being just after dawn. Lots of memories and lessons rushed through her mind, a small smile at the nostalgia the place gave her.

It’s kinda funny. I grew up with anything I could have wanted, materiallistically speaking. But when I was a kid, there were two things that I loved more than anything: spending time with my parents and coming here. I was good at water polo, hell I managed to play the sport in college, but basketball was always my first love. I used to come here when I was a kid, pretending to be Diana Tarausi or Seimone Augustus, players that I idolized back then.

Now, I know that maybe all of you out there have not played basketball in an organized capacity, but I’m sure most of you have played “streetball” or at least in the backyard with your brothers and sisters. Especially in the streets, things can get a little rough. I don’t mean anything controversial by this, but sometimes I was the only girl or the only Asian or white person out here so……..yeah, I got picked at. A lot.

Fouls that usually got given for other players I just had to take. People would say a lot of nasty shit about me. A lot of them knew that my family was pretty well off, even by standards out here, so I got a lot of nicknames like “Princess” and shit that I didn’t really care for. But, I kept going. When people would give me shit, I would give it back. People would foul me? I’d go harder. All the nastiness that people would give, be it because of me being a girl or how I looked or how much money I had, I would give it right the fuck back to them. Places like this was where Emmanuelle DiNardo became the Emmanuelle that a lot of you see on TV came from.

You know, I think the Seventh Ward and the Platinum Queens have a marked failure to communicate going on. The Seventh Ward seems to think that the Platinum Queens are entitled, self-righteous debutantes that have just been slithering about stealing opportunities from people who deserve them. Laz, I’m talking to you especially because I think you need a history lesson about when and where my career started.

Yes, I made my “major leagues” debut in WrestleWorld. I got a little fanfare being a student of Carlos Rosso, sure. But do you know where my actual debut was? It was in a fucking high school gym in Reseda in front of maybe two hundred people. I wasn’t Platinum back then, I was barely the Silver Starlet. I saw for myself just how grimy and shitty this industry can be: promoters trying to scam wrestlers, especially the girls, creepy fans, unsafe working conditions. I’m not as naive to the real world as you think. And just so you know, opportunities were NOT just handed out like candy. WrestleWorld, I earned my way to the Shogun Championship, going unbeaten for six months, beating the best fucking wrestler in the world as a betting underdog that would make the fucking New York Jets jealous. The titles that I earned in Project Honor were earned by virtue of beating people like Scott Oasis, a man three times my fucking size. I survived hell twice over to be a champion there, going through seven stages of it both times.

The one World title I hold currently, I went undefeated for months before entering a tournament, WINNING that tournament, and THEN having to beat an interim champion and lineal champion AT THE SAME FUCKING TIME to earn the right to wear gold.

Nah, fam. You’re not gonna play that Silver Spoon game with me or Hana BUT ESPECIALLY NOT ME. Yeah, I’ve wokrked my way up to the point that I can throw my weight around here and there, but you’re not gonna sit there in smug ass judgement and tell me I’ve had a goddamn thing handed to me because it hasn’t been. Have I been offered things? Sure. But no matter where I go, no matter if it’s singles or tag team competition, I’ve always gone about earning shit…befcause I have seen way too often in this line of work just accepting shit damages your very soul.

Emmy’s attention is drawn away from her speech as she notices a pair of siblings walking over towards one of the courts, basketball in the taller boy’s hands as the smaller girl tries to take it from him. Eventually the boy relents and lets his sister start to shoot at one of the goals.

I’m neither stupid nor delusional. I know we lost. Hell, I was the one pinned. Light was at the end of the tunnel, the Tag Team Championships right there in our grasp…and I fucked up. Next thing I know, I’m geting knocked out and waking up looking at Hana asking what the fuck happened. Almost, it definitely doesn’t coun’t. It hurts to admit that I was beaten, but I’ve never run from those losses. As often as I’ve experienced victory, I’ve had a fair share of defeats. Looking on as people raised trophies that I worked so hard to get, holding onto titles I challenged for. That’s pro wrestling.

Hell, that’s life. You don’t always get what you want, or even what you need. But you have to keep pushing.

I heard from a little rat friend of mine that Laz has been sneak dissing the Platinum Queens. Talking about the tournament field that we overcame. The Twin Towers may suck, but they entered the thing and we were there to put them out. Dudes Rock is a team that I think these champions may take lightly. It took us having to face them twice to see them off, and they are as formidable as Cletus is stupid, all respect to the big boy. Nobi and Matsuda speak for themselves, former world champions, the most decorated and respected people on the Olympus roster, if not OWA as a whole. And we fought them off, to win that trophy and earn another crack at the Seventh Ward.

These teams, the dream team combinnation of Steph and Nobi aside, may not be the cream of the crop. Chad and his bosom buddy had other business to attend to so they didn’t enter. THEY may deserve to be standing here, but they’re NOT. We are the ones who accepted the challenge to go through all those other teams to get the shot. WE are the ones who were willing to fall back down the mountain after getting dangerously close to the summit and climb out way back up.

Yeah, the tournament was designed for us, because it was designed for WINNERS to take advantage of, and that’s exactly what the fuck we did. We pushed our way back into contention not because there’s nobody else worthy around….but because nobody had the willpower to stop us.

I crave attention, I’ll admit that. I crave titles, accolades, but there’s one thing that I crave that nobody ever seems to understand about me: competition. No matter if it’s on a basketball court, in a pool, in the ring, I’m a competitor. It’s the reason why I’m not an accountant sitting at a desk right now or some billionaire’s arm candy. Yes, I enjoy plenty of material things, I enjoy the feel and weight of gold and leather in my hands, but I’m a competitor and a fighter otherwise..and just because I face a formidable challenge doens’t mean I’ll turn away. Hana and I are cut from the same cloth in that respect.

We are not here just for titles or glory, we’re in this sport to fight. Immortality is honestly overrated. I don’t want to be remembered for the blood I’ve spilt or the fear that I’ve driven into people. I want to be remembered for the challenges I’ve overcome, the sweat and blood that I’ve given up to stand where I stand. I want to be remembered NOT for inspiring fear in my opposition…but driving htem to be better, driving the people who see me and the people who fight me to be better versions of thelsevles.

THAT is what you two don’t understand about the Queens, and that’s the part of us that you can NEVER understand! We live to compete, not simply intimidate and shed blood for bloodletting’s sake!

I’ve been thinking about some of the things that I’ve been heairng from Darkane. He seems to have it out for Hana, but there’s a little extra vitriol when my name comes out of his mouth. Is there something about me that you don’t care for, Darkane? Something that the being you’re trying to keep at bay has against me? What is it? I’m curious to know honestly. Is it because I don’t cower in fear any time he shows his face? Is it because the fact that he’s got some kind of monster or god or demon inhabiting his body and it doesn’t put the fear of God in me? What is it?

I do have to take up for my partner, Darkane. You know damn well that the Hana that did some of that vile shit you’re talking about had Havoc manipulating her, playing off her insecurities, using her own shortcomings as bait for him to grow stronger. I’m not sure how your Beilal operates, but Havoc is a parasite that preys on fear and loneliness and despair. When Hana was struggling, he took full advantage. Now she’s free of that corruption, that parasite, and even though she has to live with the consequences of the things she did even under duress, I’m not going to judge her or not trust her for things that I know damn well she didn’t do on her own.

That’s not to say that neither Hana nor myself are not guilty of being ruthless at different points of our careers. It comes with the territory. Pro Wrestling is one of those lines of work where you have to keep winning or you lose your worth entirely. The thing is, we’ve already had one failing as a team, one and a half if you count the hiccup in the semifinals of the Sword and Shield where we had a double pin situation. Hana didn’t lash out. I didn’t quit. We realized that the potential of our partnership outweighed any frustration with ourselves or each other.

We made it work.

And now we stand as contenders again, soon to be champions.

Do we have chemistry that goes all the way back to childhood? No. Do we both have reputations as destructive killers and monsters? No. But one thing that we do have is the drive to compete and a bloodhound’s nose when it comes to sniffing out vulnerabilities in our opponents. You see, Darkane and Laz, we don’t have to be more dangerous than you, tougher than you, stronger than you or even smarter than you.

All it takes is three seconds to take everything that you’ve worked so hard to build right away from you.

Now, I’m not dumb enough to think that those three seconds will be easy to come by. We got close last time and threw everything at you two and the opportunity still didn’t come. But here’s something you two need to understand: despite all your advantages, perceived and actual, we fought you both to a stalemate. We forced you to dig into your playbooks to find a way to get past us, and after a year on top of the tag division and other matters at hand, I’m curious to know if there’s any pages in that playbook left to draw from.

Olympus falling apart? I was there when Arata Asakura, the evil Space Pirate Asian Nazi one, not the cool alternate universe one, nearly destroyed this world. Shit, I was the one who undid all his ill-gotten gains after teaming with him. One thing you gotta realize about me is that no matter how crazy shit is going, no matter what diabolical threat or evil organization or demonic being that pledges to bring an end to life on this planet…I always stand on business. I know that there’s a war coming, but that war?

It’s not my concern right now.

Litlith and Amadeus and Beilal and all the rest, that’s not my concern. It’s damn sure not Hana’s concern.

You two are the only things that we’re concerned about right now. The situation in the background? The peripheral chatter? We tune that out.

A lot has been made of me not winning a title here yet. Some of that is justified. I didn’t win the American Dream title, I didn’t win the Clash of the Titans, I turned a chance at Poet down to go after those tag title belts with Hana. And we lost. And I haven’t heard the end of it from Darkane since. The hobo version of Yugi Moto has fucking seirous issues with me. He really does. And he relishes in the losses. And, admittedly, he’s managed to a do an OUTSTANDING job of fucking with me with me, breaking the Platinum Rule over and over and over again.

At Dreamworld, you’re going to learn first-hand that Emmnauelle FUCKS BACK.

I’m not in the mood to pointificate and philosophize with you. You tell me that that title is can’t be pried from you whilst you’re on your deathbed? Well, I’m willing to die, follow you straight to fucking hell, meet you right in front of Satan himself, PRY that fucking thing out of your grip and yell “Fuck you!”.

I don’t think you noticed just yet, but I’m a stubborn person. I don’t like being told that I’m beneath someone or incapable of something. So much so that I’m willing to disregard my own fucking well-being and the well-being of pretty much anything and anyone else around me to get that done. But, as I said before, I’ve been learning to temper this more toxic portion of my personality. As I’ve theorized before, you two WANT us angry. You WANT us frustrated, not thinking clearly, just doing shit sloppily just to get some get-back. Your whole game is to either intimidate or enrage.

The intimidation part? That’s been a failure. I see two smelly, unkempt asshasts who belong on Youtube fighting Bob Sapp and Kimbo Slice wannabes. The enrage portion has been successfully applied, especially from where I sit. I don’t need to be reminded of my shortcomings, the least of all from a man who can’t even keep control of his own consciousness at this point. I know very well that I haven’t been able to get the job done in OWA. I know very well that there are plenty of people, even close friends and former mentors, who have whispered about if this company is too much for me, if I’m going to walk away like I did on Odyssey way back when.

This match is going to serve as proof that those concerns should be alleviated. Matches like this are why I came back to OWA. Matches like this are why I decided to give up manager duty and pursue being an active wrestler again. Matches like this against people like you two are the very lifeblood of my existence when it comes to this sport. There is nothing I love more than competing in a match when people have absolutely zero hope of me winning.

I like being underestimated, I like being written off like I can’t hurt you. It pisses me off, but in an odd way it amuses me too.

Hana and I may not have the years of experience or the buckets of blood or the intimidation factor. Maybe we aren’t the team that you SHOULD be wrestling, but we will give every last bit of our bodies and our souls to make sure that we are the team that SNATCHES those World Tag Team Championships from out of your grasp. You have insulted me and her, and that’s fair enough, but what neither of you are going to be allowed to do is take a big dump over everyone we beat to get to this point.

Even after being in the ring and nearly losing those titles to us, it doesn’t seem like we have your respect. That’s fine. We’re going to beat it out of you. You see, me especially, I’ve grown up in the “paint” so to speak. I understand the bully ball language. Teams like you, you can’t be tap-danced around. You have to be run through. Hit in the face…BE MADE TO UNDERSTAND THAT JUST BECAUSE YOU RUN THE FLOOR TODAY, YOU’RE NOT PROMISED TO RUN THIS SHIT TOMORROW!

We got next.

You had every possible advantage and you won the first round. You both have the attitude like we can’t compete with you. We’ll adjust those for you soon enough, and for anyone else who doesn’t think it’s in their best interest to Bow Down to the Fucking Queens.

Emmy’s intense glare softens a bit as she looks back over towards the girl and boy shooting practice shots together. Done with what she had to say, she strolls over towards the duo, lightly coaching up the girl on her shot, even helping her with her form before she makes a basket.

Michael Bishop has spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 17th 2024, 8:15 am by **Hana Nakajima**

Dreamworld #2: Insane Bitch.

16.04.2024 Fromer Golden Dawn Territory

*Mess was too delicate of a word to describe what was going on Olympus these days. It was pure chaos that was just entering its first stage. It was scary to even think what is going to happen if a new evil force won't be stopped on blue brand. Time is very important in difficult cases like this one. Even a couple of seconds could change the fate of the whole company, but it seemed like not many people treated it seriously. What's worse is that too many competitors decided to follow the wrong path to find themselves a safe spot. OWA has seen situations like this so many times, but it never stopped bringing anxiety into everybody' brain. What if this time nothing is going to work? What if a solution doesn't exist? What if they started doing something too late? They didn't know the answers to these questions yet, but they were for sure bothering a lot of people on the brand. Even Hana was sometimes thinking a little bit about this whole demonic drama, but she decided she didn't want to be involved. It was not her problem and it could only distract her from her actual goal. Tag Team Championships. However, the Japanese lady wasn't stupid, she was aware that she had to have eyes around her head.*

*The shot opens in a rather unexpected place, named in the former territory of The Golden Dawn. More specifically in the small lake located in the forest near the main building. Hana is dressed in the leather jacket, black turtleneck, pair of high-waisted jeans and boots of the same color. Her hair is falling in waves on her shoulders, as she is looking around the place. It has changed a lot since the last time she has been here. It is very dirty, but nobody has really been coming here since the last Great War. Nature did its job and took care of this peaceful place. After a while Hana directs her eyes at the camera in front of her, and her calm tone of voice echoes through the trees.*

When I was growing up, I was constantly hearing one thing. Think more about people around you that you will ever worry about yourself. Do what they expect you to do so that you are going to have a lot of friends. Be a good sister. Be an amazing daughter. Be an excellent student. BE WHAT EVERYONE WANTS YOU TO BE. Back in the day, I was following this way. I was just a child that was believing that my parents were always write. However, after some time I started to realize that I was constantly sacrificing myself. I was letting myself to be pushover in fear of being left alone. I was scared of choosing myself, because someone could be hurt if I stand for myself. People would say that Havoc was the one to kidnap my will, but I knew the feeling of being caged way before that. But what was a reason for all of that? To strive perfection? But the truth is, I could have done everything correctly, but it was still not enough. My parents are lovely people, who avoid confrontations at all cost, but they missed a point in their altruism. Because no matter how much you want to make happy everybody around you, there will be always someone who will have something to say. So at some point, I just said to myself...Fuck it. Meeting Arata few years ago, helped me fight a courage to not give a shit what people think. It lets me be myself, so now I don't care about admiration. What I want is to be acknowledged, but this is a very different thing. Because no matter where you are and what you are doing, people just keep complaining. Even today I am being accused of shit that is ridiculous, but I am not going to try to make you, happy. I don't care, keep being your miserable self, you rat, because it seems like it is the only thing that makes you enjoy yourself...Namely, constant pity party, you bitch. Nothing wrong with being proud of yourself for changing your life, but you are starting to be boring. How many time are we going to hear how bad your life was? Sure, you were literally a street rat, but everybody has their problems. Just because I am coming from a wealthy family, doesn't mean I had the time of my life. Not to mention the last couple of years when I was just a tool for some demonic cunt. Listen, it is good you didn't not end up dead covered in your own shit after you overdose, but it doesn't mean you deserve more than us. Our start, wasn't the same, I agree with that. Life is not fair and it never will be, but if you keep living with that thought in your brain you will never let go demons of the past. It is actually shameful that you use your bad memories as excuse. It is fucking said that it is the only thing you can say to prove your point that we don't deserve to be in title picture. But you are not only wrong, but also hypocrite. First you are complaining that we shouldn't be here, then you are bitching that we won the tournament to face you again. Who cares if other participants were bunch of random people. According to you Platinum Queens belong to the same category, so what is your problem now? Your barking actually proves my point, not yours. That till Platinum Queens arrived, you didn't have any real competitions. I told you already, Laz, we were so close to taking away those titles the last time we stood in the same ring. You could have felt our breath on your neck and do not even lie to me. So you understand where I am going with all that shit? You are still champions, because there was no actual team that could threaten you. And this is what you call setting a bar? Just holding titles and not giving a shit if there are any proper competitions around? It is so unambitious, but you do you. Keep fucking crying, Laz, because this is the only thing that you are good at. When I met you for the first time, I was considering you a very tough guy. But the moment I started to get to know you better, I am more than sure that you are nothing more than a crybaby. Go and fuck yourself, before Darkane fucks you over. Because it is something you cannot avoid, bitch. You guys keep warning us about your shit, but here is a spoiler from my side, because I know how things like that end.

I am not going to do some demonic dick measuring contest, but you two don't know shit about Havoc. He was way more powerful than you want to acknowledge. And most importantly you are overestimating the power that Belail has, or rather the fact that it is so easy to scare me. You threatened me with your little demonic shit before, and what happened? Nothing that could give me a shiver down my spine. Nothing that would keep me awake at night. Even know, I feel no fear when I look at you, and when I am directing my eyes into the future. I am aware of that process way too well. I am not like Laz...I am not like you family...I am not that worried when I hear HIM breaking into your brain. I told you that this is what going to happen and it will be only worse. He will be crushing into your soul till you fully belong to him, Darkane. You can't control the devil inside of you, but you have no balls to ask for help. But you know what? Life is precious, this is something you only understand when you are on the verge of death. So sometimes it is better to swallow your pride and save yourself. But this is not my choice to make this time. I took responsibility for all the decisions I made...for all the dead bodies and broken hearts that I left behind my back. And I will never forget their faces...I will always remember the smell of fear and suffering. I accepted the fact that I have to live with that. I was saying that before, but of course, you uncreative people keep bringing it back. However, do you really believe I am happy about murdering my own husband, Darkane? Do you think I liked the idea of Jeff dying for me? Do you believe I enjoyed slitting Banshees throat? Or witnessing hundreds of people being shattered into pieces by Havoc...or maybe me? I don't know myself at this point. Because you see, I got rid of the demon, but the damage he left in my soul is so big that I am not sure what the difference is between a nightmare and reality. Sometimes I am completely lost. One day I cry...The other I am empty in my eyes and I missing taste of blood. I am fucked in the head, you know? I have balls to admit that! And I know you are hurt by life too, you mindless drunk addict. So is so wrong that I don't want you to fall even deeper into abyss, Darkane? Don't get me wrong. No matter what you think, I am not looking for your sympathy...I am not trying to be your friend. I am just having that feeling of nostalgy. I guess, this is exactly how I feel when I see you get consumed by demon. I just don't want anybody to end like me. You can keep saying that I am pure evil. What did you call me? Vindictive? Toxic? Someone who possesses the instinct of the killer? Sure, you can call me that, but I am not deprived of emotions. I am not here to wreck havoc, but I am not going to be a pushover either, Darkane. There is nothing wrong with minding my own business. It is crazy how, you men, act so wild when a woman stand up for herself. But is it about gender, or you just have something against me? Maybe both, or maybe your brain is completely dead at this point.

Just like your friend, you believe that I don't deserve my position, but two minutes after saying that I am hearing a complete opposite. You call me a coward for not directly challenging you for the Immortal Heavyweight Championship. Fuck it, maybe I would if you paid more attention on retaining it, instead of playing with a voodoo dolls. But you really know why I didn't go for your head? Because I didn't want to hear from people that I am using my star power to get a spot I apparently don't deserve. Of course, I want this fucking World Championship. But I thought it would be unfair towards the people of Olympus, who worked hard to get that spot. It also applies to you, you stupid bitch. You might hate me for whatever reason, Darkane, but I always respected you. You are a stubborn idiot, but your ring skill has some charm. So I consider it a waste, if you are going to give it up to please some ancient monster.

But whatever...As I said, we are not interested in this demon hunting squad. All we want are those Tag Team titles, so we can say that we are on the same side as The Profane Covenant. Yeah, I said what I said. Of course, we don't want to have anything to do with them. WE are not literally siding with them, but Seventh Ward loss will be beneficial for both of us. We will get the gold and they will rip apart Darkane and Lazarus. So your warnings about their ruthlessness towards us, Darkane? Very naive. As long as they want the same thing as we do, at least at the very moment, we are untouchable for them. I know it might be difficult to use your brain when your body is filled with demonic spirits in one half and alcohol in the other, but come one! It is not that difficult to figure out.

You two are approaching Darkane's state with so much ignorance. You two believe that controlling Belial and keeping him away from these creepy bunch is something you can quickly figure out. I know you barely finished first grade, but you need to have a plan. Otherwise the dumb one is going to be a vessel, and the dumber is going to be dead. It is ride or die, boys. Title match should be the last thing the two of you should be worried about. No matter what you have rooted in your brains, you have no control right now. You are not players, you are pawns in the game. Even the moment of weakness is going to take Darkane away from you, Laz. Even one doubt is going to steal your soul, Darkane. And you do not seem to be a person who can control more than one thing at the time. So you are definitely going to lose something at Dreamworld. Platinum Queens will make sure that those are your titles, but the rest things that are on stage....this on you.

As I said at the beginning, there is no solution that can make everybody happy. And the odds are not in your favor in any scenario. One way or another, you are going to end up covered in your own blood to pay for your sins. While Emmanuelle and I are going to be blessed by the spotlight as your NEW OWA World Tag Team Champions. The same title that my husband held for so long and I am bringing it back home.

Once you get that weight off your shoulder you can concentrate on exorcizing a demon from Darkane. But once we are done with you? Both of you can get lost. I was trying to be nice and help you a little, but since you don't care about my advice, then I am going to look at your downfall with the smile on my face. Once again, didn't you say I am vindictive? Oh, I can be! But it is only your fault that you chose to be my enemy, boy.

You chose to see the worst side of me, then it is on you to pay for another mistake that you made. But let me remind you one thing, I don’t need Havoc to be a scary bitch. The insanity in my brain is something that a lot of people do not want to risk to see. Why? Because when bad things are done by evil spirits, it seems natural. But once it turns out that Hana was also a monster along the way, it brings a lot of anxiety. It makes your heartbeat faster. It makes you regret you have ever met me. So you might believe that Belail is one insane bitch, but you pray you never experience the true face of Hana Nakajima.

Michael Bishop, Remington Ivory Prescott and Colton Saint have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 17th 2024, 3:30 am by **Raivo**

When you have a fucking flighty as shit talent. When you have a person you can’t depend upon. When you are left with a pit of talent who you know won’t amount to anything, who do you go to when you know you need someone that brings a certain je ne sais quoi? Who do you go to when you need more PRESTIGE, to a match. You come to ME! Raivo, the man who has done nothing more than bring back excitement, enthusiasm and vigor to a division. You bring me when you have no other option other than to make it whole! I get why Raivo wasn’t the first option, because Raivo ain’t on Olympus. But even then, Raivo was the FIRST to be thought of when this talent decided to run scared and leave his opponent high and dry. And I get it, I know the influence I have. Hell, for someone who hasn’t been here as long as many of OWA’s heaviest hitters, I am the most consistent, I am the most must see, I AM the GOAT. And to even have a little bit of that essence on your brand already takes your matches to the next level.Some say I’m cocky, that I speak a lot of shit, but there ain’t been many to shut me up or even prove me wrong. Raivo is a needle-mover, he is a ratings magnet, and I see why Olympus when they’re hurting for some god-given talent, they don’t look to their roster, they don’t look to any alum of the past, they look directly to ME. And it’s a given after all my accomplishments, after all I have done with For the Minorities, with DT, and even by myself, it shouldn’t be a surprise yet to some people because of how I carry myself, of how I act, they always are. And because of this, I decided to take what they love and make it mine. Olympus as good as they want me to be, I don’t think they understand what it is they have unleashed here. I don’t think they understand what they are asking me to do because when I win this PRESITGE title. I am not coming back. I am taking this baby with me and doing whatever the hell I want with it. Because at that point it is mine, it belongs to me forever more. And then I can get to work, I can show you what it means to be a champion of Prestige because that’s all I have done. I elevated the Spartan Championship to a new fucking level, me and DT not only beat the most popular team at the time but became the new holders of the most title defenses making the tag team titles a must see, a far fucking cry from what Darkane and Laz’s corporate sell-out asses did. I’m a damn near triple crown winner, just in my first three years of my career in OWA. No one has nor will ever get to my fucking level again because there IS no one like me on my level. And so when people try to throw the tried and tired method of, I don’t know who this mans is, well then I have to call bullshit. Because how could you not know me? Even if you tried your fucking best to not watch Kingdom or Odyssey, you’d be hard pressed NOT to see my face on posters, on vignettes, on the fucking socials of this company. Especially, ESPECIALLY, if you’re a fucking no name like Poet.

I’ll get to his vernacular and vocabulary that makes me feel like he wanted to say something more than me using Dawg a lot, I’ll get to his overall vibe with his closeted boy to and whatever fucking thing they got going on, later. Because let me say this. To say you don’t know me is a bold faced lie. To say you never heard of me and only a few of what I’ve done, is damn near ignorant. And I know ignorant, I like to feint ignorance when it comes to my opponents to, but when I do it, it’s endearing, it’s funny, and it becomes even more of a problem when I beat the shit outta them. Because here’s the thing. I take solace in the fact that if people can get one over me, I know I can get my getback later on down the line and don’t let it stop me or slow my progress. But the people I see on Olympus, the people and champions that walk around the brand, I know they can’t say the same for themselves. These people, all tend to be competitive, all tend to be cannibalistic. And that don’t mean they all eat man meat, though some these people do give me that vibe, it just means that no matter what, whenever there is someone strong or someone rising up the ranks, they tend to always make sure to tear them down until it seems like no one strong comes from that brand. They all have this little gang warfare, and being a part of one myself in Kingdom, it’s pathetic. Because unlike the warfare I’ve been a part of. There’s no winner in this one, just perpetual losers, all showing that they don’t have what it takes to overtake one another. Tres Comas, especially, the group that my opponent Poet is a part of is like any corporate sell out group. They want to use money to advance and that works here because ain’t no one mightier than the almighty dollar. But I ain’t saying that in a metaphorical sense but a physical sense as well. Ain’t no one in the group even capable of overcoming Tres Comas because they idiotic to think ahead. I’ll give Tres Comas their due, they know how to plan, but they facing people who don’t plan, who even after all this, don’t understand that there is always a catch. Tres Comas, ain’t ever had someone in their way that thinks that way, until now. Now I could keep ragging on the Mark Michaels and Brandon Hendrix’s of the world, but they’ve been duped too many times that if they continue to let it happen, then why do I need to sympathize with them because my words are just gonna go over their head. But with Poet, I mean homie he got skill, speaks like a fucking Shakespeare in the park actor, but skills nonetheless. And that’s what I got a problem with. Not the Shakespeare in the park sounding ass but the fact that all that skill, all that merit, and he still thinks he can OVERLOOK me. My friend, my brother, my DAWG, you ain’t gotta act like your superior, you ain’t gotta put a front, because I already know you’re scared.

You see fear is something I excel at, I don’t instill it, I can smell it. I don’t need gimmicks, I don’t need money, I just need my superior talent to make you feel afraid of anything I do. Hell, my tone, my voice and the certain words I use may not fit what you’re used to, but it is what is going to be said.You Poet are a coward plain and simple. Yes you take on all comers, yes you are a fighting champion, but you do so behind the fortress of Tres Comas Club. You had everything in the world, regarded and still touted as a man who would become a leader of the next generation of wrestler yet chooses to be a whipping boy of a faction who already has a face in place. It’s funny how much of you has become playing second fiddle, playing a role because you are complacent. You are fine being coddled by those around you but in doing so you have done the one thing that title has not see and that’s earn Prestige. You are a coward in that way leaving your legacy in the air not even for your own sake but for the sake of someone else. And it’s sickening, it’s unhinged, and it makes me salivate more at the prospect of taking this god damn title off of you. I don’t understand why your opponent left, I don’t want to understand, because it ain’t gonna change this idea of what I need to do. I don’t need to humble you Poet that’s the thing. Humble isn’t a word that comes to your vocabulary, humble isn’t a word I think you ever think about. No, Poet, I need to humiliate you.I’m not trying to take a position from you, I ain’t trying make Tres Comas Club look weak, because fuck them. I ain’t in it for your little gang warfare I am in it for that title, for the history behind it, and for the mere fact that I get a chance to humiliate you with my own two hands. I don’t give a shit that you want to overlook my accomplishments over keeping your title safe, but I do give a shit that you still think that when I am in front of your face. You want a challenge, you want me to come in and take the title off of you because it is something I have so much talent for, so much experience with doing. We ain’t playing down to the talent because I ain’t much for charity. Nah Poet, you gonna have to play up to my talents or this ain’t goin how you think. You’re going to remember ME at the end of the day and you’re going to rejoice because I decided to take fucking time out of my day to be here with you.

That’s how luck you are Poet, you are lucky to have Raivo. The Authentic, the man who has no fucking copy. The man who has the names of The Ronaldo and Christopher Reeves as names not as a way to call attention, but as a way for you to know my intention. I don’t want people to continue to function. My moves have purpose, I move in a way that makes you wonder if I know what I’m going to next, and I move in a way that shows you, I have a plan. As much as you want me to be some moron, some Neanderthal who likes the bright lights and lacks common sense, I ain’t that man. I am in fact, the one person you’ve never ever faced before. I am in fact, the one person that you have never had a chance to ever meet in the middle of the ring. I am, and I know you’ve racked this in your mind as a possibility, in fact the man who could take your title from you. You want to talk about my name, living up to it, living up to the actual definition. BITCH, you are the only one I know here who wants to live up to the actual definition of the name. Poet, and because of that you choose to drop mediocre poems that make a high school English teacher climax in their pants just at the thought that there was substance in what you wrote. If you want to me to play at the level you think you’re at then let me do so. Ahem.

Poet fights hard, fleeing from his opposition; Always hunched over in a spread eagle position.

Calling on his daddies in the Tres Comas Club; As they line up all waiting for him to rub

They johnsons all shined up ready for his spit; Little do they know little homie gettin his shit kicked.

Poems ain’t nothing more than a high schooler artillery; Rhymes made by this cornballs corporate shillary

Amazing that this mans get people hot over some wack-ass bars; Not surprised looking at how breathless they from SARS

Poet’s lame disposition makes cry tears; Wack-ass poems to last me for years.

I’m running low on this bullshit; Homie get a new hobby cause you ain’t surviving this hit.

Poet I’m fucking sick and tired of having to humor you because as a guest on your show I feel obligated to, but the truth of the matter is this, you’re out of the league you claim to lead. Unbeknownst to you, I need to confess, you’re just a fucking stooge, a puppet, one that’s going to get discarded like the rest. I don’t think you know this, I think you’re rather fucking blind, but if you want to continue this war of words then I’m gonna need more from your mind. Because it’s weak, it’s boorish, it’s something a fool does to admit defeat. And homie I get bored listening because you are so fucking weak. Poet, you are the champion that I am tasked with beating, but homie your five seconds of fame is slowly retreating. Because you stand in a room, a ring in fact. With a man who is going to beat you in no time flat. I ain’t saying it’s going to be quick, I ain’t saying you’re going to go down fast, but I also ain’t saying this beating going be something you're expecting when I knock you on your fucking ass. The Prestige title stands before me, a hollow husk of what it used to be. It shines like it’s new, but I know that it wants to be free of what you’ve brought unto it. Just a status symbol, a piece of fucking metal it hangs on your waist, and you don’t care because under Tres Comas, it keeps you from having egg on your face.

I want to keep going, I want to keep showing you what I mean, but what you my dawg you just a wordsmith for people who ain’t worth the money they wipe they asses with. I’m sure you know you’ll be discarded when I take that title from you, and even if you know, I doubt it’s sunk in because if it was you would know how fucking serious this is for you. You think I want you to acknowledge me? You think I care that you don’t know about me? Nah, because I’m trying to SAVE YOUR PRIDE here. You want to be beat by a man you so haphazardly discarded? You want to be beat by this fucking no name from Kingdom, all because you like taking it up the ass by the Tres Comas Club leadership? Dawg you ain’t even a high up in Tres Comas to my fucking understanding, you a pawn, one they can just get rid of when the chips are all down. You’re fucking collateral and you don’t even fucking know it and that’s pathetic, that’s sad and I have to laugh at your expense. I see a dead man walking, a man losing his usefulness, and he doesn’t know it. He just knows his place, he knows his position and that’s to be a fucking dog to those with the actual talent. Whether you agree with it or not, you are like Brandon Hendrix. You are like Jason Long, JD Damon, you are like the many pawns who want to hold on to grace long before it’s shows it’s ugly face to them as being unworthy. But unlike those others, your fall from grace will rival that of Lucifer as you burn up into nothing. And you can try to deny, you can try and save yourself, you can try to make this become something less than it actually will, but that ain’t going to happen you fool. You see Raivo, like to savor the kill, likes to let you know he right, and this ain’t gonna be a good look for you. You want to ignore me, make fun of me, go right ahead. I’ve faced bigger fish than you, and won in better fashion than you’ve ever done in your time here. To think that you had a chance was just a dream, a delusion, a fucking piece of fleeting ignorance for you.

I want you to relish in it, I want you to remember what it feels like. It feels like bliss don’t it? It feels like a calm washing over you because you do not yet know the position you see yourself in doesn’t it? Ig-nor-ance is fuck-in bliss ain’t it? It leads you down a fucking rabbit hole that you keep digging and digging and digging until you have all but realized the dirt you kicked up has fallen back into the hole you made for yourself. You are a dog, you are prey, you are desperate, and I can smell it on you as you look for a way out. Is this my confidence coming out and saying what it believes? Possibly, but it ain’t Raivo if it ain’t loud and fucking proud. You want to come at me with everything and make sure I leave without that belt? Good, do it. It’ll make the humiliation even more cathartic for me. Because humiliating you will be the only thing I do in my time here at Olympus. When I take that title from you, while I leave you lying on that mat, thinking about this fucking highway robbery you just experience, I ain’t going to give you the satisfaction of knowing what comes next. You lose, and that’s it, no second chance, no champion’s rematch, nothing. You will have to deal with the consequences, YOU will have to deal with the humiliation, YOU will have to deal with what Tres Comas Club wants to do with you. As your last image of me, will be me holding that title high, lowering my face to yourself and spitting in it, laughing at what you thought would happen vs what has happened. No respect, no regard for YOU as a person, just the pure feeling humiliation is what you’ll feel.

Michael Bishop and Colton Saint have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Dream World #3 April 17th 2024, 1:23 am by **Mark Michaels**

What dreams may come ( vs Remington Ivory Prescott #3):

Usually I can find something about my opponents I can respect. I can respect how Jacob Senn has been a world title contender for as long as I’ve known him. I can respect the athleticism of Brody, I can respect the toughness of Gunner. Remington Ivory Prescott, well there is a man I can’t find anything worth respecting. He has no respect for the sport of wrestling, To display athleticism and skill, who can claim superiority with nothing more than their bare hands. If such a concept is so foreign to you that you can’t understand it, then just what the fuck are you even doing here man?! he has zero integrity whatsoever, he is as deplorable of a man I have ever met, and considering I used to work for EAW that should really say something. Just saying his name is like tasting bile in the back of my throat. In my entire career, I never hated an opponent. I’ve disagreed, I’ve disliked, but never hated an opponent. That was until I had the absolute displeasure of meeting you. Now I’m sure he couldn’t give two shits how I feel about him, because in his world the only thing that matters is himself. He talks about how it would be a, forgive the term, gyp to the audience if he wasn’t the unabashed little dickhead he is. He thinks the people are paying good money to see him act like a miserable prick. When the bell rings, it’s gonna be my pleasure to show him that they’re paying to see me beat the ever loving shit out of his silver spoon ass.

He talks about being Immortal, that he’s a Titan of myth, and this is a blood sport. Oh and he even has the gaul to talk about honor amongst thieves, as if he even knows the meaning of these words. He lies in bed with a snake like Jason Long, then he’s surprised when that same snake bites him in the ass?! Maybe if RIP was actually half as clever as he thinks he is, maybe it would have kept Long and his cronies in line. Just goes to show you how oblivious Remington can be. So knowing that much, Can I ask something Prescott? You know damn well that nothing you have done has ever stopped me. You’ve slowed me down, lived to fight another day, and woke up the next morning trying to figure out how to get the stench of piss out of your trunks. But no matter how much bullshit you’ve thrown my way, and believe me you’ve thrown a few truckloads, There has been no door I couldn’t knock down, no hill I couldn’t climb, no challenge I couldn’t get over, under, around, or simply break right on through. So knowing that, what in god’s holy name do you think is gonna get me to simply give up? When I’ve spent a decade building myself up to be able to hang with the best in the ring, when I’ve spent the last 2 years with that Immortal title just at my fingertips? When I’ve endured more brutality than most people can imagine, what can you do to me that’ll get me to wave a white flag? What trick do you have left in your bag that you haven’t tried before? Frankly it wouldn’t surprise me if you’re down to a fake mustache and some sunglasses at this point. I’m gonna tell everyone here a tiny little spoiler about Dream World. There ain’t an ounce of quit in Mark Michaels, so don’t think for a moment you’ll hear the words I surrender coming out of my mouth. I don’t care if it costs me my last breath, when it comes to winning my first world championship, when it comes to living the dream that started me down this path, and when it comes to making sure there’s a champion on Olympus who carries the belt with some goddamn dignity and respect, there’s not a chance in hell that I will ever surrender to you.

Remington, do you actually think anyone, least of all myself buys anything you’re saying? you keep spinning a yarn about how I’m some kind of obsessed stalker. You and I both know that while I absolutely loathe you, you’re ultimately not much more than a traffic cone. Granted a traffic cone I’m gonna enjoy smacking around but a traffic cone none the less. You think you’re the thing that lives rent free in my head, that you’re the what I think of 24/7? No. In fact I spend most of my day trying to forget you even exist. Now do you got a truckload of payback for all the misery you’ve put me through? You bet your ass you do. Ain’t no way I’m passing up the chance to do basically whatever I want without fear of being sued or arrested. But like I said Prescott, you’re not the thing I’m here for. That belt you got in your hands, that’s what I'm obsessed with. Not because it’s got a few diamonds that sparkle and some gold that shines. Not because I need it to validate my entire life. But because this sport is my passion. Ever since I was 6 years old, Professional Wrestling has been the thing I love the most. And when you love doing something, and you’re damn good at it to boot, you don’t settle for less than what you’re worth just because some jackass thinks he’s better than you based on nothing more than the size of his bank account, and the color of his skin.
  Speaking of this idea that I don’t have what it takes to be a champion, Something I find hilarious is that one moment you’ll go around telling anyone who’ll listen that I’m a try hard, then you admit that you needed a piggy back ride from yours truly to get as far as you have on Olympus. Which is it RIP? Am I the guy who can’t get it done, or the one who did all the work? Maybe actually fret figuring out which narrative you want to go with before making an even bigger jackass of yourself. Call it a mixed message, call it talking out of both sides of your mouth, or you simply trying to provide an example of gaslighting someone to go along with that definition you provided. I don’t really care because it’s nothing more than just you wasting your breath, and everybody else’s time. Here’s a small thought experiment for you RIP. Let’s say you somehow all your utter nonsense about me being too weak to win a championship is true, then just what the fuck does that say about you? It’s one thing to ride someone’s coat tails, it’s another to do so and then say that person wasn’t good enough while you’re enjoying the fruits of thier labor. You can’t con a con RIP. you can’t bullshit your way past someone like me who grew up learning every trick in the book. And you’re not gonna succeed where every other asshoke who told me that I wasn’t worthy has failed. They say all the same shit you say, and I’ve been making a career off of proving you all wrong since day one. At Dream World, Mark Michaels does it one more time when he beats your ass to the point you have no choice other that to tell the world you surrender to the might of the Romani King.

I’ve said before how I don’t usually give anything that Remington Ivory Prescott says much attention. I don’t think he has anything to say that is either based in reality, or facts. Nothing the asshole says is worth wasting the time I can’t get back listening to it. I don’t hold anything he says with any regard, and I consider most of it background noise, like a fly buzzing, or a dog barking. But I heard this man’s last piece of rambling and I’m worried that Remington here has lost his goddamn mind. Like the way he’s acting paranoid that I’m following him,, the way he’s going on about being immortal, His delusions of grandeur thinking he can withstand the onslaught I’m about to unload when I finally stomp the mother fucker out. It all paints a picture of a man who has fucking cracked. This man has done so many mental backflips to justify the bullshit he pulls, that he can’t tell up from down, black from white, shit from apple butter. Take for example how he’s literally doing the thing movie villains do when they tell the main character that they wouldn’t exist without them. I heard that son of a bitch go on with this “ I’m the reason people still want to see you.” Nonsense falling out of his mouth, and thought to myself he has crossed the line from everyday villainy, to cartoonish super villainy. I hear the man speak, and my first response is this man is basically saying the same kind of shit James Earl Jones says in Conan the Barbarian. Guess I wasn’t the only person RIP needed to steal from. I mean note for note this mother fucker is just riding that same vibe at the end of the movie, where Jones, who at this point has killed Schwarzenegger’s father, mother, girlfriend, and has even crucified the man himself, sees Conan standing face to face with him. So Jones having nowhere to run starts spouting this mind fuck bullshit about how he was the one who made Conan the kind of man he is today. Conan thinks about for half a second, then promptly cuts the mother fucker’s head off and holds it up for everyone to see. Considering how that one ended It was a bold strategy for Remington to double down on playing the same kind of bullshit from his last promo. It was Useless, but bold nonetheless, a perfect embodiment of everything Remington does.

Prescott has planted his head so far up his own ass that he seems to think this is all a movie, and he’s playing the part of the cool, charming, charismatic antagonist who everyone quotes. He thinks he’s Loki, and all the bullshit he’s put everyone who’s ever had to spend 5 minutes with the mother fucker through is just gonna be overlooked to make him the hero when he gets his own Netflix series. Dude is a wannabe Jordan Belford thinking this ends with him being played in a movie by Leonardo DiCaprio. He’s more like Bernie Madoff actually, and he’s about to be sentenced to some Romani justice. Which means I am going to beat his ass from the ring, to the rafters of Bank Of America stadium. The unbridled whooping I’m gonna lay on RIP is gonna be one for the record books, Every time I hit that fucker it’s gonna feel worse than a Luke Kuechly sack, and I promise you that when this is all over, the son of a bitch will cry out his surrender to the Romani King so loud they’ll hear it from Charlotte to Raleigh.

Remington is so delusional he has convinced himself that he is some kind of necessary evil, that only he can stop the goth gang bang from running roughshod over Olympus. Tell me something Prescunt, what makes you think in that empty head of yours that you are the guy to hold back whatever boogie men are on the horizon? Because you’ll stoop to any low to win? Remember what happened when you tried that with Darkane and he beat your ass? Or how about that one time you tried to use the sword of destiny, or whatever it’s called, to take down the demon du jour running around on Friday nights? Oh that’s right, you couldn’t do jack shit with it. If You couldn’t take down a single one of these emo fucks, how are you gonna handle Darkane, Lazarus, Jason Long, Gunner, Lilith, and whoever the fuck else might start doing all thier shopping at hot topic all at once? I don’t get how the fuck you think you’re the guy to lead Olympus, Because like you said, you have nothing to lose. Olympus doesn't matter to you, the people in the locker room don’t matter to you, the world could burn and you wouldn’t even bother to so much as lift a finger so long as you get to have something shiny to occupy yourself with. Tell me something RIP, what is it that you actually have to fight for? It isn’t to keep your family fed. It isn’t to prove you're the best at something, and you’re oh so quick to remind us that you don’t need the money. So what is it that will keep you fighting when times get hard? What will keep you going when all of daddy’s money won’t buy you a way out of a jam? What the fuck can you do when you have smaller balls than the ones hanging from a Ken doll? What keeps you from selling your own soul to whatever the fuck it is that’s trying to rule over Olympus, just like you’ve done every time a new General Manager took power on this brand? Give me a reason, a real reason. Something with more merit than you saying you are smart enough to know that you couldn’t win a match straight up because you lack the talent, Or that being self aware enough to realize you’re a sniveling cunt somehow makes you a genius.

I find it to be a slap in the face for Remington to talk about other peoples morals, or how people sometimes have to cross lines they wish they didn’t have to just to survive for one more day. That man never went hungry, he never had to go a night without the lights or heat, he never had to worry if he would end up on the streets. Growing up I saw the hardships my parents, my aunts and uncles, my cousins, all had to go through. And now that I’m on top of Olympus, My family never has to worry about that anymore. They never have to worry about the bills because I’m here, providing for my people the way a leader should. I’m not just trying to provide, I’m out here trying to inspire my bloodline. I’m telling them to chase their dreams, swing for the fences. I’m here to show them that if you’re willing to take your lumps, if you stick with something you can have a better tomorrow. So forgive me if I find it insulting that RIP pulls the stunts he pulls, simply because he doesn’t have the heart or guts to not be a lazy coward with not an ounce of self respect, while also having the biggest ego I’ve ever seen. because while me and my family had to say and do things we wished we hadn’t, Remington is only all too eager. This man calls me a liar, a con, and a thief, a dirty miserable gypsy, then goes and tries to rob and kill anyone who might not be under his thumb. not because he needs or wants for anything, but because he simply gets his jollies being a little shit. I tell you I hit the nail on the head when I called him a child, Because this bastard is nothing more than a 30 year old brat. And a brat like Remington, is someone I will never give the pleasure of hear me utter the words I surrender.

This mother fucker asks me where I would be without him. I left my crystal ball in my other pants, so I can’t say where I would have been, I can tell you where I wouldn’t have. Without Reminton I wouldn’t have spent Civil War behind bars. I wouldn’t have spent the lead up to Clash Of The Titans trying to get my job back. I sure as hell wouldn’t have spent Final Destination, what should have been the greatest night in my career, in a hospital fighting for my life. All that and he wonders why I’m taking all this a wee little bit personally? You say this is just Fridays for you. That’s it’s all part of the business. You know maybe part of you believes that. Like on a conscious level you think this is all just another day in the world of wrestling, or whatever the fuck sports entertainment is. But these past few years I’ve gotten to know you, and I know there’s part of you that takes a sick pleasure in sticking it to me. It’s like you get off trying to fuck with me. I’d say that deep down you’re the kid who likes to kick the dog while he’s eating just because he can

2 years and 2 title reigns later you’re not respected as a champion, you’re not held with any regard as a wrestler, you’re not even considered a leader on your own brand. That yellow stripe running up your back has painted over everything you do. You talk about only one of us being Immortal, you’re dead wrong. See we are both gonna live in forever, etched in the minds of the fans, our faces and voices used in those nostalgic video packages they like to hype big events with. The difference is how we’re gonna be remembered. Dream World is gonna go down in history as the night the Romani King claimed his throne atop Olympus. As for you, you’ll live on as with the image of a crimson mask running down your face as you reach your breaking point, and with the whole world watching you, you cough out that you surrender to Mark Michaels.
  I’m done talking Prescott, and frankly I’m done listening to anything you have to say. You want a war? You’re gonna get one bigger than you ever bargained for, and the only way this is gonna end is with your unconditional surrender. Rest assured that this ends only one way, it ends when you… HAIL TO THE KING BABY!!!

Michael Bishop and Remington Ivory Prescott have spoken. It’s such good shit!

rage conduit // odyssey 001 April 17th 2024, 12:23 am by **Felix Hartley**

Was it karma?

Was she paying some sort of cosmic price for the betrayal of her Thotyssey sisters almost one year ago? Some sort of torture tax from the years she had stepped on the backs of others to get what and where she wanted?

She couldn’t make sense of it.

Her memories were fuzzy, but through the blood-soaked clouds that rippled through her eyeballs, the last thing she could remember was Jeff turning his back on her as Chad Ecclestone hijacked yet another world championship from her. Her fourth, to be exact.

They hadn’t talked since.

At Dreamworld, she had won. Not only did she get revenge on Tyler Kulina, but her name was now scribed on the short list of people who had beaten the icon in Jeff X, and the even shorter list of multi-time World Champions. And once again, if only for a moment, the Alpha World Championship was given back to its inaugural, rightful, deserving owner. The event did nothing but multiply her value in the company, tenfold.

But none of that bullshit mattered anymore.

“I did everything I fucking promised I would do, didn’t I, kid?”

The War Barbie sat bedside in the hospital. For once, neither she or Jeff were in the bed. Instead, she watched Tyler Kulina’s nearly lifeless body, his chest slowly heaving up and down with each assisted breath. She sat back, relaxed, her hair in a messy bun, an oversized Tupac t-shirt hung over her slender frame and was half-tucked into a pair of jeans. She puts her feet up and crosses one ankle over the other, resting them on Tyler’s unconscious body.

“Know that you were a coward ‘til the very end. Right from the time your father woke up from this very bed, from the same coma you’re in, right now. The irony tastes delicious. Knowing I’m the one that put you in here is even better. Knowing that you dedicated so much of your time, energy and career to tearing me down, only to end up in the wrong dreamworld. I overheard a couple’a nurses earlier, and I’ll be honest, it doesn’t sound good. You may not even make it out of here without a coroner.”

Felix clasped her fingers together behind her head, deepening her relaxed stance. The corners of her mouth slowly turned upwards into a childish grin.

“You got what you wanted, but was it worth your life? Your father watched as I bled in the middle of the ring, lifeless, motionless… and watched my Alpha World Championship fall into the hands of some tiny-dicked D-Lister with no real connection to the match at all other than the fact that he needed revenge for the time I exploded his tag team partner. He left me. He walked away. When I needed him the most, he left me alone to suffer, to lose, and completely invalidated everything we built…

And your bum ass couldn’t even live through a couple of chair shots to watch it happen.”

She nudged his chin up with the tip of her shoe and watched as his head fell to the side.

“Whatever will The Tribunal do now? What ever will the petrifying group of pseudo-incestuous midcarders do to me now that I’ve single-handedly eliminated their scapegoat? Throw me in the ring with Jupiter King? God, please, no, anything but!”

Felix’s voice was flat and sarcastic.

“They so badly want to even the score, so they sent your runner-up. If anybody’s been a bigger fucking failure than you in their short OWA tenure, it’s big ol’ Jupe. Where was our resident little Joan Jett impersonator when I was dribbling your skull off that chair, Ty? Where was the, uh, War Machine when I nearly ripped your face in half with those handcuffs? I can’t say for sure, but I imagine she was probably sobbing into Aria’s meat crevice about the depressing trajectory of her career since she was sucked into the longest running joke of professional wrestling’s decorated faction history.”

She casually shrugs.

“I’ll absolutely never understand what the fucking point of the Tribunal even is. Christ, at least Thotyssey helped each other win and keep championships. We were decorated. Yet here the Tribunal is, defending the Hall of Famer’s participation trophy - apparently to the death,” Felix quickly motions over to Tyler in disbelief. “It’s insane that Jupiter really had two back-to-back, gutwrenching losses to Chris Sabertooth and that is when she truly qualified. At that point in her life, she said, you know what, I think I’d like to be part of something bigger… a family… somewhere I can be forcefed to competition absolutely fucking beyond my paygrade, stack up career-defining losses, but still, somehow, be revered as one of the most dominant groups to grace OWA’s six-year history.”

Felix sighed in exhaust, throwing her head back.

“The embarrassment could stop here, but for some reason, you people still think there’s some Tribunal vs. Frontline feud that you need to capitalize on for clout. This supposed to be revenge for putting you on life alert? Because where does that end? I’ll fucking kill Jupe, too.

I have NOTHING to lose anymore.

If I have to do it alone, so fucking be it. If I have to maim you, Jupiter, and whatever new recruits Aria stacks in front of her until I dethrone your ‘Queen’, I’m more than capable. I’m more than willing. I’ll do this all day long. I’ll dismantle the Tribunal with my own two hands if I need to. Because WHAT THE FUCK ELSE IS THERE TO DO NOW.”

Felix’s voice was full of bitter intensity. She was frustrated. She was discouraged.

“Do you know what it’s like to be me? To have a constant fucking target on your back because you are THEE Alpha. To be the only fucking person in OWA history to be cashed in on TWICE in just over a year because there’s genuinely no fucking way these inbred turds beat you clean any other day? To have every opportunity taken from you, just for BEING you. For being, pound-for-pound, the most sought-after professional wrestler in this place?

I, honestly and truly, dare Jupiter to make a mockery of what I’ve done. To try and minimize my accomplishments because despite holding a World Championship on four separate occasions, two of them couldn’t be the reigns everybody knows they would have been, had Diantha and Chad not capitalized on the bloodiest brawls I’ve ever won. Try to discredit me despite breaking records to cement my own, holding multiple championships, multiple times, winning awards in my first year, and becoming somebody so fucking untouchable and iconic in about as long as Jupe’s been out of training school.”

Felix leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she spoke.

“I am the person you save your briefcase for. I am the opportunity you pray for. I am the woman you would die just to capitalize on. I am the benchmark.

I am the bar.

Look at what I’ve done to you. Knowing full well that I was risking the most important person in my life. A man I would kill or be killed for. And still, I pummeled you until your blood splashed up into my mouth and I could taste the rotten DNA from which you were bred. In that moment, all I could think about was the agony you’d caused. The pain and suffering that cloaked Jeff and I whenever you reared your empty head. This…” Felix motions to the hospital bed, “Is nothing compared to what I actually imagined the outcome to be. In my version, we’re not in a hospital. We’re in a cemetery. In my version, your body isn’t unconscious in front of me. I’m talking to a tombstone. In my version, your funeral has come and gone, some people have mourned, and now, just as we did last year, we could begin to heal after exiling a parasitic demon back to hell.”

Her eyes turned downward at the parallel. It was only last year that Jeff had died, and this year, it felt like her soul was slowly dying too.

“But Jupe?” Felix snickered. “She’s been put in an interesting position. She’s been sacrificed. Whether she knows it or not. The Tribunal isn’t known for its logic or smarts - truly, they aren’t known for anything. But, I know that they hoped I’d be bedridden. Crying. Shades of Season 5 Felix when she found out her boyfriend died not long after her World Championship was stolen for the first time and she spiraled out of control into an emotional pit of despair. A hot mess of a woman working solely on emotion and not thinking things through. The truth is, at this rate, I just fucking expect the fuckery. I’ve been long desensitized to it. What I learned at Dreamworld, was that when it came down to it, down to the very heart of it all… The Alpha World Championship means jack fucking shit.

The plan was to walk out with the title, or with Jeff.

I left with NEITHER.

And instead of crying… dying my hair…drinking wine and chain smoking on my balcony, I am much more focused on what is inevitably going to be a tune-up between pay-per-views. A chance for me to throw Jupiter around like the conduit for my rage that she serves no other purpose but to be. I’d love to sit here and bullshit all day with you and acknowledge that she’s not just the Odyssey rookie that was, for some inexplicable reason, forgotten about for months after she put pen to paper and then magically given two Spartan Championship opportunities, but a win over such decorated killers like Christie Sky and Malachite Minj isn’t quite enough to erase that questionable past.

Dreamworld was no different. Arata and Bishop had their numbers before they even made it past the Sparks position. I don’t need to know anything about Jupe to know that. She lost to Chris. Twice. And now she’s trying her hand against ME. This is a losing battle that you will never be on the other end of. It’s been proven. Time, and time, and time again. Thanksgiving. Dreamworld. What other fucking evidence do you need that the war you are constantly waging will never be one that you win?

And yet, she talks about victory. The mission of the Tribunal. How they’ve accomplished what they’ve set out to do - the goals they wanted to achieve. Something, something, what a swamp person would say about scraping their opponents into jars. They come for blood and they take it.

Is the blood in the room with us right now?

Cause I’ll tell you where it was. It was all over my face. Winning MY World Championship back. Severing YOUR ties to consciousness. And making sure that I sent a Tyler Kulina-sized message to each one of them as they slowly surrounded the ring and read that message line for line. Taking the very scraps I left of you away on a stretcher. Storing it in jars and keeping it on a shelf.”

Felix slowly stands up and slowly moves closer to Tyler, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead.

“What beautiful fucking cinematography.”

Michael Bishop, Darkane, Rebecca Filth, Remington Ivory Prescott, Lazarus Arjen, marielacorriveau, Chad Ecclestone and have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 16th 2024, 10:41 pm by **DampshawIIIఒ**

A swinging light illuminates a dimly lit corridor in the bowels of the Dampshaw estate. The camera pans down the corridor and stops in front of a wooden door, the word 'ITS HAPPENING' etched on it in gold lettering.

The door creaks open and the camera pans inside. The room is small, and there are no windows. A lone light bulb swings from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows across the room. The walls are covered in newspaper clippings and photos. There is a small cot in the corner of the room, and a wooden chair sits next to it.

In the centre of the room, a figure sits in a chair, their face hidden in shadow. The figure starts singing to the tune of “Legend of a Mind” by The Moody Blues.

The figure sings,

“Reginald Dampshaw's dead

No, no, no, no, he's outside, looking in

Reginald Dampshaw's dead

No, no, no, no, he's outside, looking in"

The figure stops singing and the camera pans in closer.

Everything that has happened was foretold to occur.

The figure begins to speak, their words slightly muffled and sounding like their being spoken through some sort of apparatus, the breathing harsh and cracked. The figure leans in more and we finally see a mask. A mask that's a combination of Reginald Dampshaw III's mask from Final Destination 5 and the Tiamat mask that Reginald had been wearing. The figure is wearing a dark, hooded cloak, which covers their body, hiding it in shadow. The camera pans in closer and we see that the mask is made out of leather, with gold trim, and is extremely ornate. The figure begins to speak again.

Reginald Dampshaw III, you were born on the Isle of Wight, England on April 25th, 1990. You were born into a rich, aristocratic family who owned the Dampshaw Jewellery Co. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. You were born with the world at your fingertips. You were born into a world of wealth, privilege, and power. You were born into a world of entitlement and privilege. You were born into a world of arrogance and superiority. You were born into a world of wealth and power. And what did you do with it all?

The figure stops talking and begins to laugh, a deep, maniacal laugh that echoes off the walls of the small, dimly lit room. The figure continues to laugh and the camera pans out, revealing more of the room. There are various objects and items scattered about, all seemingly placed there for some unknown reason. The room is covered in graffiti, and the walls are covered with various newspaper clippings and photos.

Not only were you given all of that, but you were handed down through ancestry, the power of a million gods. You were given the power to change the very fabric of the universe. You were given....me.

The camera pans in close on the mask again, the figure's words echoing throughout the room.

I am the Time Lizard, the bringer of death and destruction. I am the one who controls time and space. I am the one who can alter reality and make it my own. I am the one who can change the very course of history. I am the one who can make your worst nightmares come true. I am the one who can bring your darkest secrets to light. And now that I have been granted passage into The Covenant of The Profane, I have all the power in the world at my fingertips. And with that power comes the ability to make you suffer, to make you writhe in agony, to make you beg for mercy, to make you beg for your life. Because you never deserved my power. You never deserved my gifts. You never deserved to be my avatar. So now, I've fully taken over this vessel. This...grotesque pile of flesh and bones. I've made you more dangerous than you could have possibly ever imagined.

The camera pans in close on the mask again, the figure's words echoing throughout the room.

I've watched you do the same thing time and time again. You just did it with the Tres Comas Club. You did it with Jimmy Pridmore and Hatchet Gully, and you even did it the Frontline years ago. These people were not your family. You have no family. You never did and you never will. Why do you insist on trying to find one? Why, is it because Daddy didn't tell you he loved you enough? Is it because Mommy went away when you were little? Is it because you're just a pathetic little boy who needs attention? Is that it? Is that why you keep doing this? Is that why you keep trying to find a family? You're nothing but a pathetic, little boy who's never been loved.

The figure begins to laugh, a deep, menacing laugh that echoes off the walls of the small, dimly lit room.

But it doesn't matter anymore, because now...now I'm here. I'm here because you couldn't do what was asked of you. I was chosen for the Covenant of The Profane because I represent Greed, Wrath, and Pride. I was chosen to bring forth the end times, to bring forth the destruction of the world....and it starts…with The World's Finest.

The figure begins to laugh again, a deep, maniacal laugh that echoes off the walls of the small, dimly lit room.

The World's Finest are nothing anymore. Look at how they scramble. Pathetic. How many times were you told that it didn’t matter how many times you thought you won battles or how many hollow victories you thought you made? You all made an enemy of the wrong thing long ago. The three of you, Cloud, Nobi, and Hendrix.

The figure stops and leans back in his chair, the camera panning back, revealing that he is holding a bottle of wine in his left hand and a glass of wine in his right.

Tell me. Why do you all think Nobi became Immortal Heavyweight Champion only for it be ripped from your hands out of nowhere? Why do you think Brandon continues to almost come close, only to be screwed at the last second every single time? Why do you think that Cloud has had everything stripped away from her? Her championships. Her wife. And now…her young boy.

The figure laughs, taking a sip of his wine.

Everyone was so shocked when Ryo was unmasked and was revealed to be a part of our Covenant. Why? Why were you all shocked? It was there the whole time. He was showing signs for a long time, but when he was shot at All or Nothing, that was the turning point. His final vestiges of his innocence spilled out….and I went in. I gave him what he had been begging for this whole time, and that is respect. He has a purpose now.

The figure pauses, bowing his head and shaking it.

You were all so quick to judge. You were all so quick to cast Ryo aside. And I’m sure you’ll all be so quick to call him a traitor, a coward, a quitter. But the truth is, you don’t know the first thing about him. You don’t know the first thing about what he’s been through, what he's had to endure. You don’t know the first thing about the pain he's felt. Cloud, you and Nobi never understood him.

The figure stands up, beginning to walk slowly around the room, still cast in shadow.

As for Gunner, well he’s been bred in blood and bone for ages now, hasn’t he? You all thought you could take him down, but you never could. He is the ultimate weapon. He has seen so much tragedy and death in his life. When someone is faced with that, either they become another statistic, or they harness that and become a vessel for it. And Gunner, well he harnessed it. He took it, and he used it as a tool. He used it as a weapon. And now, he's using it to bring forth the end times.

The figure chuckles, his hands now clasped behind his back as he looks at the inner workings in the bowels of the estate.

So what do you three do with a power like ours? What will you all do, Cloud? Nobi? Hendrix? What will you all do?

The figure stops and leans forward, placing his elbows on the table. He looks into the camera and starts speaking, his words echoing throughout the room.

You will all fail. We could fight you in a wrestling match. We could fight you backstage. But no, we’re going to eliminate you.—each one of you, one by one, in a Tornado Tag Team Tables Elimination Match. We will break you all down, piece by piece, until you are nothing but a pile of broken bones and shattered dreams. We will break you, and we will destroy you, and we will make sure that you never walk through those doors again. It’s going to be a sweet, sweet victory throwing you all into those tables, the wood shattering underneath you, splintering into your skin, piercing your flesh. We will watch as you all writhe in agony, begging for mercy, but there will be none. There will only be pain, and suffering, and anguish. We will make you suffer. Anything you can possibly imagine, the worst things the three of you have ever dealt with throughout your lives will pale in comparison with what will take place at Dreamworld.

The figure begins running his hands over the walls, caressing the photos and newspaper clippings, a twisted smile forming on his face.

I know all of your fears. I know all of your insecurities. I know all of your weaknesses. I know all of your darkest secrets. I've known them all before you did. I've known them since you were born. And now, I'm going to use them against you. I'm going to use them to destroy you. I'm going to use them to make you suffer. We’re going to use them to destroy you. The Profane Covenant is the end of days and the beginning of the new age. You have failed, Cloud, Nobi, and Hendrix. You have failed, and now we're going to take it all away from you. Everything you've ever worked for, everything you've ever loved, everything you've ever cared about will be stripped away from you. We will take it all away. We will take it all away from you and you will have nothing. You will be left with nothing but your own shattered dreams, broken bones, and a broken spirit.

The figure keeps caressing the pages on the wall, stopping at a printed-out page from the OWA News website. The headline reads: “FINAL DESTINATION V SHOCKER! MONICA VAUGHN STABS WIFE CLOUD IN THE BACK” with a picture of Cloud in a heap of broken tables outside the ring while her wife looks down from a ladder. The figure traces over Cloud and begins laughing loudly.

That was only the beginning, Stephanie. I know you think you’re above what the Tres Comas Club has done and I know you think you could never ‘grovel’ in the shadows of the Profane Covenant, but a woman can only take so much loss until she…snaps.

The figure keeps laughing, the laughter growing louder and louder as he starts almost mockingly jabbing the picture of Cloud with his finger.

Sure, Nobi and Hendrix lost championships. They even lost money from being out of the injured list. But you, you lost everything. I can see it in your eyes. I can smell it on you when you walk the halls. You are empty. Like a hollow corpse, you’ve begun to fester and stink. And when Ryo, Gunner, and I beat you at Dreamworld, that’s the final step. When you finally break and crack wide open, little cloud, and begin a torrential downpour to wipe this whole thing clean. There’s so much darkness within you. So much delicious pain. I can’t wait to feast on you.

The figure stops laughing and looks into the camera, the twisted smile still on his face. He then slowly begins taking off the mask, eventually showing Reginald’s face still bruised and cut open from his attack by Tres Comas Club. He goes to a broken, dusty, and dirty mirror and looks at himself. He stares at his reflection, the twisted smile still on his face. He then leans forward and begins to whisper, his voice barely audible.

This is never going to happen again….not now that I’m fully here….

The camera pans out as Reginald keeps looking at himself in the mirror, the twisted smile still on his face. The screen fades to black.

Michael Bishop, Remington Ivory Prescott and Poet have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 16th 2024, 10:28 pm by **marielacorriveau**

Ce n’est pas la mer à boire
Atlantis o1.

Marie sits glumly on her back step, staring out at her sunny backyard. Philip the goat grazes happily by his oversized dog house. Everything is incongruously idyllic, a perfect spring morning in Montreal, and she sits bruised and busted up in the thin gold light, chewing on her bottom lip. Her phone buzzes, and she glances down at for a moment, before lifting it up and turning it off.

“Funny, everyone reaches for witch burnings when they want to rile me up, but La Corriveau was hanged. Same with most of the poor bitches in Salem. So honestly, April got something right. And I couldn’t stop her. The intelligent part of me, buried deep deep down somewhere I usually can’t hear it screaming at me, tells me I did the right thing. The only thing. I held out as long as I could.”

She looks down at her bandaged hand and flexes her fingers.

“Shit, it’s a minor miracle that I have full range of motion, even with all of the salves and crap that I slathered under these bandages, but minor miracles are sort of my thing. Were sort of my thing. But my luck ran out. So it’s really only fitting that OWA has two unlucky girls wrestling this week.”

Marie laughs softly and shakes her head.

“So here we are again. Back to the chase, I guess. Eventually, anyway. I’ve been some kind of champ for over a year, it’s really weird to not be thinking in terms of defenses. That tension, can I keep doing it, can I hold on, it’s like a constant low grade adrenaline rush, like the hair on the back of my neck has been standing straight up since I beat Hana. And now it’s over, and I’ve got something else on my plate, something… even weirder.”

“Because this is not a blood feud. It’s not a war. It’s not even really a fight. It’s a match. It’s just two women, and the only thing we have to win or lose is this night. It’s really the perfect place for me right now, hein? Dethroned champion looking for redemption? Take five, do something with someone who doesn’t want you dead, build it back up. Get your shit together, Marie. Get it together.”

“I want to be grateful for that. I think I really do need the breather. But there’s part of me struggling with it. Because I want to be angry right now. I want to look across the ring and see somebody I can take all of my resentment out on, somebody who’s really pissed me off, someone I can focus all of this misplaced anger on and just… beat the ever loving shit out of them, you know?”

“And instead I got Ayla.”

“I know I say this about a lot of people, people who really don’t deserve it, but you? Ayla, I like you. Full of hope, full of joy, fuck everything trying to harden you up, fuck everyone trying to tell you that you don’t belong here because you’re not enough of an asshole. You hugged Diantha. You hugged her. I’ve never even done that. That’s fucking beautiful, that’s what that is. And even though there’s that pain in the ass part of me that just hates that I’m up against someone I can’t be a cunt to, there’s another part of me that just can’t wait to shake your hand. I can’t wait to see you bounce down that ramp and get into the ring and… be you.”

“So I really can’t understand this whole Diantha thing.”

“Diantha and I have a very ugly history. It’s a history you seem to lack context for, because if you had it you might have had second thoughts, and I am sorry that of all of the people who could have taken you on to mentor you, she was the one to do it. She’s not someone you want guiding you. I would say that just about anybody in this entire company would be better, which would… honestly be a lie, because there are some real lunatics here, but she’s still pretty far down on the list. Not because she’ll steer you wrong in training. She’s one of a handful of people who can say they’ve beaten me one on one - not pinned me, keep in mind. If you manage to do that, you’ll actually have one up on her, but she did beat me. I watched her nearly end the fucking world, Ayla. And that’s not an exaggeration. Your new mentor almost ended the entire human race before you even got here. She’s a psychopath. But you…”

“You seem… boundlessly sweet. So bursting with potential it almost makes me sick, and I do mean that as a compliment. I can’t even say that you remind me of a younger me or any of that patronizing shit, because truthfully I don’t think I’ve ever been as good as you. I fought tooth and nail against being the resident nice girl, I fell into it because everyone here is such a raging asshole I looked good in comparison. You’re just… solid, kid. You’re a good person.”

“So I have a promise for you.”

“I will put you through your paces this week. I’m working hurt, there’s no getting around that. Dreamworld took a lot out of me. I don’t really have any room to complain, considering how many people have actually died here during matches. I mean, my tag team partner actually came back from the dead to be here, almost dying is to OWA what a stomach flu is to an office job. It sucks, but the guy in the cubicle next to you got Covid and got his ass back to work, you really have to get your shit together and move on. So don’t worry about it, cherie. I’ll bring it, as hard as I have against champions, against Hall of Famers, against demons trying to end the world. Because you’re not here to cut corners, that’s really clear from how you’ve been showing up in matches here. You want to be somebody here. I’m happy to help you on that road. I won’t even hold it against you if Diantha pulls some shady shit - as long as you respond appropriately. Anyone can ride someone’s coattails to the top, but standing up against someone bigger and stronger and more experienced than you because you know what’s right, that’s character. And sue me, but I feel like you do have some of that.”

“It’s not all altruism either, so don’t feel like I’m doing you any favors. I just lost my championship, I really can’t start on a losing streak right now, you know? First lesson I’ll teach you, if you’ll excuse the imposition, is that what you’ve done most recently, that’s what really matters here. So as much as I don’t want this to get needlessly ugly, I’m not going to be nice about anything between the bells. I need this win. And then I need a lot more, because every win is a fluke until you prove it’s not and every loss is the rest of your career unless you do the same, and I am not ready to pack it in just because I decided that I wasn’t ready to die that night. Death may be a revolving door here, but I’m not sure anyone here has what it takes to bring the witch back. That’s kind of like losing the one guy with the car keys and then looking around wondering who’s gonna go drive to pick him up. It’s dumb, is what I’m saying. Never take anything for granted would probably be a better way to say that, but I’m just coming off of getting my shit rocked, so forgive me for not being as eloquent as I should be right now.”

“You’re getting the good old classic Marie Bouchard. No funny business, no magic, no foretelling your doom, just going out there and giving everything I have left in me, whatever that is, so I can get back on the road to where I want to be. And if I teach you a few things in the process, so much the better. I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want bad blood, but I’ve got a lot of it in me right now, so please… forgive me for whatever happens out there. And promise me something in return, will you?”

“That you’ll keep going after this. Because this isn’t going to be your night, Ayla. There’s no getting around that. I’m mad, I’m frustrated, I’ve got something to prove, and those are all things that tend to line up and spell out Fleetwood Mac playing after the bell. Check the tapes. But I would never forgive myself if it got to you. So keep that fucking spirit, Ayla. For everyone’s sake. Because I was never as good as you, never as kind, but I was a pretty decent stopgap in the meantime. We need someone like you, someone with that heart. So when I get my hand raised, come over to me, and I’ll raise yours too. I’m glad you’re here, kid. I really am.”

“Just not enough to go easy on you.”

Michael Bishop, Remington Ivory Prescott, Ayla Rodriguez and Felix Hartley have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 16th 2024, 10:20 pm by **Lazarus Arjen**

Lazarus was … powerless.

He watched as Darkane fought and struggled to keep Belial contained. He watched as blood poured from his body, knowing that the Soulstone was behind all of it. The Profane Covenant - they wanted that stone and were going to stop at nothing to acquire it, leaving bodies scattered and discarded as they did.

That was supposed to be the Seventh Ward’s MO. They were supposed to be the hunters, the most feared and violent team in this company - and they have rightfully earned that. But this Profane Covenant has turned Olympus upside down. Ryo, Dempshaw, Long and now Gunner -- all being led by Lilith and Asmodeus -- have snatched control, dominance and fear away from the Seventh on their warpath for the SoulStone.

And Lazarus felt powerless.

He didn’t know what, or who, these people were - but he knew that they wouldn’t stop until the SoulStone was collected or it had killed Darkane. Determined, though, Lazarus was going to stand by his brother - and he did exactly that at the last Olympus. He withstood the attacks from the Profane Covenant and remained by Darkane’s side, keeping him - keeping Belail - contained. But since then? Since then, Lazarus is nowhere to be found …

His phone had several missed calls and texts from Cassie. Just like Lazarus, Darkane was a hard one to track - and even though she got a hold of her brother and he gave her an eta, Cassie was always worried about him.

Lazarus’ whereabouts, though, remained unknown to Cassie - to OZIAS - to Darkane. ‘To clear his head’, was something Cassie told Darkane and that earworm dug deep into his skull. He thought he had it pinpointed - the cemetery. It was a place Darkane knew Lazarus found comfort - whether it was speaking with Aubrey, or relishing in the eerie silence at dusk. So, even through the pissing rain in New Orleans at nearly 2am, Darkane drug himself through the rows of mausoleums and headstones. “Lazarus! Where the fuck are you?!” he shouted through deep coughs, spitting up blood as he did.

Apart from the rain falling heavily onto the cement and stone, apart from the periodic thunder crashes - the only thing Darkane heard in return was silence. ….

Little did he know that the very pavement of the street that he stepped on as he exited the cemetery, was just above Lazarus.

He sat in the underground tunnels; in the sewer systems that ran beneath the city. Slumped against the cold, wet cement walls that he used to call home when Darkane abandoned him all of those years ago. Why was he here? Solace.

To escape…

His phone vibrated again. Another message, “ [NAME WITHHELD] is out looking for you. He needs help, Laz. Please. Answer your phone.” Another plea from Cassie. One that Lazarus ignored.

“I can’t.” Lazarus’ tone lacked the venom, the hatred that we’re used to hearing from him. He looked at his phone one last time before - with as much power as he could muster - he threw it against the wall. The phone shattered into pieces.

Lazarus looked disheveled, even moreso than normal. He sat with his legs outstretched in front of him, slightly hunched and his head hung. Squeaks and chirps were faintly heard down the long stretch of tunnel that led to this secluded area, except for one. One chirp, one squeak was louder than the rest and the source of it was a singular rat. One that curiously made it’s way to Laz, coming to a stop right by his outstretched leg.

“There was an understanding.” Lazarus said, his head slightly tilted now as he laid his eyes on the rat. “When we dissected the remains of the Big Easy Undercity, there was a mutual understanding that we now stood side-by-side. And side-by-side we’ve taken on, and left every challenge that has come our way, buried in shallow graves. But this Profane Covenant has gotten the better of us. The blood on my hands was not there by my doing this time, but by their actions. The blood belonged to my brother —”. His eyes followed the rat as it curiously moved closer, sniffing.

“-- it belonged to the man who should take the credit for me being here; both in life and in my ‘profession’. Darkane was responsible for my survival on the streets of New Orleans - taking a young, homeless Lazarus Arjen under his wing - turning him into a soldier. A bloodthirsty and violent soldier. One that soon became a monster that not even it’s creator could have stopped. He left, I followed; leaving a trail of blood, bones, ashes and destruction behind me. I came into this industry and savagely ripped through all of Europe - following the scent of the bastard until I tracked him here. Things were bloody and violent, but now we stand reunited and that loyalty he showed me then - I show him now. All of the times he was the shield, I now return that favor --- and I failed.”

He went silent. The rat had moved away a bit, sniffing. Scurrying. Starving. …

“It happened under my watch, and it made me realize. Maybe everyone has been right. Maybe Lazarus Arjen has lost his edge. A razor-sharp Lazarus Arjen has been dullen out lately. What fueled me once now trudged through my veins like oil.” His eyes closed leading into his face scrunching, twisting into a foul scowl. “The anger of my tragedies has begun to fade. It made me realize that now something needs to change. So I thank you Profane Covenant. Now you have given me a new purpose. Vengeance.”

“Vengeance that will be acted upon when the timing is right. Fret not, my little friend --” he said, slowly sliding his hand out to the rat. “-- I am not a man who forgets, nor am I a man that forgives. We just need to wait. Wait just a while longer; we have other business to deal with. Our championships - they’re being hunted again. Hunted by the vengeful defeated, who have somehow twisted their loss at mine and Darkane’s hand into a spell of luck for us. The weak minded are always so quick to believe that they’re never in the wrong, that nothing unjust could happen to them. They would never admit they were defeated - bested by men who are truly better than they are. No. Instead it was luck, or how they almost did this, almost did that. Excuses are all they’re good for, isn’t it?” A somewhat deranged smile touched his lips as the rat crept closer, sniffing.

“A random pairing of Hana and Emmanuelle truly believed they could defeat us; a pair with a lifetime of unity, a lifetime of blood, and when it doesn’t go their way - somehow it’s unjust. Spoiled, pampered and protected; Hana and Emmanuelle think that the world should just be given to them. Men like myself and Darkane - we exist to show them how wrong they are. Men like myself and Darkane exist to remind the world - to remind Hana and Emmanuelle - that life isn’t fair. How long have we been here, friend? How long have you and I known each other? Life has never been fair - but it was fortunate to Hana and Emmanuelle. It blessed them with opportunities while others had to scratch, claw, and fight their way just to the front of the line of the local soup kitchen. Championship opportunities here and in other companies based on ‘star status’, while some had to fight just to be noticed on the same cards. I stood against a league of those men and women who are blessed and gifted with these opportunities, and I brought them all to their bloody ends. But, it’s a never ending cycle - friend. A tournament built around, built for, Hana and Emmanuelle, a team that had - yes - tried and failed to take our championships, but a team that had experience, no matter how minute. The rest in the field? Names drawn from a hat. How difficult it must have been for them, friend, to get through round after round of inferior teams - of random pairings of men who, otherwise, have no business being involved in anything this company does. Men who you question even arrive to the events in the first place, let alone stand by everyone’s favorite insult - the catering table. This makes them deserving?”

Lazarus’ head shook in disbelief, before a disgruntled and frustrated sigh escaped his lips. “Noah Kreiger and Chad Ecclestone are more deserving, but they’ve been crowned the ‘participation’ champions - runner up tag team champions because to the OWA, Olympus is a disease. From the second Darkane and I ripped these championships away from For the Minorities - no one on Kingdom, no one on Odyssey even looked this way. Hana, though, after a series of failures - after falling from the top, hitting every branch of hardship on her way down, before ultimately hitting rock bottom and looking in the mirror to realize that she truly was insignificant without the use of demon powers; she decided it was in her best interest to come after us. Using past credentials to slither her way into a spot that others were afraid to take. Joined by Emmanuelle, tired of simply being a ‘manager’ I guess. Watching her boys fail time and time again, she decided to capitalize on her name and use that success to boost her status here. Hana and Emmanuelle decided that they would regain their status by taking these championships. Arrogance has taken careers, and lives, of better men and women than Hana and Emmanuelle - hasn’t it? And you’ve feasted upon those corpses, haven’t you? Expecting and promising the world of a new reign, expecting and promising the world of new rulers - only to fail. I would say that no one saw it coming, but then again - Hana and Emmanuelle weren’t going up against just any two men. Darkane’s infamy needs no explanation, and I have ripped and torn through each and every person that has been placed in my way since kicking in the door and stabbing Aizen in the fucking heart. But; arrogance has blinded these two to the point where they can’t even admit that they were beaten and their hopes of immortality that they believe championships brings to them, were taken away. If only it were that simple…”

“...Immortality isn’t granted through worthless leather straps adorned with gold plating, but the misconception is large. Immortality is granted through blood, both shed and spilt. Hana and Emmanuelle have not filled a bucket of it in the greater sense, while Darkane and I could drown our foes in bathtubs full of it. Championships come and go, friend. Accolades are worth less than you and I; it’s your actions that live in the minds of your foes. It’s the actions, the atrocities you commit, that enable you to live forever through the memories passed down. Through whispers in the hallways. Through the continuous nightmares you’re the source of. Darkane will never be remembered as a dominant world champion who went over a year without suffering a defeat, but he will be remembered by the level of violence he was known for. I will never be remembered as a champion - no matter how many I win, but I will be remembered for the bloodshed that I’ve caused. This escapes the infantile brains of Hana and Emmanuelle. They exist only to collect belts that will be placed on a mantle, only to collect dust. They are consumed with their greed. They cannot see past it, because if they could - they could see the actual fucking hell that awaits them. Arrogance and greed; it’s blinding, friend, and they simply won’t hear anything other than what their foolish desires tell them.” The rat drew closer, and curiosity began to get the better of others. Squeaking. Chirping. All as they moved to the King.

“My visions have been realigned; thank you friends. I’ve been reminded of who I am, and I know exactly what I need to do. It begins with these two, Hana and Emmanuelle; it begins with the bloodletting of two narcissistic and willfully blind victims. This is just the first sequence into the reemerging of Lazarus Arjen. Powerless no more, I now know my purpose. I now see the path that was previously washed away. The Profane Covenant has peeled back my eyelids and has made me see what I’ve ignored; the true reason why I am here. The violence has been scarce since we’ve become the tag team champions - the Profane Covenant reminded me of who I used to be. And while I cannot get my hands on them - Hana and Emmanuelle will serve as the perfect surrogates. This time, nothing will be left to argue for them. Refocused, reignited - I will carve away all of their pretty little features until they’re left as gruesome on the outside, as they are on the inside. Refocused, reignited - I will drain their veins, painting the mat - and those championships - a nice shade of crimson as a reminder, and a message for anyone else who dares to step into the Seventh Ward.”

“I said it before; you only survive if we allow it. We’ve let off of the pedal, allowing Hana and Emmanuelle to escape the last time - only for them to throw it in our faces. It’s time to correct that mistake, friends. It’s time to give you a feast.” Lazarus’ sinister smile stretched from ear to ear, as his head crooked to the side. His eyes followed the rats that gathered, as if they were listening to him - and in his mind, they were.

… Until they weren’t.

Scurrying at the sound of a bottle smashing, glass shattering and hitting the cement above. The storm drains came in handy, any intrusion was heard and the shuffling of feet above caused the rats to run back into the darkness - leaving Lazarus sitting there, alone.

Legs stretched out, hands folded into one another on his lap and his head lowered. His hair fell in front of his face, and he could be heard humming. Humming an odd, eerie tune that played in his head before whispering, “thank you for reminding me.”

Darkane, Remington Ivory Prescott, Felix Hartley and Poet have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 16th 2024, 6:59 pm by **Noah Krieger**

SUNDAY NIGHT KINGDOM - PROMO #1| BARE MINIMUM DOESN'T CUT IT.

Chicago’s Finest stood alone with his thoughts, only having the ability to stare at a blank monitor in his Chicago household. His eyes were beat-red, with the pair of them being emotionless. They only looked in one direction, not being able to steer away from the TV monitor, no matter how hard he tried to. His arms were folded together, tears started to form from his left eye, as it slowly trickled down that exact side of his face. But he quickly wiped it away, trying so desperately to erase that memory from his mind, but it just wouldn’t fade away. It wouldn’t disappear. He was completely distraught. His mind and body both were telling him that this was it. To finally forget his past and move on.

But he couldn’t do it. Not now. Not ever.

Even with his fair share of gold, including half of the OWA Tag Team Championships around his waist, he’s unable to forget that night. He defended the Spartan’s Championship every single time with the utmost pride and respect, but still his past came to haunt him. He celebrated with his family for the first time in over half a decade, only to be embarrassed days later by yet another member of The Frontline. All of this keeps him awake at night, all of these months later. There’s no timeline where he’ll be able to sleep until he faces his demons.

Until he goes face-to-face with Jeff X.

He unfolds his arms and heads over to his bed, where he gently sits on the edge of it, and stares at the monitor once more. It starts to show the closing moments of their previous encounter, where Jeff would strike Noah in the base of his skull and end his dreams in just three seconds. His eyes only grow more red by each second. They continue to bulge out of their sockets, which only indicates the rage that he was feeling. He saw the image of Jeff holding his dreams high above his shoulders. He slowly sat up from his bed, and made his way towards the monitor, and threw it onto the ground. The screen shattered, but the memories were still there.

He refused to say anything. He simply stood there over the broken monitor for several seconds, and stood there with nothing but silence. He put his arms around his head, and eventually broke the silence with one sentence.

“I’m not number two anymore.” He didn’t smile. He only looked at the shattered equipment over his bedroom, and let out a tiny smirk.

He knew that this was a display of a fresh start. He’s had plenty of success since the last time he saw that video of his defeat, but it still felt different. If he were to fight a pointless battle. If he were to still come out on the losing end of this battle, it would be bluntly obvious that this was all for nothing.

That Jeff has always been the superior one out of the two.

And that can’t be true. It just can’t be.

***

After all I’ve gone through, coming up short to the same man twice would just be... unacceptable. I don’t have the same mindset as the rest that sit there in the back, that accept their fate as second best. I didn’t come into this business with the idea of playing second fiddle to ANYONE. But at every single turn, it seems like that statement becomes less and less true, it feels like at the end of the day, it’s all lies. From Micheal Bishop. To Christopher Sabertooth. To Jeff X. They didn’t believe that I was on the same level of these men, and still to this day, they don’t. When you look at someone like me, it’s very easy to look past an insecure Chicago native, who only wanted to be accepted as a member of the roster. A competitor that stood a chance against The Elite.

But that’s the thing. I am The Elite.

That insecure child that they all swore was beneath them. That you looked past without hesitation — he’s fuckin’ dead. He was killed trying to make it back to this moment. This night. To the man that took everything he held precious, and treated it like it meant nothing, it makes me sick to my stomach. All the championships, all the accomplishments, they don’t mean a damn thing if I miss the shot again. To the man that barely looked me in the eye to begin with, which brings me to you, Jeff.

The two of us aren’t that different from one another. We were both born fighters, with survival being the only thing that truly mattered. But as we continue to head down that path, that’s when the similarities start to slowly dwindle. Having the wish to fight to be the very best only gets you so far, and for you? It’s gotten you to the very top, on more than one occasion. You’re a made man. Those accomplishments that used to be the ONLY thing that mattered in this world, it’s only a piece of the puzzle now. The World Championship should be treated as the ultimate prize in our industry, but instead it’s treated as a side piece to your pathetic family drama, that’s where we differ.

Professional wrestling is all that matters to me. I’ve sacrificed friendships, relationships, and much more to be here today. Losing matters to me, and in a lot of cases, it kills me inside. When you decided that it was YOUR right to rip away my OWA Outlaw Championship right from my hands, I made one promise to myself. That you’d regret believing for even a second, that I’m a weak man. Let me be crystal clear, I’m anything BUT. The definition of a weak man is someone who fails to deliver when it matters the most. Someone who only cares about his own self interests, that it hinders his ability to represent this company. The Alpha World Championship is supposed to mean that you’re worthy enough to be the very best. When it comes down to it, you just think you are.

At one point, you were just a coward impersonating a champion. And now without the gold associated with your name, you’re just a fuckin’ coward. And now everybody knows it. I don’t have my family because they simply assumed that I’d fail. You don’t have one because you are a failure. Let’s be honest with one another, you could’ve chosen the right path. The one that is fit for a champion, but you failed to do so. There might always be that reminder that you were the better man all those months ago, but when I was met with failure, I remained humble. I didn’t lose myself.

You did. And that hasn’t changed.

You choose to act like the victim, when you’re anything but. Unfortunately for you, the world doesn’t revolve around you, or your accomplishments. It never has. So when push comes to shove, and you can’t get the job done, you snap. You can’t handle that you aren’t the best this company has to offer. That there’s someone better than you at the end of the tunnel. But my advice to you would be to bite the damn bullet. You can look at the man that you competed against over a year ago all you’d like, but it would be completely useless. I’ve been so patient. I’ve waited so long for a second chance. For the opportunity to show you what happens when you overlook a Krieger.

YOU FALL LIKE THE REST. AND LEARN THE TRUTH.

That I’ll do anything to prove there’s nobody better. No matter how many I’m forced to try. The job will get done, because it has to. Do you really not remember what happened last time? The title might’ve gone home with you, but people like to forget that without a second thought, I struck you with a car in an attempt to retain MY championship. I’ve told you since the very start, there is NOTHING I won’t do to prove that there’s nobody better than me, not even you. So be honest with me here, when it comes down to it. Do you really think that when given the chance, I won’t put you down right where you stand?

I promise you I will.

There isn’t a single bone in my body that is scared of you — not one. The world might see you as a legend of this sport. As someone who is leagues ahead of me. But that’s just straight-up bullshit. There’s no invincible armor surrounding your body. You still crack like anybody else. You still break just like the rest. And if my memory serves me correctly, you fall just as easily. The only difference is that luck was on your side.

So start being truthful with yourself, motherfucker. You got one over on a young rookie, who didn’t know any better. He was naive. He was gullible. He was plain stupid. Since then, he has evolved. I’ve stepped foot inside of that squared circle every single night. I’ve single handedly busted my ass more than anyone else on this roster, just to be able to look at myself in the mirror? But you? You’re perfectly fine with walking out the door for months on end, and strolling back in here to take the prize I almost DIED for. I’ve put my body on the line time and time again, and I don’t ask anything back except for respect.

I’ve bled for this shit. No amount of words can convey how much this sport means to me, which is why I lay it all out in that ring each and every single time, no matter the risk. No matter the reward. But this time I want something back. I’m DEMANDING something in return. However, it isn’t respect. It’s your FUCKIN’ blood. You hear me, Jeff? I despise you. I constantly see love for you, but what is there to love? I’m the workhorse for this company. I’m the one sacrificing to make this sport mean SOMETHING. And after all of that hard work, you’re the one getting the credit for doing the bare minimum? I’m sick of it.

The sixth anniversary of OWA is about celebrating the history of this company, and all that has come from its rich history. But I don’t exactly see it that way, it’s time for legends such as yourself to stop taking credit for the new generation’s work. For over two years, I’ve been carrying this promotion on my back. I’m the definition of hard work. It’s time for you to step back and accept that the times have changed. You can’t take one step forward and two steps back, and expect results in return. This is a new era. Where hard work finally pays off.

You ruined my life once. And I somehow let you get away with it. But not this time, it’s time for you to learn that actions have consequences. You beat me ONE time and made the entire world believe that I didn’t matter. But this time, when the lights are shining bright, and the entire world is watching, I’m not going to have to make them believe. They’ll know for certain that the new guard has surpassed the old.

So bring your absolute best, Jeff. The bare minimum isn’t going to get it done this time around. The only way you’re going to come out ahead a second time is if you kill me in the center of that ring. This means too much to me. This is my sport. My industry. My time.

And it all starts with putting you in the fuckin’ ground.

Michael Bishop, Remington Ivory Prescott and Colton Saint have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 16th 2024, 2:18 pm by **Krysis**

I'm Done!
OWA Atlantis vs. NAMI

OWA Promos - Page 2 791176c89fe13a1c90aca72b46191531878602fd_hq

Scene opens at Matsuda's private Dojo seeing Devi Krysis with his head down, cracking her knuckles while sitting down, knowing that she's angry and frustrated after losing to Ayla Rodriguez and Diantha Rosso at Dreamworld in her hometown. And thus her losing streak grew she started to speak on her actions after the match.

“I'm tired…”

Knuckles cracked

“I'm fucking tired for taking people for granted!”

Video package showed that Devi was frustrated with her loss at Dreamworld she Discus Lariat Stark and knock off NAMI and left them.

“Stark was the motivation to me, basically considering my friend and mentor to me like everyone else! But what did it get me? Hmm? What did it get me?” video showing Devi nails the Discus Lariat to Stark. ”NOWHERE! Absolutely nowhere! No championship, big time matches, ppv, nothing! It got me losses after losses after losses! And it really gets me to the point that I'm done with this shit! I'm done being a punching bag to everyone in this company, and I'm done coaching with OWA veterans, I'm done being partners with anyone cause you know that I'm gonna lose, I'M DONE WITH ALL OF THIS! Many people will cheer for my actions, some will booed me for it quite frankly that I don't give a fuck about anyone thinks! Because I just got fresh off my victory against Immortal Boss herself, Kita Hikari at Kyoto, she knows my history here and her arrogance cost her. Now NAMI will realize that this new attitude that I develop will be a reminder that Devi is done with losing, done taking shit to everyone and I mean everyone! No partners, no coach, none of that shit! The New attitude is gonna carry every championship and success many people will not like it but they gotta learn to love it every day, every week, every month, every fucking years to come!”

”You can breathe, you can cry, you can care! But in reality you're nothing but sheeps to shed some skin on. So NAMI hope you understand that what I did at Dreamworld was nothing personal. I'm done being a loser, and I'm done with everything that I had put up with and you'll find that out when the New Attitude Devi Krysis will put you down, beat you down into submission or tap you out. It's no mercy for you and no mercy for everyone that steps foot against me till then….

”I'm done talking.”

Colton Saint has spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 16th 2024, 12:09 pm by **Chad Ecclestone**

SEASON SIX EPISODE FIVE
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED
(A GEORGE W. BUSH TRIBUTE PROMO)

An aerial view of the aircraft carrier USS Abraham Lincoln, somewhere in the Atlantic. The flight deck is packed with a group of cameramen, reporters with microphones, and crew members, all facing an empty elevated stage with a large podium erected in the middle of it. Their reason for gathering here today is revealed, as an F-22 lands on the runway. The pilot cuts the engines, leaps out of the cockpit, and removes the flight helmet which obscures his face to reveal himself as none other than the greatest professional wrestler of the past decade, maybe ever: Chadwick Xavier Ecclestone. He smiles and waves to the crowd as he walks to the stage, pausing occasionally to shake hands with some of the uniformed servicemen on the way there. Finally, he reaches the stairs leading up the makeshift structure, and a nearby aide hands him the Alpha World Championship, which goes over his right shoulder, and his half of the Tag Team Championships, which goes over his left. Walking up to the podium, he begins his address to the crowd, and the entire nation watching at home.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we did it!” shouts Chad, pointing back to the elevated bridge of the aircraft carrier as a large banner is unfurled: big, bold letters declaring ‘MISSION ACCOMPLISHED’ over a striped red, white and blue background. There’s even a bad ass screaming eagle, just to make it really patriotic. “Major wrestling operations in North Carolina have ended. In the battle of Dreamworld, the forces of good have prevailed, and the regime of that godless Confederate traitor Jeff X is no more. Finally, America has an Alpha World Champion they can be proud of! A man who represents everything decent and pure, the very ideals which make this the greatest country in the entire world: justice, liberty, equality, anti-Chinese sentiment, keeping women in their damn place, all that good shit.”

“But now is not the time for celebration, my fellow Americans,” he says, holding up a palm to silence the crowd, despite the fact that they’re not cheering or applauding or making any noise whatsoever, “For despite my great, hard fought and well-deserved victory over the low class, deceitful, tobacco-chewing, moonshine-swilling, roadkill-eating racist militia – represented, of course, by El Jeffe and his trailer park Barbie, Felix Fartley – we still have much work ahead of us! A specter still hangs over the Omega Wrestling Alliance, waiting for good men like myself to lower our guards and swoop in to undo all the work I’ve done this past year.”

“We must not grow complacent now,” he slams his fist down onto the podium, “we must keep fighting the good fight! We must continue, until we’ve finally cleansed the world of professional wrestling from all the evils that threaten its very existence. Our mission continues. We have difficult work to do in the Omega Wrestling Alliance, and I do not intend on faltering or slowing my pace now that I’m holding the greatest prize in the company. Now, my friends, is the time to re-double our efforts, and finally secure the future of America’s premier wrestling federation, once and for all! With that goal in mind, I am declaring a War on Terror! No longer shall the enemies of mankind be allowed to shelter within the confines of the OWA! No more shall they be allowed to poison the hearts and minds of the millions of fans watching week in, week out! We shall find them wherever they hide, root them out, and expose them to the harsh light of day, before embarrassing them so thoroughly in that squared circle that they dare not show their faces in polite society again!”

“You mean The Tribunal?” pipes up one of the reporters assembled in front of the podium.

“What?” scoffs Chad, stifling a laugh at the very idea, “You’ve got to be kidding me? That pack of bums couldn’t terrorize a classroom of retarded Kindergarteners! More like Tri-poon-al, because them bitches is pussy, am I right, people? I’m speaking, of course, of a much greater threat.”

“The Covenant?” asks another dumbass journalist somewhere in the audience.

“Give me a break! Those masked freaks are Olympus’ problem, and unlike the rest of the drama-hungry, clout-chasing, dimeless and spineless goons in this company, I know how to stay in my own fucking lane. What happens on the lesser brand is absolutely none of my concern, those boys are going to have to solve their own problems. Or not, what the fuck do I care?”

A wave of confusion runs through the crowd, as the reporters wonder who Chad could possibly be referring to when he talks about this supposed ‘Terror’ he’s waging war upon. Finally, he shakes his head in disappointment at the audience, takes a deep breath, and begins to enlighten them with his wise words.

“The enemy I speak of isn’t contained in any one faction or group, for it can be found in every corner of the industry. The terror of the past! This sick, venal obsession with a bygone era which has stifled and strangled this company’s prospects for so long! These so-called legends of yesteryear, who insist upon taking up the audience’s precious time, and preventing promising rookies like myself and… well, mainly myself, from rising up and climbing the ladder as quickly as we would have otherwise ascended it! I’ve been forced to dwell in the midcard of Kingdom for over a year, despite my proven track record as the biggest draw in the company! The one real star on the roster, with crossover appeal to both normal society and the legions of smelly, kissless, hugless, basement-dwelling virgins who make up the majority of this sport’s fanbase, has been unfairly stifled, muzzled, and held back by management! All so that washed-up ‘athletes’ like Jeff, Jason, Bishop, and countless others could monopolize the audience’s time, squatting on the upper crust of the OWA pie and offering nothing to the fans who cried out endlessly for real entertainment! Men who have lazily rested on the strength of their past accomplishments…”

He pauses, eyes scanning the audience slowly, taking in the crowd’s reaction before puffing up his chest and continuing with his grand, almost Presidential, speech.

“And it is for this reason that I am hereby declaring my candidacy for the position of President of these United States of America, to deny that overgrown ape Scott Oasis his chance to ruin this country, just as he has attempted to ruin the sport of professional wrestling!” he declares, visibly pleased with the shocked gasps from the reporters, letting this news really soak in for a few minutes before he chuckles and speaks, “No, I’m kidding, of course! Between carrying this fucking company on one shoulder, and the entire Hollywood film industry on the other, I’ve got no time to campaign for the highest office in the land! Your path to the White House is safe, Scotty, but be warned: if you try to pull any tricks to fuck up my championship reign, I won’t hesitate to throw my hat in the ring four years from now, and ensure that you are – at most – a one-term President… if you even win the damn thing in the first place! Personally, I'm writing in a vote for Michelle Obama!”

There’s an almost audible sigh of relief from the nervous journos, as Chad clarifies that he’s joking, and that he won’t campaign in – and likely win – the upcoming Presidential elections. The idea of him having his hands on the nuclear codes and finally being able to eliminate the Asiatic menace for all time was a disquieting one to all the peace-loving members of the media assembled here today.

“I’m simply making a point, that I don’t intend on resting on my haunches as past champions have. It is with that goal in mind that I phoned up management and demanded to defend this prestigious Alpha World Championship,” he says, lifting the belt high in the air, it’s golden faceplate glinting marvelously in the sunlight as he speaks, “on the very first show in OWA’s landmark sixth year! Rest assured, fans and well-wishers, I have zero intention of being a part-time champion as others have done, defending my prize every two months at most! I will be a beacon to the industry, a role model for other, shittier world champions out there, a standard for everyone to strive towards! All for the greater good of giving the fans something to look forward to every week!”

“And in keeping with my declaration of war on this sport’s terrible, uninteresting, boredom-inducing past, I’ve been handed the ideal opponent! Nasir Moore, better known as CockMuncher Nas to friends and enemies alike, the very first Omega Heavyweight Champion in this company’s history! A grand achievement, albeit one tarnished by the fact that he was merely awarded the belt by that no-good, low-down son of a bitch Bob Taylor! But no matter! Regardless of the situation surrounding his initial ascension in the OWA, no one – not even a man as disrespectful and out of pocket as yours truly – can deny his grand, lengthy list of victories, both here and in the EAW. You don’t get to headline the very first Final Destination by being a bum, after all. Or maybe you do, that’s none of my concern now. Regardless, here’s the thing: I don’t care. I just don’t. First Heavyweight champion? Great, who gives a fuck? Main evented the first OWA show? Wonderful, tell it to those punk kids you’re ripping off at your shitty little wrestling school. Created Olympus? Good job, bro, and now look at it: a D tier brand, even below reruns of the now-defunct BOBW! If you’re so attached to the blue brand, why don’t you fuck off back to it and let the real stars – namely me – to do our thing without your recitals of ancient history.”

“Stop rambling about the things you did back when you were somebody, and worry about what you’re going to do when you step into the squared circle with someone who has only just begun to peak. And when we’re facing each other in that ring, I am going to peak so fucking hard, bro. Like, peaking all over your face and chest, in such volumes that you’ll find yourself gagging and choking, drowned in the undeniable, virile, thick greatness of a real superstar. Not in a gay way, mind you. I realize now that might have sounded somewhat questionable. Anyway, my point is this: none of it – not a single one of the accomplishments that you’re mindlessly rattling off – means a damn thing. Not to me, not to your friends, not to anyone… oh, sure, maybe those idiots paying exorbitant rates to be trained by someone whose best days passed them by years ago, but nobody else is buying it!”

“And you dare to act like you can take my measure? Who the fuck are you, my guy? ‘Veteran’ doesn’t mean shit in this sport, as I’ve so effortlessly proven since my arrival here. How many lesser men and naturally inferior women are out there, with years – if not decades – more experience than me, but without so much as a fraction of my accomplishments to show for it? I’ll admit, your list of titles is an impressive one… but as always, context is important, and it seems to always elude the lesser-educated among us. I assume you went to public school. Not your fault, but the dire effects of such a substandard education can’t be overstated. You might have ruled the OWA back when the toughest opponents you had to face were bums like Tarah Nova and Bull Connors, but this company has evolved. The competition now is stiffer – heh heh – than anything you had to face back in your glory days, bucko. And who’s on top of the greatest roster in professional wrestling history? Me. Face facts, this place you helped to build has passed you by, brother. You want my advice? You should hang up your boots and fuck off while you still have a bit of legacy and mystique attached to your name, insead of staying around the yard and trying to hang with the big dogs. You’re only going to get embarrassed that way, dude.”

“For as I’ve said, we are in a new era! One that pays no heed to the victories, defeats, accomplishments and rivalries of the past! Nasir… odd name for a white dude, by the way, but let’s not dwell on such trivial details… I have no doubt that you view me as some young upstart, batting way above my level, and easy pickings for a legendary warrior such as yourself. I’ve been doubted by men like you the moment I first set foot in that ring, and I’m used to it. Haters are my motivators, and the greedy little bitches on this roster have given me all the motivation I need to continue to succeed, baby!”

“It comes down to this: I’m the future, and you’re just the past, old man. And the past is only good for one thing: to be reminisced on by the same sad, decrepit bitches who lived it, trying to remember just a small bit of the glory they basked in, the success they used to enjoy, the self-respect they once had. So do me – and everyone else, for that matter – a favor, and go play memory lane on your own time, Nasir. I’ve got bigger things on my plate now than humoring someone trying to relive his better days.”

“I mean, everyone saw the crowd reaction when I rushed in to cash in that briefcase against the walled and bogged whore Felix, with her man face, hilariously out-of-style haircut, and rock-hard, shoddily installed fake tits! They were cheering and applauding me, knowing that I – and I alone – could drag this company’s main event scene out of the mud, and into a new era of thrills, spectacle, and entertainment!”

“Speaking of Felix Hartley, do you feel any remorse for ruining her moment in the spotlight? It is, after all, the second time in a year she’d been cashed in on, moments after winning the big gold…” asks some simp loser in the audience.

“Hell no! Haven’t you been listening to me? Look,” he says, lowering his tone and speaking slowly so even the dumb fucks in the audience can understand his motives, “it’s simple: the fans have suffered long enough. I mean, did part of me decide to enter that ring and take the championship because it was funny to see that villainous cunt kicked into the dirt, her grand prize denied to her yet for a second time? Sure, I’m only human, and I like to see a dumb bitch’s face shoved in shit as much as the next red-blooded American male. But it was mostly, like 80% at least, for you, the people! After all, I’m in tune with the common man, and I know you were all suffering watching that trailer park soap opera play out on yet another PPV main event! That kind of ‘Days of Our Lives’ horseshit is way better suited for the undercard, if you ask me.”

“And what about the Tag Team Championships you and Noah Krieger won at Dreamworld? Are you at all concerned that your attention will be too divided to successfully hold onto both titles you won at Dreamworld?” asks a very, very disrespectful member of the crowd.

“Wow,” says Chad, visibly taken aback by such a classless question from the esteemed media, “first of all: if you personally don’t have two professional wrestling championships from a top-tier company, lower your tone when speaking to me. That’s for starters. Secondly, no, I have no such concerns. Now, I’m sure you all expect me to speak of my partner Krieger as a disappointed parent might speak about their child with Downs Syndrome, but I will do no such thing on this day, or any day to come. I’m proud of my surrogate child, who has finally, after so much struggling, actually proven himself worthy of my patronage and friendship. So don’t think you can walk around disrespecting my pal anymore, alright?”

“Any plans for an official team name for yourself and Krieger? Most other tag teams within the industry have one.”

“Well, we’re not ‘most other teams’, are we? We’re the best team, period, end of fucking discussion. No, my dear media parasites, we have no intention of putting ourselves in some marketable box with a lame-ass moniker. We don’t need to resort to anything as cringe and edgy as ‘Murder Inc’, or some ridiculous pun like the ‘Powerbuff Girls’, or a straight-up, legally actionable copyright rip-off like ‘Black Lagoon’. Not even something as charming, relatable and objectively true as ‘Dudes Rock’. What separates Krieger and myself from the rest of the pack, is that we can succeed on the strength of our own names: Chad Ecclestone, and Noah Krieger. The only two legitimate draws on the entire beshitted roster. We don’t need some stupid nickname to sell T-shirts and tickets, we do that by thrilling the audience with our every word and action, by bringing the people the only guaranteed bangers on the card, week in, week out. And that…”

He pauses, and the world pauses with him, the entire crowd not daring to take a breath as his piercing eyes scan over them, looking through them, seeing all their sins and virtues and judging them accordingly.

“...is the biz, baby.”

His grand speech concluded, Chad Ecclestone steps away from the podium as the USS Abraham Lincoln’s anti-aircraft guns begin firing wildly into the sky above, heralding a new era for professional wrestling: at long last, the Omega Wrestling Alliance has gone Hollywood.

Michael Bishop, Remington Ivory Prescott, Felix Hartley, Brody and Colton Saint have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 16th 2024, 10:20 am by **Michael Bishop**

OWA 6. Who ever thought we’d get this far, and seen the things we have, huh? Who ever thought the first fighters would… Living in the moment is one thing, but to remember the past is to respect the present, and to embrace the future. What a six years it has been…. Troupes and Militias, Gods and Demons, Hell Incarnate standing on the neck of freedom and trying to bathe the world in tyranny, and through it all I have somehow found a place in all of it. Fitting that a man so grounded in nature would aid in holding back all that, overcoming it, and eventually conquering it through sheer fuckin’ will and the ascertainment that there would be tomorrow, as long as we kept fighting inch for inch with the devil for today. As the man who walked into the first match of the first episode of OWA, an unknown from the octagon, to become the fear factor of the main event of OWA5- still the biggest title match in this company’s history… the next chapter of this company’s history begins as I stand shoulder to shoulder with my partner; a surefire Hall of Famer and a Future Grand Slam, against two champions of… varying credibility.

However, the time to act on ceremony has been done since I signed that contract and wrapped my hands. Huddled up with Arata every single time, each match has put us to the test in a different way. Every single time, we have prevailed… through grit, through trading blood for blows, through strategy or cool heads. We don’t have a fancy name, a logo, or a brand… we are Kingdom’s best, the finest defenders of its Frontline, and two of the most stacked resumes in Professional Wrestling. To be a champion, to have to beat them… you have to ensure you are prepared through meticulous, methodical preparation no matter the time or strain, and to take OWA’s Tag Team Throne we need to baptize what we thought we knew in a brand new fire. The only way to do that was to show the world no one can beat us, prove it through every skirmish, defeat the mothafuckers in every god damn detail so when the dust clears there is no question as to how the hell we took the earth as we both have time and time again. So it’s extremely on the anniversary of the company’s founding, on hallowed ground, it’s time to bury hatchets and phantom pains from a world laid to rest. One is a friend, the other an old foe, but both are opponents that must be defeated either through tact or total annihilation.

You understand, don’t you Colton? I’m pulling your leg mate, of course you do… that belt you’re wearing around your waist has weight in both gold per square inch and legacy. Who would be if you did not know your champion’s legacy, eh’ Saint? Born in combat of an Ultimate X, came the supreme workhorse title, that has adorned the shoulders of shitheads, monoliths, and dotted the waist of just about every great who was worth a damn, did a thing, and shook the whole goddamn world. You walked in here on your two damn feet, no hand outs, no requests, just signed and went… I mean shit, to me? That’s gets respect on it’s own because it takes a certain kind of mothafucker to breach from salted ground to champion divinity, on Kingdom no less, I’m one of them. So it is with every ounce of genuine man to man endearment that I say all of that matters not when the bell rings. We are friends, but as the world watches us all duel on the anniversary of the world’s biggest combat sports promotion alive today we must fight. You are the spartan’s champion, so was Arata… and when it comes to me? I am a walking urnfield for all those that have called them Spartan King, from Killashandra, to Osaka, to Appalachia, to Instanbul, to Romania- shit I’ve buried more spartan champions that anyone else in the company.

However it wasn’t by resting on my laurels, Colton, I am a man of action, patient in preparation, and violently precise in execution… I have synergized well with Arata because in the world of Strongstyle and Puroresu, it pays to be a crackshot in the squared circle than it does to be fast and loose, look underneath the canvas and see all of the win-none-failed-big nameless cadavers who signed away their souls just to die and look at the toe tags and see we have buried half of all of them. Arata has made it very clear as well… I’m not gonna shy away from it, your tag partner’s veins are filled with greed, Avarice is his sole lady, and while it has gotten him stats it has cost him. Come ready, Colton, as you always have… You’ve done right by me and my family, that is something that sits steady in my soul and that means something to Chicago’s Finest. However… sturdier tag teams have come up against us, they’ve also crumbled, caved in, or found themselves liquidated in unity in the face of lethality. Just know… when his dagger comes out as it usually does… we may be your opponents, but we won’t let it find its way into your back. See you soon, Spartan’s Champion…

Now… for you: Alessandro Devione. We might not have the same level of history as you do with Arata and Colton, but we were definitely compared back when the Heavyweight King sat on the world’s throne. You through cunning and conniving had found yourself at the top of the Wrestleworld pyramid, surrounded by no one, hated by everyone, sacrificing everything to rule over them all in a nightmare of nepotism that you saw to be your dream-... It’s fitting you say we’re not in your league, because frankly mothafucker your league is goddamn diabetic, sickly, on life support. However such is the result when the crude, paperspined top title of a company built for the narcissistic success of washed up canvas oligarchs, finds new life on OWA’s most problematic, blight filled brand to be nothing but plastic egomania for a man who has really only succeeded off of the mediocrity and opportunistic luck thrown your way. Tell me Alessandro, what do you have going for you? Really have going for you? The company’s longest reigning world champion on days? HAHAHAHAHAHA! Are you actually fuckin’ kidding me? Let me level with you here, buddeh, days mean nothing when the content of it is coasting, crying, praying, and buying your way to success through cheats and tricks. There’s a reason no one gives a fuck about the aMeRiCaN DReAm, and the words “Heavyweight King” still send a shiver up the spine of anyone and everyone. You wanna hear about domination? Here’s a few: Most challenger faced and beaten in a single reign, most multiman defenses in a single reign, most countries defended in, that printed fuckin’ money for anyone within the vicinity as survival or death was the tyranny. You can’t pull the same shit with me, fucker, second match here I ate the brand’s boogeyman alive and screaming, and shit him back out, every veteran's scalp, body, and bones got permanent scars on them from encounters with me. So cut the dreammaking spiel to the man who’s been a chronic, indiscriminate Knightmare for anyone in OWA.

Be honest me here… if you look yourself in the mirror, no fans, no reports, no one… and ask yourself if you can actually beat an opponent by yourself? What do you do when the answer is no. I know my opponents, Allesandro, I dissected the Tribunal before they even stepped into the ring, I morally deboned Jason Long like he was a fuckin’ fish, the devil himself squared up and got dropped thrice… You haven’t won a single thing in your life, when I cut through the flesh membrane of your reign, of the American Dream, I gaze in and see nothing of a pattern of crutches and close calls, near losses turned into phyrric victories even when you cheated your way down the ramp, into the ring, between two bells.

Arata calls himself the Self Made Man because he bled for that shit, even when we went to war, and slugged it out for the fate of the world, he fought on his own two feet. You? Shit I’d bet when you take those strippers home to celebrate, you also pay your boys to fuck ‘em for you too. We kill the competition you’ve faced on a routine basis, sometimes multiple on the same day. Your whole fuckin’ division, your career, your story is nothing but a third rate bullet point compared to our rapsheets. You’re looking scared I can see it, the slight dilation, you’ve bit off more than you can chew. A hungry challenger chomping at the bit on your home turf, invaded a territory you cannot hope to survive on and are opposed on three sides- one of which being your own team mate. Look me in the eyes motherfucker, and I mean look up you short little shit… the HoRrOrs you’ve committed on those you tormented are fuckin pathetic compared to the shit we have done, routinely, the shit I have done with my bare hands.

So get up motherfucker, puff out your chest, flare your nostrils, be angry and be a fuckin’ man!! I want to face the man that caused the migraines of everyone I’ve faced for years, I want to lock horns with the supposed immortal Devione, because honestly? Now that I’m eye to eye? I look down to the atomic level of your career and all I can say is we aren’t in the same area code, let alone the same league; you mothballed your own vanity title for months, across paperviews, I made the letters OWAC international- we aren’t the even remotely the god damn same, so when we get in there I’m standin’ on business, motherfucker.

Some careers are regional, others are continental, Arata and I have achieved success at a hemispheric level. Shot for shot, earned every second of the way, paid in full at the end of the day. OWA6 is the celebration for the fighters who brought a company out of a small time arena in Philadelphia, to the biggest arenas in the world for season after season, years on end, soon to be a goddamn decade. Fear the old man in a game where they die young, afraid, shivering, from strikes, from kicks, or from higher power lightning. Arata and I are going to end this season with tag team gold on our shoulders, the victory over ghosts of a past conflict, but to do that our road to heaven must be burned into the soil. In order to ascend, you’ve gotta take a trip down memory lane and bury any demons you have, lest they be the noose that breaks the neck of your victory.

Colton, come ready, come prepared, you’re walking in as the spartan’s champion on the company’s birthday so stand proud and be ready to face every fuckin’ ounce of PSI that will be coming at you from bell to bell. Allessandro, this ends here and now… your little faction has gotten you far on Kingdom but as has been proven, the second any of them try anything there will be a lot of blood, a lot of fire, and a lot of bodies lining the ring because we spare no quarter and have beaten opposing armies consistently. There is no better friend, no worse enemy, than the alliance of The Dreadknight and the War Doctor. There is no limit, no distance to far, no capability to great for us to meet, as we will set the pace, crank that shit, and bury all those who oppose us in it. This will be no different… but we will go further than ever before.

Darkane, Remington Ivory Prescott, Felix Hartley, Chad Ecclestone and Colton Saint have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 16th 2024, 4:28 am by **Nobi**

Dreamworld I

With so much chaos happening right now, it’s bound to happen that one would be caught in someone’s shenanigans.

Now personally, that's not what happened to me….for now. I decided to get involved in this matter because I believe Darkane, Lazarus Arjen, and Jacob Senn can use some help even though I’m also fighting against Tres Comas Club right now.

Yeah, I decided to take a bit of a break from TCC to deal with this satanic cult that called themselves The Profane Covenant because this is something abnormal that I feel like I could contribute to.

This isn't the first time I have dealt with this kind of stuff. Everybody knows who Abholos and Edward E. Sofly are. I was his first opponent out of all people. I was his introduction to this sport which happened in SSW until he eventually made his way to OWA. That was my first time and I wish so bad I managed to beat him in order to prevent him from causing any more chaos that is going to be remembered by future generations for a long time and I can't blame anyone but myself for failing to stop Abholos the moment he introduced himself to this world.

And eventually, there was a time when Babayka controlled me at Wrestleworld too until I broke his….spell if that's what you want to call it and I beat Babayka all by myself despite him having this otherworldly power to try to control me again, but he failed to do so and I managed to kick his ass.

Now, I get that. Neither Babayka nor Abholos are in this match. This is a different kind of otherworldly power because I suppose Asmodeus and Lillith are involved in this faction.

But guess what? I made God Shenron to grant my wish to revive everyone that died a few years ago when I won my SSW Puroresu World Title.

And not only that, I mentioned that neither Babayka nor Abholos are in this match, but there are Ryo Sakazaki and The Time Lizard. Do you know who they are? They’re two guys that I managed to beat over and over again in countless matches in different countless stipulations.

Regardless of what they call themselves, regardless if they claimed they're different, regardless if they claimed they're new entities right now…..

…..that's some bullshit….

How many times are both The Time Lizard and Ryo Sakazaki going to do this? How many times do I need to either knock them out or make them tap out over and over again?

And what's up with their respective masks? People already know both The Time Lizard's and Ryo Sakazaki’s respective faces. People know what they look like. Maybe it’s part of their rituals but to me, the masks they had to wear to cover their faces are….. just for that. Just for that purpose. To cover up their faces. In a much more harsh words, they hid their faces behind the masks because they’re embarrassed of who they are anymore.

Yes, if I had to change my name or claim that I’m a new being for every single chance I get, I would be embarrassed of myself too, cover up my face with a mask, and maybe call myself “the loser” or something along the line.

Let's face it, Ryo…. Lizard….. that's your schtick. That's your habit. The Profane Covenant aren’t going to be the last group that you both are going to be part of.

But if this is going to be your last group….then Cloud Matsuda, Brandon Hendrix, or myself are going to be the reason why The Profane Covenant is going to be your last group for both of you because one of us is going to manage to stop your breath.

It’s actually ridiculous that Matsuda, Hendrix, and myself have to face both of you this soon…..when you both are already aligning yourself with a different group. How many times have you changed your group this year alone? Twice for The Time Lizard? And three times for Ryo Sakazaki? That's actually pretty funny. You both are always seeking something to get something but in the end, you both always end up to be the butt of the jokes of the group. Let's see if you can turn it around this time.

Certainly not at Dreamworld though. Because at Dreamworld, Matsuda, Hendrix, and myself are going to beat The Profane Covenant and also in hope to stop all of you.

I’ll talk to you individually right now.

Let's start with Ryo Sakazaki, shall we? I’m going to be brutally honest with you. Cloud was never the problem. Hell, Tatsuo Sakaguchi was never the problem either. You're the problem. I’ve always said that but this is just another level of how much of a treacherous piece of shit you really are by joining The Profane Covenant right away after you turn yourself on Sakaguchi. Well, that's not truly surprising considering you betrayed your own trainer in Matsuda. So, how long are you going to stay with The Profane Covenant until you blame them for something you cause to yourself this time around? I know you're not going to like what you’re hearing from me right now but I wouldn't be surprised if you leave The Profane Covenant at one point….maybe even until Dreamworld over when you find a way to blame The Time Lizard and Gunner after you get your ass kicked and getting pinned by Matsuda, Hendrix, or myself. Yes, you’re the new Icarus Champ right now. Congrats to you, but Tatsuo Sakaguchi isn't in this match and the last time you and I met in the ring, I knocked your ass out and pinned you 1-2-3 right in the middle of the ring during The Shield and Sword Tournament and I did it with an injured arm. Imagine if I did it with full power, I might have caused a head trauma injury and possibly stop your wrestling career and that's just counting the last time we met one another where I personally kicked your ass, Ryo. How many times did I do that to you? I'm genuinely asking because I genuinely forgot how many times I’ve beaten you over and over again. Well, maybe you can help me to give me the answer but that's ok if you can't. Because I know it’s just too much at this point and it’s tearing you up inside, Ryo. Sorry about that but obviously, I want to kick your ass again at Dreamworld by throwing you to a table.

And that's amazing. The Time Lizard is in the same group with you right now, Ryo. As I said, The Time Lizard is also another name that I always managed to beat and just like Ryo, the last time I met The Time Lizard was also in The Shield and Sword Tournament where I kicked his ass and pinned him 1-2-3 too. And of course, I want to do it again at Dreamworld, The Time Lizard. I’m going to give you a little break though, you saw it coming Tres Comas Club were going to turn on you, didn't you? But that's also my point. Why did you join them in the first place to begin with? And even if you saw it coming that Tres Comas Club were going to kick you out, why did you join The Profane Covenant right away? What makes it going to be different this time? As I said, you happened to always be the butt of the joke of the group, just like Ryo is. And let's face it, a few years ago, you were leading your own tribe and…..what happened? They just disappeared. Why? Maybe because they thought you were too much of a joke as their leader? That's the most likely reason, Lizard. Yes, I decided to call you The Time Lizard because of your….transformation but that's at least for appearance only because I know deep down inside, you’re still Reginald Dampshaw III. And Dampshaw is always someone that I managed to beat and this time isn't going to be different either, The Time Lizard. Sure, you managed to overpower me in our brawl before, but that was just a brawl where there was no official winner. Well, just like always, I’m going to be the official winner along with Matsuda and Hendrix at Dreamworld because just like always, I’m going to kick your ass….again by throwing you to a table.

Yes, all I’m saying is that both The Time Lizard and Ryo Sakazaki still suck.

But I realized there’s still one opponent that I haven't addressed properly because I don't have much history with Gunner yet but I know not only did he make it to the top 5 final of Olympus’ Clash of Titans, but also he managed to beat Lazarus Arjen in a brutal match….and Arjen himself is a brutal individual, so I know how brutal Gunner can be. Maybe I haven't even seen his best version of him yet but this is what makes pro wrestling exciting isn't it? To get to know the unknown. And something makes me wonder. If he can beat a sadistic individual like Lazarus Arjen in a violence match, why did Gunher feel the need to join The Profane Covenant? What does he want with this group actually? Well, I don't think it matters right now but Gunner is part of this and therefore, I also need to make sure to stop him just like I always did it to both Sakazaki and The Time Lizard. I’m going to say, for the short time since you arrived at Olympus, you’re a great in-ring performer by making an impact in a short time. But I’ll tell you what, you’re in the wrong boat and I’m going to be your compass to bring you to the right way by kicking your ass and beating The Profane Covenant. Matsuda, Hendrix, and myself are going to prove that we’re going to win at Dreamworld. We’re going to throw all of you to a table.

I believe The Profane Covenant aren't going to stop at Dreamworld yet but I personally always welcome a good old-fashioned hard hitting fight and I believe that is what is going to happen in this match. And I believe Matsuda, Hendrix, and myself can win this match too.

Especially with 2 individuals as my opponents that I have beaten countless times in the past. Maybe you all can make this difficult but certainly, you’re going down at Dreamworld when Matsuda, Hendrix, and myself win this match.

And as I said, we’ll welcome another fight and war another day too if you all want another beating.

But this time around, it’s time for the 3 of you to be put through a table. Just a beating isn't enough.

Michael Bishop and Remington Ivory Prescott have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 15th 2024, 11:26 pm by **Poet**

The title seemed shinier than normal.

It was well known that Poet took pride in the Prestige Title and that it went most places with him. This wasn’t done to showboat - it wasn’t as if he went into meetings with it around his waist, or that he went to watch his son play basketball with it draped over his shoulder. Poet would be the first to agree that there was always an air of arrogance around everything he did, but wasn’t THAT stupid. The title might sit in his car or, as it did now, sit on the left hand side of the desk for people to see. He didn’t like having it out of sight or, on the occasions it needed to be in the car, out of complete reach. It was a reminder of the effort he had put into getting it, defending it and keeping it in his possession for nigh on 270 days. Things like that didn’t happen by chance. It happened through dedication, hard work, commitment and a willingness to do what needed to be done, no matter who you hurt in the process. It’s why Poet had been successful in business and now why he was successful in OWA. Part of that could be down to aligning himself with the Tres Comas Club, but most of it was down to him, and him alone. His brother might believe that luck is always involved in the outcomes of life, but Poet didn’t believe it. Never had. Luck was for those who didn’t have the talent to succeed on their own.

These were the thoughts going through Poet’s head as he sat behind his desk and looked at the title that he had cleaned to a mirror shine about half an hour ago. His suit was brand new - another custom piece from Balani that would have cost an arm and a leg to the average punter - and he was still getting used to the new haircut. His wife had been nagging him for weeks that it was time for a change, so to keep the ball and chain happy, he had gone through with it. He had to admit that it made life easier, as it was simpler to look after, but he did miss popping it up into a pony tail on those windy days.

The glass of whiskey - this time from a bottle of Gordon & MacPhail Connoisseurs Choice 1989 Mortlach 31-Year-Old - was sitting to his left, and sitting as it ever did in the middle of the desk was his leatherbound notebook. It hadn’t been used in a while as he hadn’t been required to wrestle too often recently, but with a title match just around the corner, it had seen more use than it had in weeks. After making sure all was in order, Poet smiled and looked down the camera.

“I have to say that it’s good to be back. I wanted to start proceedings by apologising to the wider OWA community for my brother’s actions here a few days ago. I need to give you all a little background as to the relationship we have had over many years. You see, until his return to OWA, my brother and I rarely spoke. When we went our separate ways - both in life and in wrestling - we mixed in different circles. My brother enjoyed going to strip clubs, drinking copious amounts of beer and funding this excess through prodigious wrestling talents that he has mostly wasted across his career. For me, I went to university, started up my own business and became successful. Wrestling was, and still is, a hobby for me. A way to stay fit and to enjoy a dirtier aspect of my life that I cannot pursue any other way. For these reasons I kept my brother at arms length. He wasn’t welcome here and I rarely sought him out because, often, I wouldn’t be able to find him. He was a nomad of sorts and I know he left Denver for a while.”

“So, when he came to OWA, we rekindled our relationship to a certain extent. We are still on different playing fields but I knew how good he was in the ring… well, when he is sober anyway. So as part of the offer to join the Tres Comas Club I made the effort to see him on a regular basis. I even made the effort a few times to visit his ‘abode’ to try and rebuild what was lost. It seems that, as part of this, he feels as though he can turn up to my house any time he pleases and threaten me in my own office. The problem for Jake is that I don’t scare easily. He might have beat me up when I was a kid, but I’m not a kid anymore. When Jake looked into my eyes as he held me against the wall, he didn’t see the fear of a teenager. He saw the anger and the hatred that sit deep within my soul. I won’t be revoking the offer to join the Tres Comas Club - after all, Jake has shown that the beer hasn’t dampened his ability to show some killer instinct when the need arises - but invitations into my home won’t be forthcoming. You won’t be seeing him here any time soon. This is a house of class, not a house for vagrants to come in when they feel like it. You can rest assured that security has been strengthened so that if he comes here again he will find out quickly that he won’t be in any state to face off against Corey Matthis in a weeks time.”

Poet then pauses and takes a small sip from his whiskey glass.

“But, I digress. Enough about Jake. We need to turn our attention to the first night of Dreamworld. I want to give a shout out to my old friend, Brody, on his title match against the Devastation for the American Dream Championship. I hope you win. I mean, it must be a little embarrassing to get chance after chance after chance and bottle it every time. You’re like Greg Norman, generally considered one of the greatest golfers of all time… yet he couldn’t win the Masters. He was in winning positions time after time and he always found a way to come up short. That’s just like you, Brody. Always coming up short. I’ve heard your previous girlfriends have said the same thing.”

“Then we come to the Golden Gauntlet. He and I had a little run in on the last Olympus and, just like that, he was given a shot at my title at Dreamworld. Perhaps he was scared, or maybe he felt as though he didn’t deserve it. Whatever was the case, the man likes to say that he has ‘got the meat’, but he clearly doesn’t ‘have the balls’ to face me, and so off he has scarpered into the night. He is no more Golden than the 20 dollar fake gold necklace that a 14 year old boy gives to his first love on Valentine’s Day. It looks good to begin with, and everyone fawns over it, until the gold quickly fades and leaves her with nothing but an itchy rash that takes days to disappear. Such is Golden Gauntlet’s relevance here in OWA. Shone brightly for a while but he couldn’t take the heat and had to get out of the kitchen.”

Poet pauses for a moment as he takes another sip of the expensive whiskey in his glass.

“And now what have we been left with? With most opponents beaten or not worth of the opportunity to face me for the title, the powers that be have had to fabricate a reason for someone from Kingdom to pop over to face me instead. Apparently, this man took umbrage with something I said on the last Olympus show and has decided to ‘put it right’, and by put it right, it seems to mean that he can waltz over and have a crack at the Prestige Title.”

“That man, ladies and gentlemen, is Raivo. Now I’ll freely admit that I know little about this specimen who plies his trade on another show. I mean, why would I? You’ve got to focus on what is in front of you, and that has been ensuring that this title stays around my waist, and that the Tres Comas Club stays on top of Olympus. With my own business ventures, it can be difficult to put time into anything else. Just ask my family - time with them has been tough recently. So when it comes to wrestlers who aren’t even on Olympus, my knowledge becomes a little thin.”

“But in doing my normal reconnaissance work on my opponents I was able to find out a little about this ‘Raivo.’ Now, it’s no coincidence that I used a fake gold necklace as an analogy before, because Raivo likes to refer to himself as ‘The Authentic’. That, friends, is a big call to make. When you look at the deeper meaning behind the word you’ll find that it means ‘of undisputed origin and not a copy’. That last phrase really piqued my interest - not a copy. To go against the grain and be someone who is truly authentic is not something that is easy to do. I’ll give Raivo credit for the amazing amount of moves that he seems to have perfected - although this doesn’t seem to have helped achieve of anything of real note - and that, yes, some of those moves could be classed as ‘authentic’. How many wrestlers would have a moved entitled ‘The Ronaldo’? Or the ‘Christopher Reeve’? Now, when I say that we need to give him credit, I mean it. But don’t mistake that for a compliment. While no one else would have these types of moves, or name them as such, it’s because they aren’t dumb enough to do it. It isn’t classy. It isn’t funny. It just makes him look… desperate. Desperate for attention. Desperate for the wider OWA community to notice him. He is like that kid in class who has little going for him other than his fading ability to make people laugh. They do so for a while until the schtick becomes tiresome.”

“Does the authenticity end there? Of course it does. You didn’t really think it would be different, did you? Have a look at him. Walking out with a decorative cane. Using the word ‘dawg’ all the time in his promos. Shooting off at the hip with a swagger and arrogance that nobody is buying. This man is just like every rapper you have ever seen since the late 80s. Is he Ice Cube? Maybe he wants to be Tupac? Is he going to start a stable here in OWA titled ‘N.W.A’? Will his new manager be Dr. Dre? The bigger question is… who gives a shit? The man calls himself authentic, yet there is nothing authentic about him at all. Not in his look. Not with how he carries himself in the ring. Not in the way he speaks to people. Everything about him is fake, just like that dodgy gold necklace that is given in good faith but never stands the test of time. It’s all shiny and brings a smile to your face… for about a week. But when you look hard enough at it, you quickly realise that everything about it is fake. Inferior tools, inferior metals, and inferior colour.”

Poet pauses again to clear his throat with another sip of whiskey.

“And that, Raivo, is what you are. Your schtick is inferior. Your swagger is fake. Your arrogance is misplaced and your right to face me at Dreamworld is fabricated. You’ve been thrust into this position because they clearly have nothing better for you to do. The list of people who deserve a shot at this title have dwindled down to nothing over these last few months. So, the powers that be panic and here we are. Golden Gauntlet ran away with his little tail between his legs and I’ll have you doing the same once this is all over. You see, 270 days as the champ has given me time to reflect on what I’ve been able to achieve here. When I arrived all I was hungry for was respect - it’s what had gotten me to the top of the business tree, and when I wanted to take wrestling a little more seriously than I had before, respect was what I wanted. My heart had never fully been in wrestling and it showed. But, the moment I put my foot down and put further energy into it, everything changed. It took me no time at all to have a title around my waist and surpass anything that my brother had achieved in the business. He might have won a few titles on the local circuits, but when he came to the big time, he failed. Not me. Not only did I win the Prestige Title, but who I am and what I do has stood the test of time. You’re going to quickly realise, Raivo, that you’re out of your league. This is where the big boys play. And you, Raivo, aren’t one of the big boys. You’re a little pup that is yapping away from the corner, trying to look like the guys you idolise, but always falling short. And that’s what will happen at DreamWorld - you’ll fall short, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

Poet then shifts slightly in his chair as he pulls the notebook a little closer to himself. He opens it up and flicks through the pages until he finds the one he wants.

“Now, Raivo, it’s time for some poetry. It’s been a while since I was afforded the chance to do this, so in the spirit of the people you wish to be like, I’ve tried to write this in a language you can understand. For someone who uses ‘dawg’ that was a challenge, so I hope that what I’m about to say doesn’t go directly over your head.”

When he walks down the aisle, holding that cane

Raivo wants to be like his idols, although he looks rather lame

He nods and he winks and he says his ability is nothing but fact

The problem is that he looks like a slightly retarded Tupac

That might be hard to hear for Raivo; the little fella does try hard

But he’ll be writing his next promo inside of a Hallmark card

Because when he steps into the ring with a member of the Tres Comas Club

He’ll end up in hospital with no one visiting; they’ve all decided to give him the snub

Because on the outside looking in Raivo believes he has everyone’s respect

He lives off in a fairy tale land so it’s something we’ve all come to expect

Before the match next weekend he’ll get down on his needs to pray

He’ll hope to get the ‘Next Episode’ like his idol Dr. Dre

But everyone in OWA knows the truth

We don’t need any further proof

That Raivo is all bark and very little bite

Snoop Dogg he ‘aint, a steaming pile of manure is what he is on sight

For this little man with no skill and no talent got himself a title shot

He isn’t even the main character in this story, just a boring little sub-plot

He is full of bravado to mask what he really is

Nothing but a phoney, his whole gimmick is not even his

Take a look at his move set, the man is in love with lists

He says he can master fifty, but that’s just a load of piss

He wants you to see him as some sort of God

But all we see is a chirpy little devil… dawg.

So let us look ahead now

To the match up that they will somehow allow

One is the future of this company

The other might just be in it for the money

Those watching it home will be promised that Raivo will have a crack

The poor thing will probably not even understand this ‘diss track’

He will fly, he will jump, and he will make you think he’s a chance

Which won’t be believable as around his ankles are his pants

So when it is all said and done

Poet will have the title, Raivo will have none

He can slink to the back with his thoughts and his cane

Blood spilled and in a world full of pain.

It’s dangerous to mess

With the the best

That Olympus

Has to offer…

Poet slowly closed the notebook and took one final sip of whiskey from his glass.

“So, Raivo, I look forward to finally meeting you at DreamWorld. I can’t say that it will be a pleasure, but sometimes we have to do things we don’t like. And, for you, that will be losing to someone who is far superior to you.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more pressing matters to attend to. Until next time…”

Poet smiles widely down the camera as the scene fades to black.

Michael Bishop, Remington Ivory Prescott and Felix Hartley have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 15th 2024, 9:13 pm by **Jacob Senn**

Do you smell that? Do you smell the iron stench of blood in the air? Do you feel the moment right before the storm approaches? Everyone speaks about the calm before the storm, but it’s really the scent before the storm I’ve always found to be interesting. The faint smell of the rain right before it drops onto your face, it is a visceral memory in my mind and right now, that’s where we stand because ladies and gentlemen, the storm is quickly approaching. A storm promising nothing but destruction and chaos for a world I hold so dear and it is in the form of The Profane Covenant.

However, I’m getting ahead of myself because there are some who might not even know why we are here, so let me open the storybook and allow you a view of the tale which has been woven by the sinners of this world. Not too long ago, I held the richest prize in professional wrestling in my hands: the Immortal Heavyweight Championship. I vanquished the seemingly unstoppable Darkane, I conquered the crowned prince in Remington Ivory Prescott, and I stood above them both with the right to be known as immortal. However, The Devil on RIP’s shoulder had other intentions when Mark Michaels rushed down the ramp to attempt to cash his Ascension to the Heavens briefcase against me, he assaulted Michaels, The Devil assaulted me, and lo and behold RIP’s name is in the contract. Of course this would be the way RIP would regain his championship because any method of gaining a championship through honor, valor, prestige? You can throw that out the window because all RIP can do is cheapen a legacy I made worth something. Chaos ensued—a chaos that has now become a familiar guest in our world of Olympus. With this upheaval, the new threat of The Profane Covenant emerged with men wearing masks to hide their true faces because of the shame they possess for what they are doing. Playing as demons under the guidance of entities known as Lilith and Asmodeus to transform the world I had built into nothing more than a mere wasteland over which they could rule. Funny, right? These people wish to perform the task I had set out for myself years ago because of the broken ego and pride I had regarding the standing of The Dynasty and here we are, set upon the same cycle again. As one of my old friends once said, time is a flat circle and this Profane Covenant is definitely allowing those words to ring true.

After the night where RIP stole the Immortal Heavyweight Championship from me, I had a choice and needed to make a decision. I could claim my rightful rematch against RIP to claim the championship I should have never lost, or I could delay this match for the championship to allow Mark Michaels the opportunity to achieve what he has worked countless years to achieve in becoming world champion. In the face of this, I decided to make the right choice and the only option which would sit right with me in my soul: delay my rematch and allow Mark Michaels the opportunity he richly deserves. Why? As funny as it might sound coming from me, the immediate gratification of personal glory must be set aside for the greater cause: the safety and integrity of Olympus. Instead of pursuing the acclaim of world championship splendor, I chose to stand against the encroaching evil and find a way to quell the raging storm before it wrecks its full havoc upon my brand. My legacy.

I have worked since the very first day Olympus was broadcast throughout the world to make sure it was the greatest brand of professional wrestling you could find. I have worked day in and day out for the past fifteen years of my career to make sure I have created a body of work to outlast me for years to come. I have wanted nothing more than to be the greatest to ever lace up a pair of boots and stand inside of the ring, the best to have been able to call myself a wrestler, and carry the prestige of championship glory on my shoulder. This is what I have labored with my own sweat, blood, and tears for over a decade to become a pillar of this industry and this Profane Covenant only seeks to bring desecration and destruction to everything I have done. Jason Long has been touted as one of the best in this business, one of the men who are pushing the envelope and making his name to be the present greatest of all time, but all I have ever seen from this man is bitter disappointment after disappointment. He walked into Kingdom with everyone singing his praises, everyone pulling from him to become the OWA World Champion and the moment he has claimed the title in his possession, what does he do? He flounders the opportunity. He fumbles at the very first defense. The trademark failure for a wrestler who is all hype, and no substance. That’s the difference between Jason Long and myself because while he flounders in that stage, I thrive in it. I dream of it. I crave it. The challenge and desire to put every other wrestler to shame when they stand in the ring with me, it is the driving force to why I proceed to fight in this industry because defeating the best, showing hailed stars of today can’t touch me inside of those ropes, it makes my legacy even greater to the point where there will never be anyone who deny my legacy. My name as the best will remain undeniable. You? As soon as you capture gold, you simply discard it because the chase and hunger is what drives you like a common street dog.

However, that’s what caused your arrival to Olympus and to cost me my Immortal Heavyweight Championship. You came to not simply shock the world and let them know you’ve hopped onto Olympus, but you saw me as a man who could thrive with gold on his shoulder and it just ate you alive from the inside. Watching from afar, you had this simmering rage building inside of you because you were watching a man you believe to be past his prime having the moments you were due. Holding the championship you were owed. Sitting upon a throne you had felt was your birthright. You made a declaration of war, a war on my legacy and Olympus entirely, this Covenant to see the ruin and destruction of everything I have worked to build for this industry and you may find ruin through this quest—your own ruin through blind ambition. The Profane Covenant has made a promise to destroy his pillar of the wrestling world, but you may have forgotten something very important in your rush to achieve this ambition. In your vanity and greed, you have forgotten about a sentinel who guards the sanctity of the ring and Olympus from the destruction you seek to inflict upon it. You fail to realize the legacy this brand holds as a testament to the spirit of true fighters in this sport who fight not simply for championship glory, but for the greater passion for this sport which I find lacking in the eyes of The Profane Covenant. For you are not driven by the passion of this sport, you are driven by the rumbling in your belly. You are driven by the thirst scratching against your throat. You are driven by the lust rushing through your veins. Animalistic urges simmering underneath you until you can no longer control them, the sin craving to be released from your body to be inflicted upon those you view to be the cause of your struggle, and how do I know this?

For I was once the vessel of Belial, the most vile name to walk through these halls, and I sought the same destruction this Profane Covenant seeks. You should know the path does not end with the satisfaction you seek. Your hunger… your thirst… your lust… it only becomes even more maddening than it was when the excruciating defeat you are met with arrives.

Many have waited for this moment where we would be forced to do battle between each other and to be honest with you, I had been awaiting this moment myself. Everyone spoke about the great Jason Long who had appeared in OWA, the man who had everyone speaking about how he would be a future world champion and stand as one of the best here in the company, and I was almost fooled into believing you to be the sort of person I would actually enjoy to stand across the ring from. I saw what you became and it changed my perspective on you. Failure, apathy, you allowed yourself to fall between the cracks of the wrestling world because you were no longer entertained with being the man on top of the mountain. You didn’t believe you had to work hard while carrying the rich crown of the world championship and everything would be what you dreamed of, but there are always people waiting to take the throne from you and you? You weren’t prepared. Against one of my most storied rivals in Stark, you crumbled underneath the pressure and allowed him to claim that championship from you and proved you weren’t a true champion. Even now, you proceed to prove you aren’t truly a champion. You succumb to your base nature at the drop of a hat, but a true champion? He stands a beacon for the future. Someone who fights with honor and integrity, even when the odds are stacked against them, and obviously this is not the path you have chosen.

This is a fact you should know well, Jason, because as you align yourself with shadows and schemes, I stand here, tempered by battles both lost and won, ready to face you not just as an opponent, but as a herald of what a true champion embodies. Let's be clear, Olympus isn’t just another brand of wrestling to me—it is home to the fighters who carry the traits of perseverance, who possess the fighting spirit, and desire a championship such as the Immortal Heavyweight Championship demanding respect from not just its champion, but the entire sport as a whole. When you speak of Olympus and the chaos you intend to unleash, you challenge the very essence of what many of us have fought to uphold. What I have fought to uphold and establish in the foundation for what this entire company has been founded upon. I may not be the man who is recognized as a founder for this company, but I’m the one who has remained the constant of this company and its standard bearer. If anything, I have fought and devoted myself to this company with fierce loyalty more than anyone else could say towards that fact. You can stand there with pride in your heart, revel in the prospect of destroying this brand I have worked to create, but I’ve been in the trenches of this industry to rebuild what I had broken as Belial’s vessel. I have been doing everything in my power to rectify the mistakes, mine included, and fighting for the redemption of an entire legacy. This isn’t about gaining another notch on my belt by defeating you in the middle of the ring, but it’s about the responsibility I bear on my shoulders and devoted myself to carrying. The responsibility to be the one who stands as the guardian, the responsibility to make sure every fighter on this brand can become the best version of themselves they can be, and every fan is able to watch the best wrestling in the entire world instead of a chaotic mess you hope to bring forth with the wasteland you promise.

Here we stand at the precipice of this storm rolling into Dreamworld, I can feel the blood rushing through my veins, but it is not the lust of fame or gold driving me. It is the simmering rage for vengeance coursing through my veins, the desire to vanquish the evils of those who stand for the banner of destruction and ruin as Belial did, it is the wrath ready to be provided to the one who cost me my redemption. Through costing me the Immortal Heavyweight Championship and proceeding to make sure to bring chaos whenever you arrive onto Olympus, you have made a critical error in your strategy: you underestimated the resolve of The Punisher as a man who has nothing left to lose in the ring with you and everything to gain by standing up against you and your Profane Covenant in your question for destruction.

You can wear the mask of harbinger, creators of a new beginning, purifiers of the slate air, and truthsayer of the real foundations of this industry. You can prophesy about the end you intend to deliver upon the world of Olympus, but where I stand shows us a beginning. A beginning where the Profane Covenant is met with resistance, a beginning where the soul of this very brand is fought for, and a beginning where the true champions of this industry rise not from the ashes of those who have fallen from the great battle to be made, but from the relentless pursuit of prestige we have devoted ourselves to delivering to Olympus. Even though you may wish to break the spirits of those who will stand against you, let me assure you my spirit will not be dismantled by the cheap tactics or the masked threats you have made here in the past. I have been forged in the fires of adversity you would only be able to buckle and submit against. I have honed my skills through clashes against the greatest giants and warriors this industry has ever laid their eyes upon. I have sharpened my mind in the shadows of doubt where in the moments when I believed there was no chance and when the boots were calling for me to hang them up, I cast those thoughts away as lies to make sure I enter into the ring with the indomitable will my reputation has become known for. You can aim to destroy this brand, you can hope to bring men like me to their knees to grovel in submission to the Profane Covenant’s demands, but I stand before you ready to defend what I have built with every fiber of my being! As you have faltered when the spotlight of world champion has been placed upon you, the Profane Covenant will falter in its quest of destruction against the indomitable will I possess and those who stand with me against you. Those who believe in the sanctity of the ring, those who possess the spirit of true champions, and those who will not allow the legacy of Olympus and the crown of the Immortal Heavyweight Championship to be tarnished by the demons of the Profane Covenant any further.

As Dreamworld approaches just around the corner and will be here before you know it, remember these words I have provided to you, Jason Long: this match will not be everything you had dreamed it would be. My rage has been stirring and simmering with my veins for too long to allow this to proceed past Dreamworld. The storm approaches, but it is not this storm of violent destruction and desolate ruination this Profane Covenant dreams to realize. It is a storm of wrath and fury, ready to destroy the thief who snatched the crown from Olympus’ immortal guardian, and show the entire world what a true champion truly is. This match between us will be a crucible in which the true essence of our souls will be tested as we are plunged into the fires of adversity once more. The burning sensation the flames of hardship lick against my skin during wars of this magnitude is where I thrive. I will show you this lion isn’t close to its end yet, but the beast who can wade through the shadows of evil and find the strength to prevail where only this ordeal can provide. I don’t expect this to be a simple task and know you will provide me with a battle the entire world will be on the edge of their seats to see play out, but when the dust settles? When the echoes of our clash fade into history and memory? When the bell has rung when all is said and done? There will be no doubt, no lingering shadow, no thread to hang onto for salvation from the end. I will walk out of Dreamworld not simply victorious against you, but vindicated for what you have done unto me.

This quiet thing known as rage has been simmering into my blood for a long time now with you. It has been lying in wait for the moment where I can finally have you in the ring without another soul to interfere in the business we must deal in. Dreamworld will be where I give into the wrath and where many would hope to provide you with mercy, there will be none from me. Defeating you, Jason Long, and putting an end to the threats you and the Profane Covenant have made will be my mission and when I am finished with that, the Immortal Heavyweight Championship will return to me. This is my promise, my vow, and unbreakable oath.

Do everyone a favor and admit the defeat coming at Dreamworld. Surrender to the fate you have created for yourself. Remind the world what you have done at every single chance the spotlight has been placed upon you, Jason. Let your lasting memory in this match be what your eternal legacy is.

Your failure.

Michael Bishop, Remington Ivory Prescott and Felix Hartley have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 15th 2024, 6:46 pm by **Emmanuelle**

The following footage is a segment of OWA Japan, a highlight show featuring Japanese commentary from all OWA shows compressed into a hour block of television.

“And now Emmanuelle is stalking Nobi, waiting for the critical moment to land her Palisades Bomber ... .SHE RUNS IN FOR IT! HERE IT COMES!”

“BUT NO! Nobi’s got her on his broad shoulders! The Indonesian muscleman has her up for the Attitude Adjustment, but EMMANUELLE COUNTERS IT! A SPINNING PALISADES BOMBER! The crowd is on their feet as Nobi is down!”

“Stephanie Matsuda comes in, looking to keep Emmanuelle from capitalizing, looking for the Blasian Suplex…EMMANUELLE FLIPS OUT OF IT…..ROSSO REVOLVER!?”

“The move from her mentor Carlos Rosso saved her there!”

“Indeed, but now can she seize the prize for her team, she’s lifting Matsuda up on her shoulders….What is this!?”

“I’ve never seen Emmanuelle utilize this…..SHE DROPS STEPHANIE MATSUDA DOWN ONTO THE CANVAS HEADFIRST! OCEAAAAAAAAANNNN…”

ONEEEEEE

“CYCLONEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

TWOOOOOOOOOOO

“DRIVAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!”

THREEEEEEEE!

(DING DING DING!!!)

“The Platinum Queens have won! They have overcome Dudes Rock after a Draw in the semifinal round and the ace team of World’s Finest, Stephanie Matsuda and Nobi. A tournament of all the up and coming tag teams on Olympus and the Platinum Queens are the ones standing. They are the Sword and Shield Tournament Winners!!”

“Amazing contest. The Queens had to use every bit of skill to navigate the Power of Cletus, the Willpower of Nobi, the Savvy of Stephanie Matsuda and the insane skills of Brody, but now Dreamworld awaits. The Seventh Ward Awaits! The champion team embraces in the ring, what a historic night! What an outstanding tournament, WHAT AN OUTSTANDING TEAM! The Seventh Ward may be a different proposition, but for now, all of Olympus have no choice but to BOW DOWN TO THE QUEENS!”

With the Sword and Shield Tournament victors decided, Emmanuelle and Hana Nakajima had a ceremony later in the night to raise the trophy and address the champions. Heated words were exchanged between the Champions and their top challengers and a staredown took place…only to be interrupted by the chaos brought forth by the Profane Covenant. In a wild brawl, the challengers and champions were roughed up, as this frightening new regime threatens to subjugate all of Olympus and in their eyes the very planet itself. With the threat of war with an invincible force in the near-future, is there any heat taken away from the next tag team title game? Not if you ask Emmanuelle. The Platinum Standard finally has her first major OWA honors alongside former World Champion Hana Nakajima, and now she looks to add her first OWA championship onto her sterling resume. This match, however, is far more personal to her than just acquiring championship gold.

(A video message begins to play with Emmanuelle sitting in a small hotel room. There’s some tape still visible on her neck and shoulder, indicating the video was shot not incredibly long after the tournament and attack from the Profane Covenant. The look in her eyes isn’t the usual smug confidence or playfulness most fans expect from her. There’s focus, a tinge of sadness, but the most obvious emotion is rage..)

Round Two.

It’s closing in on four years ago now. The first DreamWorld card. Back then I was a little known recently debuted scrawny brat from Pasadena. A massive steel dome and over a dozen competitors to worry about. Most of us are just hungry up and comers looking for a shot.

That day, I made my dreams come true, escaping the DreamScape and earning my right to challenge for my first title.

I’m not going to sit here and lie and say that I was sure we would get back to this point. Hana Nakajima put a lot of trust in me to get us this far. I almost fucked it up in the semifinals, being apart of that double fall that made the finals a triple threat, but I more than made up for it in the final. I don’t like letting you guys at home into my head much, but I was struggling with some doubts. Aside from being SWWS World Champion, it’s been a difficult time for me in the ring. Title chances have come and gone, I was wondering if I was stretching myself thin. I was wondering if I had a place in OWA, if I was worthy of being Hana’s partner. She was already in a damn good tag team before with April, and even though I think right now I’m better than ol’ Songbird, that’s a partner you don’t just go and replace easily. She trusted me to come through when shit mattered and I did. Winning that trophy with her and having our names go in the OWA history books as the 2024 Sword and Shield tournament winners means a lot more to me than you’ll ever realize. This isn’t some random ass title from a dead promotion. This is the gathering of the best prospective teams Olympus could find to see who was most worthy to challenge the Seventh Ward. And we got it done.

Before I move on to the business at hand, I do have to respect Dudes Rock and World’s Finest. Stephanie and Nobi know how I feel about them though I know we sometimes have our squabbles. Brody and Cletus were a revelation, not just for me, but for the tag division as a whole. Those two bring a….unique energy to the division and I hope that this isn’t the last time that we cross paths with them. The entire tournament showed what we could do if we dedicate ourselves to a thriving tag scene. And even though I haven’t given up on my singles aspirations, not by a long shot, I would love to see that growth continue.

Now….the elephants in the room. The Seventh Ward. The best tag team in the world. A team that we went to war with for almost an hour and came up just short of dethroning. My opinion of them has not changed since our last encounter. I believed that they were vulnerable and beatable and even after falling short against them once, I do believe that this all but confirmed my suspicions. Does that mean that this is going to be easy? No. The Seventh Ward didn’t take us seriously the first time we wrestled. Maybe it was blind arrogance or complete assurance that we would wet ourselves and just be steamrolled in five minutes. Only Darkane and Laz can answer that for you. Now that the cat is out of the bag and they know that we’re not totally incompetent, I expect them to come even harder at us.

Why?

Not some of the usual chauvinistic bullshit that a lot of the fighters we come against most of the time, I’ll give them that much. Theirs is a more basic, far less sexist bit of reasoning: They don’t want anyone taking a dump on their yard. The tag team division of Olympus- and OWA as a whole- has been their plaything ever since they won the belts from DT and Raivo. Every challenger has been knocked down, including the Platinum Queens…

But we’re the only ones with the guts to get back up and fight.

This match is a unique mixture of personal and professional for me. I want the tag team titles and the chance to build this tag division. That’s professional. I want to share this moment with Hana…that’s more personal than any of you can realize. She took a chance on me when most people considered me just a nuisance. She reached out to form this team, she helped me get back grounded after we came up short against the Seventh Ward before. She helped me stay focused when we got to the finals, nerves getting to me a bit before we went out of that curtain. I’ve never been much of a tag team person, but for a better partner I couldn’t fucking ask.

For all our differences, we have that much in common with the Seventh Ward: our bonds mean something to us. On the surface to people who don’t know us, they may seem shallow or materialistic or a marriage of convenience, but the further you explore the depths the more obvious that is not the case. As demented and depraved as I find the Seventh Ward, they aren’t entirely evil. It’s very obvious that they hold each other in the highest regard and would do anything to keep their bond as a team strong. Heh, Laz, as different as we are, I think we have a few traits in common. We’re both stubborn, we’re both tough, and we both don’t take kindly to people talking down to us.

It’s weird, but you learn a lot about people trading blows with them, and I learned a lot about the Seventh Ward when we fought. Honestly, it ain’t that personal between me and Laz. In a twisted way, I respect and even appreciate the fact that he is more than willing to kill people who stand in his way.

I wish I could say I have the same respect for his partner.

It didn’t used to be personal. When I first laid eyes on Darkane, It was more about him having the world title than anything. I wanted to be the one to pry it from RIPs hands and now that I may have that opportunity again eventually, that’s no longer an issue. But the issue is the way that he addresses me. The way he dismisses the Platinum Queens.

Do you remember what you said about me on Social Media when you and Lazarus successfully defended the titles against us in January? You called us outcasts, like we didn’t belong here. LIke we weren’t going to come around and see you again. You took it a step further when you smugly declared that you “liked the fire that I displayed” but you “like the tag team championships even more.” That if I want them, I’d have to try harder next time.

Challenge accepted, you condescending, smug bastard.

This tournament wasn’t entered to massage egos, forget about losing. It was to prove that on Olympus the Platinum Queens were prepared to meet the challenge. We nearly took the belts off those guys the first time, and after going up against the heaviest tag team that OWA has assembled in some time, the surprisingly effective combination of Dudes Rock and the Hall of Fame dream team of Nobi and Matsuda, we have more than proven our worth. As much as you and the Seventh Ward have dominated the tag team division, you are NOT the division itself. You are champions, damn good ones, but like all things, even your reign has to come to an end at some point.

You claim to be unstoppable, unbeatable, but I smell blood in the water. I’m not talking about your little dust-up with your otherworldly pals. You know that we can beat you, Darkane. Laz probably won’t admit it, you said yourself he’s stubborn as shit, but you know how close you two were to being toppled. Now we have a little more chemistry, a much stronger bond, and all the intel in the world about how to beat you.

You know how those tag team belts MEAN something to you? The Sword and Shield trophy MEANS something to ME. It means that Hana and I belong here, we’re not Outcasts. It means that we have proven to each other that we can be relied upon to get the job done. It means that we have one more shot at knocking off the most fearsome tag team champions wrestling has ever known. And you know what it means to me on a personal level?

THE JOB ISN’T DONE.

You know what my biggest problem in this match is, Darkane and Laz? It’s not being worried about some sealed away demon, it’s not about worrying about your weirdo friends and the morons that follow them. It’s about my own ambition. Darkane, you especially have relished in twisting the proverbial knife in my back. You couldn’t literally do it so you’ve been satisfied with taking little pokes at me over and over again.

And I’m getting so sick of it.

So sick of it that I’m getting to such a point that I would ALMOST rather see you bleed than take a title from you. I’m THIS FUCKING CLOSE to saying “You know what, FUCK a tag title, just punt this motherfucker’s balls so far back inside of his body he can juggle them with his fucking tonsils!”

I WANT NOTHING MORE THAN TO BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU AND SMILE WHILE I’M DOING IT!

But I try my hardest to keep a lid on that passion for two reasons: One, I have to keep my focus for Hana’s sake. Not that the Red Queen needs me holding her hand or anything, but I can’t let my passions override what we’re trying to do as a team. I can’t let my ego just blind me.

You know what the second reason is, right? Because I think that making good on my promise and taking those belts off your hands would hurt a lot more than any insult, any damage that I could physically bring to you. You’re not invincible, but PHYSICAL pain only goes so far with you, doesn’t it, boys? I want to leave a scar, a deep, nasty emotional scar that even though you can’t see it on your bodies…WHEN YOU GO AND LOOK INTO A MIRROR, YOU KNOW THAT THE PLATINUM QUEENS PUT IT THERE! YOU KNOW THAT I PUT IT THERE!

I wanted this to be my usual title chase but maybe it needed to be different. Darkane, you especially worked VERY hard to draw out this hostility, almost like you want to see a side of me that I’m not usually comfortable bringing out. I already know that when it’s time to brawl, Hana’s ready. And if you have any questions about me? Let’s just say that I will put them to rest at Dreamworld.

You know what your problem is, boys? You’re too damn good at being destructive. You’ve made it so that you have literally no friends in the world but yourselves. I’m a massive cunt by my own admission, but every day I can sit back and relax with friends, not just in OWA but all over the wrestling world. Hana, her brush with Havoc nearly bringing about armageddon aside, can say the same thing.

What can you two say? Now, instead of being the hunters, which you’ve both been so accustomed to being all your lives…you’re the hunted. And yes, you’ve managed to turn us back before. You’ve managed to keep a grip on the tag team titles…but that’s all you have.

Literally.

Everything else has been taken and the only tiny grip of humanity either of you monsters have left is your bond to each other. I would love nothing more than to sever that last bit of pleasantness from your lives. I’m a lot of things. I’m sometimes silly, sometimes relaxed, but I’m also extremely petty. And when I do get a second chance to finish something or someone off, I’m gonna damn well rub their noses in it.

Sounding familiar, huh, Darkane?

So, where does that leave me with your other playmates? Reginald, Ryo? Some dude who is…an Arsenal fan I guess since he calls himself Gunner? Small potatoes. Lilith and company are definitely not my concern. At least not yet. Sure, they made their presence felt, but they haven’t been the ones TALKING SHIT TO ME, BIG LEAGUING ME, BELITTLING ME AND MY TAG TEAM PARTNER FOR THE LAST FOUR FUCKING MONTHS, HAVE THEY!?

EVERYTHING THAT YOU TWO TWATS ARE EXPERIENCING RIGHT NOW, YOU BROUGHT IT ON YOURSELVES.

And if you think that me and Hana are going to just sit back, cower in fear, and let the time and effort we put to win the Sword and Shield tournament go to waste, then you’re even more delusional than you think we are. You two want worthy competition? Consider that promise kept. I told you that we would claw our way back to you, and promised you that the next time we crossed paths those belts would come home with the Queens.

You have no friends left. You have no hope. You have no victory ahead of you. You’ve reached the peak of the mountain and the only thing left is for you to get pushed right the fuck off. You know what the difference is between me and most of the people on this fucking roster? I don’t need a crew or demons or my daddy or some mystical benefactor to beat the fuck out of people.

Hana, freed from that sick demon, doesn’t need any stoking of her fires.

What about you, Laz? You still have a set? You still gonna promise a girl disemboweling and settle for handing out a concussion and some bruised ribs?

And what about you, Darkane? I thought The Graveworm was tough, but it seems to me that you’ve finally found something that you can’t control or kill, and it’s literally eating you alive right now. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer piece of shit.

You two are more accustomed to dealing with the Cocky Emmy, the PG-13 Emmy. Now I have a chance to turn things up a few extra notches. And I will relish the opportunity to put you both down alongside Hana.

And if your little playmates want to get involved in our business? Well, they can get the issue too. Why? Because when the dust has settled, You, The World’s Finest, The Profane Covenant and everyone else, you all have one option only:

BOW DOWN TO THE FUCKING QUEENS.

Michael Bishop, Remington Ivory Prescott and Colton Saint have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 15th 2024, 11:21 am by **Darkane**

Deep in the heart of New Orleans.

A few weeks ago.

12:37 AM

“I swear to God! He texted me Vic, look.” Cassie paced the floor of The Big Easy Undercity hideout. OZIAS kept a watchful eye over her but remained quiet. Cassie looked drained and exhausted with heavy bags sagging under her eyes. Vic looked perplexed as Cassie showed her the phone.

She narrowed her eyes and brushed her brunette locks out of the way.

Darkane: I’ll be there in an hour.

Message received.
9:01 PM.

“That motherfucker better not be passed out in the middle of the street again.” Cassie sat on one of the ragtag lounge chairs and tapped her foot.

“That was over three and a half hours ago! He’s never usually this late!” Cassie tried her best to put her brave face on, but naturally, worry started to creep in. Darkane and Cassie were still in the middle of repairing their shaky sister-brother bond ever since the rescue, but it’s been difficult with Darkane on the road a good chunk of the time.

“If he comes in here reeking of booze I’m gonna flip. It’s been months, Vic. Aren’t you going to say something?! Why are you so quiet? Do you know something that I don’t? HM?!” Cassie was getting irritated.

“Which question do you want me to answer first, Cassie? Listen to yourself. Your brother has a reputation that precedes him, he’s not stupid.” Vic reminded her, locking eyes with OZIAS for a brief moment and then back to Cassie.

“What the fuck are you getting at? A reputation that precedes him? Yeah, we get it, he’s a troubled alcoholic, no need to rub salt on the wounds.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. I meant that he knows what he’s doing. He’s been around the block. What do you want me to say, Cass? Have you taken your meds?”

“Have YOU taken YOURS?!” Cassie spat. OZIAS went from nodding off to looking dismayed. He knew that wasn’t called for with what Vic had gone through.

“Whatever. All this bullshit has woken up Maisie. I’m going to go check on her.” Victoria turned around on a dime and headed down the hallway.

“Yeah you go, all this bullshit is right. If..” Cassie jumped at the sound of a huge thud. OZIAS immediately spun around and motioned Cassie to stay put. He had a piece on him and he knew how to use it. Cassie raced towards the window to the parking area but didn’t see a sign of anything. Vic came running out carrying Maisie.

“What the hell was that? What’s going on?” Vic cradled Maisie amid the ruckus.

Cassie heard commotion in the darkness where OZIAS disappeared, but couldn’t quite determine what was happening. She heard groans and excessive wheezing over deep barking coughs.

“Just gimme a minute OZIAS, gimme a fuckin’ minute!” Darkane snapped towards the bigger man. He stumbled forward into the light of the room and took out a lamp in the process. Blood oozed from his mouth, his chest was compressing heavily as he wiggled out of his leather jacket.

“Holy shit!” Cassie exclaimed. Vic shielded Maisie’s eyes, the soulstone was hot to the touch and glowing out of his chest.

“What the.. Don’t tell me.. First off, where have you been?! God, you smell like burnt shit. You’re infected, aren’t you? That fucking soulstone is gonna be the death of you!” Cassie screamed and pulled clumps of her hair out, letting it float to the floor.

“I need a cigarette, just get me a cigarette and I’ll be fine.” Paying no mind to her comments, Darkane tried to get up but slumped back down almost immediately. He was in pure agony, Cassie tried to tend to him but he waved her off like a pesky fly. She furrowed her eyebrows in response.

“Cigarette. NOW.” Darkane demanded, and the room seemed to darken as the tension grew.

“I think that’s the LAST thing you need. We have to get you to the ER!” Cassie rushed forward towards her phone but Darkane laced his grip around her wrist and pulled her back.

“AHHHHH!! YOU’RE BURNING ME!!! STOP! LET GO OF ME YOU FUCKING PSYCHO!” Cassie tried to wriggle free, but Darkane pulled her down next to him and let go after a few moments.

“Look at what you did to my wrist… you’ve never..” Cassie was at a loss for words as she tended to her charred and bubbling wrist. She was shocked to her core. Darkane had never laid a hand on her before.

Vic carried Maisie in one hand and approached Darkane with a glass of water.

Darkane swiped it away like a grizzly paw. The glass of water shattered and spilled down the wall. Maisie started bawling her eyes out at the loud noise and Vic was taken aback briefly.

“You’re on your own.” Vic was cold in her tone and took Maisie back to her room to calm her down.

That’s when OZIAS stepped in and handed Darkane his last cigarette, Cassie protested at first but then got the memo. Something, anything was needed to settle him down.

As soon as the nicotine hit his system he felt stabilized at least for now. He noticed Cassie’s wrist, it was a gruesome sight.

“Looks like YOU need to go to the ER now, sis.”

She didn’t have a witty retort or a counter-argument, she stayed mute which was unusual but Darkane shrugged it off as he blew smoke rings in the air.

“Now let’s get down to fucking business. I’m taking ove- I mean DreamWorld is right around the corner and..”

Cassie jumped to her feet in a split second like a cat hunching its back.

“What?” Darkane seemed puzzled, but he knew she heard it.

“That voice, OZIAS did you hear that?” Cassie looked at him. She was as curious as she was cautious.

The rugged tattooed beast in black gave a slow nod.

“It’s nothing,” Darkane mumbled, averting Cassie’s gaze whenever he could. Cassie was unamused.

“NOTHING?! Your voice it.. I know it’s hoarse but that was something out of a fucking horror movie! It’s the soulstone isn’t it? IT’S BELIAL!”

Darkane slammed his fist on a nearby coffee table.

“Damnit Cassie. I don’t want you involved in any of this shit, especially with the Profane Covenant. Ah shit.”

Darkane slapped his forehead and cursed at himself.

“Ah shit what? Who or what is the Profane Covenant? I’m not sure if I even wanna know.” Her wrist was killing her. She needed to clean the burn under cold water and fast but she too like her brother was born with a high pain tolerance.

“They’re a bunch of morbid fucking assholes I need to deal with. That’s all, go and treat your burn. Where the fuck is Laz at?” Darkane looked at Cassie and then at OZIAS.

“We haven’t seen him for a few days, he seemed distraught. Maybe he went to clear his mind. I don’t know. Wait, where the fuck are you going? You just got here!” Cassie balled her fists and raised her voice towards Darkane who battled doggedly to get to his feet. She knew he was struggling, she’d witnessed it in the past. She was used to it but when Darkane made his mind up, there was no leeway to be given.

“To find Laz.” Darkane put his cigarette out on the ashtray. For a brief moment, they met each other’s gaze. The dark burgundy glow of his eyes pulsated in spurts. Cassie didn’t know what to think.

“Let me guess. I have to stay here?” She asked sarcastically. Half expecting his usual response, half expecting him to give her a purpose in all of this. She was tired of feeling like the third wheel. She was tired of being overlooked in favor of others like Vic and OZIAS. Deep down she knew Darkane was protecting her. Deep down she also knew that he was in grave danger and there was next to nothing she could do about it.

“Yep. OZIAS keep doing what you’re doing big hoss. The less people know about this, the better.” He slung his leather jacket over his shoulder.

“Know about WHAT?! STOP HIDING SHIT FROM ME! UGHH! FUCK YOU!” She spoke directly into a slamming door to no avail and kicked the already beat up lamp on the ground. The soft yellow hue of the light bulb illuminated the drops of blood trailing Darkane on his way out.

+++++++++++++++++++++

My sister.. She can be a blessing and a curse. Sometimes it’s hard to differentiate between the two. I know she means well but she has her problems to deal with. I don’t need to burden her with any more stress. This beast, this morbose thing inside of me would break her. She shouldn’t have to go through what I’m going through. It’s not fair to her or anybody under the Seventh Ward tree. It’s just strange how four of us were fighting over the soulstone as if it were coveted. I ended a man’s career over it. We all had our delusions of grandeur or malevolence, depending on who you asked. For greed, for power, for control. We sat in our four corners like fucking salesmen and prophesied what life would be like if we possessed the soulstone. The only one who truly knew was Senn. Only he knows the true origins of it. Only he could trace it back to its root but honestly, that sounds easier said than done. He has his reasons for not sealing it in the first place. I wanna tell him he’s a lunatic and maybe he is, but he has a plan. I know it. I’m just not sure what it is yet.

I can only focus on what’s in front of me. I can only deal with this entire crisis one day at a time. I can only control what I can control. As I see it, those closest to me are better off sheltered elsewhere if I can help it. What I can control, however, is maintaining a death grip on The OWA Tag Team Championships alongside Laz. They’ve been lost in the shuffle while we’ve dealt with the Profane Covenant and company. That doesn’t sit well with me and I’m sure even though he won’t admit it, it doesn’t sit well with Laz either. But they must be defended despite the dilemma we’re in. There’s a lot on our plate. The Profane Covenant breathing down my neck, namely Lillith barking orders. Belial using me as a fucking host which I never thought in a million years would happen. And now The Platinum Queens - two bugs up our asses seeking to capitalize on their momentum. Hana, you’ve been on a quest; a vision since the day you arrived on Olympus to break the chains that have molded you and held you in place. You’ve been through adversity, and you’ve dealt with it as best you could but I don’t need your fucking pep talks from the possession hotline like it’s a suicide prevention operator. It’s like you’re trying to find common ground with me because you know you’re a hypocrite. You make it seem like the OWA Tag Titles were a plan B pivot anyway. You said it yourself, it was a pure gamble coming over to Olympus, a gamble that hasn’t paid off. The Immortal Heavyweight Championship is your holy grail and it would have been a fitting end to an otherwise tumultuous experience on Odyssey and Kingdom. Havoc was out of your system, you had no excuses not to challenge me for the Immortal Heavyweight Championship but it’s a moot point since you did a U-turn and pissed your opportunity down the proverbial drain the first time against The Seventh Ward. To me, you’re just pouring gas on the fire by tempting fate a second time especially when Olympus is falling apart.

Fool. She does not matter. She is insignificant compared to me. YOU ARE THE ONE TEMPTING FATE BY KEEPING ME CAGED. Lillith, I will be freed! I know you can hear me. I am trapped inside this rancid hobo. He warns the little red riding whore of her doom because HE KNOWS she’ll show up like a silly lamb led to slaughter and I will absorb her as my flesh.

Don’t you see what you’re both up against? Don’t you see the deck stacked against you? You can’t just tip-toe around Belial like dainty ballerinas. He’s aware of your presence at all times. He has eyes in the back of his head. The Platinum Queens aren’t segregated from punishment just because they’re on the outside looking in on this entire conundrum. Trust me, you can get sucked into conflict without even deliberately doing so in OWA like it's second nature and no one bats an eye. Now you’re both stuck between a rock and a hard place. You have your eyes on the tag team prize but realize you’re walking on hell’s landscape as Olympus is currently constructed. I don’t believe for one second that you’re the kind of person to not hold a grudge either, Hana, especially towards The Seventh Ward after we took everything you had in store for us and smacked you down like starving dogs. Hana, you wrote the book on holding grudges. You don’t go around snapping your better half’s neck at Boiling Point like a twig after Angelina Magnum gave him a voluptuous lap dance you jealous twat waffle. You don’t stand idly by while you let Jeff trade his life for Chris’ because you couldn’t stand to look at yourself in the mirror anymore without your hubby. Even though the blood was on your hands when you axed him in the first place. You’ve tried to kill Filth, you killed The Banshee but you’re not vindictive? Even after the jump to Olympus the skeletons STILL beat against your closet door and they rattle through the night.

It’s nothing to be ashamed of, tiny red bitch. The inmates run the asylum in OWA. Murderers like you are heralded where I come from at first. To give them a false sense of security. Then they’re lashed in their spines as they fall in line with the other killers while they push the spokes on the wheel to keep me satisfied.

You and Emmanuelle are two miserable peas in a pod. That’s why you gravitate to each other. Misery loves company. You were both trying to find some clarity in your careers after shit hit the fan elsewhere. Especially Emmanuelle, she waltzes into OWA hot to trot and shoving other accolades she’s won around the world in our faces as if that means fuck all. In OWA she’s the little engine that couldn’t and instead of knowing when to call it she does the exact opposite. She holds herself to a “platinum” standard yet she’s a glutton for punishment. The way you both come crawling back knowing full well what we are capable of, knowing that Olympus is in peril, isn’t admirable, it’s fucking stupid. The Sword and Shield tournament was a fucking pick me up, it wasn’t a confidence booster, it was two daft twats clinging to a little thing called hope. It was a bond forged by similar ideals and now that they have their second chance in their back pocket you both think you have this in the bag. You’re not looking at the bigger picture, you dipshits fail to see it. I can only warn you two so much and even if I’m on my fucking deathbed I will take one half of the OWA Tag Team Championships into the fucking grave.

The Platinum Queens are still in their infancy as a tag team anyway. They’re still learning to trust each other, they’re still trying to show camaraderie between each other. I guess when things go right Hana and Emmanuelle can pull a fast one and deceive those brainless enough to believe they have the chemistry that Laz and I have had since we were kids. Yet who am I to preach trust when Laz kidnapped my sister? That’s been an argument countless dullards have used to try and drive a wedge between us, but I helped rescue his daughter, didn’t I? I saved the fucking day and got my sister back to boot. When Hana is on edge? Do you know what she does Emmanuelle? She holds grudges, she’s vindictive, she's sadistic and she's a killer. The most damning part about it? She feels sorry for herself and is apologetic. She tries to humanize herself even though she went on a rampage and admits guilt to whoever she’s affected afterward. What’s gonna happen when your opportunity slips right through your hands? Is Hana gonna go postal? Is Emmanuelle going to be tortured by ANOTHER OWA championship shortcoming that she finally throws in the towel? Hana, you need to pull your head out of your ass and put in your inner Havoc to compete with The Seventh Ward. Showing up and giving it the old college try alongside Emmanuelle like you did the first time is fruitless. And you Emmanuelle, you steel clitted thundercunt; it’s time for you to shit or get off the pot. The Seventh Ward is sick of these tryhards wasting our time and making pledges to burn us to the fucking ground only to set themselves on fire.

And at DreamWorld The Platinum Queens will melt into burnt fucking crowns.

Michael Bishop, Rebecca Filth, Remington Ivory Prescott, Lazarus Arjen and Felix Hartley have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 15th 2024, 9:13 am by **Brody**

DreamWorld Promo #2

Early morning sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains of the opulent bedroom. The space, adorned with intricate woodwork and plush furnishings, radiated an aura of luxury. In the center of the room stood a full-length mirror. The polished surface reflected the image of Brody admiring his near-perfect physique, which suggested years of dedication and discipline had been invested in its pursuit.

They hadn’t, but that’s what it looked like.

His wavy hair was tousled, adding a rugged charm, and his piercing blue eyes sparkled with a mixture of confidence and self-assurance. With a satisfied grin, he flexed his muscles, admiring the way they rippled beneath his tanned skin. He ran a hand through his hair, adjusting it just so, before stepping back to take in his reflection once more.

“Heading out?”

“Oh my God.”

“Huh? What did you say?”

“You heard.”

“I don’t, uh… I thought…”

“Listen, this just ain’t gonna work if I don’t feel completely comfortable bailing whenever I want to for any reason whatsoever and for an extended period of time, you know?”

“No, I don’t.”

“The last woman who tried tying me down, Satomi… well, I knew her as Kuniko. Actually, she was my lotus flower, and I was her Kureijī Kintama. What we had was special, but—"

“I have no idea what’s going on right now.”

“See, that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s all about you. ‘I have no idea what’s going on,’ ‘I won’t have sex with you without a condom.’”

“Is that seriously what this is about?”

“It’s just the lack of trust. That’s what gets to me, you know? But I took the damn condom, doesn’t that show how much I’m into you?”

“I mean, I guess, but… wait, what do you mean ‘took’ it?”

“The fuck you think it means? Took me like four bottles of water, bro.”

“Are you serious?”

Brody was too enamored by his reflection in the mirror to answer.

“So, let me get this straight: not only were you not wearing a condom last night, but you’re saying you’ve never worn a condom in your life?”

“Worn? Sydney, sweet baby girl, what the fuck are you talking about?”

[x]

Wyatt was sitting at the desk of his study when Brody hobbled into his office with a black eye and a broken nose. Over a week had passed since the old man had last seen his son.

“What on earth has happened to you?” Wyatt smirked.

“Me? Nothing, why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? Look at the state of you.”

“Oh, this? It’s nothing. Just a difference of opinion with Mel Gibson. Well, his secret little club, more like. Fuckin’ pussies. Took like five of them to take me down. Pricks.”

“Mel? What was your disagreement with him?”

“Well, apparently, he hates women, but he’s all about safe sex. Who knew?”

“Are you talking about the Misogynist Council?”

“You know about it?”

“Of course I do; I’m in it,” Wyatt laughed derisively. “But those island retreats are just about stroking each other’s cocks instead of getting things done. I’ve no time for that sort of business. Indulge yourself, by all means, but no one needs to go to a private island to do that. How did you end up there, anyway?”

“Long story.”

“You met Mark Wahlberg in a strip club bathroom?”

“Okay, it’s a short story, but loads of stuff happened before that, too.”

“Do you have any drugs left from what I gave you?”

“From what you gave me? No, but I still gotta couple of loosies in my pocket, I think. You want in?”

“No, thank you,” said Wyatt, returning to his work.

Brody made his way over to the bar. He slowly reached his arm out while peering sideways to see if his dad was watching him. Wyatt’s eyes remained fixed on his computer screen.

“Is that wise?” asked the old man. “Bourbon, at 10:30 am? Aren’t you going to at least pretend to prepare for a world championship?”

“It’s all good, bro. Still got like ten days.”

“Five.”

“Ten business, I mean.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Fine, I’ll go to the gym now.”

“Are you in any fit state to be training?”

“Best shape of my life, bro. Feeling good, sleeping well, and I’m on a 100% beef-fed beef diet. I’m ready to go, dude.”

“Well, glad to hear it. Get to it, then.”

Brody downed the liquor he believed he had covertly poured himself before heading towards the exit.

“Oh,” he said, pausing at the door. “You spoke to the big guys at Olympus recently? Like, Allesandro’s old man, an’ shit?”

“No,” Wyatt quickly replied. “Why?”

“Just… on the flight back from the Caribbean, I saw all the stuff that happened on Olympus after I left. What the fuck is going on, bro? Remember when bad guys were named shit like Hitler? Mussolini? Obama? Now it’s fuckin’ Asmodeus and Lillith and Belial. Swear to God, dude, I’m suing that British cunt, too. Time Lizard? I sent that script to Disney when I was six years old, but it got rejected for graphic sexuality. Dude was probably working there at the time an’ stole it. Can’t trust those fuckin’ lobsterbacks, bro.”

“I’m sure it’s all under control.”

“Okay, well, just make sure those fuckin’ nerds stay away from me, or else I’m going to Kingdom. Although it’s not much better over there. Everyone walkin’ on eggshells around Softly, not wanting to upset the manager. Dude needs to change his name already.”

“Change his name?”

“N-word Softly? Bro, it’s 2022, and he’s got a name like a Mark Twain character.”

“It’s 2024, and his name is Edward.”

“I don’t want to hear excuses. Racism is bad, ok?”

“Ok.”

“Right, good. I’m glad we got that straightened out.”

[x]

Two hours later, Brody was still at his parents' house.

Lupe, the 72-year-old Guatemalan housekeeper, had made pancakes, and Brody thought that if she’d gone through that much trouble, then she’d probably be willing to make him chicken and waffles, too. It never even entered his mind that she was contractually obligated to do so. As he was finishing up the giant meal at the breakfast bar, his older brother Danny walked into the kitchen.

“What up, homo?”

“Dude, dude, listen to this,” Brody said, barely able to contain his laughter. “Lupe, tell Danny where your son lives.”

“Arizona,” she replied, full of apathy.

“Arizona, dude! How do they think of these names, the crazy Mexican bastards!”

“You’re fucking retarded.”

“You and what army?”

“What the fuck are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be preparing for Allesandro?”

“That’s where I’m going now, dude.”

“Nervous?”

“Why would I be nervous?”

"He beat you last time, didn't he?"

“Yeah, so?”

“So, what if he beats you again?”

“Not gonna happen, bro. This time he’s gettin’ got. Gettin’ got while the gettin’s good. You see, I’m all about takin’ care of business, you get me? That’s my business. An’ business is good.”

“The fuck you saying, Spasimodo?”

“Gimme a ride to the gym, Dildo Gaggins.”

“I’m here to see Dad. About actual business. How did you get here?”

“Stu gave me a ride, but bro was wasted.”

“Get an Uber, then.”

“Oh, you want me to be raped?”

“Ughhhhh, good point. Gimme an hour, and I’ll take you.”

Three hours later, Brody finally sauntered into the gym with a belly full of cheesy pasta, courtesy of Lupe once again. Usually a place of rejuvenation, the gym’s atmosphere felt stifling. His reflexes were dulled, and his mind fogged by the effects of a week-long bender. It wasn’t long before he was in the bathroom, emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl.

Though, the more he worked out, the better he felt.

By the time he was taking an ice bath, his senses had recovered. The chill from the frigid water seeped into his skin, sending shivers down his spine. His chest rose and fell in steady breaths. Brody's eyes were closed, and his mind focused on the sensations coursing through him. Images of Allesandro's flashy entrances and the egotistical bravado steeled his resolve.

With each passing moment, Brody's focus sharpened. He visualized the fight, anticipating Allesandro's moves and formulating his own strategies. The icy water seemed to invigorate him, reminding him of his toughness and resilience. His mind then drifted back to that morning on the beach when Nat’s words comforted him after his defeat to Allesandro.

Then, one of those quirks the universe seems to cough up every now and then appeared by way of text message.

“Good luck.”

Seven months without a word had felt colder than the water in which he was currently submerged. Brody dried his hands on the nearby towel and grabbed his phone, bringing it closer to his face to make sure it was definitely her and not Nate.

It was her.

The cadence of his breathing quickened. He was careful not to open the message, alerting her that he had seen it, without knowing exactly what he wanted to say.

“Thx,” was his eventual reply, although the temptation to spill his heart out was unbearable.

That was all that was said, yet Brody strode through the San Diego evening with purpose.

[x]

“It’s my shoulder, doc,” said Brody, grabbing his right shoulder with his left hand.

“I see. Can you describe it?”

“Uhh, sure,” replied Brody, his expression turning from agitation to confusion. “I guess it’s, like, where my arm attaches to my body? Didn’t you go to medical school, bro?”

“The pain. Describe the pain. Is it localized or radiating?”

“Speak English, doc.”

“Is it just in your shoulder, or can you feel the pain all the way down your arm?”

“Oh, just the shoulder.”

“Okay, it's probably just bursitis. Nothing too serious; you just need to ice it and rest it for a few days.”

“But I’m facing Allesandro in three days, dude!”

“Then why were you going so hard?”

“Dad said, ‘No pain, no gain.’”

“That’s not at all true.”

Brody shrugged his shoulders, causing him to wince.

“Fuck! You got any painkillers?”

“I’m a Physical Therapist; I can’t prescribe medication.”

“Whatever, I got some somewhere. Have a look in that bag over there for me?”

The therapist rummaged around Brody’s gym bag until he felt something sticky.

“What the hell?” he said, pulling his hand out. He was gripping a small bottle, the top of which had come off.

“Oh shit.”

“What?”

“Uhh, nothing.”

“Brody…”

“It’s nothing, dude,” Brody laughed nervously. “Don’t worry about it. Hey, just out of curiosity, you ever had hallucinogens?”

“Is that what this is?”

“It’s not what it’s not.”

“What?”

“Okay, I’m gonna be real with you, bro; that is a new synthetic drug that my buddy made in his bathtub. He said it’s transdermal, which means—”

“I know what transdermal means, you fucking imbecile. Just tell me what’s going to happen.”

“Well, there’s good news and bad news. It’s super potent, which means things are about to get weird real quick.”

“Oh fuck! Shit! What’s the good news?”

“Oh, that was the good news. The bad news is that you owe me $80.”

“Oh my God, I think I’m—”

“Yeah, good luck with all that,” said Brody, hopping off the exam table. He quickly left the room as the PT began spiraling into drug-induced psychosis.

Brody used his left hand to steer the beat-up Jeep his father had bestowed upon him for his 18^th birthday. By now, it was practically a family heirloom. The ache in his shoulder was dull and heavy; he had no idea how he would pack his gear for North Carolina without help.

As he pulled up to his beachfront apartment, the universe spoke to him once again.

“Are you home?” read the text.

“Yeah,” he replied quickly.

“Can I stop by?”

“Sure!”

Brody raced up the steps to his apartment, the pain in his shoulder seemingly forgotten. He stumbled over the protruding edge of one of his surfboards, although he managed to retain his balance. The place was a mess; he stuffed empty bags of chips and soda cans into the trash as quickly as he could while also rounding up all the articles of clothing strewn about the floor and furniture.

Five minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

Mouthwash and cologne helped Brody mask the scent of the gym. As he gripped the handle, he took a deep breath. That breath was immediately taken away when he saw Nat standing, as beautiful as the day he first saw her, on his porch.

Except…

“What the fuck?”

Brody’s gaze was drawn to the curve of her belly, which was growing with life. Despite the hardship of pregnancy, she had a glow about her. With a tentative smile, she took a step forward, closing the distance between them. Her simple yet elegant dress swayed gently in the ocean breeze.

“Can I come in?”

“Are you, uh…”

“Yes.”

“And is it—”

“Yes.”

“Right,” Brody gulped. “How far?”

“Eight months.”

“Still four to go, then.”

Nat smiled. Despite everything he had done and her bitterness about how things ended, she still found his foolishness oddly endearing.

“So, you gonna let me in, cunt?”

“Oh, right, yeah,” said Brody, stepping aside.

Nat sat at the small table that, moments ago, was a laundry repository. She would have preferred to sit on the couch, but she did not want to get too comfortable and was afraid that she might need Brody’s help to get up from it.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Do you have any tea?”

“Tea?” scoffed Brody. “I got beer; you want a beer?” he asked, which was met with a raised eyebrow. “Water?”

“Sure.”

Brody grabbed a bottle of water and a tall boy from his fridge. Nat looked at him skeptically as he sat down opposite her.

“What? I’m not pregnant.”

“I thought you’d be more surprised.”

“Not my first rodeo.”

“I was more talking about the fact we used condoms.”

“Yes. That’s right. I wore them. On my cock.”

“Why did you emphasize that word?”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re not what?”

“Acting sus.”

“I never said you were.”

“Good, because I’m not.”

“I'm not here to demand anything from you, Brody.”

“No?”

“No, I just thought you had a right to know.”

“You could’ve told me sooner.”

“I was going to tell you in Philly. I was there, you know. The night you lost to Poet. I was going to surprise you.”

“Oh.”

“When your dad told me where you’d been and what you’d been doing – or, rather, who you’d been doing - I was heartbroken. I wanted to be angry with you, and I was. But I was more angry with myself.”

“Really?”

“Mmhmm,” she replied ruefully. “You’re a manchild, Brody. Maybe you care about others, but you care about yourself too much. I could see that from the moment I met you, and I still let myself get close to you. I told myself we were just having fun hooking up. I was so naïve.”

“I was falling for you, too,” he said. “I mean, I did. I still do.”

“You dropped off the face of the earth and turned up a month later at a drug-fueled orgy in an ancient Amazonian village.”

“You can make anything sound bad if you say it in a shitty tone.”

“You hurt people, Brody. That’s why I don’t want anything from you, but you ought to know.”

“So, you’re not here to…”

“What, get back together? No,” she laughed, breaking eye contact. “There’s… something else.”

“You’re seeing someone.”

“Yeah.”

“Does he know about me?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“He’s ok with raising another man’s baby?”

“Well, he’s asked me to marry him, so I guess so.”

“And you’ve said yes?”

“Not yet, but I will.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“I honestly don’t know,” she said. “It just… didn’t feel right. But I figure after this, it will.”

“You don’t want to," Brody smiled. "If you did, you would’ve said yes already.”

“It doesn’t matter. What happens between me and Josh has no bearing on you and me.”

“Josh? As in—"

“No, no,” she interrupted. “He’s just a regular person.”

“With a gay-ass name.”

Nat could not hide her smirk.

“I’ve missed you.”

“You dropped off the face of the earth and turned up a month later at a drug-fueled orgy in an ancient Amazonian village.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that. You just gonna keep throwing that in my face?”

“I will never move past that, Brody. I respect myself too much to ever let you back into my life. But you can be part of our son’s life... if you do some growing up.”

“Our… son?”

Nat nodded. The tears welling up in Brody’s eyes warmed her heart.

“Have you, uh, got a name for him?”

“Josh.”

Brody’s heart sank. He was struggling for words until Nat began laughing.

“Very funny.”

“Sorry, but I owed you that one, at least.”

“Ha, yeah. You cooked me.”

“No one cucked anyone. You bailed.”

“What? No, cooked, as in,” Brody imitated a flamethrower, spittle flying everywhere, “not cucked - although, my son might end up calling another person dad...”

“That’s up to you, Brody,” said Nat, standing from her chair. “I should get going; I’m sure you’ve got stuff to do. When are you leaving for North Carolina?”

“Tonight.”

“We’ll be watching.”

“We?”

“Yeah,” blushed Nat awkwardly. “Josh is actually a fan of yours.”

“Bro, that’s so fucking weird.”

“It’s messed up, I know. He actually wanted to come here with me.”

“Never – and I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life – ever bring him here.”

“I understand,” she said, leaning into Brody's embrace. “You remember what I said to you on the beach that morning, right?” she whispered in his ear. “Don't be afraid, Brody. What do you want? You.”

After she left, Brody collapsed on his couch. He stayed there until his ride to the airport showed up.

Michael Bishop, Remington Ivory Prescott, Chad Ecclestone, Poet and Colton Saint have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 15th 2024, 8:31 am by **Arata Asakura**

OWA Promos - Page 2 Tumblr_pfyg6uqaFE1s0zdtdo2_1280

Kingdom #1: Fuck Your Dream.

15.04.2024 Osaka, Japan

*What happened at Dreamworld could be considered as another successful attempt to take over the tag team division. Another important win for Arata and Michael that helped them even more to figure out what kind of team they are. They knew each other for a while. They were aware of their priorities and style , but everything changes when you have to combine all your desires into one vision. The relationship between them wasn't difficult anymore, they seemed to be on the same side. However, everything needed time to let this cooperation bloom. So they were trying their best to make that work and eventually challenge for Tag Team Championships. There was no reason to rush, so they were using as much time as possible to perfect all the details that mattered for their team. Even though they were mostly known for their individual careers, they were more than happy to change a thing or two in tag team division as well.*

*The shot opens in front of Arata's house, located in Osaka. He is sitting on the steps, dressed in black shorts and sports shoes of the same color. The sweat droplets can be visible on his face and body, as he just finished his running session. The weather was very favorable so he decided to use it. The piece of cloth can also be noticed on his shoulder that is meant to deal with sweat. Arata moves his hand through his wet blonde hair and a cocky smile appears on his face.*

They say that moving from tag team division to being an individual star is the most difficult thing in the world, but I have a different opinion. Of course, you are used to having someone on your side all the time, so you are kinda scared of being alone...but being on your own can give you a freedom that all of us desire. So as long as everything has advantages and disadvantages...I truly believe that conversion in other ways is more problematic. What do I mean? If you have everything for yourself, then you don't know how to share. When you decided about your own fate for all your life, then it is not that easy to split responsibility between the two of you. When the two of you are successful as singles competitors, ego might be too much. So it is easy for disagreements to happen. That's why, Bishop and I....We are trying to figure out what we want...We try to create a common vision, because we don't need a bad blood. The blood is what united us in the first place. We went through that difficult trial to become one unit, but it was just a first step. Just creating something is one thing, but keeping it alive is other. And as you can see, we made huge progress. Even though we just started teaming, we haven't lost a single match yet. And this is not going to change on Kingdom.

Call me overconfident, but I don't really care. I have way too many reasons not to be stressed about this match. There is zero doubt in my mind that we can lose that match, and you know why? Let alone the fact that we are one of the absolute best in Omega Wrestling Alliance. Our oppononets are more than just a ticking bomb...They are all the fucking mess after explosion. They are nothing more than scraps of meat and puddles of blood, and we didn't even enter the ring. They are fucked already and we haven't even lifted a finger at them. So honestly? I am so sorry, Colt. I am so fucking sorry, because you are literally a victim in this match. Not because of who you are, but because of the guy that is supposed to cover your back. You always had incredible potential, Colt. You proved yourself all over again in Wrestleworld...And now you are also standing here as OWA Spartans Champion. Congratulations, my friend. I wish you a great reign, cause that title was also my key to success here. That is why, I feel kinda bad that you are going to lose, just after winning a title. You might think I am trying to manipulate you here to cause a bigger mess between the two of you, but I have no bad intention. I actually like how simple you are. You are just a modest guy who likes wrestling, so there is no bad aura floating around you. You never did anything bad to me either, so it is nothing personal. I am sure the Bishop can say the same thing. But that piece of shit that is meant to be your tag team partner...is a way different case.

Alessandro, I always knew you had zero charisma and personality, even back in the day you were so fucking bland. Wrestleworld was hoping that once you get that American Dream Championship, something will change, but they couldn't be more wrong. No accomplishment...No title....Not even your daddy was able to make you relevant. Even if you think you are shining bright like a diamond right now, you are overshadowed by most of the people on your brand . Even if you keep yapping about your stupid championship and acting like you are at the top of the mountain, we can all agree when it comes to one thing. Nobody cares about the American Dream title and the only reason why you still have it...is because no worthy competition tried to take it away from you. You can talk all you want about Matsuda and Nobi, but let's be real. They used to be good , but now they are washed. Emmanuelle? She was wreck of a person, and just now she is getting back that spark she had in her eyes. Not to mention that you needed a lot of luck and help, even when you competition wasn't in the best shape. Yet, you are coming at us with your "dream" bullshit. What did you say? We are jealous that we are not a dream? They say my english is sometimes bad, cause I am asian, but unlike you, I at least know how to make sense when I speak. As I said, AD, you are overrating not only yourself, but that belt, you hold so dear, as well. You can be thinking is world championship here, but that vision was only created in your own mind. It doesn't even have the same position as other World titles in OWA. Most importantly, this title is just a scratch of Wrestleworld and doesn't truly belong here. Did you forget I also have one of the Wrestleworld titles in my possession? But I prefer to chase after the actual titles in this company, instead of desperately clutching to the past. But you are too desperate and self-centered to realize that. I have a thigh grip on your shitty title, because you know you won't win anything else here. The American Dream is all you have and this is shameful. Especially since you belong to a wrestling family. So someone could think that you have greatness in your blood. Yet, you are nothing more than mediocrity and so is your title. So we can all agree that the American Dream Championship is rather a midcard belt, looking how mid the current champion is.

I can already imagine how your blood is boiling. I can already hear your lame insults written by AI, but bold of you to think that I give a fuck. Idiot? Mongrel? I was called way worse things, so it doesn't impress me. And the fact that you respond like that when people bring truth to your face, shows that you not only lack dignity, but also class. In your mind you look tough, but you know what we are seeing? A narcissistic pussy. We see someone who doesn't belong here and i wanted...I could send you to the grave alongside Wrestleworld. Because you are nothing more but miserable demon of them past. I met a lot egoistic and delusional people in the last five years, but you are special case. You are not only loud and annoying, you are so uncreative. Your only personality traits are being disrespectful. The white supremacy is emanating from you as if you are drinking a glass of bleach every day. And that makes sense why you have only two brain cells left. People after stroke talk with more sense than you ever will be, but thankfully we are not often on Olympus. We don't have to share brand with a waste of space like you.

People like you are literally a reason why I hate America. I bet you have a Trump photo next to your bed and pray to god everyday that all the minorities will be gone from your "white friendly" country. And honestly? I am sure you will be more bothered about me shit talking you fucking belt than the fact that you are racist piece of shit. So you know what, Alessandro? I shouldn't say it since I also work in the medical care field. But you could do all of us a favor if you shot yourself in the head.

This match is nothing more than a formality. It is going to be another tag team victory for us. But I am not going to lie, beating the living shit out of Alessandro is going to be fun. It is going to be very satisfying to see him realize what a real competition looks like. The dream he is talking about all the time? It will quickly turn into a nightmare and unfortunately Colt will be dragged into darkness alongside that bitch. But Ad should remember one thing, if you show attitude to your partner then he should be aware that he might pay him back. Because if I was Colt, I would not tolerate that. I would not let him treat me like pushover for a match that doesn't even have a high stake. Obviously, this is your choice, Colt, but if I can give you some advice. You should definitely show him where his place is.

So go fuck yourself, Alessandro, because you are not on the level of OWA...And you will never be. You will have a great chance to experience that first hand on Kingdom, you little bitch.

Michael Bishop, Christopher Sabertooth, Remington Ivory Prescott and Colton Saint have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Dreamworld #2 April 15th 2024, 7:22 am by **Remington Ivory Prescott**

Gypsy Rose

gas·light
/ˈɡasˌlīt/
verb
gerund or present participle: gaslighting
manipulate (someone) using psychological methods into questioning their own sanity or powers of reasoning.

* * * * *

I think someone's trying just a bit too hard.

Contrary to what seems to have become popular belief, I do not have any delusions or confusion about who I am, who I have been or even the things I've done to get where I am. I know exactly what type of person I am and I know exactly just how conniving and opportunistic that I can be. I know that I'm always looking for a quick way to victory. I know that I'm always looking to use someone else. I know that I'm always more than willing to use my money, resources and superior intelligence to get out of a bad situation. If I have these things available to me, I would be an incredible idiot to not use them. To stand in the middle of a ring and not use everything in my power to walk away with the victory would be both dishonest and dishonorable to everything that this industry represents. To not be true to my very nature would be doing a disservice to the people that spend their incredibly meager paychecks to witness gladiatorial titans try to kill each other for their entertainment. To not do everything in my power to make sure I come out on top would be, quite frankly, blasphemous. Should I have any limits to the lengths that I'll go to in order to continue to be the best that Mount Olympus has to offer? It surely won't be to become a 'goodie cheap shoes' just so that some people that don't matter in the least can shout and scream my name in Charlotte, North Carolina for an hour.

I have bigger dreams than that.

You see, being the kind of individual that knows and accepts who I am, I can see what's coming. I can see what's coming because I've attempted to bring such darkness myself. While I've flirted with disaster over the years there are those in this company that have done far worse. There are individuals in this company that are willing to sacrifice everything to give the darkness control. Where we are headed, a man with conviction and morals is not who you want leading. What's coming next is not a simple wrestling match. We won't be playing double dutch on the playground. This isn't recess. We're going to be at war and I think Mount Olympus is going to be hanging in the balance. And I refuse to allow anyone lesser than someone willing to do everything in their power to secure his place at the top of this proverbial food chain to be the one to lead us into battle. It just so happens that, for this particular journey, I am the right man for the job.

I realized something the other day when I was buying another small island. People only care about what someone else has done when it doesn't benefit them. They don't seem to see their moral code when they need to be a little bit shady. When they need to dip their toes into the shallow end of the pool to get what they want, they find a way to justify it, don't they? "Oh, well he did this to me." "Yeah, well, he bought my contract." "Also, also, he's a meanie head." Or whatever the case may be. When it really comes down to it, every single person in this business has to be willing to give everything they have, pull out every single stop, turn over every stone and beat their opponents over the head with it if they want to actually succeed. And the truth is, every single person in that Olympus locker room is willing to do that. Which is why none of them can be trusted...

Except me.

Since day one I have always been Remington Ivory Prescott. I've changed a bit over the years but I've never not been myself. I've always been an asshole, a liar, a cheater and a bloody prick, right? I step out there in front of the people and they boo me for days on end, hating me for simply existing. For having the audacity to breathe. For being a person in this business that actually does whatever it takes to win. Now, because I'm quite sure that this will be as nitpicked as everything else I say will be, I am not saying that I win every time or that I'm always successful or that I have done no wrong. Quite the opposite, actually. I am a sneaky son of a bitch and if I can pull one over on you, I will. Because that's who I am. That's what I do. Call it wrong, call it predictable, call it cowardly -- you can call it whatever you want to. That doesn't change the fact that the goal here is to win and that's what I'm here to do. Win. If I let the fact that people are going to be upset with me for stabbing someone stop me from embracing my cruelest of intentions and securing my victory, then I don't need to be here. Then I don't need to be the one that everyone is targeting. Then I don't need to be the one that everyone seems to want to hunt down. Then I don't need to be the one that continues to be the only man willing to go the actual distance-- not just physically but ethically and morally-- to walk away from every single bout as the victor.

That is what makes me a champion. That is what makes me Immortal.

Now, I'm sure a lot of individuals would love for me to spend way too much time going through a certain individual's viewpoint and point out the countless inaccuracies of it. There are people that would love nothing more than for me to hop in the Way Back Machine and try to dig up and unearth what I think our history is. There are people who want fire to be met with fire. There are people that want to see who can google shit the best. And for those people, I'm going to have to disappoint. I don't live in the past. I don't get stuck in one spot because someone somewhere may have done something bad to me. I don't make 'beating someone up' my entire life's mission or goal because they might've done a little thing to me here or there. I don't keep score like that. I don't need to. I'm not so unfulfilled that I have to find a purpose in life. I'm not so desperate to be liked by strangers that the only thing I sleep and dream about is punching a superior individual in the face a whole bunch of times. That is not my life's ambition. That is not what I want to be remembered for. That's too Mark Michaels for my taste. No no, I prefer to stand above and beyond being a blunt instrument of violence and social decay. I seek to do more with my life and my reign than to just be able to say: "look ma, i beat up this widdle rich guy and got this shiny toy yay!"

Grow up.

The world doesn't revolve around you, Michaels. For as much as you call me a narcissist and an egotist and whatever else you could find in your little insult thesaurus, you sure seem to want to make Dreamworld all about you. You sure seem to be so hellaciously self involved that you think I spent most of my OWA career looking for ways to make your life miserable. The fact that you think that I did anything different than what anybody else would've done is criminally hilarious. Do you really believe that someone so far down on the totem pole such as yourself has ever been given a second thought by someone of my impeccable talent? I hate to break it to you, Michaels, but you are, always have been and will forever continue to be, for me, a means to an end. Everything you have taken so personally and to heart, enough that it has consumed you and put you in this rancid state of eternal vengeance to the point that you can't see anything but red when it comes to my name? For you, these were formative moments that have defined your momentum and career for the last, what, two years? For me? They were Fridays.

What're you expecting to happen at Dreamworld? Do you think just because you've finally decided that you've had enough that now's your time? Now's your moment? If we're going to take a walk down an obsessed memory lane, I'm willing to bet money that you don't have that you're just saying the same thing you've always said. You've been sick of me since we first clashed and you've been trying to get rid of me ever since. You've had it out for me ever since you allowed me to move into your mind and take up residence. I don't just live rent free in your head boyo, I own a fucking condo in there. And now you have the audacity to think you're going to strut into Dreamworld and take the championship that I earned, that I fought to get back, that I defended against yet another legendary has-been that got a little too shop happy at last year's Spirit Halloween store, you think you're going to take all that away from me? Is that what you think is going to happen? I must say, you're definitely out of your mind if you think I'm going to let that happen. I've worked way too hard to get back to the top of Mount Olympus, where I belong, to let you and your overblown bitch fit be the reason that I am no longer at the top of this brand, this company or this industry. As much as you'd like to believe that my reign and my disdain are a personal attack upon your meaningless person, I must remind you that I am a man of professionalism and business. I don't make moves unless they are for the betterment of my business or this business that we call sports entertainment. I don't hold personal grudges. I don't need to. I don't need to be a ball of hate and disgust to find a reason to get up in the morning. I don't need to be at odds with another human being just to feel relevant enough to be in the conversation. That's one of the many differences between you and I, Michaels...

I don't need you. You need me.

Think about that for a second. Where would you be if I hadn't come to OWA and started all the trouble I have. What would you be doing if I hadn't decided to make you my whipping boy that time? If I hadn't decided to allow you to get into the ring with me all those times? What kind of life or career would you have been in if I hadn't been the insufferable prick that you claim that I am? Hm? You don't want to admit it but Remington Ivory Prescott is the reason why Mark Michaels is still a name that people want to see. I made you better. I took everything that you thought you were and I brought it to the surface. I pushed you to your limits and now your name is right up there on the marquee across from mine and right underneath it is the grandest prize that Mount Olympus has to offer... the Immortal Heavyweight Championship. And despite what you may tell yourself in that crusty caravan's rear view mirror and irregardless of what these chumps in Charlotte have gassed you up to believe, the only reason you're even going to Dreamworld is because of me. Because I chose you. Because I decided that I'm tired of you following me around like a rabidly sick puppy, nipping at my heels and begging for me to give you the time of day. I've become exhausted with the fact that you want to get your hands on me so bad that you can't even fathom that maybe I'm just on a level that you will never be able to reach. You can't see past your ego long enough to realize that sometimes you don't get to get your lick back. Sometimes you don't reach your goals. Sometimes you don't get to seize your one chance, your one opportunity. Sometimes...

The villain wins.

What you and I are about to do at Dreamworld is going to be legendary. Even I cannot deny that. The build between us has been both storied and insane. You have the world thinking I've been some megalomaniacal supervillain hell bent on your personal destruction. I, on the other hand, have given the people the truth by owning up to my past actions and promising more of the same. You would like the people to believe that I've inserted myself into your life and your career since the moment I arrived in OWA. I, on the other hand, know that the truth is that you've actually been the thorn that's been in my side this entire time. I also know that, much like homeless shelters that I buy, empty out and bulldoze in favor of more useful and profitable projects, that this is your last chance at Immortality. You know that you're on the cusp of irrelevancy. You're on your last legs. You're the one that's in the hot seat right now. You've gaslit your fans into such a frenzy that all they want is blood. My blood. All you and yours want is to beat me to within an inch of my life and destroy the very foundation of Remington Ivory Prescott.

I can't let that happen.

You see, the Reign of Remington Ivory Prescott is only just beginning. I have plans that go far beyond putting Mark Michaels out of his misery. There are forces aligning that want nothing more than to destroy Mount Olympus and if we are to survive we need a man at the top that can and will do whatever needs to be done in order to protect us. We need someone at the top that has no weaknesses. Someone that cannot be goaded or ticked off by a couple of little mishaps. We do not need someone like you, Michaels. You're too selfish. You're too worried about revenge. You're too needy. Believe it or not, your problem is that you want this too much. You think that if you find a way to destroy me and take the Immortal Heavyweight Championship away from me, that all your problems will be solved. You believe that all your troubles will fade away. You actually have the gall to believe that your life will somehow right itself and that your little feefees will be validated. You think you'll finally be justified in everything that you've said since you've decided that I'm your worst enemy. But the truth is...

You have been your own worst enemy this entire time.

You've had a chance to let this go. Multiple chances. And still you continue to persist. You refuse to be driven by your mind because you believe that heart is what's more important. You believe that your passion for this industry makes you better than me. You can't see past Remington Ivory Prescott and his Immortal Heavyweight Championship... and that is why you will fail.

So here's what I'm going to do for you, Mark. I'm going to walk into Dreamworld and I'm going to stand face to face with you in That Very Ring. I'm going to give you exactly what you want. You want a fight to the death? Easy enough, I've died for this title before -- I'll do it again. You want no rules, no holds barred, whatever. I'll match you. We can do this however you want. Because this time I don't want there to be any excuses. I don't want you coming back around in another two months whining about whatever stunt I pulled or whatever dishonest thing you believe I've done. I don't want to hear anything about the Tres Comas Club. Whatever excuses you're already preparing to tell me, your fans and yourself -- you might as well keep them inside because this is it, Mark. This is the last time that you and I are going to do this dance. I have much bigger fish to fry and they are all waiting in the wings for their crack at me and my Immortal Heavyweight Championship after your final failed attempt.

I offered you my hand in friendship so long ago that you don't even remember. You smacked it away and made me your worst enemy. Over the years you and I have gone back and forth in a rivalry that could've been avoided. You made me out to be the bad guy because of how I choose to do business. I've made you out to be an obsessive individual that can't find anything else to make you worth my time. The truth is probably somewhere in the middle and I can own that.

No matter which one of our stories is correct, there is one thing that I think both of us can agree on. That our journey together is coming to an end. At Dreamworld, in Charlotte, North Carolina, in what I'm sure will be one of the most brutal and ungodly I, Surrender matches in the history of OWA, the two of us will finally put this war to bed. The name Mark Michaels will no longer be synonymous with the name Remington Ivory Prescott.

Only one of us will be Immortal.

Michael Bishop, Arata Asakura, Rebecca Filth and Chad Ecclestone have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 14th 2024, 10:18 pm by **Tomomi Shinozaki**

This match is a long time coming. A match that I earned months ago, that was taken away from me from the very person I go into this match with. Josie, I hope you realize what you've done. I hope you realize that our match is your last match with that championship. You have done everything in your power to disgrace me and make me look silly. I don't know if it's out of fear, or you're genuinely just this awful of a person. Honestly, whatever the reason is, it doesn't matter. All you've done is poke the bear and make me angrier, and angrier. Is that what your goal was this entire time? I said in the Tag Team Championship match that I didn't really care who won, just as long as you lost, and I meant that. I'm not a vindictive person by nature, but when someone's seemingly sole purpose in life is to see you suffer, then things tend to change. You have made it a point, to try and get me away from you. To try and push whatever claim I have at you, away. Maybe you thought that you could scare me out of this like I wasn't built for the pain, but here I stand, and this match is going to happen. You and me, for the Sparks Championship. It's a long time coming. I have been waiting to prove myself for a long time, and often times it has felt like my chance would never come. Or, when it did come, I wouldn't be ready for it. But I am, I am ready for this, more than ready for this, and I don't care what you throw at me, this title, this match, is mine for the taking. I look back at my journey up to this point, and to see where I was, where I have gotten to, I can't help but to smile. I mean looking back, maybe you did me a favor. I thought I was ready for the championship match back in November before you took it away from me, but feeling how I do now, I know I didn't feel this going into it back then. You have pushed me Josie. You have pushed me into what I have become today, and I guess I should be grateful in a way. Without this, without your constant bullying, because that's what this has become, I wouldn't have been able to see myself for who I truly am. I know I didn't win the Tag Team Championships, but that match showed me a few things. It has gotten me prepared for this match that we have coming up. See I knew that you were someone that would take the easy way out if they could, but I got the full experience last time, didn't I? Because little did I know, I never even had the chance of winning that match that I thought I did. I was targeted, attacked, and taken out of the match before I even had a chance to leave my mark. Well congratulations on that, I didn't become a Tag Team Champion, but is this how you thought it would go? You've just made me even more mad, and you're not the Tag Team Champion. And now, you're at risk of losing everything that you once had. You were on top of the world a few weeks ago, you thought nothing could knock you down. You had people at your beck and call and nothing could happen to stop your dominance. But now, look at what's happening. You make enemies everywhere you go, and you don't hold the same power that you used to.

You know what really gives me satisfaction? It's not just the fact that you have gone to these great lengths to try and get rid of me. It's the fact that even through it all, I was the one, I was the catalyst for you losing your Tag Team Championships. You thought that it would just be some easy fight, and it cost you. I eliminated you what felt like, in seconds. You couldn't be a graceful loser though, and had to make sure that the embarrassment that you endured ended with me pinning you. The thought of Sena and I becoming the Tag Team Champions clearly ate you up inside and me pinning you was enough for you to make you snap. You tried to take me out, and yet here I stand, ready to get rid of you once and for all. You are a problem and have been for quite some time. You thought that taking my title shot away from me, and winning the Sparks Championship so I couldn't would get rid of me. Well, it didn't. I'm not that little docile Tomomi Shinozaki that came to OWA wide-eyed, and over her head. I've grown and changed, and I know that people like you aren't some big scary monster that can dispose of me easily. You've tried and failed. Intimidation didn't work, physically assaulting me hasn't worked. Now you have to come face to face with me, the literal living breathing consequences of your actions. Truth is, had you been cordial about things, and just given me a shot after you took it from me, I probably wouldn't be in the mindset I am now. But you just decided to keep hammering it in, and escalating every single thing to the point that I kind of snapped. Just a little. You were the catalyst for the reformed Tomomi. So what is there to say now, Josie? I've already shown that I can beat you. I already know that I can. So take that fear of the unknown away. You've already shown your true colors. You've shown that you don't handle loss, or adversity well. I know that when I have you on the ropes, and you feel like all hope is lost, you'll panic. Heck, I think you're panicking right now, without the match even started. You have already mapped out a plan to try and weasel your way out of a fair fight, and I know this. Every single time you and I come face to face I don't think it takes long before someone else gets in the way.

You can have Revy in your back pocket, and have her fight your battles for you, but I'm ready for it. I'm not going into this unprepared, this is the biggest match of my career, and I'm not going to let it slip through my fingers. I come way to far to let it just fizzle out in the end. I owe it to my Sensei, to Sena, and my Dad to get this right. I have traveled from across the world, and failed at every single turn, only for this moment to present itself to me. All the stars are aligning, and I can feel it. I'm pretty sure you have the same feeling that I do too, otherwise, you wouldn't have tried everything that you have in order to try and get me away from the title to begin with. The Black Lagoon failed, and it was because of me, that brings me great joy. But that was only step one. I have more work to do. I have everything that you have done stored in the back of my mind, and I won't let it fade away. I will hold these feelings toward you, because they motivate me. I will not let you treat me the way you did, and get away with it. Hopefully, you can take this match, and learn from it. Maybe you can even change your ways, and become a better person from it. That's probably too much to ask for, I know. Doesn't hurt to be hopeful though! I have gone through my struggles here, and at points, people have told me that I don't even have what it takes to be a professional wrestler. I had to go home, back to Japan just to get some clarity. This hasn't been easy in the slightest, and I knew that would be the case when I signed with OWA. But all of the pain, and adversity that I've gone through, has just made me a better person. I have taken everything that this company has thrown at me, and I have come out for the better, stronger. Josie, I don't know how you're feeling, or what you're feeling going into this match, but I hope you give me the proper respect that I have earned here. If not, so be it, but either way, it won't matter regardless. You have done more than enough to me, so what could a little more disrespect ever do? All I know is that after the match is over, and I have my hand raised; all of this, will be worth it in the end.

Re: OWA Promos April 14th 2024, 4:56 pm by **Nas**

[[The camera opens up to Nas’ school, the Best Wrestling Academy, where Nas can be seen working out with a plethora of his students. However they all stop when Nas calls for them to all huddle around him so he may speak with them.]]

Aight y’all I’m sure you’ve all heard the news. I’m going to be stepping back into the ring for the celebration of OWA’s Six Year Anniversary.

[[All of his students and staff at the Academy begin to applaud as he motions with his hands for them to simmer down so he may speak once more.]]

And this one is a very big deal for me personally. As you all know I was in the very first OWA main event all that time ago in 2018. I came up short on that night. I missed out on a golden opportunity. I missed out on the chance to be the first man to hold what would go on to become the richest prize in all of our profession. The Omega Wrestling Alliance World Championship. Instead a dear friend and peer of mine, a fellow legend in this business Finnegan Wakefield got the honor of holding the big gold and setting the standard for the greatest championship in Professional Wrestling today! And that is a wrong that I plan to right. Not saying it’s wrong that Finn held it. But that it’s a wrong for me personally that I fell short and couldn’t compete for that distinction myself. Instead, I went on to create the Omega Heavyweight Championship and the Olympus brand. Now don’t get me wrong folks. I am incredibly proud to see how far the Blue Brand has come since those humble beginning days. And in the end it may have been for the greater good of OWA as a whole that the events played out in this manner…but god damnit do I really REALLY want to get that monkey off my back finally! I don’t just want to finally get my name down as an OWA World Champion…I don’t just have to claim that title that’s alluded me for so long…I NEED TO FINALLY GET MY NAME ETCHED ONTO THE RECORD BOOKS AS SOMEONE WHO’S HELD THAT CHAMPIONSHIP TITLE BELT!

[[All of those present within the Best Wrestling Academy in Atlanta begin to applaud once again as Nas lets them get their excitement out before coughing to get their attention once more.]]

Many of the all time greats throughout the history of the Omega Wrestling Alliance have laid claim to holding onto the promotion’s namesake championship…except for me. That list of names is a who’s who of OWA’s history, past present, and pushing ever further into the future. Peers of mine that I matured alongside in this industry such as Finnegan Wakefield, Scott Oasis, Aria Jaxon, Kenny Drake, Moongoose McQueen, Stark and Azumi Goto. Those that I had the pleasure of watching mature into top stars such as Jeff X, Christopher Sabertooth, Jason Long, Michael Bishop, and Arata Asakura. DT the Ruler, a man who I crossed paths with in the infancy of my career even returned to Pro Wrestling to claim the big belt. And most recently the new era now holds a firm grip on the most sacred title we’ve ever created. First it was Rebecca Filth pushing the boundaries through blood, sweat, and tears…but she’s not the current champion. No now the richest prize in the game finds itself slung along the shoulder of one Chad Ecclestone.

[[Nasir takes a deep breath and runs his hand down his face, wiping some sweat away from his forehead before he continues on further.]]

Chad is a man that the younger Nas would probably have dismissed. It’s more than likely I would not have respected Chad Ecclestone. I would have wanted to know exactly what Chad wanted out of our industry. Why he was forcing himself into our world. And exactly how was he going to ditch all of us, turn his back on all of this…once he got what he was looking for. But the new Nas. The older, wiser, and calmer Nas…I hold no grudges or ill will towards Mr. Ecclestone. As a matter of fact I appreciate his presence within our little bubble of Professional Wrestling. And the exact reason for that is very straight forward ladies, gentlemen, and others…it’s because he has shed blood, sweat, and tears in the middle of that ring to reach the point that he’s at now. He’s made the grave sacrifices that we all must in order to reach the pinnacle of this profession. The miles of travel. The days, weeks, months, hell years away from family, friends, and any other loved ones. Literal blood, sweat, and tears shed in the middle of that very ring in some of the most grueling matches ever devised in wrestling long tenured history. And he’s never given up on this. He never decided that this wasn’t worth his time. He never said that he couldn’t handle it any more. He’s stuck with this and truly put his all into it. And that is someone that I must respect to the utmost degree.

[[Many of Nas’ students look in awe of his passionate and commendable words towards his current adversary.]]

Truth be told, It may seem like I’m just some sort of special appearance for a celebration of this company’s lore and roots. It may come off to most that I’m simply a measuring stick to see if Chad belongs alongside the top brass of the Omega Wrestling Alliance. But that’s perfectly fine, you may write me off as some relic who’s here to shine up the new focal point champion all you like. But they said the exact same thing about Stark when he showed up and took on Jason Long not that long ago didn’t they? And just look at how that turned out. We found ourselves crowning a new OWA World Champion out of it, one of the biggest shock victories in this company’s history! And that young, brash champion who thought he held all the keys to the kingdom in the palm of his hands? Well it all just poofed away in a matter of moments. And just look at how things have gone for Mr. Long since then. The man has practically lost his marbles alongside his championship. He has no sense of what’s right now or any true focus on what he should do to reclaim his spot at the mountaintop! Now I don’t think that that is your fate necessarily Chad, but I’m simply warning you to not sit back so casually the same way he did. Because you’ll be in for a very rude awakening when it’s all said and done!

[[Nas takes another deep breath to recollect his thoughts before staring back into the camera and starting up again.]]

Truth be told I’ve been training like a mad man for weeks and weeks now, for over a month I’d been preparing for this very opportunity. Now I’m truly the only one that’s been aware of that. Not even my staff or students here. They simply thought that I’d been training them all, trying to push all of them harder and farther. When it was exactly the opposite. Iron sharpens Iron my good people. And I needed all of these young prospects. These blue chipper athletes to push me to my limits and even further beyond them. To get me in the greatest shape I’ve ever been in in my life! Because I knew I was coming back to OWA one way or another, and that when I did…I was coming back for the OWA World Championship! Now I had no idea you’d be the champion Chad. But I did keep you and your golden opportunity in the back of my mind. Being one hundred percent honest, I was originally preparing to do battle with Rebecca Filth instead. But of course I’ll approach this match with you the exact same way I would have if it were her!

[[Nas now climbs out of the ring and sits on the outside ring apron as many of his students begin to crowd around ringside to keep hearing what he has to say.]]

Chad Ecclestone utilized one of the single greatest opportunities that can be won by an OWA Alpha, the Ascension to the Heavens Briefcase. One of the many concepts that I myself helped create when the initial group of us were first creating OWA throughout those early stages of its inaugural year of existence. A guaranteed title shot at any time of the holder’s choosing and the champion has no way of objecting to the defense. Truly a flawless way of rising to the top in a matter of moments. The likes of Christopher Sabertooth and Diantha Rosso have utilized that briefcase to great results before you, and you have triumphantly repeated their successes for yourself. Kudos to you for that one Mr. World Champion. But lemme give you a bit of advice. As a multiple time heavyweight champion of the world. As a man that’s Main Evented Final Destination with one of those on the line. As a man who was born and built for Big Match Situations! It’s far easier to claim the title…than it is to maintain control over it.

[[Many audible ooooos and aaahhhhs can be heard throughout the audience Nas has built up here.]]

Chad that is what you must deal with starting on OWA SIX! THE MONUMENTAL PRESSURE OF THE WEIGHT OF THE ENTIRE WORLD AND EVERY LAST DAMN PERSON ON IT OVER YOUR SHOULDERS! The exact same sort of pressure that turned Christopher Sabertooth into Havoc! The same sort of pressure that caused Jason Long to enter an existential crisis now! That exact same pressure that’s caused countless men and women to lose sight of themselves. Of who they are. And WHAT they represent! All in the pursuit of being on top! Very few are truly built to withstand this level of pressure Chad. And we have zero clue at all if you actually ARE one of them or not! Even I myself couldn’t fully handle the responsibilities that came with the role without being consumed by darkness and hatred myself! So what I aim to find out is are you truly prepared for the role you currently find yourself occupying young man?! And don’t worry, there’s only two ways that this whole thing concludes itself.

[[The people in the room are now hanging on to every last word that leaves Nasir Moore’s lips.]]

Scenario number one. You come into OWA Six and you bring your A Game. It’s enough to fend off one of the single greatest to EVER do it! An inaugural top star in OWA’s history. The very first heavyweight champion of the world in OWA’s history. The man who main evented the very first Final Destination EVER! Achievements no one else can boast that they have in our business! You manage to overcome that titan of a man! You prove that you are the absolute best that this industry has to offer today! And that’s that. A happy ending for the budding new champion as he continues to mold himself into the future of Professional Wrestling.

[[Nas grins a little, before shaking his head a bit and staring right back into the camera lens once more.]]

But then there’s scenario number two. Maybe you do bring your best to OWA Six against me still Chad. But maybe you don’t. Maybe you slack off and I manage to overcome you. I dispatch you. I end your dreams and pursuits of being the top man in our world of wrestling for the time being. And you have to go back to the drawing board and figure out where exactly you errored. Or maybe as I said earlier, you DO bring your best, you don’t slack off, you DON’T get cocky and comfortable. BUT YOUR BEST STILL AIN’T ENOUGH TO DEAL WITH THE MAN WHO ACTIVELY CALLS HIMSELF THE BEST WRESTLER ALIVE! Then what do you do. See it’s actually easier to blame yourself when you don’t put in your full effort and you let one slip by you. But what happens when you did everything right on your end…but your best efforts were simply…not…good…enough?

[[Nas runs his hands down his hair and looks as if he’s contemplating in thought for a bit.]]

These are the ugly truths that we all must deal with internally at different points in our wrestling lives. Certain men made entire careers out of those doubts being present for them. Nathan Fiora, Michael Bishop, Kenny Drake, Azumi Goto, hell even Moongoose McQueen I must give the devil his due here…yes they all eventually reached the top. But they all had so many times where they missed the mark and the anguish and frustration built up within them. Trying to piece together exactly where they fell short. Why things weren’t coming together properly for them just as they had for others that they considered their equals. But each and every single one of them pushed through in the end. Can you do that now Chad? Hell those few of you at this point that were around for my formative years should know very well that I was the poster child for this idea before I became the legend I am now. I was the odd man out. The bride’s maid but never the bride. The perennial second best. But I let all of my setbacks fuel me on! I wanted to be a beacon of hope for all of those that came after me! I wanted to be a symbol of opportunity! And I never backed down. I did not surrender until I got what I was after! DO YOU SEE THE FIRE IN MY EYES CHAD ECCLESTONE?! DO YOU HEAR THE PASSION IN MY VOICE?! I AM A MAN WHO ABSOLUTELY POSITIVELY REFUSES TO BE DENIED! THE ONLY DAMN DIFFERENCE IS I’M NOT THE YOUNG MAN WITH A GLASS CEILING PLACED OVER MY HEAD THAT I MUST SHATTER! NO NO NO! NOW I’M THE OLD VET WHO’S OUT TO PROVE THAT I GOT ONE MORE TOP RUN IN ME! AND I’M NOT DOING ANY SORT OF GRANDSTANDING! I DON’T NEED THE POMP AND CIRCUMSTANCE! NO PYRO OR THEATRICS FOR THIS ONE! BECAUSE I ALL BY MYSELF AM ALL THE HYPE THAT’S NEEDED TO MAKE THIS ONE A BIG FIGHT FEEL!

[[One of the students looks like she is about to approach Nasir, but a coach holds her back to allow him to get all of his energy out now.]]

THE ONE FUCKING THING I’VE YET BEEN ABLE TO CLAIM IN THE HISTORY BOOKS IS BEING THE FLAG BEARER, THE STANDARD BEARER, THE MAN IN THE OMEGA WRESTLING ALLIANCE! AND THAT COMES DOWN TO ONE VERY SIMPLE THING! I’VE NEVER BEEN ABLE TO BECOME THE OMEGA WRESTLING ALLIANCE WORLD CHAMPION! WELL COME THE SIXTH YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF THE GREATEST PROFESSION WRESTLING PROMOTION THAT THIS WORLD OR ANY OTHER HAS EVER KNOWN, I SET OUT TO DO JUST THAT! NASIR MOORE, CM NAS, NAS, WHATEVER IN THE HELL YOU WANT TO CALL ME AT THIS POINT…I AM GOING TO DO THE ONE THING I’VE NEVER DONE, WHILE AT THE SAME TIME DOING THE ONLY THING I KNOW HOW TO DO! I’M GOING TO WIN THE OWA WORLD TITLE…AND I’M GOING TO DO IT BY FIGHTING MY HEART OUT TO THE ABSOLUTE FULLEST AND PROVING I AM STILL THE BEST WRESTLING ALIVE! ACTUALLY…FUCK THAT! I’LL DO YA ONE BETTER! DEFEATING CHAD ECCLESTONE AND FINALLY ADDING MY NAME TO THE MOST ELITE GROUP OF PERFORMERS IN OUR ENTIRE INDUSTRY’S HISTORY WILL MAKE ME A LEVEL ABOVE THE B.W.A.! IT WILL MAKE ME THE G.W.E. THE GREATEST! WRESTLER! EVER! MY CONVICTION IS TRUE! MY DESIRE IS UNDENIABLE! I’M NOT TELLING YOU WHAT I PLAN TO DO! NO NO NO! GOOD PEOPLE OF OWA! I’M TELLING YOU WHAT WILL OCCUR NEXT SATURDAY! I’M WINNING THE OWA WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP AND I AM REMINDING EACH AND EVERY SINGLE LAST ONE OF YOU WHY MY NAME HAS ALWAYS BELONGED AT THE TOP OF THE G.O.A.T. STATUS LIST!

[[All the people in the Best Wrestling Academy begin to chant Nasir’s name. NAS! NAS! NAS!]]

It’s been a good while since I’ve heard that one. Makes me feel youthful again. Makes me feel rejuvenated. Makes me feel like I can achieve the impossible. Makes me feel like I CAN DO ANYTHING RIGHT NOW! Chad Ecclestone, I respect the hell out of what all you’ve managed to achieve in our world of Professional Wrestling and specifically within the confines of the Omega Wrestling Alliance in such a miniscule amount of time. But just because I respect what you’ve done, does NOT mean that this grizzled veteran is gonna let you get your shit off on him and let ya walk off with your reign still intact. And best believe once I defeat you my good sir, you can get a rematch against me anytime you like. I hold zero ill will towards you. I’d be telling Rebecca Filth every last thing that I’ve just told you, Chad. Raivo, Jeff, Bishop, Aria, Arata, Moongoose, Christopher…it makes NO DIFFERENCE who stands across the ring from me! There are three very simple yet important words connected to me that I’d utter to any one of you and I plan to state towards every one of you…IT’S CONQUERING TIME!

[[Everyone within the Best Wrestling Academy rise to their feet if they weren’t standing already. They begin not just loudly clapping and applauding, but hollering, chanting for Nas, patting him on the back or shoulders, so on and so forth. The final thing we see is a camera pan past Nas’ office where we see his championship collection. With one empty spot at the very top that reads: OWA World Championship.]]

Aria Jaxon, Emmanuelle, Mark Michaels, Remington Ivory Prescott and Chad Ecclestone have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Kingdom promo 1 April 14th 2024, 12:49 am by **Mark Michaels**

The King has returned: vs Ravio #1

( The scene opens on the Kingdom Interview set where we find Cori Simmons standing by.)

Cori Simmons: Hello everyone and welcome to this OWA on YouTube exclusive report. Kingdom is coming back to the world’s most famous arena, and kicking off the OWA 6 tour by taking over Madison Square Garden! I am so excited for this show, in particular because as OWA on X announced yesterday, we have a very special matchup where we will see “The Authentic” Ravio go one on one with my guest who will be making his Kingdom in ring debut Sunday Night. He is the former four time OWA Prestige Champion, one of the most popular superstars on Friday Night Olympus, and he is the number one contender for the Immortal Heavyweight Championship, ladies and gentleman please welcome The Romani King, Mark Michaels.

( Mark enters the set flanked by his crew of Harman Ardelean, and his cousins Gyp, and Sy.)

Cori Simmons: Mark, thank you for taking time out of your schedule to chat with us, and let me be the first to welcome you to Kingdom.

Mark: Thank you Cori, I appreciate the warm welcome from you, and everyone across all the social channels who have been showing me some love now that kingdom has its King. Right here live in the flesh is Mark Michaels. Now for you who don’t know me, allow me to introduce myself. I am the King of the hustlers, the king of staying on the grind, and king of rising up and proving your worth every damn day. Now that you know who I am, I’m sure everyone is asking just why Mark Michaels, the poster boy for Olympus, doing here on Sunday night?

Cori Simmons: That actually was my next question? What are you doing here Mark?

Mark: What can I say? I have friends in high places. My old buddy Nathan Fiora and I were having a friendly little chat back at Dreamworld, and then he said that he thinks that Kingdom has perhaps the best group of talent ever assembled. He said the guys and girls on Sunday night are amazing, but with such a huge tour coming up, he wanted something special to put it all over the top. He wanted something huge for Kingdom, something to shake this brand at its very foundations and upend the status quo quicker than you could flick off a light switch. Nathan Fiora looked me right in the eye with the same lion he had when asked if I wanted to bring an Awakening to Friday Nights. He looked me in the eye and he said that the only way he could make kingdom even better, was for everyone in MSG to take a trip with the Cosmic Caravan. I told Nathan there’s room for every single fan to ride along with the Romani King, and I’m excited at the thought of tangling with guys like Chris Sabertooth, Colton Saint, Aria Jaxson, Jeff X, and so many more.

Cori Simmions: And I’m sure all of our fans are just as hyped about those fantasy match ups becoming a reality, but I have to ask, with a No Surrender match for the Immortal Heavyweight Championship fast approaching, should you be competing against someone like Ravio who he himself will be facing off against Poet for the OWA Prestige Championship. What can we expect in this match up? How important is it to have momentum going into an such a huge event? And how do you weigh the risk vs the reward in terms of potentialy getting injured before such a huge match?

Mark: Well Cori, anytime you step in the ring you risk getting hurt, that’s just the nature of this sport. But if you assume that I’ll be going at half speed for my Kingdom Debut, I think you’ll see pretty quick that I am not one to anything half heartedly. I never back down from a fight, I never never put forth anything less than my absolute best. Especially for this one, Because momentum is important, and going into what may just be the biggest match of my entire career, hell my entire life, Having it on my side when I step into the ring at Dream World can make a huge difference. It’s probably why the Tres Commas Club have kept me out of the ring the last few weeks. They don’t want this Romani express train picking up any steam, because once it starts rolling, ain’t hell or high water gonna make it stop. So since KD, and the rest of the Tres Comas jackasses have me sitting on the sidelines, that has led me here to Sunday Night, to New York City, and to Ravio. Now don’t think that just because I got my eyes on the prize, that I’m overlooking the man I will be standing toe to toe, eye to eye with. I know I’m the new guy on Kingdom, but I’ve kept my ear to the ground, I’ve done my homework, and I know that Ravio has been on the rise for a hot moment. Once upon a time you would ask Siri just who Ravio is, and it would reply According to this Ravio is defined as, 1.) a hanger on who needs someone bigger, stronger, and wholly more interesting to subsist on, aka a leech. 2.) an empty headed, pissant, jackass with no guts, no spine, and a decided lack of balls. But towards the end of last season, and up to just a few weeks ago when he beat Moongoose McQueen, a former World Champion, in a no holds barred match, Ravio has been changing that up. He’s been on the come up, and made himself one of those guys who is never quite out of contention, because he has enough talent to beat the best. We all saw how Back at Final Destination Ravio came damn close to winning it all on the biggest stage. Being inches away from being able to say you are the undisputed best burns a hole in a man, I’m speaking from first hand experience. He could have floundered Post-Final Destination, but instead he has let that fire that has been burning inside, take him to another level. It also wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to say this man is getting more and more desperate to get another crack at championship gold, hence why he keeps showing up on Olympus whenever he sees an opening to swoop in and grab a title. It’s no easy feat to try and step into the ring with a champion when you’ve so little time to prepare for your opponent, but Ravio stays ready. I respect the hustle.

So With the countdown to Dream World nearly up, and your Romani King looking for a tune up match, I couldn't think of a better way to warm up for the fight of my life, than to battle it out with a man that’s almost as hungry, with a fire in his belly, motivated as fuck to prove he’s the best in this business, just like me. A take no prisoners son of a bitch who wants the world and everything in it. I want him at his best, I want him looking to send a message to everyone, especially Nathan Fiora, I want The Authentic Ravio. I want him to bring his best to the table because I know it will bring the best out of me.

Now that I’ve given Ravio his flowers, I think he should know who he’s going against. Of course if I just stand on a soapbox going on and on about myself it’ would make me no better than that Jackass Remington Prescott. So That’s why I got this guy to let everyone know who the fuck I am, tell him Harman.

Harman Ardelean: lend an ear and listen here. My boy Marco here needs no introduction, but I’m proud to give him one anyways. This here is the man who if he can’t climb a mountain, he’s gonna make it move. This is the man that started from the very bottom, and is now nearly at the top of mount Olympus. This the man who can’t be kept down because he has no quit and he never surrenders. This the man who you can’t stop, like the sun coming up in morning, or waves of the ocean rolling onto the shore, and now he’s arrived in a new Kingdom to take his throne.

Mark: Thank you Harman. Now with that said, I want Ravio to know that yes we both have huge opportunities at dream world. We both have championship ambitions over on Olympus, but this match here on Kingdom, well that has all the ingredients to be one hell of a match. It can help change how you are defined here and now. Going from the third wheel, to a driving force. Going from that guy who used to run with DT the Ruler, to one of the biggest players on Kingdom. Going from a guy been a bit directionless, who’s been hanging around the locker room talking shit, to the man on Sunday night. Bring your best Ravio, because I sure as hell am. You want the Prestige championship, I won that belt 4 fucking times, so the way I see it, you want to prove you got a shot of beating Poet? you got to try and beat me. But don’t think it’ll be an easy feat. You’re looking at the hardest working man I’m OWA, Mister no days off is in the building, and he is here to raise the bar even higher for the Kingdom locker room. Mark Michaels is here to show everyone on Sunday Nights that what matters most in that ring is your size of your heart and your hustle. Mark Michaels is here to bring out the best in every single member of that locker room, from bell to bell, week in and week out.

Bring your best bro, because Michaels vs Ravio is the kind of match that could headline a Final Destination, and I want this match to live up to the hype of every single person in that crowd riding on the cosmic caravan. I’m bringing everything I got to the ring. I’m doing it for Harman, I’m doing it for my cousins, I’m even doing it for the Minorities. And with so many people having their eyes on this match, with one of my good buddies paying me a whole lot bunch of zeroes, and with my path leading me towards dreams and destiny, there’s no way I’m letting anyone down or disappointed in ny Kingdom debut. Ravio, you are about to get the unfiltered, uncensored, unequivocal, best of Mark Michaels when that bell ring. And when it’s all over, don’t be surprised when I get my hand raised, and you… HAIL TO THE KING BABY!!!

Cori Simmons: Thank you for your time Mark. Make sure you guys catch Kingdom, check your local listings. For OWA on YouTube, I am Cori Simmions.

( with that the video fades out to black.)

Emmanuelle and Felix Hartley have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 13th 2024, 1:28 pm by **Hana Nakajima**

Dreamworld #1: This is all about us.

xx.xx.2024 - After latest Olympus

*First couple of months on Olympus weren't easy. Downfalls and moments of glory were intertwined like barbed wire. However, when Hana decided to step into the blue brand ring, she was aware that this journey wasn't going to be easy. Every place has its own specific, something that makes it difficult, but beautiful at the same time. Something that makes it unique and desirable by many. Omega Wrestling Alliance had three brands and looking at them, you could tell one thing. All of them were very different and this is what was making that company very interesting. So getting adapted to the new environment also takes time. But can you allow yourself to get such a privilege when the title is at your fingertips? Hana may not have that much time to get fully comfortable with the pacing of Olympus, but at the same time she was never feeling discomfort to be there. She was trying to do her business while getting used to the rules of the blue brand. That was not something you could notice at the first sight. It was her inner thoughts that had any idea about it, because she is a professional. Despite her young age, she understood how important it is to keep a straight face when you have even a shadow of a doubt in your head. But now? She was more confident than ever before. The Platinum Queens were going to challenge for Tag Team Championships once again and both ladies were looking for a better result than the last time. They were not hungry for gold, they were starving.*

*As the recording begins, we are on the backstage of tonight's Olympus. It doesn't take long for Hana to show up in front of the camera. She is dressed in black ring gear with golden elements. Her hair is tied in the messy low bun that completely lost its structure after what happened tonight. Viewers can also notice multiple scratches and bruises all over Hana's body, but her body language emanates with pride and confidence. Wide smile appears on her face, as she removes hairband, releasing waves of crimson hair.*

When I arrived on Olympus, I had a vision that I couldn’t wait to share with the rest of the world. Something that was the embodiment of risk. Something that you could consider a pure gamble. Decision that I would be scared to make a few years ago. But I didn't come here with anxiety in my head. I came with a certain thought in my mind. I wanted to choose a path that nobody expected for a very simple reason. Just look at my past…Look at the mess I went through…Look at all the sacrifices and regrets I had. My life is already complicated like a puzzle, so why not make it even more adventurous? Why would I pick a safe option with a slower start...WHILE I HAVE NOTHING TO LOSE. When I showed up in the battle royal, you were probably expecting me to go after the Prestige Championship....You were thinking I will break AD’ spine for the American Dream...or I will jump into the claws of darkness by challenging Darkane for the Immortal Heavyweight Championship after a long time of proving myself on this brand. And you were partly right about the last one. I chose Darkane...I wanted to dance with the devil, but the last thing you could imagine was me looking at tag team titles. I was in that division before. I know how tag team gold feels like. But all of you are too used to seeing April Song next to me, that you could not even think that I could make such a great pairing with someone who is not her. Especially with Emmanuelle. As everybody knows, we had a lot of bad blood in the past, but it was never heavily personal. We just happened to be interested in the same stuff at the same time and that caused a lot of bullshit. But I am not the kind of person to hold a grudge. I am not vindictive, unless you make me feel that way. Besides, I have seen with my own eyes that the best teams are not created from brotherhood. Wherever there is love, there is also a lot of hatred and jealousy. So what are the pillars of an actual team? The strongest bond is made by the difficult moments the two of you shared. The pact that is made with the blood that was boiling in your veins, before you started throwing hands at each other. Add a pinch of trust and a lot of skills...And here we are, we have a team that can run any division not only in OWA, but everywhere in the world. Was I scared that it was not going to work? Of course, but what is the value of life if you avoid adrenaline. Shit can fail, but it can also bring a lot of benefits. You have to think about that, right? And here you have a result of a decision that we have made. What was considered an experiment, turned out to be a great team and I am happy I can share those nice moments with Emmanuelle. For the last few months we were learning to trust each other and all the steps were important for us to understand what kind of team we are. Our first failed title shot. Our annoying draw in the tournament. Raising Swords and Shield’ trophy high in the air. Staring death in the eyes once again. All of that made us stronger. So this time, you two are going to experience a way different aura from Platinum Queens. At Dreamworld we are not only going to push Seventh Ward to their limits, we are leaving the ring as your new OWA Tag Team Champions.

I know you are not happy to see us in that spot again, Laz. You didn't want to face us in the first place, even back in the day. We all remember what happened a few months ago, right? You came to the ring with a cocky smile on your face. You were welcoming any challengers, but your nasty face expression changed once I stepped forward. You were no longer so happy when you saw me, ready to knock your teeth out of your mouth. But there is something interesting about our first meeting. You got scared for the first time, am I not right? Of course, you are not going to admit that. Your huge ego won't let you do that, but I know what I have seen. Big words are one thing, but body language doesn't lie, bitch. I could have read from you like from an opened book. I have seen that you have doubt in your heart for the first time. You were not expecting such a turn of events. You were hoping to add another easy defense to your records, because let's be real...Tag Team division wasn't really a big deal on Olympus till the two of us arrived. Seventh Ward didn't have any worthy competition. There was no one, who would be even close to your level, so this is why you were so confident, Laz. It is hard to be scared when you are a wolf surrounded by the sheeps. But it was to be expected that at some point, another wolf is going to show up to take over the pack. The match we had the last time, Laz, it was the toughest tag team bout you had. We haven't only pushed you to your limits, we were so fucking close to beat you for the belts, you hold so dear. But it seems that you haven't learnt your lesson, Laz. Even after we were that close to ending your five seconds of fame, that you get because of being Darkane's friend, and you still have no balls to admit that we are your biggest threat. But let me tell you one thing, it is so lame that you have to act all tough and bitchy, because you are scared of two little girls.

*Hana winks with left eye, while touching her cheekbone with finger and pulling her tongue out. As she calms down very quickly, she brings back more serious expressions.*

But it seems that we are not your only problem. It seems like Seventh Ward is not FINE. The evil god that was supposed to be your bargaining chip...The ace hidden in your sleeves, that was supposed to scare competition, ended up to be a very dangerous curse. Something that the two of you don't even know how to control. So we can all agree that your greed for power will be the reason for your downfall. I am calling it right now, because I know myself how it feels to be possessed by a spirit that you have no idea how to overcome. I understand the inner battle. Something that feels like your lungs are dried up and you are desperately trying to get some air. The feeling of darkness pulling you closer, clenching the claws on your skin. The screams of people around you, that start crushing your brain. The scary feeling of looking at your victim's faces, but having the impression that you are completely blind. This is the kind of experience that is very difficult to explain. There is no word to describe how helpless you feel. Like a motherfucking bird locked in the cage. Darkane, you might be naive as I was…You might believe that those are just difficult moments, but soon you will be strong enough to overcome the demon inside of you…But you never will be able to do that. You will never be a master of your own soul, as long as the claws of darkness are keeping a thigh grip on your neck. You might think that it is useless bullshit if those were words of someone else. You may not like me, I don’t really give a fuck what you think of me. But all my story with Havoc should convince you that all I am saying is undeniable truth. I understand we are not friends…To me, you are no one important from a personal point of view. But I said that on Odyssey before…I don’t want anyone to experience the same thing that I had to go through.. I don’t want someone to suffer this way, because it is a very brutal and depressing state. It is literally heartbreaking to witness how you are losing control over your own life and you can’t do anything about that. Darkane, your buddy won’t be able to stop the devil in you every single time. It worked this time, but everything happens for a reason. Demons not only control your body, but also your mind. That shit that is trying to steal your soul is putting in your mind a thought that you are in charge here, just to crush you like a warm. He is feeding your ego…he is filling your head with promise…so that he can break you in half when the time is right. I also thought that I had control over Havoc, you know? But he showed me very easily that he was always ready for checkmate. I lost the battle for my soul the moment I accepted him as a part of me. So, please, try to get rid of that shit as soon as possible. If you don’t care about yourself, then think about the people around you. Because you can be sure that your family and friends are going to be victims of your bad choices. You are going to have their blood on your hands…Just like I had. My case was literally a lesson for everyone. Before you even think about making a deal with deities, you have to remember about one important thing.When a disaster like that comes, you are not the only person that suffers, there is the whole pile of dead bodies. And I am telling you that the moment you reach that point, Lazarus is going to be a piece of shattered meat. You will be the reason why his heart stopped beating and this is a sin that will be rooted in your head forever.

I have my own theories about the bond of Seventh Ward, but let’s say that their team is based on brotherhood, as the two of you are claiming. Then it is obvious that Laz will do everything to protect his friend. He will sacrifice himself to defend someone so dear to him, because he is scared of losing him. Honestly, I have never seen Laz so worried before what happened tonight. I could have smelled the fear when Darkane started losing control. That man was so close to snap, but Laz protected him with his own body. Which was very noble, but also very naive. No matter if Lazarus really treats him as a brother, or pawn that keeps him close to the spotlight…It wa very fucking stupid. You are not rushing at a possessed person, no matter who it is. It is not a cute puppy that you want to pet so badly. He could have ended your life in the instant, you fucking idiot. Trust and loyalty is something that makes you so confident, right? But it is bold of you to think that demon inside of him, and that whole bunch that wants to fully awake him, gives a shit. If you keep on being so reckless, either Darkane or this group of spooky retards is going to stab you in the neck. Honestly? Your situation is so fucked up right now. You are the most annoying obstacle for them and I bet they already think about how to cut your head off. You are already fucking DEAD and most importantly…You are alone in this battle for your own survival. So you should pay attention to what is going with all that supernatural shit, because losing Tag Team Championships is your least problem.

Honestly, I am more than sure these people are going to show up during our match at Dreamworld. They want to separate Darkane and Lazarus at all cost, and the best way to do that is to get rid of a thing that unites them the most. Tag Team Championships. I don’t think the odds are on the Seventh Ward’ side at all. But this is not my fucking problem. Sure, I don’t want another demonic drama in OWA, but I am sick and tired of all that aura. So I am not really interested in being involved as long as it has nothing to do with me. It is not our battle…Emmy and I…We are here only for championships…The heroes squad led by Matsuda or Nobi…or whatever can save the world one more time. I don’t care. Unless, Jason and his bunch of bitches decides to fuck around with us, then I am going to make his life a living Hell. If I am going to lose this match because of Jason, then he can be sure I am filling those sexual assault papers, cause he has been staring at my ass for too long when I was seventeen. I will ruin your entire life, cause your career is already dead, Jason. You just keep coming back every few months with another group that is just a waste of time and act like you are hot shit. But let’s be real…The last stable you were leading literally kicked you out, so it is crazy that these idiots on your side, decided to follow you. Especially knowing how incompetent you are.

Whatever! Our match has nothing to do with the rest of Olympus. It is all about Platinum Queens and Seventh Ward. It is all about Emmanuelle and me rising to the top of the tag team division. And you like it or not, this time we are not leaving without those belts.

At the end of the night…Platinum Queens will be your new OWA World Tag Team Champions…And Seventh Ward? They can keep on going with another episode of Supernatural…without bringing dishonor to OUR belts.

Christopher Sabertooth and Remington Ivory Prescott have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 13th 2024, 2:53 am by **Mark Michaels**

On the road… again ( or like a band of Gypsies we roll down the highway): Dream World promo #2

( The scene opens along I-77 on a sunny spring morning in North Carolina. Cars pass by noisliy and The video is somewhat shaky as it’s obviously being recorded by a cell phone, but nonetheless a sign welcoming drivers to the city of Charlotte features prominently in the shot. Someone steps from behind the camera into the frame. It is none other than the number one contender to the Immortal Heavyweight Championship, The Romani King Mark Michaels. Mark’s expression exudes confidence, excitement, and a sense that he is nearing the end of a long and hard journey. )

Mark: CHARLOTTE!!! WHERE MY NORTH CAROLINA GYPSIES AT?!?!

Charlotte, I know you all have a little saying round here that goes, Esse Quam Videri. Which means To be rather than to seem. Or to put it another way, to walk the walk when you talk the talk. You know when I look at the poster for dream world, and I see that I’m the guy standing at the front of the pack on said poster, that’s not only statement that I feel I got to live up to, thats the spot I’ve been working my whole career to get to. right now there is nothing i'd love more than to stand as the top dog leading the locker room on Olympus, And not just a guy who says he’s a leader, but one who leads by his example. To be the man proving week in and week out that I’m the best in that ring, the best on the microphone, and the guy who Olympus can depend on each and every week. There’s only one leader in any given locker room, the Immortal Heavyweight Championship goes a long way in determining who is the man for people to look to backstage. For too long that belt has been In The hands of a man who is no leader. He doesn’t motivate the young guys to get better. He doesn’t try to motivate the rest of the roster to compete with a fire to them when they step in that ring. He doesn’t bother to help the sport of professional wrestling in any way. To him this isn’t even a sport, To him it’s just the Remington show, where he gets to dance around with that belt for a prize and doesn’t care at all about what it actually means. To him it’s nothing more trinket he traded his tickets for at Dave and Busters for. A toy he can play with till he gets bored. He doesn’t give fuck all about wrestling, nor the men and women who came before us, and gave their blood, sweat, tears, and the best years of their lives to make help make it what it is today. So ultimately what it comes down to, is that at Dream World, I have every reason why I gotta get my hand raised at the end of the night. I know there are people coming to this night seeing it as a tribute for WrestleWorld, a reunion or home coming for the talent and ideas that made that place so special, and the best way to honor them who share a love for this great sport, is to make sure Remington Ivory Prescott does not walk away with the Immortal Heavyweight Championship. That in addition to the fact that I’m coming to Dream World to turn my wildest fantasy into cold hard undeniable, undisputed facts. So let me start this here by spitting facts for the whole world to hear. One, I would rather die than ever give Remington Ivory Prescott the privilege of saying he was the man who finally broke Mark Michaels. Two, if Remington thinks he’s gone to war with me before, just wait till he gets a load of what’s coming his way, because the only gypsy trick I’m bringing to the table is simply beating his ass up and down Mint street till the little bastard screams the words I surrender!

I wanna tell you something Charlotte, me and the rest of the family were driving down I-85 to get here. We came across a little town called Chapel Hill, and the closer we got to Chapel Hill, the more I recalled a great North Carolina Tar Heel by the name of Michael Jordan. A man who had talent, had the drive, the desire and determination to be a champion but for all the accomplishments and accolades couldn’t win the big one. 7 years of coming up short but the man had no quit in him. Think about that, seven long seasons he had done it all except for win the NBA championship. All the ups and downs and disappointments. He kept running into road blocks like all time greats in Larry Bird and the Celtics. He had hard times when the Entire Bad Boys Pistons teams ganged up on the man and beat him down every single time he put up a shot. But despite everything he kept getting thrown, he grew better, and stronger, and when he bested all of them, conquered the devils that had vexed him on his way to that NBA title, people stopped asking will he ever cross the finish line, and started asking if there was anyone who could stop him now that he had broken through? The answer as we all would learn was no. I’m taking inspiration from MJ in this one, because it has been a long road, but every step has made me better in that ring. So The Romani King isn’t gonna give up no matter how hard hard it gets, and no matter how desperate it seems. I didn’t surrender when EAW management didn’t think of me as anything more than a mid carder at best. I didn’t surrender when the Awakening lost everything we had spent the better part of a year building together, and the one friend I had left in Eon Blue tried throwing under for it. I didn’t surrender anytime I came within a fingertip’s grasp of winning a world championship. Instead I got better, and stronger, and tougher, and dug my heels in, and refused to lay down and die. And no It certainly was not because Remington is the Thulsa Doom to my Conan, but because people with the heart of a champion, They never say die. So when the bell rings there’s no way in hell anyone short of god himself can get me to quit when I’ve worked my ass off for as long as I have.

When the bell rings, the word surrender does not exist in my vocabulary. I will give every drop of blood, every gasp of air, every last drop of energy till I fucking collapse. It ain’t no gypsy trick, it no lie, it not hyperbole, it’s just what I’m willing to sacrifice because to finally live a dream. I got a no surrender swag dripping off me, Oh but Charlotte y’all know that more than that, I’m riding high off the adrenaline pumping through veins. I’m battle tested and Ready to go the distance. And between you and me, I’m pretty damn pissed off so I’m willing to unleash every bit of my arsenal, and go to any extreme imaginable. I’m at the top Of my game right now. Meanwhile I’m wonder if RIP has any game at all? Hear me out. The man says he has nothing to lose, and he’s part right because I wouldn’t consider his life to be anything of value, so yeah nothing to lose. Yes I get RIP is technically is the Immortal Heavyweight Champion, and he’s one of only three men to hold it twice, but when the man is in these big matchups, he tends to… well I want to use the word falter. The man got beat by Nobi, and if it wasn’t for KD pulling the strings and reversing the decision, RIP wouldn’t have ever been inside the Thunderdome back at Final Destination. The man lost the Immortal title to Darkane at the kickoff show, lost the triple threat at Game Over, the only reason he won it back was because i won the Ascension To the Heavens briefcase. I mean for fuck’s sake his ass would have been sitting on the couch watching this very pay per view pay per view because the only reason he’s even the champion going into this match is that I saved his ass from a beat down at the hands of Jason Long and his Emo Kids circle jerk brigade. Guess that’s what he means when he says everything that’s about to happen is because of me, yeah because RIP has been a leech, a parasite riding my dick to get his accolades. Everything that’s about to happen is because of me, I wholeheartedly agree. Lord knows you couldn’t have gotten this far without me you son of a bitch.

A few out there will say oh but Prescott is so clever and so smart. Prescott is less than he seems, and even that is a cowardly, sniveling, egomaniacal, weakling with both a superiority complex, and the biggest case of penis envy in recorded history. Only Remmington can somehow not only admit to being a sad, sackless worm of human being, but somehow be proud about it unironically. Either he’s delusional with his head in the clouds or he’s an idiot with his head planted up his ass! Who am I kidding, we all know he’s both. He’s crossed the line from everyday, average, buying into your own bullshit, to that Donald Trump level of becoming your own echo chamber where you tell yourself you deserve all the credit, none of the blame, and the only reason you ever fail is because you’re too goddamn smart.

Now understand that I usually don’t give the horseshit that falls out of Remington’s mouth any unwarranted attention. That’s because nothing he says is usually worth paying attention to in the first place. but I tell you some things this motherfucker has been saying have me wondering if this dude has finally fucking cracked? Like has the hectic schedule, the paranoia, all the self felation, has it all gotten to him? I hear the tone of his voice and the look in his eye and all I can say is that the man has lied to himself for so long he is actually starting to believe his own bullshit. I’ll give you an example. Remington said that our rivalry has been one sided in his favor. Last I checked me and him have split wins right down the middle. What’s more, the last time it was just me and him in a ring together, I beat him so badly he had to go take a mental health break to deal with having his ass handed to him. Oh and that crap about being trying to be a better man. If you have spent any amount of time trying to be a better person than you were before, you have to got to get a different New Year’s resolution, because you have fucking failed miserably at that shit. Do you honestly think anyone buys into this nonsense you go on about with this idea that you’re some kind of necessary evil on Olympus. I’m calling bullshit on that! Was it necessary in trying to get one over on Darkane that you unleashed Jason Long, Lilith, and the rest of the happy tree friends. Was it necessary to buy out my contract and lord it over me? Was it necessary to Plunge a knife in my belly? The only thing I can think that was necessary in our little history together, was you running and throwing that little bitch fit the last time we did this. So mean old mister presscunt, the only thing I need you to do at Dream World, is for you to stand still while I smash your damn face in.

Just don’t act all surprised when you hear 75,000 people cheering when I do. Can you believe that This dude, somehow he seems to think that the fans prefer me over him because of some kind of trick. While I may be the king of the hustlers, you’d be hard pressed to find anyone the OWA fans wouldn’t cheer over this prick. He like those guys who say dumb shit like “you’re only winning the argument because you use probable facts.”

He doesn’t seem to think that maybe people cheer for me because they respect that i have enough talent to actually earn my opportunities, rather than having to sell my soul, whatever it’s worth, to whoever has the stroke on Olympus. from the TCC, to Scott Oasis, Ayrx, and everyone in between, the great and mighty Remington Prescott, has to get down on his knees and kiss the boss’ ass to get anywhere. He doesn’t think the fans are smart enough to see who can actually win matches and championships without interference, or smuggling in a deadly weapon, or without simply screwing someone else over. Side bar, don’t you think it’s funny how his entire championship reign is akin to slight of hand, but he whines like a pussy about how me having the support of the people is some kind Jedi mind trick. Prescott, The people in the crowds don’t boo you because I’m the good guy and you’re the bad guy, oh no. See they boo you Because you are simply put the biggest asshole walking god’s green earth. If you need Proof of such, it’s that when I say god’s green earth, you think I’m talking about you and your money. RIP, even if your deluded, idiotic fantasy of the fans into liking me by you know, actually being good at wrestling while not being a total douche of a human being, is somehow a trick, even if that was the case, This match has nothing to do with heroes and villains, gods and devils, light or darkness, and it has everything to with you being the absolute biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever had the misfortune of dealing with, and the fact that you have the one thing that has kept me going since the day I left home with not more the clothes on my back. This ain’t about good and bad, this is about You pushing things far past the point of where this was a professional rivalry, or to put it in a way you’ll understand, Dream World isn’t gonna be just business. This isn’t just about us clashing in the ring over titles, this is about how You are The guy who has constantly done everything in your power to keep me on a bended knee. How you have gone to such lengths To make me an errand boy, to make me a slave. This is about how you have done everything in your power to one way or another to cut me off at the legs professionally every chance you got, and still ended up standing on my shoulders with a belt that you know damn well belongs to me. And of course now that you know that mouth has written a check you can not cash, and payback for the years of fucking misery you have put me through is coming your way, your doing what every other chicken shit, overprivledged cunt does when they know things are gonna get rough. Your Karen ass is running around out here trying to play the victim card. It's pathetic even for you.

I hear this mother fucker saying things like he’s been trying to avoid me like the plague. That he wants to settle this civilly, that I should just let him go about his merry little way if I wanted to be done with him. Oh how I have certainly tried. Tell me how the hell you’re expecting me to let sleeping dogs lie, when either have me arrested in the middle of match, which didn’t just cost me the title I was chasing, but the one I had going into the damn thing? How do I let bygones be bygones, when keep threating to either my family, or put them out in the street? Tell me, how hard were you trying to duck me when you and your little Tres Comas goons laid a beat down on me after you screw me out of shot at the fucking tag team championships. you remember that night, when little Josh Keeton, and what’s his name, Timecop or lizard face, or something like that, held me down so you could blast me in the head with that gaudy ring you wear? That was the night you found enough bits of nuts in that empty sack between your legs to offer a shot at your title. Again I just wonder if he bothers to even listen to the nonsensical noise that spews from his face.

RIP, as much as you would love to break me, there’s not a snowflake’s chance in hell of that happening, because my will, my hustle, and my heart have been forged in a fire hotter than the blazes of hell and damnation. They are stronger than you, or anything your money can buy. I know you want to see me walk away from Dream World a different person. Humbled, battered, broken. I want you to know that the only thing that’s gonna change is that the Immortal Heavyweight championship you have clutched in your sweaty little palms, will be hanging around my waist. At Dream World I am breaking the last chain that has been wrapped around my neck to hold me down. I am climbing the to the top of the mountain, I am not backing down, I will not settle for less, to quote a wise woman there will be no white flag above my door bitch! At Dream World there’s only one way this is gonna end Prescott. It ends with you looking up past the blood running down your face, looking me in the eye, and telling the whole world that you surrender, AND HAIL TO THE KING… AND THE NEXT IMMORTAL HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION, Mark Michaels.

( The video freeze frames on Mark as his eyes burning with determination gaze right into the camera before fading out. )

Remington Ivory Prescott has spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 12th 2024, 1:11 pm by **Brody**

DreamWorld Promo #1

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a quirked-up white boy in possession of immaculate vibe must be in want of a bag. However little known the feelings of such a bro on fronting opps, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of NPCs that he is considered to be on that grind.

“Nice job, kid.”

The voice was as deep as an ocean. It boomed above the backstage bedlam of the Carolina Coliseum, commanding all to pay attention. With the roar of the crowd still ringing in his ears, Brody turned his head to see Mark Michaels, larger than life, standing with some of his entourage. His giant fist, as sturdy as a blacksmith’s anvil, extended toward the Californian in a show of solidarity.

“Knock that arrogant fuck off his perch, you hear me?”

For a brief moment, Brody’s nonchalant manner, so customarily exuded, was overcome by the hint of a smile.

“You too, bro,” he replied, bumping his fist against that of the Gypsy King.

The two contenders exchanged a respectful nod before going their separate ways.

The atmosphere was ebullient as the final pieces of the DreamWorld puzzle were falling into place. Although two matches in one night had taken their toll on Brody’s body, the adrenaline pulsing through his veins postponed any ill effect of his exertions. As he scanned the sea of faces, searching for a specific set of eyes among the many now focused on him, the mixture of medics, reporters, coaches, and crew clamored to congratulate him on his victory.

“Brody!” exclaimed the familiar voice of Cori Simmons. “Over here!”

“Oh, hey,” he said after finally locating the diminutive interviewer. “Have you seen my dad?”

“No, sorry,” she replied awkwardly. “Maybe he’s in the locker room?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Got time for a few words?”

“Later, yeah? Come find me outside the locker room.”

“You’re not going to be naked again, are you?”

“Ugh,” Brody rolled his eyes. “That was only like three times, Cori. When are you gonna let go of the past?”

“I swear I’m going straight to Scott Oasis if it happens again.”

“Haha, you little scamp!” he chuckled while ruffling her hair.

It took another 10 minutes for Brody to reach the locker room, where he was greeted by nothing but the smell of liniment and sweat. His lungs deflated. The phone in his bag had been lit up by friends and family, with one notable absence. As he began typing a message to his father, the man himself finally burst through the door.

“Yo, where the f—"

“Brody,” Wyatt quickly interrupted, holding a hand up to signify he had more to say. “Son, I was wrong.”

“Huh?”

“Are you deaf, boy? I said I was wrong. What you just did out there was… well, it was spectacular.”

“For real?”

“For real. Not only have you proven me wrong, but you’ve also proven yourself worthy of challenging Allesandro. I’m… I’m proud of you, son.”

The words somehow escaped through his gritted teeth. Brody, choking back tears, approached his father with arms wide open.

“Hey, hey, hey!” said Wyatt, throwing his hand up once again. “This is a five-thousand-dollar suit, and I’ll not have you getting blood and sweat all over it. I said I’m proud of you, and that’s the end of it.”

“Right, yeah, totally,” Brody laughed sheepishly while rubbing his eyes. “So, what’s the plan? Gym, 6 am tomorrow?”

“Excuse me?”

“Two weeks until DreamWorld, bro. Clock’s ticking!”

“What the hell has gotten into you?”

“What? Nothing. Just saying, gotta put the work in, right?”

“Right,” said Wyatt, somewhat lost for words. “But there’s plenty of time for all that. Don’t you want to celebrate first?”

“What’s to celebrate? Haven’t won nothing yet, bro.”

“I don’t know about that. You just beat five of the finest athletes the OWA has to offer. If that’s no reason to celebrate, then I don’t know what is. Plus, it’s March 3^rd, so you know what that makes tomorrow.”

“March 4^th?”

“Right, otherwise known as…”

“Of course, National Grammar Day.”

“What? No, it’s your birthday.”

“Oh shit, I completely forgot!”

“Well, you had other things on your mind. Here,” said Wyatt, taking a quart-sized Ziplock bag full of various powders, pills, rocks, and buds from his pocket. “Happy birthday.”

Brody could scarcely believe what was happening. Tears filled his eyes once again as he held the bad in both hands.

“Go do whatever it is you do, and come see me at the house in a few days. This is your time, boy,” said Wyatt as he turned to leave the locker room. “You’ve earned it.”

The heat of the shower made his high more potent. He emerged feeling rejuvenated. As he stood with a towel wrapped around his waist, texting a WhatsApp group titled “grool cummings”, his attention was suddenly drawn to the television screen.

It was Emmanuelle.

The Platinum Queens were being awarded the Sword and Shield trophy, which meant they, and not Dudes Rock would be taking on the Seventh Ward at DreamWorld. A tinge of disappointment washed over Brody’s spacey countenance. As Emmanuelle began to speak, he thought about one of the last things she said before their match.

“Not your type, huh? Bitch, I’m O-positive and HIV-negative. I’m everybody’s type.”

Brody turned his attention back to his phone. He finished texting his friends before taking the towel from his waist and drying his hair. The knock on the door was light and polite.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Cori.”

“Come in.”

“Are you naked?”

“Oh, right. Err, wait there. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Over 20 minutes passed before Brody came out. Cori and the camera crew passed the time by watching the rest of the Sword and Shield trophy presentation. Although she was visibly annoyed when Brody stepped out, she was at least thankful that he was fully clothed.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “Just wanted to see what Emmy and Nakanakajima had to say.”

“Tough break,” said Cori, pursing her lips. “I thought you and Cletus had a good shot at taking down the Seventh Ward.”

“Ah, it is what it is, an’ ain’t what it ain’t. Just hope the Queens get the job done this time, bro.”

“Mmhmm, although it doesn’t seem like Emmy’s a big fan of yours, though?”

“Are you joking? Didn’t you hear what she just said? Big trophy presentation and all she can do is thirst over me. Get a grip, woman.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not sure she even mentioned you.”

“I can’t remember what she said word for word, but it was something like, ‘Well, that's a warmer reception than I'm used to, thank you very much! Two weeks ago when Brody put my shoulders on the mat for three I was livid, not with him - with myself. I allowed him to take me off guard and let Dudes Rock slide their way into the tournament finals.'"

“Have… you been checked for concussion?”

“What, by a doctor? Like the one who killed Michael Jackson? Fuck do those nerds know about shit? Let’s keep this moving, Simmons. This LSD could kick in any minute, and I got places to be.”

“Okay, well, first of all, congratulations on your victory in the Battle Royal. How does it feel to be heading to your first main event at an OWA pay-per-view?”

“Pretty cool, not gonna lie. Just wish it wasn’t called DreamWorld, know what I’m saying?”

“Surely you must feel honored to be challenging for the American Dream title at an event named DreamWorld?”

“All a bit fruity if you ask me, dude.”

“What do you make of what Allesandro said to you?”

“He hasn’t said shit to me, bro.”

“What? He confronted you in the ring after your victory.”

“That was him? Fuuuuuck! Dude’s aged badly since we last went at it. Shit, this might be easier than I thought.”

“I don’t know about that. He’s about to become the longest reigning world champion in company history.”

“So?”

“So, he’s overcome everything Olympus has thrown at him, including yourself. Confidence is admirable, but overconfidence is a recipe for disaster.”

“Bro, call me Edward James the way I Olmos had him last time.”

“Weren’t you listening to what he said in the ring? That’s exactly what he called you: a man of almosts and maybes.”

“Well, he’s not wrong, is he? I almost had him. I almost had Poet at Final Destination. I almost had the briefcase. One of these days, it’s gonna happen.”

“Not if you don’t take him seriously.”

Brody took a deep breath as he looked into the distance. A storm of emotions raged in his eyes. Cori allowed him a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Listen, there’s five penguins playing chess with floating umbrellas. Ok? Five! You feel me?”

“What the...?”

“And I’m just here like, whoa, dude. Nice!"

“Uhh, Cori,” the cameraman whispered. “I think that’s the LSD talking.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “This fucking burnout’s gonna lose again, and we're gonna have to listen to more of Allesandro's shit.”

Cori and the crew left Brody to wander off into the South Carolina night.

Who knows what adventures await him?

Darkane, Remington Ivory Prescott and Chad Ecclestone have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 12th 2024, 8:23 am by Jake Keeton

“Josh! Josh! Open up, you piece of shit!”

Jake was in no mood for waiting as he bashed his fist against the large oak doors that adorned the front of his brother’s house. Only a few days had passed since Olympus and Jake had spent most of it deep in his own thoughts. These thoughts had lingered and festered as the minutes and hours had rolled on, and this morning he had come to a conclusion. And that conclusion included a discussion with his brother. One that simply could not wait.

“For fucks sake, Josh. Open the goddamn do…”

Jake was stopped mid sentence as one of the doors creaked open. The person standing there was not his brother, but his loyal butler, Wadsworth.

“Jake, it is good to see you again” Wadsworth said with a smile as he tucked his hands behind his back. “You haven’t visited for a while. Have you been busy?”

“Cut the crap, Wadsworth” Jake grumbled. “Where’s my brother? I need to speak with him.”

“I’m afraid that’s out of the question, Jake. Josh is currently busy in his office on some important calls, and he has asked not to be disturbed.”

Jake took a deep breath as he took a few steps forward so he was standing directly in Wadsworth’s line of sight.

“Look, I don’t want to hurt you old friend. You were good to our family and to see you here, in good health, brings me pleasure. But you’re currently standing in my way and I desperately need to speak with my brother. I don’t care what sort of meetings he is in, or who is on the phone to - I am coming in and speaking with him. Understand?”

Wadsworth stares at Jake for a few moments, his eyes searching the grizzled veteran’s face. He then smiles faintly and stands aside, beckoning for Jake to come inside.

“Head up the main stairs and turn right. His office is at the end of the hall.”

Jake grunts and quickly moves past Wadsworth. He strides through the main hall to the grand staircase that sits in the centre of it. Taking the steps two at a time, he quickly reaches the second level of the mansion and heads down the well appointed hallway to the large, brown door that sits at the end of it. As he approaches he can hear his brother talking on the phone. Without knocking, Jake opens the door and walks into the room.

“... and if you could just send that through that would be great” Poet says as he looks up to see his brother standing in the doorway. He frowns and says slowly into the phone “I’ll call you back” before he hands up and places the phone on the desk.

“Jake? What the hell are you doing here?”

Jake doesn’t respond straight away. The first thing that strikes him, much like it did at Olympus, is the fact that his brother has cut his hair. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his brother with shorter hair, not to mention a touch of a beard across his face. It almost didn’t look like his brother at all.

Poet, sensing the awkwardness, gets up out of his chair and takes a few steps around his desk.

“Whatever it is you’re doing here, it’s still good to see you, brother.”

Poet smiles as he extends his hand to Jake. Jake pauses for a moment and just looks at his brother. He then looks down at the hand that is just hanging there in the air, waiting to be shook. After a few seconds, Jake slowly extends his own hand to accept the handshake.

As Poet goes to end the handshake and turn back to his desk, Jake holds on and doesn’t let go. Poet turns back to his brother with a frown, but Jake doesn’t let go.

“What the hell are you doing, Jake?” Poet says as he tries to get his hand loose. “I haven’t got time for your dick measuring contests. Either you’re here for something worthwhile or you can go home so I can get some work done. Okay?”

Poet then goes to turn away again but Jake still won’t let go. As Poet turns to say something, Jake lets go and lunges forward to grab his brother’s throat. He turns his body to the left and pushes him up against the wall.

“The work can wait, you arrogant little shit. It’s time you answered some questions.”

Jake tightens his grip a little and looks into his brother's eyes. He expects to see fear. It’s what Jake is going for. He wants his brother on the back foot, to be taken by surprise and worried about the outcome. There are no friends to bail him out, no Tres Comas Club to come to his rescue. He can’t even run away through the crowd. He’s just stuck in his office with nowhere to hide.

But fear is not what Jake gets. Poet doesn’t even try to escape. What he does see in his brother’s eyes tells a different story. There is no fear, no annoyance, not even a sign that his brother is scared. What he sees, instead, is hate. Pure, unadulterated hate. Jake wanted to take Josh by surprise but that doesn’t seem to have fazed him. Poet’s lip just begins to curl slightly as he strains his head forward to stare deeper into Jake’s eyes.

“What… the fuck… are you doing…?” Poet spits out from around the grip on his throat.

“I’m trying to make a point, brother.”

“And what… point… is that? That you can… cheap shot me… in my own home?”

“If you want to look at it that way, then fine” Jake responds as he keeps the tight grip on his brother’s neck. “But if you’ll recall, I told you to stay out of my business. You couldn’t do that. You had to come wandering out during another important match and get involved. Why can’t you just fucking listen to me?”

Poet continues to stare at his brother. “I didn’t… contribute… to your loss. It was… your own… fault.”

“My fault?” Jake says, his voice rising and his grip tightening. “I seem to recall handling the match just fine until you and your little wanker buddies came out. You just have to make it all about you.”

Poet goes to respond but, before he does so, Wadsworth comes into the room.

“Sir, I was wondering if…” His voice trails off as he sees Jake with his right hand around his brother's neck. Poet sees Wadsworth and raises a hand, indicating that he doesn’t want him to do anything.

“Your boss and I were just having a little chat, Wadsworth. There is no need to be alarmed.”

Poet leans just a little further forward, and then glances in Wadsworth’s direction. “Jake is… right. He is going to… let me… down… so we can chat… further. Isn’t that right, Jake?”

Jake doesn’t respond straight away, so Wadsworth takes his cue.

“Would you like me to call security, sir? They can be here in moments.”

Jake chuckles out loud. “Of course you’ve got security, you coward. Always have someone around to do your dirty work for you.”

Jake continues to hold Poet in place for a few moments before he slowly releases his grip on his brother’s neck. Poet takes a long, deep breath and continues to stare at his brother. Poet then straightens his clothes and looks to his butler, who is still standing just inside the doorway.

“That won’t be necessary, Wadsworth. My brother here is going to sit down in that chair behind him and we are going to chat further. I’d offer him a drink but, right now, I don’t think he deserves one. So, you can leave us. I’m sure you can find something to do.”

Wadsworth nods, turns and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Poet checks his cufflinks and smooths back the shortened locks of his hair before quietly moving around to the other side of the desk. He sits down quickly, puts some of the papers on his desk aside, and looks across at his brother.

“I would advise you to never do that again. Not if you value your life.”

Jake says nothing. He just leans back in his chair and places his feet up on the desk. In response, Poet leans over and pushes them right back off. Jake just smiles as he sits a little straighter in the chair.

“Just what did you aim to achieve here, Jake? I’ve been nothing but good to you since you came back to OWA.”

“Good?” Jake exclaims, laughing as he does so. “By my count, you’ve spent most of your time getting yourself involved in my matches, and none of it has been good. In fact, by my count, you’ve cost me at least three matches so far. How the fuck can you say that you’ve been nothing but good to me? You’re deluded, little brother.”

Poet clears his throat and sits back in his leather chair.

“If you’ll shut your mouth for just a few moments, I’ll explain. For the last few months I’ve given you the opportunity to join the Tres Comas Club. You would have noticed that we don’t just extend this invitation to anyone. I know first hand the talent and experience you have at your disposal. You rebuffed that offer, yet we continued to give it, time and time again. The fact that you’ve had any semblance of relevance within the company is down to me. When you came back they asked me if it was going to be worth sinking any time into you - after all, the last time you were here, you acted like a petulant child. But I backed you in. I convinced them to give you a chance. I also notice that you’re driving around in a brand new truck that I paid for. So, excuse me for a moment if I claim that anything good that has happened to you recently has come from me… because, you ungrateful old prick, it’s true. You wouldn’t even have the means to sit there if it wasn’t for me.”

The silence, as they say, was deafening. The brothers just sat there and stared at each other with nothing but the sound of their breathing and the gardeners outside breaking that silence. After a few moments Jake goes to speak, but Poet raises his hand, stopping him.

“Before you complain further, you would have noticed by now that my presence in your match at Olympus had nothing to do with you. I know you think the world revolves around you, but the Tres Comas Club had other plans that night. The fact you allowed yourself to get distracted and pinned is entirely on you.”

“The world revolves around me? If that’s not the pot calling the kettle black then I don’t know what is. You say that you’ve been nothing but good to me, Josh, yet I don’t see it that way.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Poet replies, raising an eyebrow as he does so.

“No, I don’t, you arrogant little shit. I came here to get your attention and, as far as I can tell, I got it. Your problem is that you’re too comfortable. You think with that title around your waist and the Tres Comas Club behind your back makes you invincible, yet here I am, able to walk into your own house and have you up against that wall… and you didn’t suspect a thing.”

“I’d hardly call it suspicious when my own brother wanders in. Wadsworth isn’t letting some nobody off the street into my home. Surely you’ve actually considered that?”

Jake just smiles. “What I have considered is that you, brother, are bad for my health.”

“Give me a break. You need me.”

“I need you about as much as a hole in the head. You see, I got a text yesterday from the powers that be. Seems like I’ve got a shot at the WrestleWorld European Championship that is currently around the waist of Corey Matthis. I consider myself a huge chance of winning this match. I can’t sit here and say that I am in peak condition - truth be told, I’ve lost more than I’ve won since I’ve come back and people are well within their right to argue for why I shouldn’t get this shot - but if you take out your insistence of getting involved in my affairs, then things might look a little different. I want to win this match badly, and I am here to once again ask you again to stay out of it. I’ll repeat myself - stay the fuck out of it.”

“Or else what, big man? You’ll come back in here in an attempt to scare me? You’ll throw a few beer bottles at me?”

“No, Josh. What I’ll do is chase you down and make sure that your time in OWA is a living hell. I won’t rest, I won’t sleep, I won’t eat… I won’t even drink until I’ve seen everything you’ve built here come crashing down around you.”

Poet takes a long breath and looks at his brother.

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry too much, Jake. It seems as though we have matches on different nights and, while some might think I won’t be bothered rocking up for the night I’m not booked, I’ll be keeping an eye on Prescott to ensure that his title stays within the Tres Comas Club. We can’t have the Immortal Heavyweight Title around the waist of a gypsy.”

“So, you do have a match at Dreamworld after all. Who did you get?”

“Originally it was supposed to be the Golden Gauntlet. However, it seems that he wasn’t up for the challenge and has scampered off to parts unknown. In his place I’ve been given the pleasure of defending the title against Raivo.”

“Raivo? Never heard of him.”

“Neither had I until I got the call to say the match had been changed. So, I did a little research. Seems he normally plies his trade over on Kingdom. He’s won a few matches but hasn’t done much of note. In fact, and this annoys me, he seems to walk around with a cane. Do you know what this means, Jake? An African American with a cane?”

Jake just shrugs his shoulders.

“He’s a pimp, Jake. A pimp.”

“That seems a little racist, don’t you think? It's a bit harsh to just cast that assumption on the man.”

“What else do you want me to do? He’s a wrestler who is fully fit. Why does he need a cane? Regardless, it seems he has taken issue with some of the things I’ve said and has stepped up to face me at Dreamworld.”

“And…?”

“And, it’s a little disappointing. I’ve had this title for around 270 days now and I have to admit that I was looking forward to defending it against a challenging opponent. But Raivo? He is just another wrestler that does nothing to inspire confidence or excitement. He says he’s a heel, yet how can you take anyone seriously who claims they have over 50 moves in their repertoire, one of which is a Ronaldo style kick to the stomach? How can you take this guy seriously? I’m considering calling OWA and asking them to get me a third opponent instead. The guy even calls people ‘dawg’. I’ve seen three year olds speak with a better vocabulary than this specimen.”

“Say one thing for Poet, say that his arrogance knows no bounds” Jake says with a smile.

“Don’t confuse arrogance for confidence, Jake. Don’t do that. You might be an alcoholic, but you’re better than that. I don’t stay champion for this long by accident. And if we want to be honest here, you don’t consistently find ways to lose matches like you do by accident either. Instead of trying to stick the boots in to me, why don’t you focus on your own match and what could be the last opportunity you’ll have at wearing some gold in this company?”

“I am focused, Josh. Focused enough to come here and remind you to stay away. I’ve got this. I don’t want to join the Tres Comas Club and I don’t want your help. Ever.”

“Funny you say that” Poet says as he looks down to examine his nails. “You say that all the time until the money runs dry and you come running back for more.”

Jake just shakes his head and stands up. “Just mind your own business, yeah? I think I got the point across. Don’t let that confidence become arrogance, or you might walk out of Dreamworld without that belt.”

Jake then turns and begins to walk out of the office.

“Jake?”

Jake turns and looks at his brother.

“All this talk of me interfering has me wondering… you aren’t planning on showing up on the first night, are you? Because seeing you there would be a damn shame.”

Jake just chuckles to himself. “Why the fuck would I do that? I’ll be drinking the night before. It’s part of my training regime.”

Poet smiles tightly at his brother. “Next time, before you come over, I’d call. Otherwise I won’t be so understanding. Now, get the fuck out.”

Jake laughs as he leaves the room as Poet begins to make a call on his phone…

Remington Ivory Prescott and Brody have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos April 10th 2024, 11:00 am by **Darkane**

(Somewhere in Darkane’s dreams.)

A rundown, shitty, no-tell motel in the sticks.

Reflection, reflection, reflection.

Isn’t that the name of the game?

Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do after a crushing loss? After losing your better half to a conniving snake in the tall grass? I’ve been pacing the floors like a lunatic in front of this grubby motel mirror for a week. I’ve drowned myself in whatever alcoholic escape route I could get my hands on. Drink it, man. Drink that delectable poison like it’s a fucking health potion. Sulk in your sorrows the only way you know how to combat your problems, you fucking animal. Sling it down your throat, just like the good old days when booze was the Robin to your Batman. A pack a day inhaled and stuck against the back of your tarred lungs to boot? Yeah, that’s right. Go ahead and smush those coffin nails on the icy radiator one by one like dominoes, as they die in a hazy pile of ash on the shag rug. As if they’ll ever bring you the relief you crave. That’s what ugly looks like. You are the personification of it.

Look at that peeled-up face; you look like a withered, rotted-out apple. You make Harvey Dent look like a poster boy for GQ magazine. Pick yourself up, you homely slob. Quit getting plastered. Stop lamenting over something out of your control. Get a hold of yourself before it’s too late. You don’t want to be like Senn, do you?

Think of how he feels.

He hit paydirt just as fast as he hit rock bottom. He finished his story and has nothing to show for it.

Who gives a flying fuck about Senn?! Why should I show him any compassion? Why should I be lulled into a false sense of security? Now that we’re paddling the same damn boat up and down the stinking waters of Shits Creek on the moat encompassing RIP’s empire? Misery isn’t meant to be shared; it's meant to be kept away for a rainy day. He knows which way hell is; that empty cabin beckons him. Remember that fucking desolate vine-ridden wooden box? The same place in the quaint forest that I told him to pull a Kurt Cobain in? That I told him to empty goddamn brains into the kitchen sink? Yeah, that one. That is his hell to endure. Olympus isn’t big enough for both of us.

Something has to give.

Fuck, that whiskey looks mighty glamorous in the winking gleam of the moonlight. One more swig. Please? For old-time's sake, one fix for the boys back home in New Orleans. For the lowlife gangbangers with grills in their teeth and pieces in their pockets. That lean against the fences deep into the night in The Seventh Ward. Always looking for a reason to cause trouble. For Cassie, wherever she may be, For Laz, my tag partner, even though I haven't seen him in forever. Where am I?! I know you can hear me, God, if you are out there somewhere. I know you see my fists turning to fire.

As Jim Lahey once said, God rest his soul; I am the liquor.

Anything to numb the pain, right? Mask yourself up and shelter yourself away from the outside. Alike the soulstone Senn was trying to seal in the shadows for so long. He knows its power as much as you do. He knows Belial like the back of his hand, and I thought I did too.

Pop goes the balloon.

I was able to harness the giant demonic cloud of fucking smoke to a point. But now as the redness of my veins fades into a deathly and smokey pallor, I lay here on this motel bed staring up at the popcorn ceiling with next to nothing to my name. The Tag Team Championships may as well be a prop to hold myself upright. Laz may as well be the lead dog for now. I don’t have it in me. I’m tired, dammit. I’m tired of manning the fort. Is this the liquor talking?

Or am I nearing the end?

A few days later.

Red and blue spinning lights were burning his eyes outside his motel window. He was seeing double. Shit, it’s the cops. Yeah, you've done it now, haven’t you? It’s about time your vices caught up with you. Can you hear them barging in? Oh? An ambulance too? Is that a K-9 unit? This is fucking juicy. They think you’re dead. You should be; you may as well be without the Immortal Heavyweight Championship. That shit meant everything to you.

I have to get out of here.

It’s too late. They’re coming. Fuck me, what’s that smell?

The fetid yet very distinguishable rot of dead motel slut stretchered on by. There was a gnarly mix of too much perfume. The musty rotten egg met the rotting cabbage stench of a corpse starting to bloat. The gasses were building up inside of her like the Hindenburg.

“Stay away, please; you don’t want to see this.” The police warned Darkane. Yet he couldn’t help but look at her through the peeled doorway. It was all in her eyes. They were vacant, vanished, and glazed over. It was as if she disappeared from herself. Multicolored wounds spread across her face. She must have been a victim of domestic abuse. Pot marks littered her cheeks like mini moon craters. Yellow, ghoulish decay bubbled and gasped from the corner of her mouth from dried-up foam. Her hair was still in a makeshift bun. Fleas bounced and did the dosy doe along her eroded hairline. Police were stepping over syringes tangling along their pant legs. They didn’t care. Evidence or no evidence, she was another statistic. She was dead and gone.

It wasn’t the first cold body up close he’d seen, and it wouldn’t be the last. They were a dime a dozen in the Big Easy. The meat wagon made the Seventh Ward a second home, and this poor junkie with x’s over her eyes didn’t stand a chance.

Here and now. At least I think so.

Lunacy isn’t my style; my drunken musings should be taken with a grain of salt. Am I sober yet? God fucking fuck. I don’t know. All I could do was sit on my stiff mattress with my thumb up my ass and wallow over Game Over. I couldn’t sleep for two licks. I ate the effects of sleeping pills like they were Sour Patch Kids. I kept tracing the squiggly black lines and fuzzy, multi-colored dots in the air. They drifted aimless without direction or purpose in front of my baggy eyes. Highlighted by the amber haze of the afternoon sun which peaked through the blinders. The pungent reek still stuck to the motel walls like it was velcro. Crime scene tape zigzagged between rooms. Fuck, I felt more like Senn each day I stayed cramped and isolated in this drug den. I was given a twelve-hour notice to pack my bags and leave. I heard the pigs murmur and giggle like school girls about me through every single oink. They wondered how I could stand the odor. They made bets on the over/under of how long it would take for me to vomit into my shoes. I never did. I was in a trance the entire time; the crooked cops were the least of my worries. Fuck them. What have they ever done for me anyway?

I’ll never know why I stayed for so long. Some things are better left a mystery, but as soon as the sunlight crashed against my eyes, I felt like Dracula. My dry skin screeched, and my eyes burned against the intrusive rays. The matted grease trap mop on my head felt hotter than the surface of hell.

But it was time to face adversity once again. Even if I didn’t want to.

Even if I don’t make it out in one piece.

(End dream sequence.)

I saw everything.

I..

I’m..

I just..

I’m at a loss.

The laboratory. The wires snaking from my skin. I could see myself comatose behind a thick glass wall. Studied by three men cut from different cloths but united all the same. Jacob Senn, my fiercest adversary for over two years. Aizen, my guardian, and the innovator of The Death Reaper. The Third Owner, Adam Gilgamesh. One of the architects behind the Tres Comas Club, and someone I didn't know. My fate was in their hands and I couldn’t do anything about it. I brought this all unto myself. Guilt arose more so than anything else. There’s actual remorse there. Actual human emotion bubbling to the surface, emotion that I kept stored away so as not to show a shred of weakness. It seems strange to have these feelings as they are tender. Revealing themselves at a time like this amid chaos is less than ideal. I never thought it would come to this. Laz and I have raked damn near everyone on Olympus over the coals and now the tables have turned. The Seventh Ward created a pattern. A how-to of sadistic butchery, since costing Elijah Hampton his Immortal Heavyweight Championship. Those were the days, eh? Now everyone is trying to copy us, trying to one-up us. Evil breeds more evil; a tale as old as time. If only I knew. Olympus needs a hero in the worst way, but I destroyed him. Hampton is gone. The Death God is dead. I’m no use, I have the soulstone embedded in my chest. It burns, it screams, it wakes me up in the middle of the night, and part of me wishes death would take me from this place. I tried to use it against everybody like I was king shit. I thought I could tame it. I thought I could treat it as an equal, but I was its subject.

What a fool.

The soulstone is the bane of my existence. I hate to say it but Senn was right. It should have never seen the light of day. If I knew it would set chaos in motion like this I would have stood down but I couldn’t resist the urge. Instead, I lashed out at Senn, thinking he would use it as a torture device. To wield evil across Olympus and OWA as he once did. You might ask why the sudden change of tune. Or why am I letting up on Senn? After being enemies for so long. Forged against each other for no other reason than bitterness and disdain. Well, that’s exactly it, isn’t it? We were getting nowhere and were pitted against each other because of the soulstone. He also could have pulled the plug on me. He could have given the nod to Aizen and The Third Owner to extinguish me from existence while I was in a coma. They wouldn’t have stopped him. They’d figure I was at the end of my rope anyway. They didn’t know if I would wake up and besides what state would I have been in? It was up in the air. In my estimation, it was a fifty-fifty shot. Senn risked those odds to keep me alive for some ungodly reason after everything we’ve been through. I don’t know whether I should shake his hand or sock him in the mouth. I’m at the point where I’m ready for the soulstone to leave. To be banished from me, even if it kills me.

In that same breath, I can’t leave Laz to fend for himself against the wolves. Not only from The Platinum Queens but from the entire Profane Covenant. Laz has reached a point where he doesn’t need me to shield him anymore, but I can’t help it dammit.

I just can’t.

Laz will tell you different. He’s unruly and defiant. He’s like a fucking pesticide. He’ll paint a picture where he takes on anyone with a pulse regardless of my involvement. He’s always operated on his own watch. He can’t see reason, even dating back to our adolescence so I go with it. He’s capable of going on a company wide rampage because I’ve seen it firsthand. Another part of me says a bunch of maniacs outnumber him. Asmodeus and Lillith being the catalysts. He would be outdone by forces of darkness he doesn’t quite comprehend. That I don’t even comprehend. That’s enough to get us both killed. I’ll do what I can, at least in my weakened state, and as far as The Platinum Queens go? They’re flying high after chewing through the Sword and Shield tournament. They don’t care about our business with the Profane Covenant. The OWA Tag Team Championships are their meal ticket. As far as they’re concerned the Profane Covenant is our problem to deal with, not theirs. Make no mistake about it Hana and Emmanuelle. They will get to you one way or another.

Besides, there’s nothing either of you could do to me to match or surpass the sheer agony the soulstone has made me endure. I don't want empathy. I don’t want compassion. I want you to heed my warning. A feral Darkane is far more dangerous than some silly little GraveWorm. The same GraveWorm resorting to paltry scare tactics and copious amounts of booze. Do either of you know what that entails? I’m fucking frothing from the mouth as I tremble from anguish in every waking fucking moment. When Jason Long plunged that dagger through the soulstone and my charred black fucking heart. I saw his world in the scope of my own eyes. It was demonic. It was like something I had never seen before. The soulstone is scarred because of it. Belial is still hiding in there and he’s gone mad I tell you. MAD. The relic has overtaken me. If you two proceed, if you two downplay my warnings Belial will fucking annihilate you through me even if you are just a means to an end. Don’t you understand? So just go, kick the tires on those fake tag team championships over on Kingdom. At least you’ll get your flowers there. Hana, you know firsthand what it’s like to be possessed, but Havoc is mere child’s play compared to Belial. DO YOU WANT TO EXPERIENCE SOMETHING SUBSTANTIALLY WORSE? You fucking idiots. Get out of dodge before it’s too late, get out of dodge while you still can. The Tag Team Championships are not worth your lives.

But I can’t make those decisions for you.

I realize Emmanuelle can’t be reasoned with, she, like Laz, is set in her ways. The stubborn silver-slitted cunt has been adamant about exacting revenge on me for months. She couldn’t handle the the embarrassment of coming up short to The Seventh Ward after guaranteeing our demise. That’s why the Sword and Shield tournament was her and Hana’s get-out-of-jail-free card. They put themselves through the tournament to prove their first go around with The Seventh Ward was just a hiccup. They put themselves through the tournament as a smokescreen to quickly escape the noise from our first encounter. Emmanuelle has been on the rag since The Seventh Ward defeated her and her rose-tinted friend. She will not relent until she is victorious but victory is so minute compared to what will happen to her and Hana if they show their faces at DreamWorld. The Sword and Shield tournament isn’t your gateway to the OWA Tag Team Championships Emmanuelle, Hana. It is a prelude to your destruction. Olympus is ablaze, the sky is black and the Profane Covenant must be stopped at all causes. I don’t care what you’ve both been through. Your past wars, your past conflicts, they don’t even hold a match to this. They don’t hold a match to Belial, to Asmodeus, to Lillith, and the rest of their hellhounds.

Do you think your experience against us propel you over The Seventh Ward? Is that the hot button buzzword between The Platinum Queens? While I may be down, while I may be rotting from the inside out both Laz and I still know we can run through the Platinum Queens. We’ve been the OWA tag champions for almost a year now. Fuck FTM. Fuck Chad and Noah. Fuck all the teams that have come before us. WE STAND ALONE but not without our rough patches. Our reign still holds value, it still means something. Even through all this fucking pandemonium, I will not give up on Laz. I have to be strong for him and somehow for myself. If you do decide to proceed to DreamWorld understand that we will not just lay down and roll out the red carpet. I don’t care if Belial is trying to claw his way out of me and out of the soulstone. I don’t care how much it takes out of my soul. We will defend these titles with everything we have left in us.

Don’t say I didn’t warn the both of you.

Because Belial is coming and I am fading…?! FUCK. My heart is on fire.. No! Not yet! I can’t resi..

Belial is here.

I’m here.

Rebecca Filth, Remington Ivory Prescott, Lazarus Arjen, Felix Hartley and Brody have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Dreamworld #1 April 10th 2024, 9:33 am by **Remington Ivory Prescott**

The Romani Society of Miserable Gypsies

Here we go again. Here I am, here I sit, the modicum of professionalism and a prestigious champion in every single sense of the word. I sit upon my Immortal Throne and I await the next worthy challenger to approach. I am ready and willing to continue to fight, with my own two hands, against anyone and everyone that I deem worthy of stepping into that ring with me that feels that they can take away my Immortal Heavyweight Championship. An offer that I have not been shy about presenting to the entire totality of Mount Olympus. A fighting champion? Remington Ivory Prescott has been more than that. He's been a giving and benevolent champion by even allowing the mortals inside the gates. I have done nothing but provide a path to the gold that I worked my ass off for and what happens? What must I endure the moment I decide to take a single moment for myself? When I choose to allow myself just the briefest of breaks from carrying this entire mountain of fame and glory known as Olympus on my back? What happens?

Insolent individuals decide to throw rocks at the throne. And I'm supposed to just let that slide? That's not what anyone else would do. And just because I am a superior minded artist of my craft, that does not mean I am not willing to climb down off my perch here among the clouds to put a few little repeat offenders back in their place. And while a few of these peasants still have their heads, for now, there is one in particular that I feel must be eradicated post haste. There is one mess of a man that has been nothing short of a complete and utter spaghetti sauce stain on the pristine and crisp white suit that is my career. An ungodly splotch that finds a way to besmirch every single victory that I have gotten since my arrival here in the Omega Wrestling Alliance.

And that man is Mark Michaels.

Now, before anyone says anything, I know what people think. I know what Mark thinks -- no, believes. I realize that because of the way I conduct business in this particular industry, that everybody is all up in arms about it. I get it. You don't like people that don't follow the alleged rules. "It's not fair. He didn't deserve that. Why are you stabbing him in the eye? Oh no, not his jugular -- he needs that." I want you to know and understand that this industry, this world here in OWA, this is not for the faint of heart. This is not just some high school gym where a couple of chunky teenagers are rolling around on the floor together while some old man that probably needs to have a conversation with Chris Hansen is waiting to blow the whistle. No no, this is not wrestling. Not professional. Not amateur. What we do here in OWA can only be defined as WAR. And do you know who wins wars? Do you know what wins wars? Being smarter, better and willing to do whatever it takes to walk away with that victory. And while you all may have some sort of skewed moral compass about what's good and what's bad, let me remind you that you all are the same people that scream and cheer when one of your favorites decides to split somebody's head open or, I dunno, summon an angelic fox spirit to make a wish on a fallen star-shaped gem in hopes of seeing something insane and spectacular. Your fickle minds can only comprehend what you see in the moment and despite the fact that I've done nothing worse than anyone else here on Mount Olympus... you've decided that I'm the bad guy. That I'm the wrong one. That I'm the one that needs to be stopped. That I'm the one that shouldn't use every slick trick in the book to walk away victorious.

But everyone else can?

Now, make no mistake, I'm not here to completely berate you all. I understand that your feeble minds are incapable of seeing past the Gypsy Mind Trick that Mr. Michaels has pulled over your eyes and that's fine. You don't need to. Every single one of you is well within your rights to cheer for the man that's made it his entire life's mission to take something away from me. Not to become a champion for himself. Not to do this for his people. Hell, not even really to do this for you or for Olympus. No no, his entire being since we first shared a ring together, has been to destroy me or anything that I've tried to do. My entire time here on Mount Olympus has been trying to get away from this man. Everything I've done, I've done to free myself from his oppressive and abusive stalking. This man has done nothing but follow me around and attempt to ruin my life because he's decided that I'm the problem. He's decided that I'm the one that's caused all of this badness to occur in his life. I tried to hire this man, give him a proper job, work alongside him and this ungrateful man threw it back in my face. He did everything he could to undermine me. To try and destroy me. To make sure that I couldn't accomplish my goals and my dreams. Something that I would never do to him.

At least, I wouldn't before.

Now, Dreamworld is right around the corner and while I'm sure this man is preparing to be "my nightmare" or something trite like that, there is a part of me that wants to be done with this. Done with him. And that is why the match is the way it is. I've dealt with this man's hatred and ire for far too long. I'm over it. I want to put this chapter of my life behind me and I want to move forward. I want to give other and more deserving people a chance to achieve something great by allowing them to test their mettle against my superiority and I cannot do that while I have a stray dog chasing me down every five minutes trying to nip at my heels and begging me for scraps of attention. Apparently, I live so rent free in this man's head, I might as well be in a damn condo or something. You'd think I murdered one of his cousins or kidnapped his wife or something. When in reality, all I've ever really done is come out on top. Been more clever. Worked smarter, not harder. All I've ever done, really, is Win. Something that losers can't stand to see you do.

But all of that is about to change. Dreamworld's on the horizon and I've run out of all of my patience. As much as I would've liked to settle this in a civilized and adult manner, I realize that I'm dealing with a child. An angry and jealous child that can't seem to get over the fact that I've bested him at every turn. A child that seems to need a damning finality of a stipulation on a fight that he probably shouldn't be picking in order to get out of my light once and for all.

Isn't that right, Mark? Is that what you need? Do you need Mean Ol' Mr. Prescott to whip your ass all over Charlotte so you can finally put this one sided rivalry to bed? Is that what you need, pal? You need another shot at the man that allegedly ruined your life? For a guy that seems to be so smart and so connected and so great, you sure don't seem to be able to cut the strings I'm supposedly using to puppeteer you through your miserable existence. If I'm such a megalomaniac, why do you keep trying to stand in my way? If you want me out of your life, then let me go. I too want to be as far away from you as divinely possible and yet you're the one that can't seem to let the past be the past. You're the one that can't seem to let gypsy dogs lie. It's become a sickness at this point and once I put you down, for good, at Dreamworld, I want you to go talk to someone. Sign up for BetterHelp.com or something. Get yourself some much needed therapy to help you exorcize these demons that you've decided to project on to me.

With all that being said? This is the end of the line for you, Mark. We've been at this for far too long. You and I both have said pretty much everything we can to each other. You've ragged on me for being a rich prick that has everything I could ever want and your innate jealous nature has made it a priority for you to hate me because of my earned privilege. I've merely suggested that you need to take a shower or a bath a time or two. You've threatened my life on a multitude of occasions while I've merely suggested that things not be handled in such a crude and vile manner by offering you opportunities to beat me in fair combat within our squared circle. Everything that I've done, you've taken and twisted and defiled to make it fit your 'innocent underdog that's not going to take it anymore' narrative and that's just being plain disingenuous and as much as it's going to pain me to say this...

You're better than that.

But I digress.

At Dreamworld, the two of us are going to be locked in a battle that's years in the making. A final standoff between a man that has everything but nothing to lose and a man that can't buy a pot to piss in but wants everything to validate himself. When that bell rings and the two of us clash for yet another time, I want you to remember that everything that happens to you is because of you. I want you to remember that when I've decided you no longer deserve to be on this earth. Now hold on, before you get all high and mighty and think I'm threatening to kill you, all me to remind you that I'm not the one that's angry. I'm frustrated with having to try and put this annoying mosquito out of its misery. Again. When all I really want is to reign supreme as the Immortal Heavyweight Champion of Mount Olympus. But, apparently, I'm asking too much. I want to give Olympus the champion that they deserve and Mark Michaels wants to take that away from you all. He would much rather Olympus be underneath his own thumb. He would much rather be the one with the clout and the pull and the revelry that being a champion comes with. Oh no, the power surely won't go to his head, he'll be completely fine. His internal struggle with never being good enough certainly won't haunt his dreams nightly until the point he snaps and decides that he knows that's best for everyone. A tale as old as time but for some magical reason, it's just gonna' skip over you, huh Mark? You're the only man that's infallible? Hm? Is that it? You can resist those "dark" and "sinister" urges? I find that hard to believe since you're already such a terrible and spiteful person. Isn't that the whole reason we're going to Dreamworld? For your revenge?

Fortunately, after you surrender, we won't ever have to worry about you being Immortal Heavyweight Champion again.

This is it, Mark. This is your last chance to become something that people actually want to talk about. This is your last shot to find yourself in a position that you don't deserve. For everything you say I am and everything you claim I cause or blame me for, there's one thing that you haven't taken the time out of your hateful day to do. And that's thank me. I'm giving you this opportunity. I'm risking the only thing that matters to me so that you can have a chance to do something with your life. All I do is give. To you. To Olympus. To OWA. All I do is put my own stuff aside for what other people want. I joined the Tres Comas Club to help those idiots take over Olympus. I gave Elijah Hampton the vacation he so desperately needed. I saved this brand from the Darkness that Darkane threatened to trap it under. All of that was me. I put Olympus in the palm of my hand and I carried us to the clouds above and now, after all the work I put in, you want to just waltz in at the end of the road and take the only thing that I've taken for myself.

You believe me to be the villain to your unsung hero, Mark. But what do you think you are to me? I've done nothing but try to put myself in a position to be a better person than I was the day before and everyone has done everything in their power to lie to me, to cheat me, to destroy me. I may have everything in the world at my fingertips but I also have the biggest target on my back. There's no honor among thieves anymore. At least not in this business. You think I can trust the Tres Comas Club? You see what happened with Jason Long and his Cosplay Crew! Don't think I don't have one eye on Lazarus Arjen -- we have history that I don't care to repeat. Olympus is quickly becoming a dangerous place for a person of my skill and talent to be. And if I was as cowardly as you and the rest of the Omegaverse thinks I am, then I wouldn't be here. I'd be running to Kingdom. Or Odyssey. Or anywhere I won't have to deal with being targeted by everyone. If I was who everybody thinks I am, I would run. I would hide. I would find a way out of it. But here I am. Standing right here on the cusp of Dreamworld. Looking you dead in your greasy face, Michaels. Making this moment, of all our moments, the one that means the most. I'm not backing down. I'm not giving up. I'm not willing to let the person that has been a stick pin trapped in the shoulder of my newly tailored suit become something more than that. I'm not willing to allow you to continue to throw a wrench in my plans, in what I have set for the future of this brand and this company. I will now allow you to take away my Immortality. I've already died for this title once. I'm more than happy to do it again.

I know you want this championship, Michaels. I do. And I know you're going to do whatever you can to get it. I know that you're probably in the gym right now, lifting up the weight of everyone counting on you and thinking about how difficult I've allegedly made your life. But while you're doing all of that in preparation I want you to remember that you're only at this moment because of me. You're only this pissed off because of me. You've gotten better, stronger, more opportunities, even more of a slick bastard because of me. When it was just you steering your ship, or your van I suppose, you were spinning your wheels. You were barely scratching the surface of what you could become. It was not until I, Remington Ivory Prescott, decided to step into that ring with you did you realize you were going to have to do more than simply step your game up. I'm sure you thought that you'd be able to just waltz past this rich pretty boy and have the world at your feet. You thought you could just toss me aside and move on to the promised land.

Yet, here you are. Still trying to beat me. Still trying to find a way to stop me. Still fighting against every single odd and every single obstacle that I put in your way. You will not go quietly into that good night. You will not fail again. You will not be duped, tricked, swindled or bought ever again. These are the things that I know you're telling yourself and I'm even sure you believe them. But in all of these things, there's something that you have not yet considered. There's a facet, an option of this rivalry that you probably won't even think is a possibility. I'm willing to bet a cool million dollars that this thought hasn't even crossed your egotistical mind...

Despite everything that we've been through. Despite the fact that you keep coming back and I keep kicking you back down the ladder. All of your rage and tenacity won't allow you to see what's right in front of you. You can't see the forest for the trees. You, a man of gypsy tricks and three card monte, can't find the queen. You're ready to pour your heart and soul into this match and bring me everything you have. You're ready to put your own life on the line, as I have before, to take from me what you believe I don't deserve. You're ready to give this moment everything you have and then some. And that's what I want to, Mark. I want you to walk away, if you can, from this match a different person. I want you to leave Dreamworld knowing that you did everything you could to beat me and yet, once again, its been proven that I, Remington Ivory Prescott, OWA's Immortal Heavyweight Champion, am simply better than you.

Toodles.

Darkane, Rebecca Filth, Lazarus Arjen, Felix Hartley and Brody have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Dream World #1 April 8th 2024, 5:18 pm by **Mark Michaels**

For a decade now i have been running like a race horse, and now Here I am walking a razor’s edge, where fools and dreamers dare to tread. Ready to cross that line from contender to king. From long shot, to odds on favorite. From the head in the clouds, stars in his eyes kid watching wrestling on Saturday mornings, to the live in the flesh Immortal Heavyweight Champion.

A few negative nepotists will say I must be dreaming if I think I can finally achieve all that. But if the last pay per view wasn’t proof enough that I have what I takes, then allow me to tell you a story. See a weeks ago I was chilling with the twins and Harman watching the Super Bowl. Watching that game reminded me of an old gypsy saying which translated says we all dream because it is easy, but not all of us persevere. I saw the Chiefs stumble and play anything but their best ball in the first two quarters of that game. It looked like you may as well have just handed the trophy to the 49ers then and there at halftime, but a funny thing happened. I saw Kansas City shake off that ass whipping they got in the first half to fight and claw their way for every yard on every play, for every point. There were setbacks, and obstacles along the way, but they kept fighting till the end and got one hell of a victory for all their troubles. So for everyone wondering if after the last few weeks, whether I can walk away with my hand raised at Dream World? I’m here to say the second half is about to kick off, and Mark Michaels is ready to ball the fuck out!

I’m there is one thing I want to talk about, the one thing I want to stress above all, it has got to be Perseverance. It’s something Nathan Fiora stressed when the Awakening was first formed and none of us could buy a win. Something he brought out of me when we had our match back at game start. A long time ago I remember sitting in church when the preacher said something that I didn’t know it at the time, but would ring so true. He said the testing of your faith brings perseverance, and he who perseveres, wins the crown of life. no matter what I’ve been thought, Every time I’ve suffered some kind of bullshit tossed my way that made me think for one single second about giving up, I’ve heard a voice inside me repeating and reminding me that as long as I’m willing to go one more round, I’ve still got a chance. Now I’ve heard Remmington Ivory Prescott saying his ultimate goal is to be the man that finally broke Mark Michaels at Dream World. That it is his be all end all, dream above all dreams. Maybe if I was the kind of worms that he’s been surrounding himself with since he was a boy. The butlers, the yes men, the lackeys in the TCC who allow themselves to be bought and sold like livestock. Maybe If I was the kind of man to get down on my knees and lick boot just because some overprivileged prick demanded it, then maybe his dream of making the Romani King bow down at his feet might have a snowflake’s chance in hell of becoming reality. But I’m not some lap dog who’s gonna roll over and play dead just because Pusscott commands it. What has that asshole thrown at me that I haven’t gotten back up, dusted myself off, and proceeded to elevate above? Hell, if my entire EAW tenure, the break up of the Awakening, coming up short against Graham Baker, getting beat down by Jacob Senn in the Thundercage, getting assaulted by the Seventh Ward on my own front yard, getting arrested, getting fired, getting stabbed, if all that didn’t fucking break me, what the fuck makes you think this will be the time I finally wave the white flag and surrender?! Nobody can limit how far I can go, or what I can achieve. You got a better chance of Stark becoming the new poster child for the “just say no” campaign than of ever getting me to put my hands up and surrender on being the Immortal Heavyweight Champion.

The Cosmic Caravan in Charlotte, You all already know that I’ve had a dream since I was six years old To be a world Champion in professional wrestling. I’ve bled, and sweated to keep that dream alive. When I was just breaking in the business, and the money I got wrestling in bingo halls, and high school gyms was just enough to put gas in my car and make it to the next show I kept on remembering that old preacher’s words. When I got hurt, and I had to push myself as hard as I could in rehab to make it back into the ring I kept on calling on that old gypsy saying. When I found myself face down on the mat so exhausted that I couldn’t move not even a pinky finger, well you guys get the picture. Those words I heard so long ago have seen me through to the other side of so many trials and tribulations I have had to walk through. Oh and trust me I’ve been tested in many different ways in my career, but right now the biggest test of the Romani King has come in the form of a curly headed, spineless, sackless, sorry son of a bitch named Remington Ivory Prescott.
R.I.P., more like P.O.S. From where I’m standing. I hate admitting that this man has been the thorn in my side, the block I keep stumbling over, the stone I have to keep pushing up past the hill. I hate admitting that because I know that son of a bitch gets a tingle in his jollies hearing me say it. But this man has managed to turn the dream I’ve chased into a living nightmare time and again. At every turn I’ve had him pulling the rug out from under me, that is when he wasn’t plain cutting me off at the knees. I think back to Game Over, For me to be quite literally on top of the world one minute, then turn around the next and be made nothing more than a goddamn patsy. To see RIP being the guy to benefit from me busting my ass, It was a gut punch to say the least. I won’t lie to anyone watching this, the fact that he robbed me blind of my shot at the Immortal Heavyweight title, well that just hurts me as a gypsy, no cap on that. But More than that, being an unwitting cog having served RIP’s plans and machiavellian machinations, made me sick to my stomach. Then having to bail his ass out of a jam against Jason Long damn near gave me an ulcer. I swore I’d never be this man’s stooge again, that I wouldn’t so much as tell him the time of day if it helped the son of a bitch in any way, shape, or form. For that little cunt to bring me back to the bad old days of when I was under his thumb, well you can use any word you feel that’s a synonym for disgusted, and plain pissed off that you please on that one! Now the question is what am I gonna do about it? Well spoiler alert, as long as I’m breathing there’s no way in hell I’m allowing my journey to end with that bastard getting the last laugh. you can bet your ass on that!

That said, I know this little spit fuck all too well to know he’s bound to have some bullshit up his sleeve. It’s RIP we’re talking about, so going into a match with the bastard means I’m not just facing him, or all his daddy’s money buying him easy wins by pulling every string to keep one arm tied behind my back. It’s not just facing off against the chosen puppet of the TCC, which means the rest of those sell out fucks will be sure to be standing between me and the Immortal Championship, by making sure to stick me long before I ever get a clean shot at RIP. But that’s all an appetizer. The real thing you have to be aware of is the fact that there’s no low Remington won’t stoop to for him to worm his way to keeping the Immortal Heavyweight Championship. I don’t think any of us can forget that the last time we were in a match together RIP left me bleeding out on the canvas for the whole world to see, I know I sure haven’t. All things being equal you can see why I say he stands as The biggest road block between me and getting the thing I’ve just about moved heaven and earth to achieve. That’s not me lacking for confidence but I have got to give this devil his due. Every little way he’s been screwing me over for the past 2 years, its been hell to deal with, and it’s been hard at times for my family to see. And while I’ve been working my way back up everytime he pulls one of his little stunts, he’s been sticking it to me with that shit eating grin of his. Well after Dream World the next time he decides to crack a smile, expect to see him have a few teeth missing. The way I see RIP right now is like the embodiment of Every doubt I could ever get this far, every scoff by anyone who thought the idea of Mark Michaels being a world champion, every jackass who said I’d never amount to anything because of my heritage, it has all been personified to me in this rat bastard son of a bitch.

So with all that in mind people have been asking what exactly is my mindset going into this match? Well to quote a wise man who once said, I’m not a killer, but don’t push me! I believe a man gets back what he puts in. That people get what they deserve. That saying goes both ways. I’ve been staying striving and surviving, put in the hard work and the long hours, carrying my weight and then some. case in point I dig down deeper than I ever have inside the ring, to beat Nathan Fiora. A man who’s not just a former world champion, but a hall of Famer. Beating him proved that I belong among the top talents Olympus has to offer. But ain’t no rest when you’re the king of the hustlers, so I follow it up with something that silenced the critics and proved that when the stakes are the highest, I can get the job done no matter the odds. I proved that by rising above 5 of the hungriest OWA superstars, all of whom were looking for an opportunity to cash in for gold. I’m at the absolute top of my game right now, Remington knows all about that because he always needs me to do the heavy lifting when he wants a damn belt in this company. I’ll talk all about doing for him what he knows he can’t do for himself in a moment. But in the meantime, I want the money grubbing little shit to think about how he has spent a lifetime’s of treating people like dirt, screwing them out of everything they worked for, and then has the gall to go walking around acting like he did them a favor doing so. I want him to think how he got a small spoonful of karma when Jason Long sucker punched him and gave him a taste of his own medicine. Dream world is the main course that I am gonna shove down his throat. considering everything this man-wait scratch that because this jackass has no balls. Considering everything this gutless fuck has put me, and anyone else who has ever had the misfortune of have to deal with him, through, then you better believe i am making it my personal mission to show Remington here just why they say paybacks are a bitch! After everything you’ve done, son you’d best get your affairs in order, because if you think this thing between us hasn’t gotten far too personal, or that I’m treating this as business as usual, well I’m sorry but your ass doesn’t get to lose that easy this time. When you step into that ring, you are stepping into the kind of night that will have you checking under your bed to make sure the Romani King isn’t there. I’m making it my business to become your worst nightmare, I mean coming after you like Rambo. Never backing down, never shying away, and not a damn thing you can do to keep me from tearing you a new asshole. Remington, I promise you it sure as hell won’t be no sweet lullaby when I put you down. Motherfucker it’s hunting season in Charlotte come Dream World.

Come Dream World there won’t be any stopping me from stomping out like a Carolina cockroach. Ain’t no way I’m not repaying you in kind for all the mace, the daggers, the cheep shots, the threats to my family, the utter contempt in your eyes when you blasted me upside the head with that loaded punch. When the bell rings, there will be nothing that will slow me down, or even think twice about what I’m gonna do to you. There ain’t a damn thing that will slow me down, never mind stop me from getting what’s mine, and giving you what’s long been overdue.

you once asked me why I keep going? What makes me get back up and tell you to go fuck yourself no matter why it is that you throw at me? There’s actually a couple reasons. See the first reason is that you have managed to piss me off to a level I never thought possible. Second is that what people like you, Remington, don’t get is that when you hustle for a living on your grind day and night, there can’t be no quit in you. When you work every single day to make ends meat, you don’t even let that thought cross your mind. It also means that sometimes you work harder, or longer. It also means you sometimes have to deal with a mountain of bullshit. But in the end you when you get everything you’ve been working your ass off for, it’s that much sweeter. See to me the Immortal Championship isn’t just a piece of tin to hang on a mantle. I don’t want to just have a nice little prize I can show daddy to prove I’m not a billion dollar waste of sperm. To me it’s not treat for being a good sport because I learned the basics in wrestling school before having my butler give me a rub down with a happy ending. This is a sport I love. This is something I give every bit of my energy, hell I’d give my life for. And I believe that being a champion means you are the very best, that something about you is worth a damn so long as you got it the right way. So long as the guy holding the belt is there not just to sit on a throne, but to lead those around him through the deepest valleys and the highest mountains. To leave the business better than he found it instead of dying on the vine. Simply put I believe a championship needs a champion, and it’s the guy holding it that makes the title, not the other way around. I’m telling you right now Remington, you might hold the championship, but you sure as hell are no champion. I’ve never been a fan of Jacob Senn, or Darkane but at least I can say they got the belt you have clutched in your sweaty little palms, they got it the right way. They went out, looked a man in the eyes, and beat him in the middle of the ring. You tried to get that belt the same way, and you got your ass handed to you. And the damn thing is you knew exactly that it was gonna happen. For all the talk Remington has given about getting the job done with his own two hands nowadays, he sure as shit still needs me to do all the heavy lifting so his ass can just barely manage to collapse over the finish line. so you signed your name on that contract, and boy has that yellow streak running up your spine never looked bigger. You know part of me sees the silver lining in this one instance of you being the sniveling little cunt you are. I’m glad because now to win a world title, I get to do it by beating the piss out of the biggest piece of chicken shit I’ve ever seen.

Now when I step through those ropes, I’m walking into that ring ready to prove to everybody that if you got the heart, if you got the perseverance, you can achieve the biggest of dreams, and to hell with anyone telling you what you can’t do when they haven’t walked an inch In your shoes. I was never anyone’s pick for most likely to succeed. I wasn’t hyped up when I signed here with OWA, all I had was an opportunity. I exceeded most everyone’s expectations, so me and the rest of the Cosmic Caravan are here saying what’s showing one more stuffy douche with an opinion he pulled straight out of his ass just what can happen when you put hustle and heart in everything you do. Anyone who has ever been successful will tell you that without a dream you will never reach your destination, but I am here today to say I’m not coming into this match a dreamer wishing on a star. The great Tar Heel, Michael Jordan, once said that Champions find a way to make it happen. I’m putting all that I got to finally get what I’ve spent years chasing after. After that bell rings Remington, and everything is said and done, you’ll go to sleep closing those swollen, black and blue, tear filled eyes. And I’ll be sleeping with a smile on my face because im gonna unleash every bit of anger, disappointment, frustration, all on the greediest rat who’s about to walk into a lion’s den. I I promise you all that Nothing will be finer than to be in Carolina on that morning after Dream world, when I wake up your new Immortal Heavyweight Champion.

Remington Ivory Prescott, Lazarus Arjen, Felix Hartley, Chad Ecclestone and Brody have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos March 23rd 2024, 12:00 am by **"Killer Bee"**

Dreamworld Dreamworld Dreamworld. I don’t understand whose idea it was to invest so heavily in a WrestleWorld nostalgia trip but I remember very much what happened to me that day. I was in one of the most important matches in the history of that company, wrestling Stephanie Matsuda and Claudia Michaels, the so-called Architect of the American Dream Championship and its guardian until the first champion was crowned. Stephanie managed to beat me to the punch that day and finished Claudia before I could. Come to think of it, Cloudy always has a nasty habit of being in triple threat matches with me for titles and every time I get the short end of the stick. Anybody remember Final Destination a couple of years ago and Rebecca Filth stopped me from choking out Matsuda and stole the Women’s World Championship from me?

Ancient history, I’m sure for most of you with short attention spans, but bear with me for just a little while, hmm?

DreamWorld and by extension WrestleWorld has been nothing but one big nightmare for me. Every friend I thought I had there has turned on me. Every ambition that I didn’t fulfill just makes me feel that much more annoyed that I kicked all of this foolishness off by agreeing to defend the American Dream championship in….YOU GUESSED IT…a triple threat match.

Funny thing.

THERE’S NO THIRD WHEEL TO GET IN THE WAY THIS TIME!

Besides, I always thought it would be better to have sweet, sweet Marie all to myself. Just like you don’t want to live in Maybes anymore, dearest Marie, I have vowed to live in Absolutes from here on out.

ABSOLUTE POWER

Now this should be obvious. Do you understand what I’ve done? The power of SIX gods at my beck and call, a beautiful, supportive succubus benefactor, and the technical skill of a lifetime of military training, jujitsu training from my mother, and catch wrestling experience honed to perfection by choking the literal shit out of people twice my size. Did you think that I would come to this fight unprepared? I told you from the very start that I would have a plan to fall back on that makes me very much different from any opponent you’ve truly faced. Hell, the circumstances are different than anything you’ve faced before? The Great Wars that live in OWA lore will look like the fucking KIDDIE POOL compared to what I’ve got in store for you. Armelina has already given me my youthful looks and vigor back.

The power that I’ve unlocked now?

Let’s just say we’ve kicked it up SEVERAL goddamn notches. And it’s fucking WONDERFUL! I don’t feel pain, I have the endurance of a thousand marathon runners, I have the strength to break any bone in any living creature’s body! Don’t you see that is a wonderful deal for me and a very bad deal for you? Oh, what are you gonna do, call the cast of Charmed and put a spell on me? Call your dead ancestors to help you out? Bring that big ugly half-dead idiot to try to come to your aid?

You could summon Havoc himself. And it still wouldn’t be enough.

My power is absolute. Incorruptible. Sure, the bloodlust and all the conflicting voices make things a little bit…cumbersome, but I have achieved perfection, Marie. I am the ultimate living weapon, a living god, the most powerful being that has ever lived! And I have you and all your magic to thank for it. Do you think I was targeting you just for that title? Do you think all of this is a grudge over some petty, trivial shit that happened months and in some spots a year or two ago? Oh no, this is much deeper. You were targeted for a purpose, and now, thanks to Armelina, that purpose is no longer necessary. Now, I have free reign to break you and take all of your knowledge with me.

And after I’m done crucifying you to the walls of Bank of America Stadium, all of that precious knowledge? I’ll keep it all for myself.

ABSOLUTE ANARCHY

I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, but I’m a pretty bad person. But that’s not without a purpose. OWA has fallen into the same old boring ass formula that’s killed off so many organizations before: one popular act or team goes away, the company scrambles to find the golden goose again with another act. I’m here to change all that. I’m definitely a member of The Tribunal and as long as their interests align with mine I’m more than happy to team with them, but I think that we’ve been thinking small. I know I have! Sure, being a champion again will be boring as hell. I almost dread fighting you for it because I know how hard you’ll fight to keep it, but once I’ve broken you and taken it over, I’ve got a lot of fun ideas to shake things up!

OWA’s never really had a traveling champion. What if I just show up to PCW to bash someone’s brain in with it? What if I go to SWWS and defend it there? What if I go to Nemesis Pro and slaughter everyone there? What if I go to the EWC and merge the Gift of the Gods with their Undisputed title? The possibilities are endless! I’m a Living God! Why should I keep my power confined to this speck of dust on the wrestling globe when I can take your title and use it as a bug light to draw in all those mesmerized losers from other organizations to feed my bloodlust!?

YOU OPENED THE DOOR FOR ME, MARIE! ALL I HAD TO DO WAS WALK THROUGH IT!

But, I do suppose there could be some suspense. After I’ve eliminated you, will your little friends come for me? Maybe some other dumb witch will sprout up in your place and offer me a challenge. Maybe some dumb bitch or dumb bastard from Kingdom or Olympus will try to take the Gift of the Gods from me. Who knows? Who cares! All I know is that it will be an absolute blast!

Is April in it for herself?

Would she betray her allies in the Tribunal?

Would they turn on her!?

HAHAHAHAHAHA….THE SUSPENSE IS KILLING ME AND I CAN’T EVEN DIE!

ABSOLUTE REDEMPTION

No, I can’t be reformed. Don’t even put that silly fucking idea into your brain. This redemption isn’t about me finally winning the big one or shedding a label or any of that. Redemption to me looks very different to me than it does for most people. Then again, Living God and all now, so my level of thinking may be a little difficult for most people to understand. I want to solidify my status as the Ultimate Living Weapon. I have become a literal war god, but what’s the use of having this power if I don’t make the most of it? I want to conquer everything. Not just in OWA, but everywhere. I want my power to be the ONLY power recognized in the entire fucking universe.

Is it WRONG for a girl to crave a little recognition? Hmm? You’ve always accused me of being a bit of an attention whore, right? And in some ways you weren’t necessarily wrong. I have been eager for eyes to be on me. Not just for my stunning beauty, but my unrivaled skill. My own skill was formidable enough, as you already know, but now with the wisdom of six gods feeding me, injecting me with their knowledge, you will soon know that you have no chance against me. And, to be quite honest with you, that’s how I want the entire world to feel. That’s how I want all my partners to feel. I want anyone who even looks at me to see the fact that resistance to my whims would be pointless.

I’ve wasted SO MUCH TIME trying to achieve my ambition of being a living weapon through normal, unimaginative means. Training, more training, killing, more killing, even MORE KILLING. And even some training after that. No matter how crisp my movements felt, no matter how sharp my blows landed on my opposition, it never seemed to form any sort of….impact. But now, I can undo all of that frustration, that guilt, that failure! And you’re the one to thank, Marie! If I had never met you, I never would have started to study magic, let alone finding out exactly which artifacts to procure to make sure that I had juuuuuuuuuuuuuust the right POP to my game.

ABSOLUTE JUSTICE

Justice for me? That looks a lot different than it would for most people. I know, you people say you’re bored of me saying I’m different, but I’ve always been different…now I am exceptional. You know what justice looks like to me?

Alessandro Devastation or Devione or Mongrel being beaten within an inch of his life…then me beating his decrepit father in front of him and snapping his neck. THAT would be justice for all the abuse and torment he’s put so many through…and for taking a title that was especially precious from me.

Nobi? Snapped neck.

Hana Nakajima: A snapped spine and a foot shoved so far up her ass she could brush her teeth with my shoelaces.

Nate Cage? Medicine. SERIOUSLY, THE GUY’S PROBABLY THE ONLY PERSON EVEN MORE WACKED OUT THAN ME IN THE TRIBUNAL!

Felix Hartley and Rebecca Filth? A long, agonizing session of torment until they both are nothing more than plastic pretzels to be thrown in the trash and discarded forever.

Stephanie Matsuda? I’ve grown fond of her, even though she took every heartbeat of her adult life to be a generational hater and try to stop me from achieving my dreams! Hmmm ... .maybe I can just keep her as a pet. She does have good uses.

Are you all getting the point? Are you getting the point Marie? Absolute justice for me is the eradication or subjugation- honestly in your case I would prefer both- of any enemy who has ever crossed my path. Anyone who has mocked me, called me an old hag, made fun of my taste in games, anyone who has even so much as looked at me with a cross eye…at my complete mercy, as you will soon find yourself. THAT IS JUSTICE.

THAT IS MY JUSTICE!

ABSOLUTE VICTORY

Before anyone gets all bleeding heart on me, understand that I don’t care about winning and losing in the traditional sense. Not anymore. There were times when I used to care so much about the outcomes of matches. I used to dread every moment of existence before and after the bell. But those days are past. Do you know what absolute victory looks and feels like for me? Blood.

So much blood. Some of it mine….most of it yours.

A struggle that ends with you beaten and completely compromised. A struggle that ends with the entire world under my fucking thumb. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? And in DreamWorld, all my darkest, most deliciously sweet dreams get to come true…ALL AT YOUR EXPENSE. Your hubris led you to think that I would trifle with someone like you without thinking it through, without planning accordingly. And your hubris is going to cost you everything you ever loved. JUST LIKE YOUR RAGE HAS COME BACK TO BITE YOU IN THE ASS IN THE PAST, YOUR EMOTIONS CLOUD YOUR JUDGMENT AND SHIELD YOU FROM YOUR FULL POTENTIAL.

Even at your full potential though, the magic and power I command is far greater than yours, and you’re going to find out as I plunge you into such despair and such anguish that you would think that I’ve summoned the end of time itself.

You see, Marie, I knew that this day would come. I knew that I would be the one to take your title and your life. It was all a premonition that I had….SYKE! No such thing happened. But I knew that once you became a target for me that this day would come. No amount of preaching, lecturing and empathy is going to save you. It’s time to fight now, and as I’ve made quite clear to you, this is WAR. Not a match. Not a fight. THIS IS WAR! Nothing will be off limits to me. NOTHING IS GOING TO STOP ME FROM ACHIEVING MY GOAL. I DON’T CARE IF I HAVE TO DEVOUR THE SOULS OF YOUR ENTIRE FUCKING FAMILY LINE TO DO IT, I’M GOING TO CRUSH YOU AND TAKE EVERYTHING THAT I HAVE…ALL FOR MYSELF.

And all you’ll be left to do is cry.

CRY LIKE YOU DID WHEN YOU WATCHED YOUR LITTLE FRIEND DIE DURING THE GREAT WAR!

CRY LIKE YOU PROBABLY DID WHEN YOU READ ALL THESE TRAGIC STORIES OF THE PEOPLE YOU DRAW STRENGTH FROM!

CRY LIKE YOU DID WITH ALL THE THINGS THAT HAPPEN TO BANSHEE.

I’m going to make you cry again Marie.

Your title.

Your power.

Your life.

And I’m going to lick all the tears up….even the ones that are soaked in BLOOD.

Arata Asakura and Felix Hartley have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos March 22nd 2024, 11:59 pm by **marielacorriveau**

Dreamworld .o2
The Story

“La Corriveau. Raven woman of New France. Mater Furoris.” Marie circles the gibbet with a burning bowl raised in her hands. “Partagez votre douleur. Montre-leur ton pouvoir. Rappelez-leur votre histoire.”

She sets the bowl down underneath it and fans the flames, with her hands, sending smoke billowing through the metal straps. Marie murmurs something under her breath, eyes watery but unblinking as the smoke grows thicker.

Light from the swollen moon above filters through the drifts of smoke, revealing the outline of a body. Marie holds out a hand, and the figure steps out of the cage, into the snow.

“Mère corbeau. Pendant des centaines d’années, vous avez été transporté sur le dos des voyageurs.” Mother Raven. For hundreds of years you have been carried on the backs of travelers.

The figure slowly nods its head.

“Dimanche, je porterai une femme sur mon dos et je la briserai. Je ne demande qu'une chose.” On Sunday I will carry a woman on my back and I will break her. I only ask one thing.

Marie does not look up to the sky. She knows better. They stand bathed in red light, and the figure is more clear to her now than ever before. The hand still clasped in hers is solid and cool, and she sees a face, no older than hers, drifting in and out of reality as if she was being projected from bad film.

“Permettez-moi de lui donner votre douleur.” Allow me to show her your pain.

-

You’re right. We’re at war. Again.

Wheel turns. Patterns repeat. April and Marie wind up on different sides.

Again.

I’m not ignorant of that fact. If I was, I wouldn’t have reached out to the friends I made in the last one. Good guys. I’m sure you’ve known them a lot longer than I have, depending on how we want to count things with alternate timelines and whatever, but I trust them both with my life. Good thing, too. The Hex Girls don’t really have a great record with these cross faction things, and I like my head where it is. People rag on me a lot for the whole power of friendship kumbaya holding hands thing I do, but it does pay off to care about people. If you’re lucky, they care too. If you’re very lucky, they show up for you. That’s just one of many, many differences between you and I, April. The last war we were in, you were there for at least one friend. That’s all. Now you’re riding with Tribunal and not a single one of them gives enough of a fuck to stop you from ripping your soul five different ways. But that doesn’t matter to you. You have no weak points, right? That’s why you reached out to a bunch of different higher powers to try and bargain for a SHOT at beating me.

You know what, April? I can fuck with this.

That’s probably not what you were expecting. Granted, you’re still clinging desperately to the delusion that this is just a speed bump, and I did have to sit through yet another fucking nerd rant about video games, but I’m getting used to that second one. I’m looking forward to the next phase in your career, I love titty streamers.

But at least you going bugfuck insane is something I can work with. Is it a little Single White Female to tune in and see you fucking with magic before a match with me? Is it a less sexy version of what Felix did two years ago before my second match in the company? Yes to both of those. But I’m not going to try and talk you out of it. Not because I wanted to face another… well, I can’t really call you a witch. Magic user? Whatever. Because people have gotten really comfortable with me. I make it look easy, I get that. If I show my magic, I’m using it as a crutch, if I don’t, I’m insulting my opponent by not using every tool in the chest to beat them. People don’t understand just how much sheer force of will it takes to use it correctly. Watching you flame the fuck out will give everyone a really good look at what happens when someone who does not have it in her to be a witch tries.

And you think I was meant to stick to witchcraft as if it was lesser. As if I just didn’t have it in me to do anything but stir a cauldron and dance on the solstice. This isn’t baking, April. I’m not making soup. One wrong word, one missed inflection, one line drawn wrong on your pentacle, and you’ll get your skin peeled off by the thing you were trying to use for your purpose. You don’t understand the risk you’ve taken - don’t try to convince me that you do, because you haven’t seen the consequences. You don’t know the pain you’ve set yourself up for by fucking around with all of this.

And still, still, it is nothing next to the pain I offer you. Hundreds of years of pain distilled into one moment. You liked the story? You liked the glimpse it offered you into the world I inhabit? It is still only a glimpse. You gorge on the implications you find in it because you don’t understand. This is not a fun metaphor to tell you that I’m wrestling you really really hard. This isn’t even a warning that I intend to treat this as the war it is, the war we have unfortunately made ourselves part of because you can’t be bothered to do anything on your own. I bring you something completely literal.

Just like you so graciously offer to step aside when I best you, and let the one SINGLE member of Tribunal that I haven’t ground under the heel of my boot take up the mantle of Next Bitch to Get Beaten by Marie Bouchard, you ponder letting me retire. Of course you won’t, because you want me dead for fun and profit, and totally just tortured one of my friends because it was part of the plan. I haven’t gotten to you at all and this isn’t some insane gambit to be my nemesis or something. I just told you, April. Whether you felt like letting me sneak away or not, it was never going to happen like that. I have never once run away from a challenge. You torturing my friend wasn’t a contingency plan, it was revenge, because guess what, April? I’m never hiding! I don’t need to be drawn out, I am here every week! Did I not say that it was my plan to defend this belt at every opportunity? Has that not been my fucking line since the beginning? You can roll your eyes and say that I give these matches meaning because I’m not as jaded as you, I haven’t gone through what you have, I’m quaint, actually. But we both know that’s not the case. You can either live a life with purpose, or let yourself fall the fuck apart. Just because you weren’t able to keep yourself together, doesn’t mean I’ll disintegrate like you. I get it, April. You were in the army, or whatever. You got yelled at and you were shipped overseas to do… something. I don’t know. Are you old enough to be Desert Storm or was this, like, Afghanistan? I guess the looting things from museums makes a little more sense now.

Okay, that’s a little pot and kettle, but in my defense, I will totally be bringing it back, and that was a 100% Canadian made horror show I stole, it’s different.

And don’t give me that sadist line either. It’s not a coincidence that your little BDSM session involved my familiar, you could’ve nabbed any pussy on this roster and you took my friend. Yeah, it’s because you’re frustrated, you’re angry, and despite your desperate pleas to the contrary, this is about you and me. More than the war, more than Tribunal, more than your friend Armalite and your need for relevancy, I’ve pissed you off. Good. It’s mutual. Another vital difference between you and me. You get pissed off and you go off the deep end and carve yourself up for Gods you hadn’t even heard of before because you cannot fathom doing anything productive with your feelings. I get pissed off and win matches. Decisively.

Retirement is not my plan. Not because of my plans for a long career or a desire for an eternal reign, because I do not fucking quit. Have I been talking to myself this entire time? Serious question. Because that’s been my line from the very beginning, and I have backed it up every single time I go out there. I’ve been beaten, sure. But does anyone remember the last time I was told to stay down? To accept my defeat?

I spat my own blood in her face.

I didn’t win that fight. But I didn’t give up. And that’s the problem here, April. Not your frankly pathetic attempt to meet me on my turf and meddle with magic to get even a chance at beating me, which would be like me trying to beat Rebecca Filth by getting my tits done and hopping on OnlyFans, no. That’s fun. It’s fun for me to see you fuck with things you don’t understand, douse yourself in gasoline and light a match because fighting me “opened your mind”, translation: April finds her identity in someone else yet again. I guess joining Aria’s little group wasn’t enough to fill the gaping hole where your personality should be, you had to shove me in there with her. No, that’s not it.

Your problem, April, is that you have to be the first woman who has ever made me give up.

What will you do? Hm? Will you cripple me? Break my back? Maybe you’ll do what happened when my late partner had an I Quit match, have somebody drag Mon Minnou or Banshee out and threaten to kill them if I don’t tap. I’m not going to lie, that would probably do it. But I brought backup to keep that from happening, and I do not like the chances of anyone against two pissed off members of Thotline. So that’s out. Maybe you’ll just kill me. But I don’t think you will, April. I think you need me to give up. I think you need to break me, you need to be the one person who can manage that, and you do not have it in you.

You can’t break me because you don’t understand me, and you never have.

I never get tired of hearing how I could be great if I did this or that. If I was more aggressive, if I was more of an asshole, if I did things more like you. I wasn’t meant to stick to anything, April. That’s what you don’t understand, what you clearly still don’t understand, because after me pointing out over and over that you have marked yourself as nothing but a worshiper, you literally go to Gods for a chance to beat me. Way to prove me right. Witches aren’t worshippers, and we are not bound to fate. We exist outside of it.

We make fate our bitch.

I’m done trying to make people like you understand what makes me strong. There’s no secret to it. I wear it out in the open and I always have. And every time one of you bitches comes at me talking about how I’m a weakling simpering about the power of friendship, because none of you can hold yourselves back from being absolute dicks about literally everything literally all of the time, I prove that I might just be on to something by leaving with the win.

I definitely believe that if you were capable of even a fraction of what I am, you would use it to subjugate the absolute fuck out of everyone around you.

You’re small minded that way.

Which is why when you decided to pick yet another fight with me, nipping at my heels like a lost puppy, the only way you could think to take some power for yourself was to offer yourself up to something bigger. Trade away another part of yourself for a chance at accomplishing something without a thought.

I don’t do that, April. And it’s not because I’m weak, or scared, it’s not because after all this time it never occurred to me, it’s because I don’t need to. I never have. I don’t need to reach out to something outside of myself to give myself power, but I have called on a very special friend. Not because I need to. Because I want to satisfy you, April. I want to slake your thirst.

I want to give you exactly what you deserve.

The end of a story.

Felix Hartley has spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos March 22nd 2024, 11:57 pm by **Jeff X**

Claire lay in the hospital bed, her body still weak and sore from the brutal attack orchestrated by Felix Hartley. The beeping of machines monitoring her vitals echoed in the background as she slept. She groaned in a bit of pain as her eyelids fluttered open, but as she registered who was standing at her bedside, she audibly gasped. It was Jeff. His cold, blue eyes dug into her with the kind of intensity that sent shivers down her spine. This was the first time they’d seen one another in nearly twenty years and she could only imagine how angry with her he was. Instinctively, she reached for the call button beside her bed.

“Don’t even think about it.”

His words were menacing and his tone left no room for any argument. Claire’s trembling hand froze short of the button, her eyes widening in terror.

“You know…I SHOULD finish what she started. I should cut your cold, black heart right out of your chest.”

She just stared at Jeff, trying to comprehend how much danger she found herself in. She thought about screaming, but she didn’t want to risk provoking him any further. She knew what he was capable of, as well as what she deserved, and she also knew that she was at his mercy. Jeff pulled up a chair, sitting down beside the bed, his eyes never leaving hers. He leaned forward slowly, his eyes still burning with anger and resentment.

“Relax. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Jeff’s gaze softened a bit, his eyes seeming to go a bit misty as he finally got to ask the question he’d been wondering for almost twenty years.

“Just tell me why.”

His voice was raw with emotion as he searched her eyes for any answers. She searched for the right words, but she was struggling to find them as her own guilt and regret pressed down on her. Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

“I…I thought I was protecting him. I thought he’d be safer without you in his life.”

Jeff clenched his jaw, trying to stifle down his anger.

“Safer?? Safer from WHAT?! His own father?!?”

Claire’s gaze dropped again as she twisted nervously in the hospital blanket.

“I know I just…I thought you were dangerous. After what happened that night-”

“I was protecting YOU! And you never even let me explain myself. Never even gave me a chance to be a father.”

“I’m sorry.” She choked up as she spoke, a single tear falling down her face. “I'm so sorry, Jeff. I really didn’t want to hurt you. But I was just a kid. I was afraid and I didn’t know what to do. I saw the look in your eyes that night. I knew you had always been a little prone to violence…maybe even a bit angry…and that was fine. I loved you, you know?”

She forced a weak smile as she looked back up at him for a moment.

“I could look past a lot. But once Tyler was born…it changed something in me. I had…I had to put him first. And I watched you that night and I saw something in you that was dark…something dangerous. And I knew then…I knew you weren’t cut out to be a father.”

The words were like a punch to the stomach for Jeff. He wanted to defend himself, but he didn’t know if he could..

“You’re a good, man, Jeff. You always have been. And, hell, everything you’ve done since you’ve gotten out has proved that. Yes, I’ve kept up.”

She laughs a little, trying to lighten the mood, but Jeff’s expression remains the same.

“But you are who you are. You’re wide open, unpredictable, and reckless. And I love that about you, I really do. But you’re also so angry all of the time. And you keep it bottled up inside of you and the only way that it comes out is through violence. Your life is a constant series of pain and bloodshed, and it clearly hasn’t gotten any better with age. I…I just couldn't let Tyler be raised into that. I couldn’t risk him…becoming that.”

Tears began to stream from her eyes as she spoke, feeling the weight of her decisions. She reached a trembling hand out to rest on Jeff’s, feeling the need to try and comfort him, but he pulled away.

“I know that I hurt you. And I know I made a mistake. But you have to understand…I was trying to protect him. I was just trying to do what I thought was best for my son. But I really am SO sorry.”

“You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to just say sorry for ripping my entire world apart. It’s too late for that. Do you have any idea what it was like for me? I was at the lowest point in my life, sitting inside of that cell, with no hope, no future…the only thing keeping me going was the thought of having my family when I got out. And then my lawyer brought me those divorce papers. And you were gone…you and Tyler. My own flesh and blood. My SON. Vanished without a trace. And believe me, I looked. I looked EVERYWHERE. But it proved to be hard to find you…Claire.”

She winced as he spoke her name.

“...you don’t have to call me that.”

“Why not? That’s your name nowadays isn’t it?”

“I HAD to change my name, Jeff. It was the only way to keep you from finding us because I KNEW you wouldn’t stop looking. And I thought…I thought I had to protect him from…from you.”

“Yeah…maybe you’re right…maybe I wasn’t fit to be a father.”

She looks back up at him, but his eyes narrow as he leans in and glares at her.

“But I guess we’ll never get to find out, will we? And besides…I don’t know if you noticed but that little plan of yours? Didn’t exactly work out, did it? He’s just as angry, just as consumed, just as twisted as I ever was, with seemingly no fucking moral compass to help him control any of it either. So bang up job, Claire. I’m so thankful he had you protecting him all these years so he could turn out this way. What did you-”

“I KNOW!”

Claire shouted through the tears, cutting him off. She took a deep breath and looked back at him.

“I know. I fucked up, okay? I know that. I should have never left. Not like that. I made a mistake, but I was young and a kid and I’m sorry, Jeff…I’m so sorry.”

Jeff leaned back in his chair, trying to take all of this in.

“Does he even know? Any of it. What happened that night? Why I wasn’t there? Fuck, your real name??? Does he know ANYTHING?”

Claire wiped away a few tears as her eyes met his and slowly she shook her head.

“No.” She admitted, softly. “As far as he knew, his father left before he was born. I was never going to tell him who you were. I didn’t see the point in it. But as he got older…things started to go wrong in all of our lives and he just…he started to blame it all on you, for whatever reason. He just…he became so obsessed with it…and so angry. I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t. He became more and more like you every single day. Finally I had to…I had to tell him something. So I gave him Steve’s contact information.”

Jeff rolled his eyes, throwing his hands in the air.

“Once he worked out who you were, there was no reasoning with him at that point. He joined the wrestling business and…well…that was that. Everything I’d tried to prevent…everything that I did to you…it was all for nothing. He became…everything that I didn’t want him to. I’m so, so sorry. I wish I could go back and change things. I wish I could make it right.”

“It’s too late for that now. You made your choice…and now we all have to live with the consequences.”

There was a heavy silence between them for a long while as they felt the weight of their past actions. Finally Jeff stood up as if he were preparing to leave.

“You’re going to drop the charges against Felix.”

Again, his tone left very little room for argument. But her eyes widened in disbelief as she tried to anyway.

“That woman’s a psychopath. She belongs in a jail cell for what she did to me-”

“Yeah and I didn’t.” Jeff said firmly, cutting her off. “I don’t give a shit what you think she deserves. You’ve taken everything else away from me. My family. My son. My chance to be a father. I’m not going to let you take this from me too. You owe me this.”

Her eyes lowered a bit.

“Tyler won’t understand…”

“I don’t care. That’s not my problem.”

She nodded silently, knowing that he was right. She did owe him that much. Jeff turned to walk out of the room, but she called back to him with a final plea.

“Jeff….I know what he’s done. I do. But please…I know what you’re capable of and please…Jeff…don’t you hurt him.”

Jeff balled his hands into fists as he shut his eyes, trying to stifle his rage at her for asking him for anything.

“He’s your son too.”

“MY son??”

Jeff spun back around, glaring at her as he spoke.

“He never got the chance to be my son. You stole that from both of us.”

Claire began to sob as she hung her head low, both feeling the guilt of her past as well as fearing for her oldest son.

“Make sure you heal up. He’s going to need you after Dreamworld.”

With that, Jeff turned to leave, swinging the door open and revealing Felix Hartley standing there in the doorway, waiting on him. She stepped forward, reaching out her hand and placing it softly against his face.

“Are you okay?”

Her voice was filled with genuine concern. He nodded in response, unable to find the words right now. Felix looked over and stared at Claire. She looked afraid again, but Felix merely smiled and winked at her before closing the distance between her and Jeff. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a passionate kiss that Claire was forced to watch. She turned away. Even after all these years, seeing that still hurt her.

“Let’s go home.”

Jeff nodded, but glanced back over his shoulder at the woman he used to love.

“Don’t make me come back here.”

She simply nodded while Felix and Jeff interlocked their hands, leaving the room together, a sense of solidarity between them.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everyone wants to know what I’m thinking…what’s going through my mind. How I’m processing everything that’s happened in my life over the course of the last year. Friends, family, fans…all of them wanting to offer whatever words of support that they can. But what can really be said? What words can anyone offer that will make any of this better? My life was stolen from me two decades ago. Everything I held near was ripped away when I was at my lowest and I was certain that I’d never care about anything again.

When I finally walked out of that cell and realized that everything I ever cared about was gone, I kind of wanted to go back inside. At least there, I had an excuse for why everything sucked. It’s prison, after all. It’s supposed to suck. But it was worse being on the outside. Knowing that you had no direction, no career, no path, nobody who cared about you. I was down and very nearly out…I was so pissed off all the time…maybe I still am, I don’t know. But I came dangerously close to giving up, I won’t lie to you.

But then I remembered who I am. I remember the man that my mother fucking raised me to be. I clawed my way out of that mindset and put that anger, all that pain, and every ounce of resentment I had built up towards something good. So I got back into the business that I was once familiar with and I left a trail of broken bodies and shattered dreams behind me as I clawed my way out of the pit that my life had become. From the moment I stepped foot back in the ring, I knew that I would be okay. More than that, I knew that I was destined for greatness. Greatness that would be built with pain, aggression, and a full commitment to win at any cost. And that’s exactly what I did. Despite being a full decade older than most of my contemporaries, with over ten years of ring rust to overcome, I put this whole company on my back while it was still in its infancy, and carried it to heights that it never envisioned for itself back when it was still a glorified EAW tribute promotion. I was as determined to raise its stock as I was determined to raise my own.

And I did both.

Nowadays, the OWA is the talk of the wrestling world. Everyone who’s anyone knows that this is the place to be in our industry. We’ve changed how the whole game operates on a fundamental level. And who was it that led that charge? Who was it that has stood at the forefront of it the entire time?

You’re fucking looking at him.

I became the very face of this promotion. I’ve racked up more accolades and records here than most people could ever fathom. If I walk away today, I’d be in the Hall of Fame tomorrow. And that’s not me sucking my own dick, it’s just a matter of fact. I know what I’ve done and who I am. I’ve built myself into a certified legend amongst everyone that’s ever stepped into an OWA ring. I didn’t get there by being nice. I got there by being merciless. By not just defeating my opponents, but dismantling, crushing them, taking their will, breaking their spirit, and leaving them knowing that there’s no chance in hell that they will ever be able to compete with me.

I’ve made a career out of inflicting that kind of pain…and I’ve enjoyed every god damn moment of it.

But lately things are different. I no longer seem to have the privilege of just being able to unleash hell and watch as my opponents crumble before me. Because nowadays, it seems whenever that bell rings I’m forced to endure far more mental anguish than physical as I try to find a way to navigate my every move…instead of just being able to act on instinct.

Felix…I never wanted to face you in the first place. Even holding this championship over my shoulder now, that still hasn’t changed. Because I know that I can’t be myself. I can’t use all those years of built up pain and frustration. Not against you. Because it goes against every instinct I have. Despite the fact that you’re far more capable than nearly anyone that I’ve ever encountered in this business, every fiber of my being screams at me to protect you. To shield you from harm’s way, to keep you safe from anyone and everything…even me.

But she’s not a damsel in distress. She’s a fighter. A warrior. And I know that she’s coming for a title she deserves. One she never would have lost in the first place if OWA management didn’t feel the need to put our personal lives on blast because they’re seemingly entertained at making us jump through emotional hoop after emotional hoop. I know that she wants it back. I can see it in her eyes when she looks at it sitting there on the nightstand. A part of me hopes she does. I want her to take the title and run with it, to show the world just how fucking good she really is. And hey, at least I’d be able to see it this time. At least I’d be there to celebrate with her.

But I won’t make it easy for her.

I won’t lie down for her…not in the ring at least. And she’d never ask me to. I will do everything in my power to keep that championship locked around my waist, because I am a competitor. Because I did build this company into what it is. And because it’s all that I know.

But make no mistake about it, that championship is coming home with us no matter how it goes.

Because this match isn’t about the Alpha World Championship. It has much bigger implications than that. Much more at stake than just ten pounds of gold and leather.

Tyler…

To this point, I’ve let you get away with doing and saying pretty much anything that you want. You put me in a coma for fuck’s sake. Anybody else around here did that and the coroner would still be pulling fucking lead out of their skull. I let you pass because you were my son. Because I’ve wanted you back in my life for two fucking decades. But that ends now. You need discipline in your life. It’s clear to me that you never learned that actions do indeed have consequences.

I’m going to finally teach you that lesson, Tyler.

Better late than never I guess.

With every strike, every slam, every drop of blood that spills from your skull, you will finally get to know your old man. Just like you always wanted to. You will learn everything that there is to know about him that you clearly missed over all these years being kept away from me by your whore of a mother.

Like how he’s not the one to fuck with.

Arata Asakura, Rebecca Filth and Felix Hartley have spoken. It’s such good shit!

A FEW HOURS AFTER GAME OVER

The War Barbie sat with her back up against the wall of the glass shower in the hotel room. Her knees tucked into her chest, her white-blonde hair soaked and sleek to her skin. Her mascara was smudged down her cheeks from the match, but exacerbated by the running water. She was exhausted. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. Despite this, she was done crying. She had spent the majority of last year pining after the Undisputed Women’s World Championship, crying over the opportunities that slipped out of her grasp, victories that should have been hers to celebrate, only to end up in a towering pile of hospital bills. Her eyes had run dry. She technically finished her story. It ended in a world-shattering Final Destination main event where she pinned both of the women that’d been tormenting her and ultimately she proved that she was untouchable.

She was the inaugural Alpha World Champion because of it.

She defended it in an exploding barbed wire death match. Successfully. Outsmarting one of Kingdom’s brightest stars and multi-time champion.

She wrapped her arms around her own body in a comforting reassurance that she proved exactly what she wanted to. That given the chance, in the middle of the ring on the grandest stages of them all, with no interruptions or distractions or interference, Felix Hartley would be the kingpin] of OWA.

On the other side of the bathroom door, though, Jeff sat solemnly on the edge of the bed with his newly won Alpha World Championship across his lap. He was just as exhausted as she was. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. No matter how hard he tried or how deep within himself he searched, he couldn’t feel the euphoria of becoming a World Champion once again.

He stood up slowly and tossed the AWC to the side of the bed and padded towards the bathroom door. He pushed on it lightly and it creaked open to reveal the heartbreaking sight of the woman he loved, a shell of her former self, idling under the comfort of the hot water.

Without saying anything, Jeff stripped down out of his jeans and t-shirt. Her eyes darted over to him and they never left as she watched him undress. He stepped into the shower and sat down next to her, wrapping an arm around one of her tucked up knees.

It was silent for a really, really long time.

“Please don’t leave.”

The sentiment sent shivers down her naked spine. It might have been the most vulnerability Jeff has ever shown since they’d been together. She looked at him with hurt in her eyes, her brow furrowed deep into her skin.

“Don’t leave?” Felix repeats, shocked at the mere thought. “With all due respect, if you want to get rid of me, you’re going to have to kill me.”

He tried to smile, but her expression remained stone cold serious. The smile faded as quickly as it tried to appear.

“Feels like I just did.”

He put his head in his hands and sighed as the water rushed over him. Admittedly, there was a fleeting moment where the blonde felt a pang of bitterness throughout her body; she was the one who just had her World Championship taken from her. She should be the one that was throwing the pity party. But seeing him in a world of hurt trumped whatever emotions ate her up in the present.

“It’s fine,” Felix closed her eyes and laid her head back, her skull tapping lightly on the linoleum behind her. “I’ll get over it. Just like every...other...time.”

“I know that,” Jeff argued lightly. “I guess I just need to know where you’re at with all of it. You know I didn’t want to do this… It’s just… this shit with Tyler–”

“Where I’m at, is my limit,” Felix quickly quipped. “I know I don’t understand it. I know I likely never will. I was kind of robbed of my chance to. But he has crossed the motherfucking line so many times and maybe you feel bad about doing anything about it, but I don't. I have NO relationship with him. I have no reason to spare him. Whether he’s your son or not, he’s going to get his shit kicked in for fucking with MY career while he tried to destroy yours.”

Jeff took a moment to process what Felix had said. There was clearly nothing he could say to convince her otherwise. The wicked web now contained an extra layer between Felix and Tyler that was separate from the familial drama. He had purposely constructed pitting them against each other and purposely wanted Jeff to win the AWC so that he could take it from him himself.

“I guess I can’t really stop you–”

“Except for the times you stopped me.”

“I–” He was a bit defensive but, admittedly, she had a point. “I don’t know how to explain it. There’s just a bond between us, even if he doesn’t realize it. Or… want to acknowledge it, I guess. That’s my flesh and blood. There’s a primal instinct to protect him, even if he’s the biggest piece of shit on this whole goddamned planet. It tears me right down the fucking middle, Felix, because I see the shitstorm he’s turned our lives into and it fills me with insurmountable rage. But then I see him in pain and torment and something deep inside me just…shifts.”

Felix’s gaze was fixated on the rhythmic water flowing into the drain as he spoke. She tried hard to empathize. She tried hard to imagine what such a powerful love felt like. She believed she loved him like that.

“What about me?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Do you love me like that?”

Jeff shook his head ‘no’ and turned to face her.

“More.”

She trusted that to be the absolute truth and offered a weak smile. The agony lingering in the air had dissipated, if only for now.

“So, we’re going to be okay?”

Felix thought for a moment. They were undoubtedly going to fight about Tyler until they sucked all of the air out of the room. But that wasn’t a good reason to penalize him. She laid her head down on his shoulder.

“We’re going to be better than before,” Felix’s voice softened. “Losing the belt may have fucked with me a little bit. I’ll never tell you just how much. But at the end of the day it’s not far from my grasp. I still hold it close to my heart, even if you have to hold it for me. I can’t promise I won’t try to win it back one day. But what I can promise is that a championship belt is the last thing that will tear us apart.”

“What’s the first thing?”

“A misplaced cumshot.”

///

“After I’ve had some time to think about it… I’ve come to the conclusion that you and I aren’t so different after all, Ty.”

Felix rolls an unlit cigarette between each of her knuckles as she sits on the edge of the bed she shares with Jeff X.

“Hear me out before you jump the gun and resort to your deeply hurtful and incredibly authentic slut insults and whore accusations and pornhub tropes. You spent quite a while being some lackluster vanilla tag-team wrestler in your early months. You even had a playful little stint as Outlaw Champion. But it wasn’t until you really sank your teeth into this industry and wanted to ride daddy’s coattails that you became anything more than a whisper backstage. The Tribunal swoops you up, cradling you in their mature, loving arms, promising you guidance, security, protection…But I don’t think you thrive under any of those conditions. I think that all you’ve known is chaos, and that’s the only time you can truly thrive.”

She slowly lights the cigarette, not taking her eyes off the flame and inhales.

“Your life was peaceful. You could have had it all as the mid-carder tag-team partner you shouldn’t have been promoted from. But it didn’t feel familiar to you. It didn’t feel like home to you. You like to think you can go home and play house with little Wayne and little Ashley, but even the sweet dynamic of a superficial perfect family made your skin crawl.

What truly made you seek the validity and acceptance The Tribunal gave you? Was it the stench of Matsuda’s looming divorce that sent blood flow down to that baby-smooth Bugle chip in your trackpants? The beginnings of some sort of broken family kink that tickled your bathing suit parts and swallowed you whole? It’s clearly where you got the idea all of a sudden to put your nose where it does not belong - or at least where it does not belong anymore.

Was breaking up one family not enough, but you had to surround yourself with two? Each one more fragile than the next? Each one more eager to abandon its members. There is nothing solidifying about The Tribunal. If you think those people are your ‘new family’, just wait until they abandon you worse than Jeff did. Just wait until your AuNtiEs can’t stomach your presence for failing to avenge their already-soiled reputation. Especially after they see what happens to you when you’re no longer JUST the referee. When they see what happens to you when I’m no longer looking to just hurt you, but worse - I am looking for revenge on the match YOU officiated which cost ME my World Championship. You will be cast from their once-loving graces, abandoned, forgotten, absolutely fucking exiled from the existence you’ve built your newfound relevancy on.

Maybe you should have kept your head down and your mouth shut, and been thankful for the family you DO have. Maybe if you were content with the ‘loving mother’ in Claire and being the role model big brother to Wayne and Ashley, you’d have been there for her. You’d have been there cherishing what SHE gave you, instead of turning your back on her to settle a debt from eighteen years ago she’s likely already forgiven. But you were selfish. And not only did it cost you, but it cost her. I shaved years off that bitch’s life just to send you a message.

You could have been there to protect her like she protected you.

You could have been there to save her like she saved you.

You’re so focused on your father. The tunnel vision is going to be your downfall. You’re backed up against a wall and you thought your ‘new family’ would bail you out. Where have they been? Where were they when I was turning your body inside out like a Cirque du Soleil contortionist? They never gave a fuck until the odds were so insurmountably stacked against you that they would have looked like the cowards they’re pretending not to be if they didn’t bumrush us at the announce table last Kingdom.

Kind of seems like you maybe forgot. When one of you comes after one of us, you come after all of us.

And if your grand plan was to take out Frontline one by one, I don’t need to tell you again the lengths I’d go to to rectify that.

Maybe I go for your cousin Cassie Wu next. Maybe I’ll show her what sleepytime in the dirt is.

I know that Wayne and Ashley go to North Albany Middle School. I know class ends at 3:30pm. Maybe they make it off the bus and walk the four blocks it takes to get back home.

But maybe they fucking don’t.”

A genuinely insidious smile crept across Felix’s plump lips as she took a drag of the cigarette.

“You can whip up some narrative about being wrapped around Jeff’s finger. You can talk about how all the whores’ dreams go out the window when they get a top tier dicking. But the reality of the situation is that the very minute that bell rang at Game Over, and I had to watch from the cold, hard canvas, my Alpha World Championship be handed to somebody else… You fucked with MY career. My life. My reign. My story. You made an enemy far worse than an absent father. You made an enemy who left anyone who looked at her funny in her wake on her quest for the title that was taken from her. STOLEN from her. I will not endure that again and luckily for me you are a far less credible opponent than anybody I stood within the vicinity of on the Odyssey roster last year.

That’s why I attacked you with a chair. That’s why I aimed my AK-47 straight at your temple. That’s why I tried to behead you with a pair of dull and rusty handcuffs so it’d be the last time you ever opened your mouth without looking like a Kinder Egg. And that is why I jumped the announce table and pummeled you into the cement floor after you ran from Michael Bishop like the gutless puke everyone knows you are.

You thought you were so fucking smart orchestrating that match but what you forgot is that your plan revolved around taking the AWC from Jeff. I have no other choice but to win it back from him now because I’d never let you have that satisfaction. You can try as many times as you’d like to stomp your feet and demand a rematch. I invite you to do so. But ask yourself…

How many times am I willing to fail?

How many times am I willing to showcase that unless I attack my opponents from behind from the safety net of the security guards that follow me to OWA’s first-ever grudge match main event thanks to my stepmother’s stardom, I have virtually no chance at success?

How many times am I willing to demonstrate that I’ll only ever choose families that are synonymous with failure and mediocrity?

You’re a coward cosplaying as a hero. You could have chosen therapy. You could have talked to a professional and sorted out the shit going on upstairs that drove you to stepping foot in MY ring with the intention to ruin MY career. Dr. Bethany Hastings’ door was WIDE open - for ALL of us - but you still chose to act like some big-dicked martyr and look where it got you.

You can talk all you want about how I was just a footnote and that I wasn’t really the target or the enemy, your dad was. That’s not how shit works. I was the one holding the championship when you snaked your way into Kenny Drake and Llorona’s office to ask for this match. To make our lives hell. I was the one who stayed by Jeff’s side, and didn’t think for one minute to leave when he died. I would have stood by his grave until I could be buried beside it if I could. But the chefs kiss moment for me, personally, was knowing that after you snaked your way into Kenny’s ear and convinced him to make my second ever title defense against my own boyfriend just because you didn’t get two Christmases, your queen bee STILL blew his ass up. Why? Because the lot of you were trying to be a shittier Wolvesden and it showed.

Actually, it’s mostly your fault.

How long until she gets tired of cleaning up your messes and backpedaling over your mistakes? My guess is her patience is running thin babysitting you and the dog shit decisions you make when it comes to your career. You think she WANTS to get involved with me and Jeff on the other side of the thing? You think Stephanie wants any of this smoke during the commercial break from the sad soap opera that’s become her life? These people are tired of picking up the slack you’re committed to leaving in your wake.

Everyone is at their limit with you being a fucking disappointment.”

She ashes the cigarette out on the hotel carpet before leaning forward with both forearms over her thighs.

“You once told me that fairytales don’t exist. That fantasies don’t exist. That whores can’t have nice things. You’re wrong. I’ve had a luxurious life. I have a man who loves me. I’ve held several world titles, championships, I’ve been awarded many accolades. My first year here and I was awarded the Woman of the Year. And your father gets happy endings every other night.”

She smirks, knowing the idea of his father being intimate with another woman is apparently a triggering memory.

“You’re just the one with the evil stepmother. But I’ll tell you one thing, Ty… when I leave Dreamworld with Jeff, one end of the Alpha World Championship in my hand, the other end in his, swinging the belt like your parents could’ve swung you in our arms as we leave the arena in a bloody, battered unity…

We’ll live happily ever after.”

Darkane, Rebecca Filth and Lazarus Arjen have spoken. It’s such good shit!

unashamed // dreamworld oo3 March 22nd 2024, 11:43 pm by **Rebecca Filth**

The following is an excerpt from Rebecca Filth’s journal

I had never been in love until I met Edward. A part of me thought I’d never find someone who would understand my life. Or accept my ‘lifestyle’.

Everyone wants to fuck the porn star, but no one wants to marry her. No one wants to curl up with her at night and wipe away her tears.

But Edward is different. Like me, his life has been full of betrayals and sadness and when he looks at me I don’t see the judgement I’m used to. I don’t see the underlying pity that seeps from so many others.

Just acceptance.

Honestly, the worry I feel inside right now almost feels like I’m betraying him. Because how could I question his loyalty and his resolve? How can I question what might happen at Dreamworld? I do trust him. I do believe that he knows that I can handle myself inside that ring. But there is a big difference between what you think you can handle and what you can’t. What you think will happen and what you actually do in the face of pain. That seems to be something that only I understand going into this match. We are humans and we are controlled by our emotions.

What pains me the most is that I worked so hard to win my third World Championship. I suffered so greatly in that match to defy the odds and put myself back on top nearly a year after I’d held my last World Championship. Things in my career finally felt right. I felt a calmness. I felt happy with where I was for the first time since my friends betrayed me. I made it to the top alone. Something many believed I was never capable of. And a part of me did for a while too. That win at Game Over killed all of my doubts about myself or my ability. But it’s not the title that I’m concerned about. Of course I care about being champion. I care so fucking much about my accolades and my success. Because it’s one of the few things I have. It’s my legacy. The only thing people will know of me when I’m no longer on this earth.

But what I’m more afraid of is losing Edward. Because if he surrenders in that match, he isn’t just costing me a championship and a win. He will be showing me that he doesn’t believe in me. He doesn’t see my strength and my resolve. He doesn’t see how much pain I can truly endure. And he doesn’t believe that against all odds, I always find a way. That no matter how much I do, he will always see me how so many men have seen me before; as fragile. Made of glass. A little figurine who needs to be coddled.

But I don’t need a protector. I don’t need to be saved. I need to be seen. I need to be understood. I need for him to stand at ringside and wince, but never waver.

If Edward surrenders, I don’t think I’d ever be able to forgive him. And that thought is terrifying. My heart aches at the very idea of losing him. It feels like my chest could split open and spill all of my hope onto the floor. I don’t know if I can bear knowing that he doesn’t see me or believe in me. And after all the broken trust and betrayal in my life, I can’t waste my time and energy on someone who doesn’t see me. I’ve spent too much time trying to rebuild myself and demonstrate who I am to the world to stand next to someone who still sees me as nothing more than a fragile woman.

I am so much more than that.

And that’s my biggest fear. Not losing my championship. But losing the only man that I’ve ever loved. Losing the feeling of belonging and home. Losing the very idea of love. Because if he surrenders in that match, then our love isn’t what I thought it was.

And I’m scared. I lay awake at night terrified to lose him. Terrified that my entire life is nothing more than an illusion.

And there’s nothing I can do about it. Nothing I can do but march into that ring and hope to fucking god that he is the man I believe him to be. That he is the man who I entrusted my life to in the war.

All I can do is believe in him and hope he does the same for me.

x x x x x x

“Do you know what sets us apart Rin? Other than a load of championships, accolades and wins, and of course talent. You know, other than the obvious?

I was born in the dirt. I was the scum of the earth the day I was pushed out of the womb of my drug addicted mother. I was never coddled or loved. I never had the world at my fingertips. I was a part of the darkest recesses of humanity before I could even walk. I was left to my own devices from day fucking one. My parents would have sold me for a hit if they’d thought of it. I was rejected by my own blood and every set of foster parents who were supposed to protect me. I had to learn to fight from day one. And I always knew that nothing was beneath me.

When I laid down for men at thirteen years old to appease my pimp, it seemed normal to me. When I was told that my only selling feature in this world was my pretty smile and the hole between my legs, it made sense. I sold my body because I was told to. I sold my body because I was a fucking child. And as I grew up, I decided that I couldn’t let the trauma of my past become my fucking shame. I refused to be ashamed of what happened to me. And if men were going to use me and abuse me, I might as well take my power back and own my own sexuality and make money off of it. When I walked into this business and called myself the Gutter Whore, it’s because that language was used to degrade me my entire life. And I wanted to stand tall and take it back. I wanted to show women who were abused their entire lives that they didn’t have to be ashamed.

I refused to feel shame for how men treated me.

But you Rin, you grew up with a family who loved you. Before you lost your parents, you were loved and cherished. You were told you were destined for greatness, just like your father. So when your family fell from grace, you didn’t have the tools to survive. No one taught you how to scratch and claw. When your mother died and you were left to fend for yourself, you CHOSE to whore yourself out. You CHOSE to spread your legs and suck dick to make ends meet. You could have worked at a grocery store or a restaurant. But you knew where the real money was. So you decided to sell your dignity for a paycheck because even when you laid under those men, and you heard the cries of other women, you thought you were better than them.

But the only difference is you had options. Some of us didn’t. Some of us refuse to feel shame. But you hate yourself for what you did and for some fucking reason, you’re making that my problem. Why do you hate women so much, Rin? Why can you stand there and tell me that I’m a bad influence when you did the same thing, by choice? How is teaching women to feel ashamed of their past supposed to help them?

The reality is I crawled my ass out of the gutter. I accepted my circumstances and I did what I had to. That’s who I am. I look at what’s in front of me and I find a fucking way. I don’t feel shame or embarrassment. I survived. I always survive. And that’s what matters. But you? You fell into the gutter by accident and realized your silver spoon had disintegrated and you fell apart. You sold your soul. You gave up what you believed in. And you blame everyone but yourself. Because the truth is, when things get hard, you try to take the easy way out. You’ve done it your entire life and your entire career. And you think that this stipulation is just that. Your easy way to a win. Your easy World Championship. But you’ve greatly underestimated me and the lengths that I will go to to win a fucking match and keep MY championship.

It’s strange to listen to you bitch and complain about how I’m ugly and boring and just soooo awful to listen to. I’ve had to fucking cringe watching you act like listening to me is torture when you repeat the same fucking points over and over again. When you can’t even discuss wrestling because you know I’m so fucking flawless that your only hope to win is to bring a gun into the ring and shoot me. Because you sure as fuck can’t outwrestle me. You’ve as much and admitted it this week. You can’t even find a single flaw in my fucking career to pick at. Because maybe picking at how you’re shit in the ring is OBVIOUS. But at least I’m trying. At least I’m not lazy, resting on the laurels of a cute little stipulation for my win. Hoping a strained relationship with your faux-father is going to make all your goddamn dreams come true. For a woman who's trying to be a wrestling champion, you haven’t talked about how you’re going to FIGHT me once. Just how you want to take the cheap way out and kill me. Because you know if you give me a fucking chance, I’ll tear you the fuck down. You have to shoot me if you want to beat me. And that’s the reality. But I won’t give you the fucking chance. I’m going to MAKE YOU fight. I am going to make you wrestle me. I am going to make the world see just how fucking unmatched we are. I’m going to make your father watch you fail in such humiliating fashion that he’s going to surrender just to save his own fucking reputation.

What is this match even about for you Rin? Because you haven’t even mentioned the goddamn belt. It kind of feels like this is personal. Like this is all about hurting Rebecca Filth. You’ve hated me for being the better whore from the second you walked into MY show. You’ve hated me for being more talented than Arata’s spawn could ever hope to be. You’ve hated me for not hating myself for selling my body. You hate me for finding a man who sees me and loves me for who I am, regardless of my body count. Is that why you think our love is fake? Is that what you tell yourself when you sit alone in your room and cry in your mirror? That the reason you’re alone is because no one can love you because of what you’ve done, because of who you’ve sold your body to? Do you hate me for proving it all wrong? For making you realize that the reason no one will ever love you is because you’re a pathetic excuse for a human being and actually has nothing to do with your sex past?

I don’t think you can even begin to understand what it means to be champion. Because let me be very fucking clear, it means EVERYTHING to me. I went through hell and torture and anguish to capture that belt. It cemented my ability to survive and thrive on my own. And I am not going to just drop it to you for funsies. I am not going to let someone steal this from my grasp just so that she can say that she did. Just so she can drop it to the next loser, the second she has to actually wrestle for it.

I don’t think you understand that this championship is me. When you say that Edward loves me so much that he is going to choose my safety; choose me over my belt. That isn’t a choice he gets to make. He either chooses ME or he doesn’t. Because surrendering in this match isn’t choosing me. That’s what this belt, this match and every single win means to me. That’s why I’m where I am and you’re just Arata’s loser daughter. Because EVERY match is life or death. Every championship defense means the world to me. And Edward knows that this is not about my safety or him choosing to relieve my pain. That belt is a part of me. It is something that I worked for and if he doesn’t believe that I can beat you and withstand anything you can give me, then he isn’t choosing me.

I didn’t just get this far because of my pretty face and my hot bod. I don’t get shoved into main events and championship matches because I get down on my knees. You wouldn’t understand, but this is just what happens when you’re good. When you’re a decorated World Champion and OWA star. When you have won all the big matches and the big moments, you get hand-picked to enter Promethean Chambers and to fight icons, because the big wigs know that it’ll bring in money and fans and that the match will fucking slay. Unlike most of your matches. You can keep pretending like I got this far because of sexuality. I hope that lie keeps you warm at night. But the problem is that when you believe that, you’re lulling yourself into a false sense of security. You’ve never faced me Rin. While I was winning the fucking war, you and daddy were playing lightning strike. While I was laying my literal life down to turn Edward and turn the entire trajectory of the war, you were nothing more than a glorified weatherman who couldn’t hit his fucking target.

Listening to your father complain about how I didn’t know what I was doing in the war; it all makes sense. You hate women because daddy taught you that. You hate women because your father was fucking inconsequential in the war but he somehow took time to attack the whores going into it. Even now, he can’t admit that we saved his fucking ass. The women made the difference. Me humanizing Edward changed everything. The only reason we could open a portal to hell was Marie. Without Banshee sacrificing herself, Havoc would still be here, destroying the very world that I helped save.

But it’s fine. Underestimation is something that has become so commonplace in my career. Wrapping your head around my success is almost as difficult as listening to me regurgitate all of my accomplishments over and over again. And you don’t hate it because it’s obvious. You hate it because my success makes your skin crawl. My success makes you bubble with rage. Because why can I reach the highest of highs while being a disgusting whore but you can’t? Why am I just so above your fucking level that you have to invent stipulations because NO ONE has ever been able to pin me to take a championship away from me? Why am I so fucking hard to beat when I am nothing more than a dirty little cum dumpster who was never meant for success? Who should be fucking dead. But instead, here I stand, the biggest roadblock to your fucking success. The one thing standing in the way of you actually being seen as a star instead of a fucking stain on your father’s legacy. Even though his own legacy is a stain. Arata, are you mad? That I won the Clash from bell to bell when you couldn’t make it to the final four? Or is it because I beat DT’s reign when you failed? It seems unwarranted championship shots are par for the course when you’re an Asakura. But I’m the one undeserving? Ok.

And speaking of your dear dad, I think it’s hilarious that you two are trying to convince us all that while my relationship is a joke, yours is nothing more than friendship goals. Even though you claim to trust no one, Rin. Even though you are literal blood relatives. Even though you came back here for him. During the war, his words were a lot different, weren’t they? You know, when he was crying to Chris that he couldn’t bear to witness your pain or your destruction. When he told you he still cared for you. I have a feeling dear daddy is putting on a facade to make you feel safe this week, but you are his daughter nonetheless. Even without a relationship with you directly, you have the face of his child. A child he knows and loves. A little girl who he goes home to at night. And when he looks into that ring and he watches you cry and he will see her eyes and hear her voice. You may not be his daughter, but you have her face. He will crack.

And at the end of this, you won’t have a father or a friend. Because he will surrender to save you and I will maintain the championship that I earned. While you stay exactly where you belong - at the bottom of this fucking roster, undecorated, uncelebrated; forgotten.

When the easy road leads you where it always does: back into fucking obscurity. And I survive, as usual.”

Darkane, Lazarus Arjen and Felix Hartley have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos March 22nd 2024, 11:39 pm by **Aria Jaxon**

EVERYBODY WANNA KICK IT WHEN YOU AIN’T A THREAT – CHARLOTTE, NORTH CAROLINA.

It was sometime around midnight at a Waffle House somewhere on the outskirts of Charlotte…meaning that it was prime hours for eating hash browns and watching entertainment in the form of a fistfight or two.

Normally, the promise of dinner and a show was right up Aria’s alley. For all of her ruthlessness now, she’d never lost her ability to laugh. At this moment, she was fresh off a flight from Charlotte Douglas International Airport. She yawned as she errantly tapped a fingernail against the side of her glass of iced tea before lazily leaning back against the pleather seats of the booth she was in, tucked away somewhere in the back of the restaurant. To say she was growing testy was an understatement – but she was choosing to be diplomatic and cut Tyler some slack.

The match awaiting young Tyler Kulina around the corner at Dreamworld was by far the most important one of his career. And yet, there were no butterflies. No hot tears stinging the corners of his eyes and blurring his vision. Taking the OWA Championship from his father and preventing either half of the Jeff-Felix tandem from realizing their championship dreams would constitute a huge puzzle piece falling into place for Ty. Shit, the mere prospect of just being champion seemed to have taken a backseat to all of the other drama. Just the knowledge of getting one over on his sperm donor and injecting some chaos into the lives of him and his woman seemed to be paramount. Christening himself a young champion – and bringing a world championship to The Tribunal – was the sweet icing on a cake baked with the tears of their enemies.

Aria was just about to wrench her phone from the pocket of her dark blue crushed velour track pants to call Ty when the young man pushed through the front door of the restaurant. His hood remained pulled up over a mop of messy brown hair as she slid into the seat across from Aria. He tensed up a bit when he noticed that his mentor’s lips were set in a straight line.

“So you don’t know how to tell time anymore?” Aria asked curtly.

Tyler looked down at the tabletop for a second before flicking his eyes upward to meet Aria’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Auntie Aria,” he replied. “I should’ve at least texted you to let you know what was up.”

“You knew my flight was getting in late enough as it was,” she snapped, “if I’d known you were gonna be the sole white person in my life to operate on CPT, I would’ve just taken my ass to the hotel.”

“I know, I know,” Tyler sighed. “I didn’t think it would take me so long to get back.”

Aria raised an eyebrow. “Get back from where?”

A beat of silence set in and Aria noticed a slight smirk tugging at the corners of Tyler’s mouth. He leaned forward ever so slightly across the table. “Havelock.”

A voice in the back of Aria’s head had its “aha” moment as she listened to Tyler’s response. “So that’s why you flew in so early.” Aria scoffed. “That’s not exactly a short drive, either. Hell of a trip to make to…do what, exactly? Scope out real estate? Doing an early twenty-something version of scoping out your ancestral homeland?” She shook her head. “Just because your dad chooses to stay in that podunk redneck dump despite all the money he’s made doesn’t mean you gotta ponder the idea of taking your ass there. I taught you better than that. You deserve more than he can give you…and certainly more than that place can give you.”

“I needed to understand,” Tyler replied. “I needed to drive around and familiarize myself with the places, the people. I needed to take it all in. I needed to see first-hand all the things that my dad loves and takes so much pride in…and then remember that if he never saw it all again, it was me who made that shit come to pass.”

Aria smiled and…was that…maternal pride swelling in her chest? Usually, she only felt this way when Arianna reached a new milestone. She grinned. “Driving hours upon hours before the biggest match of your career for no other reason than to be petty in the long run? Oh, I taught you well.”

“I meant everything I said about dropping destruction and suffering onto that deadbeat’s doorstep,” Tyler said. “I needed to remind myself of what I was fighting for, and now…my vision is crystal clear. There’s no burden on my shoulders. I feel completely sure of myself going into Dreamworld.”

“Good,” Aria quipped. “That’s what I wanna hear. The Tribunal has our hands in a lot of different pots this weekend, but all of the pieces have a function to serve in the puzzle. There are no small parts. Jupe and I have the tag match, April has a match in her wheelhouse for the Gift of the Gods Championship…and you have the crown jewel within your sights. I expect everything to go according to plan.”

Tyler nodded slowly. “You’ve always been able to count on me, Auntie Aria. I’m gonna follow in your footsteps and hold that title.”

Aria propped her elbows up on the table, providing a place to rest her chin as she leaned forward. “Perfect,” she cooed. “You know, as flattering as it is to say you’re gonna take after me…you know that’s not what it is, right? You’re taking after your father. I know you hate to hear it, but this championship ascension is a part of your birthright. Reach out and take it.”

The smile that situated itself upon Ty’s features now was impossible to suppress. “With fucking pleasure.”

***

I set Raivo free.

I’m sure he doesn’t see it that way, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s the truth. He’ll never admit it, but he never really wanted to be Outlaw Champion. Sure, it would’ve been the perfect life preserver for him to hang onto amongst rumors he’d lost his mojo, but this wasn’t for him. Maybe the heart of a champion used to beat inside of his chest, but the tele monitor read asystole long before he and I ever met one-on-one. His true priority was getting revenge against the man who had made him feel so weak and vulnerable, and now look at him – facing Moongoose in a No Holds Barred match with his pride and dignity on the line! I set the table for him. I walked away with my Outlaw Championship yet again and sent him on his merry way. Nobody can ever say I’m not benevolent. I’ve done more than my fair share of charity.

Aside from the obvious reasons, part of why I love championship matches so much has to do with their simplicity. Well…unless you’re Tyler, locked in a title match with all kinds of personal problems overlapping like live wires. Usually, though, the shit is pretty cut and dry – there’s gold being dangled in front of your face, and everyone involved knows what the name of the game is. That’s normally all there is to it. When you get involved in side quests, though…what motivates you to fight? Do you see it as a night off? Do you put forth the same effort that you would if your name was on the marquee with a title match? If you’re me, yes. I have admitted it before without flinching, but I’m a prideful bitch. Sometimes, it’s not gold that we fight for. It’s bragging rights, and for reasons I shouldn’t have to necessarily spell the fuck out, putting tick marks in the W column means something to me.

Raivo might’ve been freed from his burden of wanting to be a champion, but I doubt I’ll never be free from my addiction to wanting to win. Funny thing is, I don’t see it as something that weighs me down. It spurs something within me, especially when I’m staring down two people who just seem so convinced that they’ve got me all figured out and that I’m doomed to fail, even with Jupiter by my side.

I must place additional emphasis on that – by my side. Not riding my coattails, not propped up on my shoulders, not standing in my shadow, but shoulder-to-shoulder with me as my contemporary and as my sister-in-arms. I can’t fix what The Tribunal was in the past, and nor would I try to. Why the fuck should I be stressed out about what this stable used to be back when so-called “leaders” couldn’t execute a clear vision of what we were supposed to be doing? I’m not losing sleep over the past. All I was able to do was turn the page, make the necessary changes, and if that entailed having to overhaul the lineup, then so be it. I saw something in Jupiter that made me extend the olive branch. She’s scrappy, she’s brutal, and she yearns for greatness. She’s the exact type of wrestler I want watching my back. I trimmed the fat and place my faith in the people that I should’ve placed my faith in from the fucking beginning, and I will not be apologizing for it.

Bending the Kingdom brand to our will and spilling whatever blood needs to be spilled in the process is what unites us. I wouldn’t expect two Frontline goons to understand. Well, lemme rephrase – I wouldn’t expect a Frontline goon and a former supernatural dictator terrorist disguised as a Frontline goon to understand. You thought nobody would bring that up, Arata? You run your mouth a lot for someone with as long of a history and as much dirt on your name as you’ve got. You don’t get to talk down to me now, not when you were once a serious candidate for the most self-absorbed person alive. You stopped at nothing to attain gold and glory. You were an absolute tyrant, and now you’ve got your chest puffed out questioning my methods. I’d laugh if it wasn’t so pathetic. You will never truly belong within the ranks of the Frontline. You’re not Bishop or Jeff. You don’t stand for truth, justice, and the American way. You’ll always be an outsider, and all it’ll take is one bad day or one championship match down the line not going your way to turn you back into the blackhearted piece of shit you once were.

Oooh, I see an opening! I’m almost flattered that you consider my Outlaw Championship reign to be a reign of terror, Arata. Usually, that distinction is reserved for world champions who just can’t be unseated and seem to have whole brands or companies under their thumb, but it says a lot that this is the company you’ve placed me in. All that it means is that everything I’ve said about making the Outlaw Championship worth something is true. I might be an asshole, but you can’t call me a liar – and before you try to moonwalk that back, remember that you flapped your chapped, crusty, un-hydrated lips to mention the mere possibility of coming after my prize. This failed pursuit to take what’s mine might just be what causes the facade to fall apart, and for the good-guy act to finally go up in flames.

The Outlaw Championship is not what holds me together, but I protect it with my life all the same. Are we just going to ignore history and pretend that everything has always gone my way? To win is wanted, to lose is an annoyance, but how we carry ourselves between those moments is what separates those of us who know how to keep on pressing forward. With or without this Outlaw Championship, Aria Jaxon puts asses in seats. Aria Jaxon sells tickets and Aria Jaxon laid the framework for every single self-styled bad bitch who walked through this company’s doors after my stiletto heel kicked in the door. That wasn’t because I was “pushed” to fulfill that role, but because I was too fucking good to be denied. You might be good, but you’ll never crack the ceiling of greatness that I shattered so effortlessly. People like you get cut by the falling shards while you complain about how high people like me have been able to climb. My ego won’t be the death of The Tribunal – but it just might be yours.

And speaking of people who just can’t seem to shut up about the supposed doom and gloom impending downfall of The Tribunal…hey, Mike. I admit, in the past I wasn’t always the most…enthusiastic about tag team matches, and why should I have been? Something about putting your faith in other people just hasn’t always sat well with me. I didn’t like the idea of knowing that even if I held up my end of the bargain and watched someone’s ass, nothing being paid back tenfold by them could have us both end up as losers. Someone such as you, who’s built so much of your name on being so self-sufficient should be able to understand. Recent pursuits – placing my faith in the old Tribunal lineup – left me burned more often than not. Those old fears regarding placing my faith in others and trusting them to meet me halfway started to rear their ugly head…until I realized I could just alleviate those fears by finding new people to trust!

Let’s not kid ourselves…more than once in OWA’s history, gang warfare has been the law of the land. So yeah, there will be some of us who have been in more than one group. Where The Phantom Troupe was concerned, that was an SSW invention, just carrying over in the early days of OWA’s existence. Queens of Wrestling was more than a stable. Stephanie and Azumi are my sisters. When the framework for the Tribunal was established, I realized it would fulfill a different role in my professional life than any other group had. See, I knew who I was when the Troupe existed. I knew who I was when the Queens formed. But when Jason reached out to be to form the original Tribunal, I can admit that I was lost. I was spinning my wheels after coming back, and everyone – most of all, my so-called “friends” – were content to watch my lack of self-confidence eat me from the inside out because it was easier to deal with an Aria Jaxon that wasn’t a real threat. Y’all didn’t have to worry about me contending with you for belts, Clashes, or main event matches. It didn’t matter how things actually went for me, as long as I was doing things the “right”, way, hmm?

Give me a fucking break.

Why wouldn’t I want the Tribunal to be as deadly and as successful as possible when I know how great this group can truly be? Scratch that, how great it was always meant to be, before some dead weight lost the plot. I will never apologize for grabbing the bull by the horns – not where my own career is concerned, and certainly not where the fate of the entire Tribunal is concerned. I am leading a group of certified killers in a crusade to take over Kingdom and mold it into our image, and I couldn’t think of a more emphatic statement than to roll right over the bodies of “Kingdom’s finest” to make it so, Mike. Deep down, maybe some vestiges of humanity remain. Maybe I hate that it had to be this way…for you, not for Arata. I hope Arata is casket fucking sharp, but you? We built up such mutual respect in all of our clashes over this very belt…a belt that you and Arata will never touch again, if I have my way. On another timeline, I like to believe we’d be fighting side-by-side. Imagine it – The Dreadknight as a general of The Tribunal! Oh, it could’ve been magical. But here we are, adversaries…and you know better than most what I do to my adversaries, Mike.

I’ve been told that Kingdom sent their best to deal with the Tribunal.

I should’ve told them not to send anyone they didn’t want back.

Arata Asakura and Felix Hartley have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos March 22nd 2024, 11:21 pm by **Raivo**

Dawg. I. DO. NOT. CARE! You yap, yap, yap and talk in like you a fucking narrator, like you being the one talking bout this story, this “chapter” of your story. As much as you want to importance to this little fucking thing. Moongoose is here telling me the same damn thing, with the same damn cadence like dawg, either get your dick outta your mouth or start making sense. Because as far as I know I don’t care what you want, I don’t care what you think, and I don’t care what fucking level you are on. Because this shit is the same thing I’ve been doing, and I’ll keep doing it no matter what. You see I think I know where this went wrong. I don’t blame you, you’re fucking dumb as shit, so I don’t blame you. But you are so self-absorbed that you think anything that I’ve said is something you need to teach me a lesson on. You one of them people who want so much to be right that you want to make a lesson so that something goes right for once in your life. Because let me be honest my man, you’re like a fucking teacher who wants his pupils to fail so he can say he had the hardest class in the world. You have no substance, you have nothing to hold to your name, you have nothing of importance to me nor do I want it. You want me to fear you? You want me to think more of you? Well you should have done more. You should have made me unable to compete, but like the weakling you are you didn’t. You wanted me to fear a man who can’t get the job done. I already told you man, you fucking messed up. You wanted to beat me to make me think again about going for the gold. You shoulda just messed me up to where I couldn’t compete anymore. You wanna talk, you wanna be this golden knight for a story that you have no idea how to tell, and you want me to heed some sort of warning like it’s going to happen. But if it was it should’ve happened way before now. You shouldn’t have had to wait for a sanctioned match, you shouldn’t have to wait for the people in the back to tell you it was legal. You shoulda just done it. And the fact that you didn’t the fact that you wanted to wait isn’t some honor thing. It’s idiotic, it’s dumb, and all in all, it shows how much you think you’re worth. You needed this to extend, you needed this to keep going because if it was just one and done, you’re going back into obscurity. I don’t give a shit about what you think you’re doing this for, what favor you’re going to be owed, or what favor you’re cashing in on in the future, because you ain’t gonna have the standing anyways. You’re a person who always looks for the next hits, you always look for the next big thing to catapult you beyond belief. And when you do, you fuck it up. You fumble the time in the sun and then fall right back in obscurity. Like Icarus you flew too close to the sun, but unlike Icarus, it wasn’t enough of a failure for you to change your ways. You want something more, you want to be better than you actually are. And that alone, makes you pathetic. A waste of space that wants more than what he’s worth and doesn’t fucking show anything more of it. You want me to think more than you? You want me to think you are going to be a problem? Then you shoulda shown me that you can be a problem. All you are is a nuisance, a fucking mosquito causes more problems than you and that’s only cause those bitches carry malaria. You want to be a problem? Then fucking be one. I am tired of these people like you trying to tell me I should see them as problem, but don’t do anything to tell me they are a problem and just act like children when I fucking disregard them. They do nothing to show me that they’re going to be an issue, a problem, they just show me, they want to be it. And wanting to be it and actually being it is very different. You show me you can be a problem and then I’ll take you seriously.

Actually nevermind. I’ll never take you seriously, because you’re just a bookmark in MY Story. I don’t give a shit about your chapters, because them bitches lined up with failure, enough failure to be enough for two careers. It’s insane, it’s dumb, and it’s something that you need to fucking understand about the both of us. You’re going to do nothing but be a disappointment, not just to me, not just to your benefactor, but to you as well. You want to something done, you better do it yourself, because I ain’t just gonna lay down in that ring and let you pin me. I’m going to give you everything, not because you want it, but because I know you can’t handle it. You fight people and make them fight on your level, because ain’t no one can win when they’re on your level. The level of scum and grime that you hide in. You’re like a fucking bottom-feeder who is too up his own ass to know he’s a bottom feeder. You’re like a fucking slut giving your body out for nothing but compliments and favors and nothing more because you know that’s your worth. You’re worth is nothing but words and promises and nothing monetary, nothing with focus, nothing with notoriety. Just word and promises, and it makes me look at you as fucking pathetic. You hold nothing to your own ability because you have nothing for you ability. You want more from me, you want me to bring you something? Well I want the same thing. Because nothing here is telling me to give my all. Nothing here is telling me you deserve it, and I’ll keep listening to that voice BECAUSE YOU DON’T DESERVE IT. If you wanted me to think you deserve it, you should do better, you should BE better. But you ain’t. I ain’t talkin bout you bein unstoppable, I’m talking about you being nothing but a fucking joke. More of a joke than Landerson and his fucking family, nothing more than a joke that is this fucking facade. You are but a punchline of a very long and tired joke, and it ain’t getting any closer to the end because you keep adding more and more drivel to it. I feel tired being in your presence or even talking about you. I feel like I am pulling my own teeth because it’s something I don’t think I should do. I have to give effort to people like you because it’s nothing more than an obligation, and nothing more than that. You want effort, and I’m tired of giving it to people like you. I want you to know you make me tired, you make wonder where the fuck the competition is. Because if this is all you got for me, if this is all I’m going to have to work with, then I might as well put that bullet through my skull. You are nothing but scum who works through the fucking background because he can’t do anything on the front lines. He can’t do anything more to his name because he is nothing more than a name. You like Aria, like Nas, like so many of the other people before you, are nothing more than a bygone era that’s trying to cling to relevancy because without it, what’s your identity? Who is Moongoose if not a wrestler? Let me tell you who. He is a fucking worthless piece of shit who is going to do nothing more than wither and die at the hand of irrelevancy. You want to do more? I want to see more because you got none of that for me. You got nothing because you are nothing and will forever be a joke to ME. Dreamworld is going to be that final location for you not because I’m going to end your career, but because I’m going to show you the reality of everything. The reality that you are of an era that is not going to do more than they’ve done in the past. You want to cling to something, you want to cling to the end, but homie, I’m making you let go so that you can finally rest and let the fucking world pass you by. Raivo is going to be the last worthwhile experience of your career, because everything after me is not going to compare. You either evolve or you let yourself go to the wolves like you should have done so long ago. I am tired of you and all you have to say, I am tired of having to play nice with you because you do not deserve it. What you deserve is a send-off that is more of a funeral rather than a goodbye tour. Your memory will fade as Raivo’s stardom rises and overtakes what you could ever do. And it’s going to be glorious, it’s going to be epic, and it’s going to be the start of the era that you have been wanting to stop.

Nas and Felix Hartley have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos March 22nd 2024, 11:08 pm by **Noah Krieger**

DREAMWORLD - PROMO #3| MY LIFE, MY CHOICE.

There’s always that slim chance that everything will work itself out.

At least that’s what I was told for the majority of my life, by friends, family, and even the only man that meant a damn to me. But that’s the thing about slim chances — they’re just that — slim as hell. Betting on a chance for a better life is only going to lead you down the wrong path. A journey that will only end in failure, and I’ve already dealt with too much of that in my lifetime. I can’t face it again, not when the world is depending on me to finish the job. To get it done for once.

Just look at the last time. I had them in the palm of my hands, and I told them that after Final Destination, things would be different. But all I did was make it worse. It’s the story of my fuckin’ life.

But that can’t be me any longer. I need to find the rage. The frustration. The loyalty. ALL OF IT. I need to remember the lost look on the eyes of my father, who barely could watch as this time he didn’t just hear about my loss, he saw it with his own two eyes. It hasn’t been able to escape my mind, man. It’s all I think about. Which is why every night I imagine that same dream. That same goddamn nightmare. Him telling me to dig deep and find that purpose. TO WAKE UP. So that’s what I’m going to do.

I’m not letting down my people again. I’m not letting Chad down.

If I were to allow a team like The Powerbuff Girls to take away our moment, to steal back those championships that they already had their chance with, I’d be going against my word — AGAIN. That’s not in the cards, not this time. Which is why when you speak so confidently about facing and overcoming obstacles together, it’s simply baffling. Do you actually ever listen to yourself, Bea? You aren’t thriving in this promotion. You don’t get to put minimal effort into this division, and call it motivation, give me a fuckin’ break. It’s all lies. It’s all bullshit. The only reason you even want this is to spite us.

You’ve been reluctantly watching. Seeing a fresh-new act in your precious division set a fire beneath everyone involved. Including yourselves. And you just can’t have that, not when it wasn’t that long ago that it was YOUR division. You both believe that a redo is the answer. But what your stupid asses fail to realize is that a redo isn’t an option, it never has been. You either strike out or knock the ball out of the damn park. I know that better than anyone. But unfortunately for both of you, there’s no chance that the ball is going anywhere past me.

Because both of you are choke artists.

Just like Tomomi and Sena. Two competitors who think they’re above it all. They believe that the throne is already theirs, because they’re simply ‘good enough’ to make it that way. And maybe that would be the case if you were sharing the ring with anyone else — but the fact of the matter is that you’re not. You’ll be standing across two future World Champions. The future faces of this division. Two men who’ll do ANYTHING to ensure victory, and walk out of North Carolina with those Tag Team Championships. Can the same be said for the two of you? As in most cases, I highly doubt it. Don’t get me wrong, the two of you alone? I see two skilled competitors that deserve a spot in this company. But together as a unit? There’s nothing that makes you special. There’s no cooperation. No teamwork. There’s just nothing but lies.

Tomomi believes that she can run her competition down. That she can endlessly talk trash, and not expect a left hand to the jaw in response. It’s abundantly clear that she doesn’t live in the real world, not like the rest of us. Not like me. She repeats herself like a broken fuckin’ record, and expects us to feel a different sort of way each time, it’s beyond ridiculous. If you look up the definition of insanity, you’ll see that it’s when a person repeats the same action over and over again, and somehow expects a different result. You’re a psycho who believes that her birth right is to be a champion. But I tend to disagree.

Just like Sena, you refuse to listen to those around you. But I’m still going to repeat myself, since you’re so fond of doing that. You don’t deserve to be a champion. If you can lose over and over again, and still point the blame to everyone except yourself, then you don’t deserve the right to fight for this. But lucky enough for you, I don’t make the calls around here. But I do control who’s going to walk out on top.

It sure as shit isn’t going to be either of you.

The longer this goes on, the more I start to despise both of you. I tried to convince myself that none of this was personal, but that just isn’t true. Sena hasn’t even had the guts to represent this division, or let alone talk about it – because he knows how this all goes. He’s tried it once before, as he stood side-by-side with Tyler Kulina, and they failed to do anything of significance. OVER AND OVER AGAIN. Tyler left you, and is now fighting for the Alpha World Championship, while you’re preparing yourself for yet another defeat. This time it’s on my hands.

That blood is on my hands. And I’m fine with it.

Even though you probably have convinced you as such, this isn’t about you, Tommomi. And it sure as shit isn’t about Sena. We can’t trust you to lead this division into a healthier place, when it was already sick when you tried to take it over. You’re not the cure, you’re the fuckin’ disease. It’s incredibly irritating to see both of you parading around here, like this is just another chapter in your story. You’re acting like I’m supposed to give it all up because it’s your time. No, fuck that. IT’S MY TIME. AND IT HAS BEEN FOR A LONG FUCKING TIME. So do me a favor, sit back and understand that being on top of the food chain isn’t in the cards for you. This is solely about me being alongside Chad, and proving that I’m not a lost cause. That I can be a champion once again.

I’ve beaten you both before, what makes you think that this time will be any different? If you’re relying on luck, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – that doesn’t exist.

That goes for the champions as well, you didn’t think I forgot about the two of you, right? The women that think that they’re leading this division into the future just because they got lucky one night. When you need luck to make it past your own demons, it usually means that you’re the problem, and in this case, I’m absolutely right. Revy is a narcissistic bitch who wouldn’t know hard work if it slapped her right in the face. I proved to be the superior competitor out of the two of us, and instead of accepting that fact, you’ve taken every single opportunity to try and tear me down. You’re no better than the rest, and you know this to be true.

You can’t deny it any longer.

Your partner isn’t much better. Two titles around your waist, and you still are reluctant to put your best efforts forward. That shows reluctance. It shows hesitation. It shows you’re a damn coward. That’s the champions that we’re currently dealing with. The ones that we are relying on pushing this division into the future — and that scares the shit out of me. And it really should make you piss all of your pants, as well. I can no longer in good conscience watch this division be dragged through the mud, and be sent into the shitter. I need to fight for it.

And I will.

No matter what it takes. No matter what I have to do to accomplish this feat. I will do it for not only myself, but for Chad to understand that I’m not some lap dog. I’m not the sidekick that sits idly by and watches you find the success that you’ve desired all along, and I’m just happy to be along for the ride. That’s not how this works. I’m not just some punk that you can push around, and reap the benefits that I offered in the FIRST PLACE. So we’re going to do this together, and only together.

DreamWorld is where this all ends. After months of proving that we are the best, we’ll finally have all the proof we need – we’ll be in possession of those championship belts. That’s all that matters. After that, nobody can say shit. We’ll have ousted the competition, and put them to bed. Realistically, we’ve been telling you the same thing for a long time now, we aren’t brothers. And sometimes we aren’t even the best of friends. But we work. And that’s because we’re some of the finest that this damn promotion has to offer. Our competition should feel absolutely hopeless, that their dreams have been vanquished right from beneath them. Because it has. And maybe after they finally come to terms with that, they’ll realize how I once felt, and they decide to grow because of it.

But it won’t happen before DreamWorld. And it sure as hell won’t happen at the Pay-Per-View. I can promise you that.

This division has been a sad excuse for something that should truly feel special. It’s been carried by those that shouldn’t have been trusted to carry it in the first place. Continuously trading places like this is some DAMN game. Well listen to me closely. All of you. This isn’t a fuckin’ game. This is MY life. I take the utmost pride in my work, and if I were to lose, I’d be left with nothing. And I’m not going through that shit again. So when I tell you that we’re walking out with the gold, you better believe it.

This is our time. Step aside for the future.

Re: OWA Promos March 22nd 2024, 11:06 pm by **Colton Saint**

With Dreamworld just days away, the two men entering battle for the Spartan Championship had found themselves in very different positions. A man like Chris Sabertooth.. The man who has held practically every single championship in wrestling today, yet has resorted to parodies. Surely, it was good for some laughs. One might think Colton Saint would have been right there, laughing with him. OWA’s Big Tex had been a little busy, trying to dig up the skeletons of Wrestleworld, seemingly lost in the nostalgia that the company once carried. Last time, he dug up the original Wrestleworld European Championship. What might he find this time?

Wrestleworld Carnival… Still.

While a shadow may have cast over the hole in Wrestleworld’s soil, it wasn’t alone. Hole after hole punctured the world we knew. The friends of Colton Saint had been digging all night, trying to find anything that they could. Around two hours ago, they came to realize that Colton had gone missing. The digging halted, allowing the men an opportunity to find what was lost. Little did they know that one had already done so.

A gigantic hole, about four feet deep, had the answers to questions that nobody had asked. As the three men approached, they were unsure of what they would encounter. What they found, was laughter. Dilan peeked over the edge of the hallowed grounds, seeing Colton Saint sitting inside of the hole, three empty beers surrounding him. While he was consumed in laughter, Colton didn’t seem phased by the malevolent aura of the once-feared grounds.

“What are you doing in the hole?! Come on, this place has nothing for us.”

“Is the camera on? I want him to see.”

“Sure, we can turn it on.”

Lights. Camera. Action.

Colton’s eyes peered towards the camera. In night vision mode, they glowed like the nuclear fallout that had overcome the grounds long before OWA or Wrestleworld had even become a thing. As his dirt-caked hands clutched onto the surface of the Carnival, Colton dug into his pocket to find his pack of cigarettes.

“Damn it, where are they?”

“Two holes over.”

Before he could make his exit from the ground, Dilan handed over the pack of cigarettes, allowing Colton to light one up and take a deep drag.

“I’ve tried a Serta, I’ve tried dirt. I prefer the Serta.”

Leaning against the dirt wall, Colton grabbed his final beer from the cooler. After cracking it open, he took a shallow drink with a smile on his face.

“Chris, I tried. Man, I gave it everything I had. I thought for sure that somewhere in these grounds, you would have left some kind of memento. Maybe a fun thing like a t-shirt or a horrible thing like what remained of the most dominant reign you ever had before jumping to other places. While I was laying in this shallow little grave, I was reminded of what happened last time I took a little dirt nap. Surely, you wouldn’t remember this, but you spoke of the place because you were good there. The World Beater, right? Before you were beating worlds, I was the foundation that they didn’t even want you to know existed. They put me in that hole and they threw every single bit of dirt they could on me. Yet, it wasn’t enough. I left them before they could take what was left and leave a shit right on it. I guess I’m an escape artist, after all.”

“Colt, evidently he just held a funeral service for Wrestleworld.”

“I’ll watch it soon.”

“Okay. Just get out of the hole.”

While he teased exiting the shallow grave, Colton found himself looking at the dozens of small holes in Wrestleworld Carnival.

“No. Not yet, anyways. Chris, there are no skeletons here. Are there? None that you left, anyways. I forgot that the guy I laced up the boots besides, he was perfect. Michael Jordan himself. You motivated me during those days, did you know that? I saw a guy who showed incredible strength despite being a smaller guy. I saw a guy who looked like he hadn’t touched a carb since he learned to walk. I saw a star. Sure, we had a lot of them around us, but you were different. You had this “thing” you became when the lights were on bright. A symbol of invincibility. Havoc.

Havoc was the thing we all feared we wouldn’t be able to defeat. I watched a lot of people try. They failed. The minute you shed that skin, you became something entirely different. What’s ironic, though.. Is that you remain that strong. You remain that incredible in the ring and nothing will ever stop that except for time itself. You’re not feared with the use of facepaint any longer. You’re feared because people know you will outwrestle them. They fear you because you are no longer a devil, but a God. I am fighting the God of OWA at Dreamworld and I will be the first to say this to you. It scares the shit out of me. When you chose me to be your next opponent, I felt something that I hadn’t felt in years. Uncertainty. I thought that I wanted this match so badly until I found out that I actually had it. Then, and only then, did reality sink in. I was no longer facing a friend, but the star. My hands shook, I got goosebumps. The match that the world wanted to see, a piece of Havoc vs. a piece of Colt Montoya.”

Taking another drink from his beer can, Colton looked down at the ground below him. Something seemed out of place, allowing him to dig his foot into the dirt once more before hitting something. A slow smile arrived on his face.

“I know we’re not going to get the full Havoc experience at Dreamworld. When you slid that ring on your finger to marry Hana, I think you learned the value of being your true self. When I slid a ring on my finger to marry the woman I loved, I learned the value of becoming more than my true self. We’re no better than each other. You chose to take your career to the next level, I chose to make sure my children have a father they can be proud of. Both of those objectives are incredibly hard to complete. Harder than we’ll both ever know, even if we achieve it. The journey blinds us, and I hope one day that the skewed vision becomes clear. Clear as a moon hovering over Sweetwater.

So, why did I even come back here? Motivation? To find a relic of our combined past? Maybe a way to try and recover that feeling that I once had. Maybe. Maybe it’s to find that piece that was missing from those days. And it looks like..”

A thunderous stomp crashed down onto the dirt, colliding with a large metal container.

“It wasn’t hard to find, after all.”

After a nod to his friends, Colton grabbed the shovel and began to dig deeper into the shallow grave. As he grabbed onto the handle of the container, he pulled up on the metal to bring it to surface. With grunts escaping him, Colton managed to bring the container up.

“I swore to myself that I would keep this dead and buried. Then again, I swore I’d never dig up a cursed Championship belt that seemingly has malevolent forces surrounding it. Call me a hypocrite, Chris. I guess my curiosity has no bounds.

Now, you might be wondering one thing. Colt, what’s in the box? Let me guess, my ex-wife’s head? Not exactly. I fought a lot of demons in my life, but that is one I would never be able to slay, despite how many times she complained about the seat being up. No, this one is a lot more simplistic. This one actually feels like something you would understand from a different level. Let’s take a gander and see what we have here.”

After being handed a crowbar, Colton found a spot in the container to wedge open. With even more might, he was able to break the container open. He reached down and slowly opened it up to find what he was looking for.

“Could Havoc defeat Colt Montoya? Could the longest reigning champion in Wrestleworld history defeat a man with twenty three wins and two losses? Perhaps. It would also work the other way around. We’re not getting those two, though. Right? I don’t see myself fighting the devil. Do you see yourself fighting an Outlaw, though?”

As he reached down into the container, he pulled up a duffle bag and threw it onto the surface. Next came a small box. It joined the bag, reuniting it above the dirt. As he opened the duffle bag, he pulled out familiar wrestling gear. From there, he pulled out a “199 Proof - Colt Montoya” t-shirt. A bandana. A cowboy hat.

“An outlaw. Kind of a pointless word around OWA, right? I mean, it’s a title belt that probably had meaning once. It became an afterthought. Rightfully so. No, it lost touch with what an outlaw truly was. It wasn’t a child pretending to be tough. It wasn’t cosplay. Outlaws break rules. Outlaws, TRUE outlaws, take what they want and they move on. I WAS the Last Breathing Outlaw. Now.. Chris, all the outlaws are dead. A distant memory. I traded these tools in for an SUV. The only time I run is to pick the kids up from their Grandfather’s place because I fell asleep from fatigue. So, you’re probably wondering why I made the decision to even come back to professional wrestling since I had become the suburban father that we thought I’d never be.”

With a simple hop, Colton jumped up from the shallow grave to sit on the surface.

“Maybe I’m looking for something. I left Kenji and Maya to Deena to watch over while I made this little trip. Turns out, I think I found exactly what I needed. You see, when I wore that hat and that super awesome shirt that I’m sure twenty people bought, I felt like nobody could defeat me. I completed the job for you, Chris. You made Tristan Killebrew a star. Cool, I’m glad you were able to do that. You know what I did to Tristan Killebrew? I made him quit. I did it at Dreamworld, surprisingly enough. We keep talking about Ozymandias, how he ended your run and took that cursed title from you at Dreamworld. I beat him in his first defense by submission. Do you not see a pattern here? You took the fighters and elevated them, just so I could bring them back down to reality. I guess that’s what I do best. I keep things in balance, so to speak. Now, could Colton Saint do those things? Hell if I know, that’s why we’re having the match. Then again, like a little bit of liquid courage, I think some added motivation would be helpful as well.”

As he rose to his feet, Colton finished off his beer and tossed it into the shallow grave. His eyes locked on the remnants of Colt Montoya, bringing a slight smile to his face.

“So many ties to this event for us, of course the nostalgia was going to hit me with every bit of motivation that I would need to finally defeat you, Chris. I needed to come back here. I needed the reminder of what I was rather than who I am today.”

His foot slid over to the cowboy hat, kicking it into the shallow grave. The Colt Montoya t-shirt was next, draping over the fallen hat. The bandana, on the other hand, was picked up and put into Colton’s back pocket.

“I admit, I like the bandana.”

The box was lifted up, and opened to reveal a somber look on Colton’s face. He knew he never wanted to see those things again, but needed to see them one final time. A mugshot. A receipt to the company for his rehab. A failed drug test.

“Being Colt Montoya might have been my most successful time as a professional wrestler, Chris. Like Havoc, though, Montoya was the worst of me. It was reality thrown in my face. Addicted. Arrested. Barred from wrestling in Nevada. Chris Sabertooth is a wonderful man. A perfect husband and a good friend to all. Colton Reese was a broken man, created by sin from a deadbeat man and innocent woman. Colt Montoya was a monster. Even now, I can’t escape the mistakes of the past.

Then again, maybe I have a chance to fix it. Maybe I need this more than you could ever realize. I didn’t come back to professional wrestling to fall back into old habits. I came back to be better and to face the guy who I swore up and down was the best ever. And damn it, I have to beat him!”

Kicking the mugshot, receipt, and the failed drug test into the shallow grave, Colton’s eyes locked on the failures below him.

“I can’t go back, Chris. The questions need to be answered, but they need to be answered correctly. I can’t afford to do this again. I can’t afford to run from this anymore. To run away from Colton Saint and embrace the retired life. That life isn’t me. Fighting in the ring with the best wrestlers on the fucking planet, that’s for me! To be Colt Montoya again.. It would be the final nail in a coffin that so many have wanted to close. Chris.. Damn it, man..”

A sharp exhale exited his lungs as he glared down at the shallow grave. He was overwhelmed.

“I like making people laugh, Chris. You know this as well as anyone. I can’t tell a damn joke right now. I can’t say anything that would make people even crack a smile! No. I can’t. I was never afraid of Havoc, despite what everyone else felt. You made grown men void their bowels in fear when they saw that facepaint. You did that to so many people. You’ve been to war. You’ve been to Hell itself and it spit you back out! You did those things, not as a painted up demon, but as the man you became. No, Chris Sabertooth, I’ve never once feared Havoc.. But I’m scared to death of you.”

His anxiety had kicked in, causing dangerous pacing back and forth. With each passing view of the shallow grave, Colton glared inside of the grave at the mementos of the past. His breathing had become heavier, feeling the greatest of pressure.

“I know what I’m up against, Chris. In Charlotte at Dreamworld, I will be standing in the middle of the ring with thousands upon thousands of people watching me. They will be watching every movement I make, every twitch I may have. They will be chanting YOUR name at me. A reminder, not of the guy who came into OWA and scored some big wins, but a reminder of what is could easily happen to that man. The music will hit and the God himself of OWA will come out with the belt that I’m going to take from him. Each step you take on the way down, I will be thinking of every single way I can ensure that this moment ends with me. It doesn’t end as an afterthought because you beat another guy. I’m not JUST another guy, Chris.”

Waving his friends over, Colton’s intensity grew to an entirely new level.

“You think this is going to be another day. Despite everything you have told me before I even got signed. Despite everything you’re probably saying now. Despite everything you believe, this won’t end in one night. I said I was scared to death of you, Chris Sabertooth. Yes, and I certainly will be scared that night too. The difference between me and every single other person who feared you, that very fear will fuel me. It’ll be what gets me through that night and puts a stamp on professional wrestling when I hear “And NEW..” just one more time.”

With a sharp nod, Colton watched as cans of gasoline are emptied into the shallow grave. He watched the men do their work to ensure that Colt Montoya would never return.

“When you look up and see the Spartan Championship in my hands, I know you won’t stop until you have it again. Accolades that won’t be stripped away, but a physical title will. You will be reminded daily that you are a FORMER this and a FORMER that. It’s going to eat you alive. You’re going to avoid me and go to Hana with confusion in your eyes. You’re going to wake up the next day and think it was all a bad dream. Then, the phone call comes. ‘Chris, have a minute to talk?’. You’ll get plenty of calls that day, but this one is going to get to you. Nothing upsets a competitor more than being gently reminded of their reality after a major loss. I saw it on your face when my sister checked on you at War of the Worlds when you didn’t win the battle royal. I felt that feeling many times, it’s not easy. Rest assured, Chris Sabertooth, it won’t be Colt Montoya giving you the call.”

After taking a final drag of the cigarette, Colton flicked it into the shallow grave. Now erupted in flames, the shallow grave began to remove any sign of the ‘Last Breathing Outlaw’. Nothing to hide behind.

“Colt Montoya wouldn’t give you a call anyways. He would be too busy wasting away with a low glass ceiling above him. Me, on the other hand, I’ll be reaching out to you.”

With a glance at the original Wrestleworld European Championship, he non-chalantly threw it into the engulfed grave as well.

“But will you answer the phone, my friend?”

With the flames continuing to erupt from the shallow grave, Colton slowly closed his eyes. Dreamworld was coming, whether he was ready or not.

Christopher Sabertooth and Arata Asakura have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos March 22nd 2024, 11:04 pm by **Tomomi Shinozaki**

Noah, I tried, I really did. There really is just no talking to you. You come across very sensitive, and confrontational. I don’t know why either, it’s not like I said anything that would make you go out of your way to act like this. It’s childish honestly, and sad. I wish you could grow, and become an actual mature adult, that could have conversations with other people, but you can’t. A simple conversation about how you made the wrong decisions, with the turn out being completely what I said it would. But you still can’t do anything but complain that I said anything at all. Why do you have so defensive? You messed up, it’s ok to mess up, we all do it. You thought you could trust him, even though he gave you literally no reason to, and he stabbed you in the back. Everyone could see it coming a mile away, and so the fact that you couldn’t is kind of alarming, but that’s just life. And I know what I’m talking about here, because I too was once recruited by people I knew were bad news. They tried filling my head with nonsense, about how America hates my people, and we need to band together. I didn’t fit their mission statement, I try to bring respect to everyone I talk to. I try, I really try, but it’s hard. I won’t lie to you, it was a difficult decision to not go with them, and just bite the bullet on something that I didn’t necessarily agree with. Coming here from a new country, not really knowing anyone, having a group come to me about bringing me in? That would be protection. That would be “friends”. And I knew that the benefits of being with them existed, but I couldn’t bring myself to join them. Why? Simply because I knew it in the long run it wouldn’t work out. It simply came down to the fact that I couldn’t trust them, and if you can’t trust you partners, you’re already failing. Do you trust Chad? No. Should you trust Chad? No. Should you have ever trusted Chad? Again, no. You did what you thought you had to do, and it wound up being the wrong decision. You sold your soul for a tiny bit of success, and nothing more. I don’t know if you regret it, I don’t know if you’ve even learned from it. But to tell me that I’m just a loud mouth, and know it all? I don’t know, just sounds like pointing the fingers at everyone but yourself, because you’re not mature enough to actually be a grown adult and take one on the chin for your own actions.

That’s always been your problem. I don’t wan to say that you’re stupid, but you are very headstrong. You think you know everything, and when the signs clearly point one way, you will turn your attention away so that you don’t have to face the repercussions. Now look where it’s gotten you. So I do think that it’s pretty ironic that you stand there today, and tell me that not everyone can handle the truth. Yeah, no kidding? You say that you’ve learned your lesson, and that you once couldn’t handle the truth, but now you’ve woken up… But no. You are the same blinded individual that can’t admit to his own faults. Everyone has them. Everyone has faults, I know I do. I couldn’t get out of my own way for the longest time, but now I’ve learned that failing is just a part of the process of gaining success. I lost out on the Sparks Championship all those months ago when I never even got the match I was supposed to have. I don’t take this for granted, and I know every chance that I get here is precious. I stand here with not one, but two title matches coming up, and I won’t go into them blind. I won’t go into them lackisidasical, wide eyed, and nervous. I belong here. I deserve to go against everyone at the top, and I won’t stop, until i have placed myself firmly with the res of the top stars. I can change everything with these matches. And that wouldn’t have been possible without being able to look in the mirror and telling myself I need to be better. Since you won’t do it for yourself, allow me to do it for you. Noah, you need to do better. You need to be better, and that won’t happen unless you grow up. Realize who you truly are, and not this person you try to depict. It is not the same. You are not some untouchable wrestler that everyone fears. You are beatable, and I have shown that in the past. Neglecting to acknowledge that will set you up for failure. Not acknowledging the past, will set you up for failure. At this point, you have set yourself up for just that quite nicely. You have shown how ignorant you are Noah, and I know that won’t change at this point. You are who you are, and without being able to look in the mirror and being truthful with yourself, it’s not going to change. So go ahead, and fight this unwinnable battle, as you attempt to win these titles on your own most likely. But at that point, why even bother? Why be a tag team champion with no one to tag with? And even if he does show up; why would you bother to be linked to him for the foreseeable future? Your logic makes no sense to me. But, if you wnat to torpedo your own career just to prove that you were “right”, by all means… Go for it.

That’s right Bea, try to turn your own mess up into a bit, very good. No one can take accountability here. To try and make your own inability to count the number of opponents you have properly, and then turn it around on the opponents, is a move… I guess. Not a good one, but you know, you did it. You were right the first time though. Forgetting about opponents does speak volumes, about you. It shows that you don’t take this job seriously enough. It shows you’re kind of air headed and don’t pay attention to the simplest of details. If you can’t handle the schedule that you have, maybe you’re not able to have that schedule. You know, if having all these things you need to do outside of OWA is effecting your actual job as a wrestler, I think it’s time to cut back on the things you need to do. Being sloppy when it comes to the basics of information isn’t really something to flex about. Again, just own up to the mistake, and move on. You don’t have to make this grand presentation about how you didn’t remembers us because we’re not memorable, it literally has our names next to yours. Just read, that’s it. I know a lot of people have reading disabilities, and that can be hard. I know that it’s probably not your fault, and maybe you didn’t get the proper education that you needed to have reading comprehension. I don’t want to be mean, I’m just saying, that I feel bad that it seems that maybe your teachers should’ve helped you along more, and you would be more prepared for reading n in the real world. But, honestly, what does it matter? We’re wrestlers, and we don’t need to read. All we need to do is fight. Sure this was an awkward situation, where we found out your reading level, and it’s kinda embarrassingly low, but that doesn’t take away from how good of a wrestler you are.

I’ll give it to you that it was clever to spin it the way you did, and make pretend that we just haven’t made any sort of impact for you to pay attention. But in reality? How would we have not made an impact when we both have been chasing two titles each? How does that make sense? Do they just hand out title shots to anybody now? That doesn’t make sense. But, if you’re specifically talking about within the tag team division, I guess you could make a case for that. We haven’t wrestled that much together as a team, but when it really comes down to it, does it matter? I think that two number 1 contenders put together actually have a really decent chance of making some noise around here. If you want to keep this charade going, and act like nothing we’ve done has shown that we matter, go for it. I’m not really looking for your validation when we both know why you didn’t mention us in the first place. It had nothing to do with us not making an impact, or not being worthy of a mention. It had everything to do with your lack of ability to simply pay attention. You went from pitying us, to me pitying you. It must be hard to navigate through the world with such a difficult time paying attention. A.D.D. can be hard, and it’s almost inspirational that you are able to wrestle here, and pay attention during the matches, and not just get rolled up. Truly, that’s awesome. I mean you can’t read a card to save your life, but you can pay attention during a long fight, and that’s kind of a miracle! You go! I understand why things get so tiring for you, everything must be so hard for you. You have to like, pay attention to stuff, and then use information learned, and talk… Hard. It’s hard, I know from experience, because I too have to listen to people talk, and then add my thoughts and feelings. I found out a lot about you today Bea. I thought you were someone that just was a mean girl. Someone that did the same shtick you saw in the movie Mean Girls, or Clueless, but no. You’re a survivor. The whole acting that you didn’t know we were in the match wasn’t an act at all. As a matter of fact, you legit didn’t know. Unfortunately, though, I now can use this information in the match. I’m sorry but I might resort to underhanded tricks. I might bring a shiny ball to the ring, and toss it around to distract you. I know, that’s rude, but I’ll do what I have to. Anyway, enough of that, let me get to what you actually said, because I can reply to that now too. See, I think it’s funny that you can go from saying, you don’t know us, to now being an expert about us. Funny how that works. You can play two sides of this, and try to look like this cool kid getting one over on us.

Bea, I don’t know if you know what bi polar disoder is, but if you look it up, you quite literally explained who I am. Sometimes I’m hot, sometimes I’m cold, sometimes I’m confident, and sometimes I’m not. It’s kind of like I’m a human being or something with actual complex emotions. Go figure! I’m sorry I don’t have it all figured out, and parade with a fact attitude all the time and act like I’m better than everyone else. In certain situations, I get nervous, I get scared, and I’m not ashamed of that. While other times, I have good days, good weeks, and I feel on top of the world. Today, I listen to what you say, and it’s nothing but hot air. I have clarity right now, because why would I take something fro you seriously when you couldn’t even read a match card? Is that someone that I can look at and act like screams domination? No. If you want to talk about how bi polar disorder makes me “crazy”, or having emotions makes me “crazy”... Go ahead, but you’re just ignorant to a subject and trying to weaponize it on me. That’s not going to work, because I literally already know all of this. It’s not some puzzle you have to figure out, I literally talk about it all the time. I’m an advocate for mental health, something nobody around here seems to care about, yet everyone here should care about it because it seems like a lot of people are undiagnosed. I mean, is it “crazy” to think that I’m an underdog in some situations, and I’m not in some? Do you listen to yourself speak? I think the only crazy one here is you, for thinking that you did something here. What you really hate about me, is that I’m actually genuine. I’m not you. I’m not someone that plasters pounds of make up on, and a fake personality just so I can “stay consistent” from day to day on who I am.

Acting like your opinion on someone that you don’t know is the correct way of thinking simply because you see it that way, is one of the most unhinged ways of thinking that I’ve heard. You don’t understand why we don’t see ourselves the way you see us? Maybe it’s because I know myself better than you? A literal stranger who’s never even had a conversation with me before? Was that a real thing that came out of your mouth? Here’s the thing, if I had “stagnated” and “stopped progressing a long time ago” then why am I in a title match, that I’ve never been in before? How is that “not progressing” Isn’t that the very definition of progressing? Being in a situation you’ve never been in before? But we all can’t be geniuses like you Bea. We all can’t have the all-seeing eye that you apparently have. I do find it funny though, that you are capable of poinging out our flaws, admitting to your flaws, and then just brushing them off completely while highlighting ours. Does that make sense? You have all these setbacks, and missed opportunities but those don’t matter. Our setbacks, and our missed opportunities those are the only ones that matter. Ok. Or, could it be, that we both have our good days, and we both have our bad days, and yet we’re still very good wrestlers that can win at any point? You want the world to be one linear thing, but it’s not. Not everything is going to be the same, forever. Things change, people change, they get better, they get worse, and you need to realize that. All those things that you say about us, can be said about you too. I think you have a lot of mental issues that you need to work on. I have a number for a therapist that I really think could help, because the way you behave really isn’t “normal”. I hate saying the word “normal” because at the end of the day what is “normal” anyway? Though, telling people that you’re going to kill yourself due to you losing to another team, might be considered mental illness, and way overboard. And honestly, it’s not even out of the realm of possibly of even happening. I don’t want you to kill yourself, I don’t think that would be what you would actually want either. Don’t worry though, reach out for help, and you’ll be able to get through it.

A lot of angry people for some reason. Why is everyone just so angry all the time here? Why do they act like they know who I am? It’s like they see me on television and think they can cast judgements on everything that they see. Weird. Speaking of weird, Chad talked for some reason. Do you think what he said was good at all? Positive things? Or just racist gibberish like usual? If you guessed boring generic racist cliches! DING DING DING! You got it! I have nothing to say to you Chad, you’re the same dumb racist child that you were before, and bring nothing of value to conversation. Making jokes about the bomb dropped on Japan, cool. You’re so cool! How do you come up with such great material? Oh I got it, what’s a bad thing that happened to their country? Got it! Let’s joke about it! Super funny! Oh, what’s a stereotype about Japanese people? The way they talk! Got ‘em! Yeah, you’re legitimately human garbage, with not one actual original thought in your body. Nothing about you is interesting, nothing about you has talent, you’re just repetitive and boring. I have nothing for you.

So I guess that’s it. Josie after your first promo you hid, and never had a reply. I know you’re nervous. Scared about what’s going to happen to you, because after all, all of what I’m hearing from everyone else is white noise compared to what I’m waiting for when it comes to you. When that bell rings, no one else will be there. To me at least. I’m focusing on you, making sure you don’t leave that match with a title. You don’t deserve it, and I’m going to show you what happens when you mess with me, and take what belongs to me. I’ve heard a lot of bad opinions about everything this week. I’ve been insulted, lied to, and just annoyed. But none of that compares to what you did. And through it all, my mind stays sharp, focused on the one true task at hand. This entire weekend revolves around you. Normally, I know that you would revel in that, and beem with glee. But, this isn’t good. You will suffer. You will pay. And I want to assure you, this is only the beginning. This is your downfall. I hope you enjoy the ride.

Felix Hartley has spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos March 22nd 2024, 10:59 pm by **Revy**

Once Upon A Time in Hollywood

(Camera pans over to a shoot of a pair of feet by the luxury pool. It continues to move upwards, past the knees, before Revy is shown, laying on a lounge chair in biker shorts and a big t-shirt. Accessorize with rose tint sunglass, an over sided hat, sipping a dry martini with a picture book in a hand. ‘1,000 Ways to Nueter a Man.’ Revy turns her head sideway and gasps in amazement as she reads, before noticing the camera.)

Man, I gotta try that one out. So, you bitches want to continue running your mouths? Spewing some dumb ass Andrew Tate bullshit or Katie Britt garbage. Its really a damn shame how far the Powerbuff Girls and Noah and Chad are setting us back, with their mansplaining or queen attitude. Bet Cheesecake Factory is too expensive for Noah and Chad, and not good enough for the Girls. Like it fuckin 2024, when not too long ago, women rights continue to get taken away after so much progress and men revert into incels. But damn it, I should have the right to choose which incel should get aborted, and I’m looking at you, Noah and Chad.

Coming in here talking about how its a man’s job and position to lead the division, to be a champion. Bitch, you know I make more than the both of you and I ain’t even have to show a tit yet? You all talk about wanting to go Hollywood, but need I remind you, Hollywood came to me because I stand to represent something new. Something fresh, something original. Something… Revy. And at this point, there is no going back. Not on my watch are we going to have the Powerbuff Girls be the tag team champions again, and its sure as hell ain’t going to drop into the hands of a couple of incels whose only thing going for them is “I, Man, bigger, stronger.” But let me add to that, “Dumber, Stinkier, and asses so flat, Chad would think it was Earth.” Chad, do yourself a favor, find the end of the world and jump off it, you misogynistic son of a bitch. That shit might be ok where you are from, but here, Odyssey, on OUR turf, that shit ain’t gonna fly. In fact, you keep that up, the only thing that is gonna fly are your balls via Method 244, attaching a barbwire on one end to a drone, and the other end on your….

Personally, I think that is questionable, because the amount of torque and force you would need to cut it off clean, surely a drone isn’t capable of that, but I suppose if I modify it with the rockets from a launcher…. Which I have access too and can afford. But none the less, going around, calling yourselves “the plan” acting like you guys are gonna save the division, Mama has read too many fairy tales to you both, and while I get what you guys are trying to do. You’ll pry the tag titles from our soft, delicate, supple hands and suddenly, all the bois will sing in union and harmony, praising you for putting those women in their place and showing them what it means to really be a man. But I’m here to tell you.It doesn’t have to be like that. In fact, its perfectly ok for men to cry, when I beat both your asses so bad, you both wouldn’t set foot on Odyssey ever again.

Don’t come here making lame as jokes, like walking Odyssey will be like a trip to the kitchen, because need I remind you that there are plenty of sharp objects and things to burn you with, and I know how to use it. Josie might not, but I’ll tell her it’s like playing the drums, and she’ll get it. She’s smart and talented like that. But don’t go underestimating us. My entire career, people have underestimated me and despite my track record, I always leave a lasting impression on them… or scar that reminds them of just how crazy I can be. You think you’re coming in here believing you’re just gonna hold a “woman” down, But next thing you know, its a damn land mine, and you’ve lost your composure, you’ve lost your senses of your surrounding, you lost a little bit of yourself like you’ve just been through a war. And between the Powerbuff Girls, Burt and Ernie, and Team Rocket, we have only fired a warning shot. Black Lagoon, Josie and I, we haven’t even begun to unleash everything, And while I’m sure Angelina, Noah, and Chad have their fair shares of pre-mature shots, Josie and I, we got so much shit to do with these titles, we’re going to go on and on and on and on until we say we are finished.

I mean it when I say this. Josie and I, we aren’t like other girls. We aren’t going to roll over just because a couple of men want to march into our show, our division, our ring and take it just because they are bigger. We aren’t going to let a bunch of big pretty bitches make us feel small and cruise through life. And I don’t know about the Yin-Yang Twins, but damn it, this is America, and those commies can get the hell out. They ain’t taking our titles, our freedom. Take TikTok, I don’t care. But Black Lagoon, its simply far too soon for us to lose what we have, and you can bit, through tooth and nail, I’m gonna do everything within my power to retain these titles and be the standard of the tag team division. There is no one, and I mean no one, including Angelina’s literally fake ass that has fought so hard to have friends and hope to be a part of something big and too achieve it, and it have it right here and now and seeing how many people want to take it from me. I’m more fired up than ever.

The days of me being a constant failure is over. Now that millions of millions of eyes are on me, I must continue to shine, and now more than ever with prejudice and stereotypes that are coming before us. No more do I want people to count us out. No more do I want people to want to see me win. No, they will see me win because that’s exactly what I am. Not just a woman. Not an inferior shadow of my brother. Not a victim. I am a winner. I am a champion, and no more am I gonna let any of you son of a bitches define me as anything else.

You all come here to try to push me down, demanding that I move, but no, I’m planting my foot down firmly, pushing you back. “No, YOU MOVE!” You get out of the way, because I intend to take Josie and I all the way to the top, and no level of biology, politics, or logic is gonna stop me. So you all better bring in a lot more than just your dicks and bitchy attitude if you intend to stop us, because I can promise each and every single one of you, what I’m bringing, You all ain’t seen nothing yet. Because this, being one half of the greatest tag team in OWA history, this is my role, and this is my method, this is my living. While you all act like the queens, macho men, and killers you all claim to be, I’m gonna be real with you all, and show you how far I’ll go for Josie, our friendship, and these titles. Proof that there is someone I can count on and join me at the top in an industry full of selfish, hypocritical backstabbers, in which I’m convince between each and every single one of you, would not hesitate to betray the other if the opportunity came up. What Black Lagoon has, its real, and if I can’t step up and defend these title with having his much momentum,....... Method, #876, convince myself that I’ve failed as a man and that I should do the honorable thing and commit sudoku and self-mutilate myself.

Gentleman, welcome to Odyssey. Welcome to Dream World. You wanted this. You’re gonna get it. Hollywood is coming for you, and the sad reality is, not many make it. You come here with big goals and dreams, but Hollywood is a beast that will swallow you whole. It ain’t easy to be me. Never has, never will. The level of pressure and demand that I deal with are always high and terrifying, but this, the chance to lose something I worked so hard for, that I’ve wanted since I joined the industry since 2016. This, right here, right now is my role of a life time, where I truly feel like a main character, a star. This new level of intensity rising within me. A real friend and championship gold that I can share with, and you ass clowns want to take this away from me. I’d sooner take you all down with me, and no one, and I mean NO ONE will be walking out the champions. Its either Josie and I, or no one, because I’m not ready to let any of you simply stumble upon in my scene and steal the show. This is my time. This is my moment. #RevyTime #BlackLagoons4Champs #ChadSucksBigChodes.

Arata Asakura has spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos March 22nd 2024, 10:45 pm by **Diantha Rosso**

Sacrifice.

To most, it is just a word.

To others, it is a code.

A lioness knows that individually her life is irrelevant. What matters is the pride. That lioness knows that it is her obligation to live for her pride, fight for her pride and if necessary indeed to DIE for her pride. My career is in a unique place at this time. FTM is not disbanded, but we all have differing obligations right now. The Ruler has gone home to heal himself spiritually, emotionally and physically after recent events. When the Lion returns, the Lioness will once again stand at his side and be prepared to go into whatever battles he chooses. Raito has his own agenda to pursue, and it’s one that I encourage him wholly to follow. While I haven’t broken ties with him, I will not be holding him back from eventually finding his way to what is rightfully his.

So, what am I to do? All I have ever known in OWA is being OWA Women’s World Champion. Every bit of my time has been spent in defense of or in pursuit of that goal. But with that title replaced and the rosters more integrated now more than ever between the genders, I have to change my thinking. The pride that I speak of, it’s professional wrestling. Not just the wrestlers, but the companies, the fans, the overall health of this sport. I have that to consider.

For the past few months, I’ve given a lot of thought to what was next, even as I tried to compete for world championships. What was my legacy going to be? What would I do to move my vision of what wrestling should look like going forward? I have given it a lot of thought and, ironically enough, my thoughts turned to my estranged brother.

Emmanuelle

April Song

Stephanie Matsuda

Taniguchi Sena

Elijah Stewart

Erica Ford

Alex Anderson

MAELSTROM

The wrestling tree that my brother has planted has strong roots. Even though he has seemingly retired from full-time active competition, his aura continues to be felt. His impact is eternally etched into several promotions in the wrestling world…even ones he’s never set foot in. I thought about this, and even though it’s not a secret that I’m not the biggest fan of his methods, I can’t deny the results. As I thought about this path forward, I wondered if I could run a wrestling school and the answer to that is no. I don’t have time to operate a school from the ground up. My career is nowhere near finished yet and I have no reason to stop just because I’ve reached an impasse.

This is when I thought of doing something with talents already in the wrestling industry. But who? As much as I would like to go to other promotions and scout talent, I don’t have that kind of time. Even with as much downtime as I’ve had the last few months, my time isn’t unlimited…and there are still a few things I would like to cross off my OWA list before I even think about considering retirement. With that in mind, I started to narrow my search specifically down to OWA. There are some prospects from OWT who came to mind immediately, but my thoughts eventually turned towards one individual I kept seeing. A wrestler, but somehow a superfan at the same time. Someone as pure as I’ve ever seen come into this sport. Someone who is annoying and a little too over enthusiastic at times, but someone that I can see potential in.

In just a few weeks, she has fared far better than I did in the first six months of my career. And I believe that her ceiling is as high as it can get. I believe when I watch her wrestler I am looking at an eventual OWA World Champion- and no, the American Dream belt is not in that number, no matter how many cretins on Olympus wish to make it so- and I believe that she is in dire need of polish. It will take time. It will take sacrifice. There will be some nights that make me look pretty cruel, but my vision will work. My vision will take hold, and the first cub of my little pride will grow right before your very eyes.

And to that end: A WARNING. Ayla is mine. When I say that she’s my cub, you may as well take that to mean that I consider her my daughter. Not in the blood sense or even a traditional adopted sense…but she’s mine in the wrestling sense. This means that her enemies are MY enemies. Not that I think that anyone could be bothered with a newcomer who has more positive vibes than a fucking Nick Jr. cartoon show, but I want this to be understood very clearly by all the tag teams springing up all over the place, the Thotline if that’s still a thing, the Hex Girls, the various factions of Olympus, even the allegedly almighty revamped Tribunal: any harm comes to her and I’ll rain down so hard, so fast, so brutally that your fucking families a thousand years from now will feel it and apologize.

Dreamworld means nothing to me. An inferior show spawned by inferior minds to entertain people ignorant of what actual professional wrestling is. The melodramatics of WrestleWorld never interested me and the fact that OWA profits from this failed concept fills me with a mix of contempt and amusement. I signed up for this card with Ayla to make a point. A very blunt, very painful, and apparently necessary point.

NAMI….I thought you were dead. Your even being here defies all reason, but then again, this is OWA we’re talking about. Witches, demons, magic, powerful gods have become par for the course so it shouldn’t be surprising to see you around. Why have you come back? What is your purpose? I remember seeing you as Goddess Champion and while I don’t think you were ever truly great, you were a remarkable champion. Doing what you have done in the ring considering your past struggles and the world you come from, it’s worthy of praise.

But what are you doing now? Have you fallen so far to be merely reduced to being Devi Krysis’s sidekick? Someone that I once scouted believing they could be potential competition in the main event is just coming to collect paychecks now? This…is unacceptable. You once upon a time would have fit into my vision. Now? You just exist. Until you’ve found the purpose and drive that you once had, you are of no use to me as a student…and of even less consequence as an opponent. I have pulled myself up from the gutter far too many times to have any sympathy or compassion for people like you who are just happy to be here and let the world go by. Whatever you were doing back in the days you were actually a championship contender, I would suggest doing it frequently before Dreamworld. Ayla alone is more than a match for you, but if you stand across from me I’m going to beat you so badly you’ll wish that you were still dead.

Your partner is even worse off than you somehow.

Devi Krysis. The former Sparks Champion. You were once a proud champion and someone that I’ve seen score a rare surprise victory here or there, but you have TWO problems that will eternally keep you from reaching the heights that someone like myself has. Your first problem is that you have a pretty limited scope of potential. You’re a solid wrestler. You strike well, you have decent moves, you do things well. But your problem is that there is nothing that you do that is truly extraordinary. You’re like a created wrestler that is given 7/10 for every attribute in question.

Does that offend you? I honestly don’t care.

The second reason is that you have nothing resembling an identity. Yes, you’re Devi Krysis, but who are you exactly? I’ve seen you roam around accepting training from Bishop, Stark, Matsuda, anyone who could be bothered to spend thirty seconds with you. As Sparks Champion you invoked the name of the namesake of that title more than once, and let me assure you THAT is a standard that you would NEVER live up to and the proof of that is not only that you’ve LOST that title but you’ve been spiraling into a losing streak that is growing closer and closer to the one I suffered to START my career here.

You’re not evolving, sweetheart. You’re regressing. You’re regressing so much that I’ve given serious thought to just snapping your ankle and grinding it to dust so that you can at least have an honorable excuse to go into retirement. How is it that NAMI has actually been DEAD and you’ve been more of a corpse around here than she has for the past few months?

You want a win?

Your drought is not ending at DreamWorld, you overzealous little shit.

This tag team match was added at the last moment, but when the show is over this match will be on everyone’s lips. Ayla and I are going to tear through two former champions like tissue paper.

Devi, NAMI. The only chance that you have is that I get bored and tie a hand behind my back. MAYBE then the two of you have a chance. Otherwise? You’re just the first meal for me and my little cub, and I’m going to take special care tearing you to shreds to teach you both and anyone else stupid enough to get in my way the cruel, painful fate that anyone who crosses Diantha’s Den will endure.

You’re not warriors.

You’re not even beginners.

You are both…simply…CASUALTIES.

Arata Asakura, Ayla Rodriguez and Felix Hartley have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos March 22nd 2024, 10:23 pm by **Chad Ecclestone**

“ENCORE!
ENCORE!
ENCORE!
ENCORE!”

The crowd continues their chant, demanding the return of Chad Ecclestone to the stage. As seconds pass, the audience grows more aggressive, people standing up and moving to rush the stage, shoving each other onto the ground, headbutting those standing next to them. It looks like the beginnings of a full-fledged soccer riot, until the curtains part once again, the crowd falling into respectful silence as their eyes move to the stage…

It’s him. Chad Ecclestone, and he's stepping back up to the microphone as the people erupt in cheers again, with a passion that borders on religious. The Return of the Return of the King. Take two. The encore.

SEASON SIX EPISODE FOUR POINT THREE
ENCORE

“Alright, alright, you want more…?” asks Chad, holding the microphone towards the crowd, who respond with a resounding:

“HELL YEAH!”

“WELL THEN YOU GOT IT, BABY! WHOOOOOO!” he exclaims loudly, taking a step back to enjoy the raucous response from the audience, really soaking it in, before lifting one hand up to silence the crowd. They oblige, like the pack of braindead stans they are.

“I didn’t intend on bringing up my opponents and speaking on them in depth. I figured with the beating coming their way courtesy of my partner and I, my usual disrespectful verbal abuse would just be adding insult to injury. But hey, I’m a man of the people, I live to entertain, and if you want me to rip into the dumb fucks who are unfortunate enough to be facing me at Dreamworld, who am I to deny you?

Now, I don’t have a lot of time, since I’ve got the grand premiere of my softcore parody film, Pussypoppin’heimer in Los Angeles tonight. But I told my private helicopter to just circle around the roof of this building for a few minutes while I come out and give you people the encore that you deserve. So let’s get to it shall we?

Let’s start with Revy and Angelina Magnum. It’s only fitting, considering they’re so desperate to run in the same Hollywood circles that a legitimate, Academy Award-winning celebrity like yours truly does. You know, it’s pretty telling that two moderately attractive hags like them can’t catch a break in an industry famous for predators hiring untalented cunts via the casting couch. Now, either their pussies are so trash that no fat, stinky producer would ever even want a taste of it, or they’re both so untalented that no number of back room blow jobs could ever make up for their lack of acting ability. Unlike myself, who only came to this sport after conquering Hollywood, they’ve come here without even mastering the thespian arts. Well, ladies, get ready to watch and learn a real master at work.

Then there’s Sena and Tomomi. To you two, I say this: herro again. Last time we met in that ring, we may have underestimated you a bit. But can you blame us? You guys are as boring and uninteresting as a Naruto filler episode, so I guess I let my guard down a little bit. Rest assured, my friends from the Far East, I will not be making that same mistake twice. This time, Krieger and I are going to wipe you off the face of the Omega Wrestling Alliance, just as my people once decimated Hiroshima and Nagasaki. So go ahead and call me and my partner Fat Man and Little Boy, because in the face of our raw destructive power, you’re as helpless as millions of tiny, screaming Japanese citizens.

Bea… again, I can’t stress enough, you’re actually not half bad. But you’re wasting your real talents here in this pissant company. Why don’t you hang up your boots and come make some real money with Ecclestonian Productions. I’m hiring fluffers for my next big time pornographic heist flick, Ocean’s 11 Inches, and I think you’re perfect for the role. Sure, it’s an entry level position that doesn’t pay much, but there’s no better way to get your foot in the door of a constantly growing industry, so think about it! Call me!

And what about you, Josie? I don’t doubt that you’re dangerous, and I won’t argue that you’re a threat to all the ladies over there on Odyssey, but here’s the thing: you’re like Batman, you need time to plan, to set your traps, to study the enemy. And me? I’m the ultimate fucking wild card. There’s no predicting what Chad Ecclestone is liable to do at any moment, and with zero warning. But don’t take my word for it, go and ask those retards who my stunt double eliminated in the Clash. Go and ask Jason Long, the King of Professional Wrestling, and a man I beat handily to earn my first championship belt here. Ask Jet Li, or Kim Jong-Un, or Liam Neeson, and they’ll tell you: I’m the undisputed, undefeated king of improvisation, ladies. I may be an actor, but I promise that I don’t need a script to lay a beating on all you broads.

Fuck it, we’ll do it live!

Now, Krieger and I may not have a fancy, marketable team name, a bunch of ridiculous tag maneuvers, a sense of sisterhood… hell, we don’t even particularly like each other in the first place, but we do have something you bitches don’t: two dicks, and four balls. And believe me, that’s more than enough to style on any hoes brave enough to step into the ring with two alpha males like myself and – to a much lesser extent – Krieger.

So say whatever you want about this and that, and use whatever dirty, female tricks you have in store for this gauntlet match. It won’t matter in the end. But let’s not dwell on my upcoming, soon to be defeated opponents. I’m not out here to speak to them, their defeat was already guaranteed the moment I decided to step back into active competition. There’s no use rubbing it in their faces with one of my world famous, iconic diss tracks.

This goes out to everyone. Every single piece of garbage that populates the OWA roster. All brands, too, because I don’t even discriminate like that! I’m for all people, and any of these punks can get it. Man or bitch, black or white, Kingdom or that carnival sideshow called Olympus. Actually, I’m not sure if the briefcase is valid on the blue brand, I never really read the instructions that came with it. But who would want a title from the C brand anyway? Plus, I’m pretty sure Prescott would sue me if I ever made a play for his belt, and I’m not trying to get on the bad side of a Jewish man’s legal team.

But regardless! Consider this a warning to every current or potential champion in the fucking company. Don’t sleep. Don’t even close your eyes to squeeze out a shit in the morning. Because I’m out there. Lurking. Waiting in luxury, for my moment to strike. Chad’s back, baby, and you already know I got that briefcase on me!

You punks, you bitter, spiteful little bitches have done nothing but look down on me since I showed up. ‘Oh, that Chad Ecclestone ain’t shit, he’s just an actor, he’s not about this wrestling life.’ Even after I won the Spartans Championship, even after I came in third place in my very first Clash, even after I took that briefcase after strangling a petite Oriental chick into unconsciousness, you still refuse to take me seriously!

Well, it’s about to come back and bite at least one of you in the ass now, isn’t it, boys and girls? Because now, I’ve got the Ascension to the Heavens case, and with it a guaranteed title shot… and you know I’m not stupid, so I’m going to wait until the perfect moment. I’m a patient man, so I’m not in a hurry. When the time comes… when one of you so-called ‘champions’ is at your weakest, at your lowest point…

…I’ll be there. To cash in on you. And then you’ll have to live with the indignity of losing your belt – and your reputation – to a man who just joined this company as a fucking hobby. You’ve all spent your lives doing nothing but chasing greatness in that squared circle, and for one of you, I’m going to take it all away.

So think on that, friends.

Anyway, that’s all. Make sure to tweet the hashtags #ChadsBack, #FuckKrieger, #GetInTheKitchen and #BigChadEnergy on all your social media accounts, for 10% off tickets to my next retirement announcement!”

Arata Asakura, Ayla Rodriguez and Felix Hartley have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos March 22nd 2024, 10:10 pm by **Big_Baker_Brand**

Blood for the motherfucking blood god.

Y’all were set up, you realize that, right? Marie fed y’all to us hopin’ that we’d stay out of her hair while throwin’ you headfirst into a fuckin’ meatgrinder. Y’all, the Frontline Flunkies, tryin’ to hold us off from gettin’ our pound of flesh, from carvin’ a nice little tat into the back of precious ol’ Marie Bouchard, who’s lost, what, every person around her? Mikey Bishop an’ Rat Asakura, comin’ to town to fight the QUEEN OF QUEENS an’ BIG FUCKIN’ JUPE.

It’d be a brilliant setup prior to the set-in of the vertigo that’s gonna rock the two of you silly cunts when I kick the absolute fuckin’ dick out of your dense fuckin’ skulls.

Y’see, I feel like y’feel like this could be opportunity, the chance t’prove that y’all ain’t actually fallen off, that y’all still got a chance to be top fuckin’ contenders, that y’all aren’t reduced to bein’ the manservant boys of a paper fuckin’ champion-but I digress. I digress, because there’s could be’s and would be’s, there’s opportunity and there’s failure, there’s potential an’ there’s fallin’ the fuck short.

And you both, my friends, are goin’ to be doin’ so much of the latter while tryin’ to hold yourselves to the promise of the former.

If you’re to scatter the last fuckin’ few wins an’ losses that we’ve taken across the board, you’ll see that the Tribunal has done what we’ve promised to do-we came, we saw, we scraped the remnants of our fuckin’ opponents into jars an’ we kept ‘em on our shelves, we beat the piss out of each an’ every motherfucker who’s come gunnin’ for us, we’ve been aimin’ to collect gold but-let’s be real, here-the possession of materials ain’t nearly as important as the possession of victory. We’ve been doin’ it without bendin’ the rules too far-no more than any other faction this godforsaken fuckin’ industry-an’ we’ve been doin it with some sorta efficiency, an’ we’ve been doin’ it in a way that looks goddamned good. Ty Kulina’s been gettin’ his, Cage is a wild fuckin’ dog, April’s about to become God Queen Above All, an’ me an’ Aria are about to scrape some hall of fame spray-painted fake goldleaf type shit off the canvas when we’re all said an’ done.

Because that’s the shit we do-we don’t gun for targets we can’t kill, we don’t swing for fences we’ll not hit, we don’t set goals too lofty for expectations, because there is nothin’ that the Tribunal cannot do, no target too big, no enterprise too hefty-we come for blood an’ we take it, drop by fuckin’ drop, down our throats ‘til we can drink no fuckin’ more.

An’ that’s what we’re gonna do with the two of you-because let’s be honest, what are you, really? Lookin’ to recent history, didn’t Mike Bishop have his fuckin’ heart stop thanks to ol’ Rat here? Didn’t the two of you occupy opposing sides of an existential conflict for months an’ months, an’ you’re willin’ to let that go, because…why? Because some dense whore asked you to play cockblock for a bit? Because some silly bitch asked you to take responsibility? Because-God fuckin’ forbid-you found the opportunity to make somethin’ of yourselves again an’ you pretended that there was some greater good behind it?

Give me a goddamned break.

The two of you are as opportunistic as opportunity comes. You’d snatch pennies out of the register of a burnin’ orphanage an’ pretend that your altruism drove y’to do it. You’re so desperate to be the fuckin’ good guys that you’ll hop on whatever opportunity to make yourselves look all good an’ special, without realizin’ that each an’ every time you whore out for the betterment of a common cause, it makes y’look less an’ less sincere, makes y’hit less an’ less special, makes y’look like what y’are-dime a dozen hookers at a club full of faceless fuckin’ has-beens. You’re not special, you’re not comin’ in to play hero, here-you’re tryin’ to find any reason to side with Marie, because the rational side of you is tellin’ you that it’s bullshit, tellin’ you it ain’t worth it, tellin’ you that it’s only gonna lead to you gettin’ hurt more than you already are.

Because you two are what y’are now-you’re fuckin’ cannon fodder, so ready an’ willin’ to be important that you’ll throw yourself in front of the bullet speedin’ toward any cause that you deem to be special enough to latch your light to an’ ride it as it rises all meteoric an’ shit. Your frontline is dismantled-and here y’are, the dregs, a dead man an’ a man who once wanted to see it destroyed.

After all, that was the purpose of the Self Made Man, the fuckin’ Golden Dawn, each an’ every an’ all causes that were made to dismantle the world as it was, the causes of good, the primary force of fuckin’ evil, an’ you wanna pretend like your reality wasn’t what it was. You want to pretend like there wasn’t always a nefarious plot, a drive to kill an’ maim an’ hurt.

You want to pretend, Arata, like you weren’t a terrible fuckin’ person who was ready to latch at the right opportunity at the right fuckin’ time.

I can see through you, though. I can see through all your bullshit, because I’ve been around the circles you came up in, I know how you had to fight for your spot, an’ once you got it, you were determined to never lose it again, to never let it slip from between your fingers an’ fall through the cracks like grains of fuckin’ sand.

Each an’ every time you’ve started to lose the battle, you’ve left the fuckin’ war.

So excuse me, for a moment, if I don’t believe that this is unmitigated heroism, if I don’t buy that you won’t drive a knife into Mike Bishop’s chest the first opportunity you get, kill the man a second fuckin’ time. I know what your game is, you’re gonna wait an’ wait until the chance presents itself, you’re gonna turn, an’ you’ll be the evil shogun time an’ fuckin’ time an’ fuckin’ time again until you find somethin’ better, somethin’ more lucrative, somethin’ that deosn’t require you to pretend you were ever a good person.

Because you’re not. No amount of redemption can save you, now. No amount of time spent bein’ a good guy can protect you from what’s comin’ for you at the end, the place that you’ll be lookin’ steadfast into at the end of this whole shebang, the locale you’ll call home when you’re on the receivin’ end of what we’ve got for you.

That’s what we do, after all-we dig graves an’ we send waitin’ an’ wanton’ souls into them. Fuck knows the Banshee was better than you, an’ where is she now? Dispatched with ease, sent away with enough of a cut job that I didn’t even have to grab a fuckin’ shower. You’re nothin’ special-titles you’ve held have all been on the backs of others, so let’s not pretend you’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell, here. You’re fodder. You’re always gonna be fodder, the wheat thrown into a grinder to try an’ process it down into somethin’ useful, the bits that wash down the drain an’ get made into some sort of mystery meat to sell to the cheapest buyer.

You’re mass produced, an’ the crowd’s gotten tired of you, but at least you’re not a fuckin’ dead man.

That honor goes to Mike Bishop, who returned to his soul for the indeterminate cost of whatever-the-fuck to get back here in one piece. Between your half-dead body an’ your arthritic knees an’ the general idea that one day you won’t be able to get up from a hit you take, Michael, I dunno why Marie went with you to save her chances here. I dunno why Marie begged an’ pleaded you to come to her side-you’re always gonna fail when you’re confronted with somethin’ like this, a wall of death in the form of two of the baddest cunts to ever exist.

You’re old hat, an’ really, you never were anythin’ special. I mean, Hell-you were content to play second fiddle to anyone who ever showed you any sorta grace or glory for the entirety of your career, an’ here you are in the twilight, in the miracularity of your survival, doin’ it again.

You’re pathetic, Mike.

You’re gonna end up like the rest of them-undifferentiated meat at the bottom of a pile at the bottom of a pit at the bottom of the fuckin’ world. You are going to die here-alongside your pathetic fuckin’ friend, and everyone you’ve ever loved.

That’s what we bring to this game-the idea of survival is a lofty fuckin’ prospect against us, an’ it’s not one you’re privy to. We’re mad dogs, an’ we bite an’ we rip an’ we tear until it is finished, until it is done.

We are violent motherfuckers, and we will do violence unto you.

Aria and I, we’re here to play for fuckin’ keeps. We’re here to gun for throats an’ to rip skulls outta fuckin’ faces, an’ yours are just the next up on the docket. We’re here for blood, an’ we’re gonna take yours.

That’s what you get, at this fuckin’ point.

You’re cannon fodder-nothin’ less.

Nothin’ more.

Re: OWA Promos March 22nd 2024, 9:29 pm by **Moongoose McQueen**

D'Goose-go: Unchained

See Raivo, that is exactly what is wrong with people like you. I don’t need you to pretend you know me or my history. I need you to know who I am and what I am capable of, as well as every single person you face. This fake it til you make it attitude is a hinderance and disservice for yourself because you don’t want to take a moment to stop, breath, and look around you. At this point, its safe to say, I know you better than you even know yourself, after all, here you are, hurt, injured, and still picking a fight. Are you desne? Were you dropped on your head as a child? You keep telling yourself that if you don’t stop, you’ll fall behind, get forgotten, yet I, after decades of being in this industry continue to thrive.

You’re writing checks that your body can’t cash, and you are threatening me? Any smart man would ask for more time and recalibrate or simply run a way, but like a wounded corner ed puppy, you keep yelping and growling. Perhaps I was too rough on you. Perhaps I hit you a tad too hard that you still cannot comprehend the situation you are in or whom you are dealing with.

I don’t need to remind you. Your “story” is a mere chapter of my career. You are so quick to do anything to jump straight to the final boss fight, that you don’t even realized now how out-classed and out-leveled you are. Guys like you, naïve and reckless, you are easy prey. You are literally going to walk into my cage. My domain without a plan, and people wonder how so many people in this business have such short careers. Raivo, ending your career wouldn’t even be a top ten moment of my achievements. It wouldn’t even a top 100. I almost have nothing to gain from beating you, where if you manage to beat me at Dream World, you’d would had defeated a former world champion. You would had beaten a man that changed the status quo. It would easily be the biggest accomplishment of yours to date that people will believe you truly have what it takes capture that brass ring you want so bad.

Sure, I’ve been beaten before. I’m not unstoppable. But the mistake you are making is that this, Raivo, is No Holds Barred. I am not limited by technicality or rules. This is no disqualification. I can’t put you in a hold, or choke you out, there are no rope breaks or counts. I can relentlessly beat you senseless with a baseball bat, and no official is gonna stop it. Heck, it doesn’t even have to end in the ring. If I want you to die in South Carolina, I’d drag your ass over the stateliness and beat you there instead. The sky is the limit for me and my creativity and acute level of awareness. You think this will be fun? Fun for me is burning a town down to spite someone. I’m sure North Carolina remembers that and wouldn’t want to go through that again. I beat a man to near death and made his family watch. You know Kenny Drake? Once considered the most dangerous man in OWA, he had no choice but to conceit. There is a damn good reason why no one wants to face me. Everyone wants to forget about me. Pretend I don’t exist, because maybe, just maybe, if they don’t say my name, it will go away. But that only works with myth and legends. I, Raivo, am real. I am the guy you tell people in the locker room to not cross. I’m the guy that can make people disappear, and it can be over the smallest things. I don’t need it to be personal to be the monster that I’m known to be. Much like that of a professional killer, I do what I do because this is my craft. This is my art, and fools like you are nothing more than mere canvas for my destruction inhibitions.

You are so unaware of how dumb you are, you probably think fun is skipping rocks and making fart noises with your mouth, I’m ready to be disappointed in what you plan to bring in this match. The only silver lining, you’re probably dumb enough to stand there and take whatever I have planned to dish out and you’ll take it with a dumb grin on your face. But where is the fun in that? You may have a concussion. You may have have internal bleeding and damage in that skull of yours. One small kick to the head is probably enough to send you into a one week coma or force a retirement. And the only joy I’ll get out of all that is you growing old and bitter, talking shit about how I ruined your life and crushed your dreams, and I’ll show little to no remorse for it. Because in the end, I know that everything I did, it was all in the vein to make you a better competitor, a certified champion, and taking you out only meant you never had it in you to begin with.

But sure, hope that this is fun. Approach this like a game. Continue to treat this as another match. A fight. A test. A stepping stone for your career. But for me, this is an execution. I took out Nasir because he was a threat to OWA, and now… this is simply taking out the trash. And I hope that at the end of Dream World, when you are taken out on a cart or worse, a body bag, I hope the last thing that comes to mind, isn’t that you are a damn disappointment to me, but a bigger disappointment to the guy that didn’t even feel like you were worth the effort to take out himself. I don’t respect you, They don’t respect you, and the saddest shit of all, you don’t even respect yourself because you don’t know how to do what is best for you. Its only a matter of time you will get yourself killed in that ring, so instead, I’m gonna beat you to a damn inch of your life until you will never get another shot at the world title, but… you’ll never wrestle in the ring ever again. May you live out the rest of your life never experiencing “fun” again, and die knowing you never had what it takes to be a world champion you insignificant rat.

You just never know when to quit, but when you do, just like you, it will be into deaf ears, because once you step out of the curtains and onto that stage, I have no intentions of stopping. Nobody is gonna be there to save you. Not even your tag team partner Donovan T. Its just gonna be you, me, no holds barred, and no matter what the outcome is, I promise, the job will be done. Raivo will have no choice. He’ll either wise up and leave, crippled, distraught, but alive, or unable to move. Just when you think he couldn’t get any dumber, I, Moongoose McQueen will surprise you and reduce him to a vegetable. Better hope that Chad lets you borrow his special helmet. You’re gonna need it.

Nas has spoken. It’s such good shit!

The somber atmosphere of a funeral parlor fills the room, complete with rows of chairs, floral arrangements, and tissues strategically placed for mourners. At the front stands Christopher Sabertooth, the Spartan’s Champion, holding a miniature wrestling ring casket. His expression oscillates between sorrow and comedic bravado.

Friends, family, and fellow wrestlers...

The camera pans around to reveal Wrestleworld royalty gathered around for the occasion. Arata Asakura. Stephanie Matsuda. A fat guy wearing clown makeup, perhaps pretending to be Babayka. And a blonde girl off the street that will be Claudia Michaels for the day. It seems like KD is running fashionably late as always.

Today, we gather to pay our respects to the fallen. This is something we should have done YEARS ago but it’s better late than never. Our cherished wrestling promotion left us, grappling its way to the great squared circle in the sky.

Chris exclaims while holding back fake tears. He gestures dramatically to the tiny casket, adorned with miniature championship belts.

Oh, the battles we fought! The rivalries that raged hotter than a tag team match in Hell! Shout out to Sweet Melody. Or a never-ending Claudia Michaels title run. What was not to love? From the top ropes to the mat, we gave it our all, leaving behind a legacy as legendary as the man standing in front of you today.

He pauses, staring into the distance with exaggerated solemnity.

But fear not, my fellow grappling aficionados! For though our promotion may have taken its final bow, the spirit of wrestling courses through our veins like an adrenaline-fueled chokehold! The fight will never truly end as long as there are turnbuckles to leap from and opponents to clothesline!

He raises a fist in the air, summoning the imaginary cheers of a crowd. Nobody cared.

So let us bid adieu to our departed friend with the reverence it deserves. To the body slams that shook the rafters, the feuds that sparked like fireworks, and the spandex that... well, let's just say it left little to the imagination. Rest easy, dear Wrestleworld. Your legacy will suplex on in our hearts forevermore!

With a solemn nod, Chris gently places the casket on a table, bowing his head in a moment of silence. Suddenly, the mournful ambiance shifts as Chris grabs a microphone and launches into an impromptu eulogy-cum-wrestling promo.

Do you guys remember when I became the longest-running champion in Wrestleworld history?

Isn’t that because the company died? Questioned Matsuda.

Semantics! No wonder I like AD better than you. (He mutters under his breath) Back to the point at hand, Wrestleworld has had some incredible moments involving some of the people gathered here. Would anybody like to share? Arata! Come on!

The blonde-haired Asian walks up to the podium, looking confused as to why he was called here today.

Chris… Wrestleworld died years ago. Why are we doing this?

OWA is running back Dreamworld as a way to honor Wrestleworld-- I think. Or maybe we’re just flexing that we’re still alive and well.

I see. Well, I liked being the Shogun Champion. That was fun.

I did it better though!

Agree to disagree.

Anything else?

Not really.

Thank you Arata for those heartfelt words. Up next, I would request the great Stephanie Matsuda to share some kind words… Cloud!

Fuck AD. Fuck Claudia. Fuc--

Very poetic from our former American Dream champion! I am sure she is grateful. Thank you, Cloud!

Chris glances over to the Babayka cosplayer and the random blonde who is definitely Claudia Michaels and not a paid actor.

What about the two of you? Former architects! Please take the stage.

‘Claudia Michaels’ rises from her seat, with sorrow in her eyes, approaching the podium.

First of all, I would like to thank all of you for honoring the memory of my baby. Wrestleworld was everything to me. Whether it be running the show as the Underworld. Or holding the American Dream championship as an Architect for a long time that everybody appreciated. There are plenty of wonderful memories to look back into. But… I want to take this time to call out a familiar foe… Jaywalker! Jay, I know you’re hiding here somewhere. I want to kill--

Chris signals for the security to drag ‘Claudia’ out of the building. Like a rabid dog, she puts up a fight but falls victim to the number game. Pretty ironic considering that was her tactic against every single challenger she ever faced.

Classy as always, Claudia. We miss you! Get well soon... Well, I am glad that all of us could gather here to honor the legacy of our once-beloved promotion. Wrestleworld will always have a soft spot in my heart as I got to know my wife, Hana Nakajima, because of it.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. Sometimes bad ones do as well as we see here. Either way, rest in peace Wrestleworld. You will be missed!

A moment of silence followed as Arata looked around wondering if he could leave already.

Speaking of which… A key figure in the history of Wrestleworld couldn’t join us today. Former European Champion beloved by all--

Nobi!

No… Not Nobi. I am talking about…

Fuck that. I hated Layne Driver.

Not Layne either! I am talking about Colt Montoya. Better known as Colton Saint these days. Alas, he was too busy literally digging up the grave of Wrestleworld to be here with us today. I am sure he would have plenty of kind words to say about the place that he ran away from before it could die. This is not surprising because that’s a trend that followed him throughout his career. That’s probably why Theodor Pavel hates his stinking guts. I am not sure, I haven’t asked him about their relationship yet. Hopefully, I got that part right.

Colt, I know you’re watching. I am honoring this company for both of us. As the current holder of the Shogun Championship, it wouldn’t look good if I lost to you after you had a mini-retirement pity party that nobody cared for so you had to unretire yourself to garner any sort of attention again. Well, you’re in the right place now. Good for you! OWA is totally better. We’re still here for a reason. Am I right gentlemen?!

Looks like the program for today is coming to an end. I’d like to thank Cloud and Arata for their cameo. I am sure they’d rather be anywhere else. I’d like to thank this stand-in cosplayer who had a clown costume that did not match Babayka’s whatsoever. But he’s fat, so he made the cut. To the coked-up blonde girl playing Claudia Michaels-- actually, she might be the real one. She fucking nailed her part. In that case, fuck you.

And finally… I’d like to thank Colt Montoya. Thanks for reminding me why I’m glad Wrestleworld is dead. History will not repeat itself at Dreamworld. You’re no monster like Ozymandias. You lack the strength of Babayka and the craftiness of Tristan Killebrew. The only back getting broken that night is Hana’s when I celebrate my victory. The Spartan’s Championship comes home with me. I am never letting it go, Colt. Not for anybody.

See ya soon!

-x-x-

The Crown Coliseum crackles with tension as two titans of the ring face off. The reigning European Champion Havoc, adorned with gold and glory, squares up against his challenger, hunger burning in his eyes. The match reaches its climax as Ozymandias, against all odds, squeezes the life out of the champion rendering him unconscious. The referee's hand slaps the canvas for the third time, sealing the champion's defeat. The crowd erupts into a mixture of shock and delight.

Before the fallen champion can come to terms with his loss, the scene takes a surreal turn. The footage on the screen begins to glitch and distort. Suddenly, flames engulf the screen, consuming the image of the defeated champion and the title belt he once held dear. The fire rages, consuming the past as if to cleanse the wrestling world of its former glory.

As the flames subside, the screen flickers back to life, revealing Christopher Sabertooth, looking right into the camera with a lighter in his hand. He stands amidst the ashes, a phoenix rising from the flames. Determination burns in his eyes as he stares into the camera, ready to forge a new path.

The burning tape serves as a symbolic representation of the wrestler's journey to overcome defeat and reinvent himself. The past was in the past and Christopher Sabertooth was not the demon that fell at Dreamworld all those years ago.

Again, I must thank Colt for constantly reminding me about my past failures at Dreamworld. Ozymandias took the European Championship off Havoc that night. The world expected Ozymandias to have a championship run of a lifetime after beating the unconquerable demon… But Colt had other plans. He ended that monster’s run before it could even begin. That’s the man I am dealing with today.

So there’s already precedent that Colton Saint can do things I couldn’t. That would be true if we weren’t talking about an event of my life from three years ago. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I am not Havoc anymore. There’s no latent demon hiding inside of me, waiting for the moment I stumble to take advantage of. Ozymandias crushed my body but he couldn’t lay a finger on my soul. Havoc crumbled but guess who stood back up from the ashes? I did.

I appreciate the little trip down memory lane at the carnival courtesy of my good friend. But I deal with my past a little differently than my esteemed opponent. I burn it down and rise from the ashes like a phoenix reborn. When Wrestleworld died, I collected the remains from it to further strengthen the foundation of a place I have built since day one. If it wasn’t for OWA, there wouldn’t be a Christopher Sabertooth. It’s part of my identity. It’s my home. And as much as I appreciate Colton, he showed up uninvited. I would call him out for trespassing but we’re in Charlotte, North Carolina. Stand-your-ground laws rule in my favor, so I am free to shoot back without consequences. It’s not honor or the championship that I defend. You’re trying to steal my home away from me, Colt. As long as I am alive, you pay the rent to me.

If it was a fair fight you’re after, you chose the wrong place. Just think about it… OWA’s greatest asset losing to a newcomer who made his name elsewhere does not look good on paper. Will I ask for the odds to be turned in my favor? Fuck no. I don’t need that shit to beat you in the ring. But if I did, I have that in my back pocket along with an arsenal of wrestling mastery. Or think about this hypothetical situation where Havoc hasn’t been completely extracted out of my body. A single essence of him remains in there. What if I was able to channel that power in our match? Ozymandias was a monster and he barely survived the onslaught of Havoc-- In fact, that could have played a factor in your win against him. Ozy was never the same after beating Havoc. A part of him died that day that he could never recover from. You, on the other hand, are a mortal human being. How do you think you would fare with a demon breathing down your neck? Once again, your chances look slim to none. And these are the hypotheticals that I don’t even NEED to channel into to beat you.

It’s good that we both agree. Man to man. Wrestler to wrestler. Skill for skill. There’s nobody better than me in that ring. I outlasted all the young, hungry, more athletic, or physically gifted wrestlers who walked through the curtains of OWA. They’re all gone and forgotten while I still stand today as a champion. Nate Cage has to take fifteen sabbaticals to have one good run. Jeff X was in a coma, leaving the company solely on my shoulders and my knees didn’t buckle. Because the foundation I’ve built is stronger than anything the competition can offer. My resolve is unshaken. My resilience is unrivaled. Father Time tried to slow me down-- Death itself dragged me into hell and I still stand here TODAY.

That’s what I overcame while you conveniently disappeared from my life when I could have used a friend. You walked away from Wrestleworld while I stood strong until the very end. There’s a saying… The captain goes down with the ship. I very well could have drowned but I chose to find my way back to the surface, the hard way. A reset of everything I had done. Wrestleworld vanished in thin air, erasing every bit of hard work I had put in over the years. And yet, I didn’t take the easy way out like you did. When the mast stands tall, Colton Saint would happily take charge and lead the way. The moment bad weather is forecasted, you take a raft and leave your people to face the storm by themselves. You’re a coward, Colt.

You left me alone with the Ghost Organization when they ran rampant in Wrestleworld. They made my life into hell but my great friend Colton Saint wasn’t happy with his position in the company. He wasn’t happy about his future prospects. That’s what you prioritized over our friendship. And now after years of pleading you to join us, you show up when the sun shines brighter than ever with no dark clouds in sight. This isn’t going to be the smooth sailing that you were expecting. I am sure there are a lot of people that favor you in this match-up. After all, you’re the flavor of the month. Everybody is raving about the Kingdom’s newest signing. The great Colton Saint who once took the wrestling world by storm, is finally here. I am sure you would love to make an immediate impact. You couldn’t have had a better opponent for the job! Not only do I come with the Spartan’s Championship… But my name holds value like no other in this company. Beating me is MOST people’s greatest accomplishment.

Let’s talk about this… WHEN you lose to me at Dreamworld, how many months do you think you’ll stick around before calling it quits yet again? Four? I will be generous and give you until the end of the year. That’s pretty much how most hot prospects end up in OWA. Have a flash-in-the-pan moment before fizzling out as the real cream rises to the top once again. It’s no coincidence that Jeff and I are champions, six years into our time in this company. You can distract me with all the Gods and Demons put together but I will find my way to the throne.

Don’t get me wrong… I don’t hold any grudges against people who stepped away from my life during my battle with the demon. That’s the sensible thing to do considering all the lives that were lost just trying to hold him back. Colton, I still do care about you as a friend. I want to see you succeed. But this isn’t a charity. I am not handing out careers to people just because I like them. The Spartan’s Championship would do a lot for you. It would immediately legitimize in the eyes of the people unfamiliar with your greatness. Deep down, I would probably get over it with time, if I were to lose. But that’s not something I plan to do.

Colt, I don’t know who gave you the wrong idea… But Wrestleworld is dead for a reason. Why don’t we leave it in the past for what it was and see into this battle for what it could become? It’s the beginning of a new chapter. You could call it the first dance! Ozymandias is history. The European Champion-- dead and buried, I hope. The Shogun Championship is simply an ornament in a trophy cabinet. They don’t hold any value.

The Spartan’s Championship on the other hand… That’s everything. That’s the key to my resurgence. And unlike everybody else before me, I will take this championship to the top along with me. It won’t be a stepping stone for Christopher Sabertooth to become a world champion. I already am one. The Spartan’s Championship will be defended against anybody worthy at any place around the world. How can you be any more worldwide than that? Colton, you’re not going to be the last ghost of my past wanting to take a shot at me while I appear to be weak. Close-fought battles against Jupiter King or Jacob Striker aren’t a blemish in my form. More kudos to them for keeping up with greatness because I have only gotten better. My punches are sharper than ever. I’ve got every counter in the book at the tip of my fingers. I can twist and bend your body into positions beyond your imagination. And when that doesn’t work, I’ve got plenty of aces up my sleeve that I could use in my favor.

Dreamworld may be a callback to the days of the past… To me, it’s Scott Oasis flexing on his competition, letting them know who outlasted the other. It’s a war of attrition, Colt. And my body is built like a roach. You could drop a nuke on my head and I would still outlast you. This first fight between us will be special. The magic we create will mesmerize the world. Wrestling in its purest form. Two maestros at the top of their game. Two people who are as different to each other as they are alike. Our stories make us special. But it’s our present that decides the outcome of this match. Colton Saint. I don’t envy your chances. Will you rise above it or disappear like everybody else that came before you? Either way, I will still be here. I will still be a champion.

Arata Asakura, Ayla Rodriguez and Colton Saint have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Camilo: You ready?

Ayla: Yeah, I am ready!

Camilo: Please, all that I am asking you is that you don’t scream like a banshee again, I can’t take it whenever you want to do a new video for one of the matches, are you going to promise that for me?

Ayla: I am going to do my best, Camilo!

Camilo: Alright…

Camilo slowly set up the camera in front of the couch as he slowly backed up, making sure to keep an eye on Ayla as she had a calm smile on her face, before finally he started recording the video and then…

Ayla: …AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Camilo: Why do I even ask-

Ayla: HELLO EVERYONE ONCE AGAIN, DUDE, I CAN’T BELIEVE WHAT IS HAPPENING, DID YOU ALL SEE WHAT HAPPENED LAST WEEK? DIANTHA ENDED UP COMPLIMENTING ME AND ACTUALLY WANTED TO BE AROUND ME! The only people who actually want to be around me despite the very much risk of certain death are Camilo and my mother, so it made me super happy that Diantha wanted to actually keep being with me, so much so… SHE ACTUALLY CHOSE ME TO BE PART OF HER GROUP! AND I HAVE A CHANCE TO SPEND MORE TIME WITH HER AND HAVE THE CHANCE TO BECOME BESTIES WITH HER, YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSS! I never thought I would be able to achieve that kind of status in my first few weeks being here, it is honestly surreal how my life at the flip of a coin can turn upside down, and thrown all around the globe, and it gives me some hope that at the end of the day, things can indeed go well for someone like me.

Sorry if I am suddenly getting serious like that, guys, but it means a lot to me that I have this opportunity to be with Diantha Rosso and be able to get better around her, I ended up taking a risk by choosing the career of a wrestler just because I really liked seeing wrestling when I was just a little girl, I am not going to lie and suddenly say this was a dream of mine or anything, it was more of my last resort after so many failed attempts at trying to get a job to sustain myself and Camilo, throughout my whole life our mother has basically taken care of us, dad is an army dude so he is always very busy and it is very rare that I end up seeing him back when he is so busy with his job. Mom is getting old too, she won’t be there for long to take care of us. I am getting older as well, I am 19 and I have the rest of the world to look forward to, and Camilo is getting older himself, but he will still be my little brother!

Camilo: Shut uuuuuuuuuuppppp…

Ayla: That is why I have to protect him no matter what happens, take care of him and myself throughout the obstacles that we face going forward, and knowing that someone had to keep the food on the table, I knew I had to step up, the people that we love won’t be there for long after all so… get stronger while you can, and after like… 256 failed jobs, it is only when I was able to get signed by OWA that I realized that I could actually succeed here, I had the chance to prosper by being an actual wrestler and do it for my mother, for Camilo, that is what makes my heart continue to grow ten sizes everyday, it is what makes me so happy and positive all of the time, that I can still see the faces of the people I love everyday knowing that they are happy too! And being here so far has given me hope that I can indeed turn things around, teaming up with Diantha and being under her wing will give me as well the tools and teachings I need to become a better and stronger wrestler!

I always wondered for a moment why the things that happen to me end up happening, maybe… I am cursed in some way, maybe I have a demon inside of me that I don’t know about or I have some kind of superpower that I can’t control, I have seen some very cuckoo crazy shit around here to make me believe something like that, but I have lived long enough to get here, to still be alive despite everything, and with confidence, I can shout that I will indeed be able to live 100 more years until I can die peacefully!

I will leave a huge legacy of respect as the great wrestler I know I can be!

That kind of motivation is what makes me get up and out of bed everyday, what motivates you instead, Devi?

Look, I am not going to mock you and grow arrogant from taking that win against you, I am not that kind of person.

Camilo: I am, HAH! YOU LOST!

Ayla: Unnecessary comment from Camilo aside, I know that you will be able to turn your luck around, I know that you will be able to make things better for you and get out of the slump that you are in, but the way that you are doing it doesn't sit right with me at all! Saying that I beat you only because I got lucky is just you lying to yourself, and making an excuse to try and tell yourself that a rookie didn't actually go and beat you fair and square!

Camilo: Don't be surprised if she goes at you for winning with a roll up.

Ayla: And as far as I know, that move isn't anywhere against the rules! I ended up working hard to be at the level I want to be, and you trying to diminish that win by just saying it was good luck isn't a good sign that you can go forward, blaming anything about what happened except for yourself is not the way! You just have to accept that things aren't going good for you at all and you have to stop, understand what is happening and then know what to do to go forward.

Saying I just got lucky when I am nowhere near lucky is a gigantic reach, when I have barely seen any good luck for years until this point, I just ended up pushing myself to get better, when I know I can turn a disadvantage into THIS advantage to bring me forward, then I know I can do it!

Camilo: And just like I said, maybe you just need to reflect on your actual path, in that mini-interview you referred to me as “Ayla's sister”. I AM A GUY. This isn't just about bad luck for you, you just straight up suck. Skill issue if I do say so myself. I mean, what is going to be different when you have another loser teaming with you? The girl that lost her championship to you before you bottled it and lost it almost immediately? Hold on, let me check the notes.

Camilo looks at the papers beside him and he turns very confused.

Camilo: She ended up exploding into bits before coming back to life- how am I not surprised?

Ayla: Happens a lot!

Camilo: That is not- Anyway, this NAMI girl… didn't she end up joining that incredibly obvious evil group, somehow became worse when joining it, insulted YOU and then she comes back alive and suddenly everything is forgiven? The two of you are just best friends forever again? Bullshit if you ask me. Go at my sister for teaming with someone who is bad as a person, she is still leagues above you as a wrestler. What you are doing is wanting comfort again because no one has gotten your back for months, wanting that kind of feeling so bad that you throw logic out of the window to accept that woman as a friend again? Are you seriously going to trust her? Even with the power of this so-called “friendship”, you didn't even advance in the tag tournament, THE TWO OF YOU LOST… AGAIN. To Brody and that fat ass dude of Cletus! Like how BAD can you be???

What you need is motivation to start flipping those burgers buddy!

Ayla: Hey Camilo, at least she put you on her video!

Camilo: Oh yeah? Glad she could give me screen time so the IQ in that piece of trash could rise up by 50 points!

Ayla: Also, I don't want to be one of those grammar starts with n, ends with azi, but it is “got endorsement by”, not what you said, Diantha is the one who gave me endorsement, not vice versa. You sound like a drunk aunt when you say it like that, no offense. I am confident though me and Diantha will be able to win, it is our first time teaming together but the fact that I want to get better under her and she wants to continue to rise despite you two being in front of us gives us enough drive to make sure we come out of this with a win! I hope you get prepared to get beat yet again by a clumsy bitch, because with the pressure that I have on me, I won't let myself lose so easily!

You can pray all you want, praying for my downfall doesn't make you religious.

Camilo: Also why did she punch her camera at the end, is she stupid???

Ayla: Yeah, Devi, be careful with that! Those are very expensive, the fake intimidating factor isn't worth it for a broken camera.

As for NAMI, I sadly won't have much for you since you just came back from… you know, yeah. It seems things didn't end well at all for you the last few months that you were in the company, you were in the highest of highs with the OWA Goddesses Championship, and before you know it, bam! You are suddenly thrown off your pedestal and you have to start all over again, you definitely did not mess around though at the start, I will give you that, from doing my research, you are a… very interesting person I must say, but you seem to have the heart in you to be able to work hard yourself and make sure that you can achieve being one of the best wrestlers around-

Camilo: Wait, hold on now… is it THAT NAMI?! Holy shit, no wonder her name sounded familiar, she ended up getting kicked out of her idol job because she had a cocaine addiction, HAH!

Ayla: Uh… interesting bit to drop me right now Camilo, but it seems that we have something in common from what I can see, that we weren’t able to choose the life of wrestling, the wrestling life chose us, as if… this was kind of our last option to get some kind of success in our life, I didn’t really have the lavish lifestyle, me and my bro just live in a mostly moderate sized house after all but I can relate somewhat to being backed into a corner and figuring out a way to survive in whichever way you can, I will show you how much I want to survive and prosper myself!

You are probably looking to get out of a slump after all of the crazy things you went through, might have some ring rust due to the whole thing of… you know, being game ended like that, so let me tell you that I am going to do the same, I will put my promise that I will turn my life around and become a champion here! And that path starts with beating you and Devi!

This girl isn’t holding back any punches! We are going to places we have never seen before!

LET’S GO!

Rebecca Filth, Felix Hartley and Chad Ecclestone have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos March 22nd 2024, 9:00 am by **#BeLikeBea**

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The fact that the existence of both Tomomi Shinozaki and Taniguchi Sena keeps slipping my mind speaks volume, does it not? And no, before my words are taken out of context, twisted and then weaponised to be used against me, let me clarify what I mean - it does not speak volumes about me, but instead, them. Given how busy of a woman I am inside and outside of this industry, only the most pressing matters, and by extension, people, have the privilege of being on my mind and whilst all four of them could be killed in a horrific accident today and I wouldn’t lose a second of sleep over it at least Chad, Noah, Revy and Josie have at least tried to bring something interesting to the table over these past few months. Now, have their attempts at being interesting, intimidating or anything other than just painfully mediocre been successful? That depends on who you ask, in my expert opinion, of course not but y’know, they’ve at least given Angelina and I an inch to make a mile out of. What have Tomomi and Sena done? Nothing. Nada. That’s the only thing they’re good at. That, and playing second fiddle to the real tag teams, the real breadwinners, the real athletes, the real stars. Some people just aren’t meant to be number one and that’s okay! If everybody could be the best of the best, being the best of the best would mean nothing. Not everybody has the ability to embrace who they truly are and what they’ve always destined to be like Angelina and I do and whilst on one hand, I pity them, it must be such a tiring existence, constantly pretending to be something you’re not, on the other hand, it just makes The Powerbuff Girls even more suited to be your Alpha World Tag Team Champions. We’re not a regular tag team living in delusion, we’re royalty. Let that statement sink in y’all.

Dealing with people like Tomomi, as fun as it is, can also sometimes get pretty tedious. She likes to continue beating the horse, no matter how dead it is, and that can get pretty annoying. After she loses this big match, I’m sure she will just come out the week after and tell us that NOW she is ready to start her winning streak. Dreamworld will just be a distant memory for her and she will have changed so much in such a short amount of time that none of us can possibly recognize her! Imagine how tired all of us are of hearing that? Imagine how redundant it all becomes after a while. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results, but goddamn. I don’t fucking think Tomomi can help herself. She’s gone through more ups and downs than absolutely anyone I have ever come across in my life. She’s hot. She’s cold. She’s crazy. She’s sane. She wants to be tough and trash talk, but then wants to play the underdog card. I really hope that at some point during this match someone can knock a permanent personality into Tomomi. At this point, I don’t even care if it’s that gigantic idiot Noah who does it. As long as someone does something awful to her, I will be satisfied.

I don’t know who saw fit to throw Tomomi and Sena’s names next to mine and Angie’s and assumed that this would be a good match, but they should legitimately be fired. Those two have always been two absolute jokes. They stagnated and stopped progressing a long time ago, and no matter what they say or what they do either as a duo or individually, they will never advance their careers any further than where they are right now. I have no idea why they can’t see that. I sure as hell can’t tell you why they’re still even around at this point. But they are, and unfortunately for them, they drew the short straw. Recent events have left nothing but a bitter taste in my mouth. Angie and I came into this year with nothing but high hopes and legitimate goals to strive for. Instead of making any strides towards what we want, we have found ourselves faced with various setbacks, some unfortunate results, and missed opportunities. Nothing new for us, right? Nonsense like that is stuff I shouldn’t be accustomed to. We are far too good for that, and nothing anyone can ever say to me will ever change my mind on that. I know the type of talent we’ve got, what we’re capable of, and what our potential truly is. The rest of the world either refuses to see all that or believe in us, and that’s completely fine. I thank god we’re not the types that need the validation of other people in order to function or carry on. You gotta have thick skin around this place if you ever plan on making something of yourself and I’ve always let stuff just roll down my back. All I can do is continue doing that and stay the course because I’m going to get what I want out of this sport one way or another, and I would be willing to bet absolutely everything that I’ve got on that fact.

The day I bow down to Tomomi or Sena is the day I take my own life because that’s how pathetic they are. I can overcome a lot of things. I have faced a tremendous amount of adversity in my lifetime. But anything involving those two standing tall over me is something that I truly don’t see myself ever coming back from. Two absolute morons who have been a punchline to nearly every joke around here for quite some time, I truly can’t see myself getting bested by them in any capacity. I’m sure they’re used to hearing this from their opponents and having them look down at them, and underestimate them, but when they've literally done nothing to prove people wrong in the however many years they’ve been here, what can you really expect?

I hate intergender wrestling with a passion and the fact I am still here and still so willing to make a positive change to this company after they have done nothing but ignore and disrespect my every wish up until now speaks volumes about the professional I am. We have a women’s division. We have a men’s division. I don’t believe those lines should be crossed because unlike the rest of the people here in OWA, I am proud to be a representative of the women’s division. I would much rather be showcasing my talent against other women, instead of trying to be a modern day feminist and prove to the world that I can hang with men because I suffer from some asinine inferiority complex. I’ve done so much charity lately dealing with these strange excuses of men that I’m just waiting for the day a golden statue of myself is revealed for the whole world to see. People in my position are supposed to be giving towards those who are less fortunate after all. Most of the time, I wouldn’t give a damn about charity because it’s not my fault I’m a silver spoon fed, trust fund baby who has never, ever had to truly earn anything in her life, but I gotta find some kind of silver lining in this weird situation I keep finding myself in. I could sit here and talk about how I don’t get paid enough to deal with this kind of nonsense, but let’s be real honest. I’m pretty sure I get paid more than most of you, and deservedly so, Angie and I’s paychecks, much like the deep depression our opponents will enter in will only grow bigger after we take those titles to a loving home. I hope Noah winds up the most depressed because I totally hate that guy. I’m really just going to beat the daylight out of him. I’m going to run circles around him, tire him out, and put on a clinic he could only dream of putting on. It’s going to be an incredible victory for Angie and myself, and a rather humiliating loss for him, and quite frankly, it’s the type of loss he deserves.

Don’t get me wrong, there is no shame in losing to the PowerBuff Girls, because obviously our names mean more to this industry than most but this time we are going to beat him so badly that he will hopefully never want to show his meth addicted face around here again. I don’t like him. He’s gross. He doesn’t belong here in OWA. Kingdom, Odyssey, it doesn’t matter, they both belong to the Powerbuff Girls and nobody like Noah Krieger has a future on our shows. Nobody in this match will break out after Dreamworld again, if they were even lucky enough to have a breakout moment to begin with. None of these fools will make a name for themselves. They’ll never stick it out, take their lumps and find a way to will themselves forwards after Angelia and I will do. We’re going to send EVERYONE right back down the holes they’ve crawled out of.

Even a broken clock is right twice a day I guess and Revy wasn’t wrong when she said there’s nothing for me to be jealous of when it comes to her. Why she admitted as much and then proceeded to still accuse me of being jealous is lost on me but whatever, I should’ve believed everybody when they said she’s not just acting like she’s a child with some very special needs, she just is a child with special needs, my bad I guess. Some people are just better off keeping their mouth shut. Revy is one of them. I really wish she’d just shove something so far down her throat that she chokes on it because once she’s dead, maybe one of those flashbangs she carries around, that way none of us will ever have to listen to whatever her rants are again and that day can’t come soon enough. I don’t know why I find that idea funny, but I’m cracking up right now. In my defence it’s pretty late. I had a long day. Getting your nails down can be so exhausting especially when you throw a pedicure in there on top of it. So of course right now the little things are going to amuse me. What doesn’t amuse me, though, is Revy’s confidence in herself and her pathetic excuse of a tag team partner. How the hell can she be confident about the match when she’s nothing more than a pin magnet at this point? I truly don’t get it. Everyone is so quick to say that I’m doing some serious heavy lifting when it comes to working with Angelina but the real bodybuilder here is evidently Josie. I’m sure her back is just aching from carrying Revy so hard and that’s great for us actually! It makes her even weaker! It makes her an even bigger and even easier target to slay. Revy is going to continue to suck and she is going to continue to lose, this time round it’s just going to really matter when she chokes and loses for her team. I really just don’t know what else to say at this point. I’m never going to shut up or stop being me, because I love who I am and the amount of control I have over the rest of the roster. It really just annoys people to see me in the ring and to see me have a position of power. I can only imagine the reaction at Dreamworld when Angie and I walk away the winners of the match and your NEW Alpha Tag Team Champions. I’ll make sure one of my people livestreams the whole match!

A vibe that any and every single one of our opposition seems to share is that they are delusionally under the belief that they will be the ones to quote on quote save the tag team division from us and god, I can’t even say that without letting out a laugh because, excuse me? You guys have nothing but the audacity! If I hadn’t already done my good deed of the month by donating to the local food bank, I’d help you all sign up for state medical insurance to get your eyes and ears checked. The truth of this situation is really quite simple, Angelina and myself are humble saviours. It appears people have forgotten how good they had it when we were in charge but we shall be happy to not only remind you all but to take you back to the good old days! For the one hundred and sixty days we were tag team champions, we created competition by being ourselves because let’s face it, the opportunity to stand against women as fantastic as we are would make anybody jump out of their seat and carry themselves to the long line of individuals desperate to face us, even if they know they’re doomed from the get go. Before we defeated The Golden Prawns what feels like forever ago, everything was a mess. It was as if Hitler and Stalin had somehow been reincarnated and sent to the OWA to destroy something that can be beautiful and glorious. Thankfully we were there to save the day then and we’re here to save the day now because I deeply fear that we are returning to those vile times. Nobody wants that. Nobody needs that. It can’t happen again! It won’t happen again!

Angie and I are way too motivated to let anything but complete Powerbuff Girl supremacy to occur at Dreamworld so I hope nobody is going to be foolish enough to jump to the inaccurate conclusion that we are somehow going to present anybody with any kind of chance during this match. We will not. We hold zero confidence in anyone’s abilities, even less so than usual. There’s nothing anybody can say or do that will hurt us, we are literally not going to mess around AT ALL and I want you all to take note of that. Gone are the days of us phoning it in. Gone are the days of being timid and hesitating to seize the moment! You’ve all got far too comfortable disrespecting our names and what we bring to the table, our failures are fixated on and endlessly scrutinised because of their rarity. Everybody else’s failures are glossed over. Expected. When you set a precedent for greatness and anything less than that will have journalists printing "MASSIVE FAILURE: POWERBUFF GIRLS LOSING THEIR TOUCH" in newspapers. Set a precedent for failure and even the smallest strides are regarded as storybook triumphs. Not unlike when you have two siblings and one is a straight-A student, the other struggles to pass classes, and their parents do an about-face when the former accomplishes something extraordinary only to dote on the latter for accomplishing the bare minimum. Those in this match have everything to gain from beating Angelina and myself, but also nothing to lose, which is exactly why they are ALL getting stomped coast-to-coast. These other teams can be colossal disappointment and come back to work the following week no worse for wear because in their cases? The act is more important than the performance. People care about these colourful and animated individuals but it’s a double-edged sword at the end of the day because nobody will care if they embarrass themselves against us. This is a no lose predicament for anyone not named Angelina Magnum or Bea Havertz because no matter what, there’ll be someone stupid enough to fawn over the potential of those who stand against us. We’re never offered that same generosity, that same kindness but whatevs! We don’t need it!

We are constantly facing and overcoming crucibles. We are thriving, surviving and we refuse to yield to anyone back there. Never mind our talents, skills, wits, it's because our success has forced us to be on edge constantly, knowing that at any given moment crumbling underneath the pressure could tarnish our wonderful reputations. Those around us have absolutely nothing. Their lives revolve around cheap thrills. And yeah, perhaps our excursions outside of the ring can be finger pointed at, we do indulge in otherworldly pleasures. But the reality of it is, we are far more than some one dimensional circus acts who don’t know any other tricks. We’re not one-notes like the rest of this roster. We’re pink, we’re gold. We’re saleswomen, we’re buyers, we’re shoppers, we’re well beloved, well feared, we’re precise, we’re dangerous, we’re class, sass and a whole lot of ass.. we are EVERYTHING! We’re talking about checkers being placed against us, chess. A bunch of savants who excel at one thing versus two beautiful blondes who excel at everything! The beauty of the Powerbuff Girls is that everything we do is authentic, we don’t cater to any easily amused demographic, we have no expiration date because we consciously evolve. Nobody can compare to the all-encompassing dynamic we have waged on this industry. Our boundaries expand at our discretion. Narrow-minded simpletons like our opponents dream of what actually is our reality and sooner rather than later, our reality is going to be even more golden than usual. Don’t say we didn’t warn you!

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Arata Asakura, Rebecca Filth, Ayla Rodriguez, Felix Hartley, Angelina Magnum and Chad Ecclestone have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos March 22nd 2024, 4:09 am by **Raivo**

What are we doing here? Why do we continue to allow irrelevance to come in and dictate how they are seen? We have so many people, clinging to this realm of relevancy that they no longer are a part of . Why do we let them get a final say before they get sent to oblivion where they fucking belong. I’m tired of play around with these assholes, tired of giving them a chance to show up for once. It’s tiring, it’s so fucking tiring, and yet people like Moongoose keep leaching off the talents of others. I don’t give a shit who he beat, I don’t give a shit who backs him, I don’t give a shit that he champions himself as this demigod, or this vigilante of justice or whatever he wants to call himself. I could give less a shit about it, but because of his interference I have to. I don’t want to, because I don’t want to give more time to a fucking dumbass. I don’t want to because it keeps giving him spotlights he doesn’t fucking deserve. And yet the powers at be think I’m such a generous soul that he is allowed to do so. I ain’t I never been, and yet I am tired that people think I am such. Since DT’s hiatus and since Diantha’s moving on, it’s been I who has been holding true to the mention of For the Minorities, where I don’t give a fuck what I gotta do but I’m gonna set the stage for those who don’t get they fucking due. And what Goose does, his little hunting order, his little fucking party that he wants the beat those unworthy is just a fucking dogwhistle that his white masters set in his head. He finds people that look like me, that sound like me, and that resonate with me, as fucking unworthy. Racism or projection aside, you know how fucking miserable a man has to be to do this. I ain’t know this fucker, I ain’t acknowledged this fucker, I ain’t even been against this motherfucker. But he gotta get his rocks off for some reason. Maybe it’s a fetish, maybe he gets off on beating up people from behind. I don’t know his deal, but what I do know, is I’m tired of him. I’m tired of this man who thinks he’s hot shit because he can attack people from behind. I’m tired of this man who thinks he’s doing “whatever it takes” for a victory when really its all nothing but a way of saying he’s a coward who can’t face his own battles. Because let’s be honest, he has a thing for me because he didn’t like who I was before this. Well I mean who I am still. You see Goose I am still a fucking bastard, willing to do what’s necessary, you’re right to hate me for that, but you ain’t right for the reason you think it. You think I’m nothing without DT, without Diantha, but you’re wrong. You want me to be nothing with them because like you, you’re nothing without the people you leech upon. You were nothing without your feud with Nas, you were nothing other than this macguffin these “good guys” go to like a fucking back alley doctor. That’s all you were, just a story telling device until you got tired of being such. No one wondered where Goose went, no one wondered how you were doing, and I can tell you no one gave a damn if you were ever coming back. And that on it’s own must hurt to think about.

I’m not going to pretend to know your career, I’m not going to pretend to know your impact or if you ever had any to begin with. But what I am going to let you know is that I know what happens when you’ve had a career for so long, and yet no one gives a shit about it. You’ve been here long, I will acknowledge that, whether that led to some impact in this world or not is up for debate, but what I do know is this. Your time in the background is nothing more than just being there ain’t it. You have no purpose, you have no promise, and that means you have nothing for me to earn. You can beat me senseless all you want, because you can only do so face to face. You only fight from the shadows because it’s the one thing that has given you a home. You only do all that, just so you don’t have the chance to face anyone better than you. I can sit here, and give myself the praises that no one will give me, but that ain’t gonna matter to you, because you don’t even matter to yourself. Because let’s be honest and I need you to be honest with yourself for once as well. Because you’ve already shown me your ass, you’ve already shown me the real Moongoose, and that’s a fucking dog. A fucking hit dog hollers, and you’ve been barking without me having to fucking say a word. You ain’t got a purpose outside of being a hired hand, outside of being someone’s bitch they can just call upon, you ain’t nothing. With that being said I’m surprised you’re still here and not in a ditch rotting from the gunshot you’re going to inevitably put through your skull. That’s fun though, because at least there’s one thing you’ll have in common with someone famous. Cause the last thing you’re going to hear in your life is the same noise Kurt Cobain did. You are nothing, so I don’t know why I waste my breath with you, because talking with you doesn’t get me ready, it doesn’t do anything but make me angry. And that’s what you want. You want an angry person coming into the ring, coming to do the one thing that you want them to do, so you can keep playing like you some whisperer, some savant who knows how to push people’s buttons. You’re nothing to me, you’re nothing to them, and you’re sure as hell nothing to the benefactor that is paying to keep the lights on in whatever hole you crawled out of.

Talk prophetic, talk like you know shit, talk however you want because all I know is you are nothing more than a pathetic little man wanting the keys to whatever world is allowing your shelter. A man without a home, a man without a plan, a man without a fucking spine to walk his own path. It’s pathetic that YOU are my opponent, it’s pathetic that I Let YOU keep blind siding me, and it’s pathetic that you still THINK you are even in my minds eye. It sounds counterintiutive of what I’ve been saying but it’s true. You are a blip to me, a man who ain’t nothing but a minion to someone else. And I’m tired of facing minions, I’m tired of facing these little grunts before I get to the final boss. But if you’re the first stage before that boss, then I wonder if I should even continue pursuing them. Because you aren’t the best they have to offer. I’ve faced Sabertooth, Jeff, Bishop, even my own teammate DT, and they all amount to more than you do in terms of offense, and overall talent. You want me to take you seriously, keeping the fact that you’re a lapdog would have done you wonders. Because now to me you’re trash, the real person I should be worried about is the one who put the hit on me, and yet here I have to deal with is the one who ain’t got shit worth a bite. And here’s the funny thing, I want to be intimidated by you, I want to have a fear of you, but with you there’s no such thing. There is only what I know and that’s you are nothing but someone’s lackey, someone who would do anything as long as they could pay your car bill, and you’re happy about it. That’s the one thing that makes this whole thing even more pathetic. You’re complacent, you are willing to be disregarded as trash, you are willing to do so and feel no shame. Am I saying feel shame for taking money for a nefarious purpose? Nah make yoru bread, you’re just a glorified OnlyFans whore anyways so why should Raivo worry. I’m saying you should feel shame for doing so, so nonchalantly. You said this person can help you out, but I ain’t see it. Owing favors is one thing that could come together in the end but that’s if you’re able to hold your end of the bargain. And as you can see, you haven’t. So if I were your master, I’d have cut the deal after the first failed attack, and knowing you, they probably did but you’re too much of a dumbass to know that your ass been cut and replaced. But you know what let me play along with you, let me give you the benefit of the doubt that you are actually going to be an issue for me for once.

What then? Aside from the favor you’re unsure will even be upheld, what are you going to do? Sulk back in the dark, sulk back and wait again until Daddy dearest calls you again, offering favors that keeps accumulating and being made? Is that what you’re going to do you silly bitch, or are you actually going to do something? Because let me be honest if there’s anyone more inconsistent in this line of work it’s you. You do something with others for a good three months, and when you finish you disappear for nine and then comeback with some new renewed interest of something or other. It’s tiring, it’s boring, and it’s not what I want on my resume. To be beaten by a renowned flaker, to be beat by a man who leaves once the going gets tough and then comes back just when someone he knows he can beat comes back into the picture. Cause damn you sure as hell weren’t doing shit until Nas decided to come back, and now that your boytoy is gone what else is there for you to actually do here except take up cap space and become just another name in a ledger. And hell if I knew Oasis was smart, I would assume he’s only using your name to launder money for whatever campaign funds he’s got going on. Not that you care anyways. You’re so used to being taken advantage of, you’re like a fucking teenage girl with daddy issues. Giving your life to an unknown entity, being vague as all hell just so you can make yourself sound interesting. Hell for all I could know is you’re doing this for fucking John Blade of all people. Which I have to ask why you want favors from someone like him but when it comes to walking in packs rats tend to stick together because they know they can’t survive without each other. But why do I think you care any about this, I know you don’t. Because you’re so far up your ass that you think people still give a shit about you. Hell you think you’re so hot shit that you want to dictate how I should come at you. You’re going to be disappointed Moongoose, disappointed as all hell because I ain’t coming at you for revenge. I ain’t comin at you because I think you need to be taught an lesson. Nah think of this as an obligation I have to meet, a quota that I need to hit so that I can just keep going on like nothing’s happened. Because beating you doesn’t progress me any bit. Beating you doesn’t fufill me one bit, and it doesn’t do anything for me internally either. I’m not going to be happy, I’m not going to be ecstatic when I fucking level you and make you eat canvas for a 1…2…3, nah I’m just going to be here because I’m obligated to. You’re a job, you’re a fucking duty I have to fulfill before the clock hits midnight so I can get paid. That’s all you are to me and nothing more. And honestly, no matter what you say will make me think anything else. You wanted someone angry, you wanted to push my buttons but let me tell you I don’t get those pushed easily, especially by people who I don’t give a shit about.

And just like you, I didn’t do my homework because what is all this about the era of wrestling I grew up in? Bruh I don’t give a shit about that. And dawg if you knew why I wanted to be world champion you know I don’t give a shit about what OWA wants me to do. I only care about one thing and one thing only, For the Minorities. People be dogging me, people been talking some sweet shit like it’s supposed to matter, but it never does. Because they think they know everything about me, because they want to fit me in a fucking mold. But you Goose, you don’t have molds, nah you just have templates, templates of words you said before that you throw a dart on and think it’s appropriate to use. Everytime I hear you, everytime I listen to you it’s like listening to a speak-n-spell that’s been hit too many times by a toddler. It don’t make sense, it’ll never make sense, and knowing the amount of hits you took to your head, I doubt you know what sense means anymore. You’re just a fucking estranged man looking to make a mark, one that he hasn’t been able to do in his long ass career. And I don’t know if you took this job out of jealousy or because the sloppy you got from your boss was the best ever, but I can tell you that you didn’t know what you signed up for. I ain’t like your boy Nas, I ain’t like your boys the Frontline, I’m an actual fighter that you’ve never seen before. Attack after attack, I got back up and decided to continue on, ignoring you, not because I wanted to save face, not because I wanted you to think you weren’t getting to me, but because I legitimately do not give one shit about you. You want a mark that is going to drop everything and devout their power to stopping you, but to me this is a fucking regular day. Something I’ve had to deal with my entire time here, and something I’ll have to deal with when you’re gone. You think this shit is something that is important to me? It’s only important to you homie because this is the one day you get to go out and have fun, for once every nine months. This is your dream, this is your reality, but for me this is a regular and will always be a regular because unlike you, I don’t run whenever I feel like you. You’re a coward who waits in the dark and thinks himself a hero. You’re a coward who waits and waits until you think you’ve found a suitable mark, because you know everyone else around you is too scary. But this time, I need you to know that you choose the wrong fucking person. I don’t know what your boss wants with me, and I don’t care what they want, but between you and me I know it’s either RIP or DT, because why else would someone want to get rid of me other than to throw me fodder my way knowing they’re watching me. But hey I liked to be surprised, so even when I do beat you within an inch of your life, even when I do make blood pour from your eyes, ass, and mouth, I don’t need you to tell me who sent you. Cause where’s the fun in that. Where’s the fun in knowing WHO I pissed off, when I can just assume it’s everyone. But hey, if you’re able to move out of the ring on your own accord, good for you, but don’t let that mean I’m letting you off easy. Just know it’s only because I do pity the weak. It’s only because I know you’re no longer a problem. It’s only because you mean nothing and will always mean nothing to Raivo. Continue your little diatribes, your little monologues about how you’re going to beat me to a pulp or about how I’m fighting for the wrong reasons. Because let me tell you one thing. You don’t know shit about me, you don’t know shit about my efforts, and you most certainly don’t know what pisses me off. Because my heart ain’t in this shit. I ain’t wanna humiliate you, but I will since you want it, so, so badly. At Dreamworld, I’m going to do my best to make sure you can’t leave the ring on your own accord. Because I want you to know that the helpless feeling you’ve been wanting to have me feel has never been for me, but it’s been waiting for you. Goose, make peace with the benefactor that’s paying you with favors rather than cash, and beg him to help with the bills in another way then trying to take out Raivo. Because Raivo has beaten bigger and better people than you. You’re just another guppy, another Jason Long, another person on a long list of people who should not have decided to face me. It’s going to be a quick one, one that I hope you’re ready for. Because if you aren’t then that’s half the fun taken out of this. I want to have fun before it ends.

Nas, Arata Asakura, #BeLikeBea, Ayla Rodriguez, Felix Hartley and Chad Ecclestone have spoken. It’s such good shit!

Re: OWA Promos March 21st 2024, 8:56 pm by **Moongoose McQueen**

No Country for Old Men

Raivo, Raivo, Raivo. When will you ever learn? I’m starting to feel like my time and talent is being wasted upon you. I could had been targeting a world champion. I could had been going after someone that is a legitimate threat. But alas, I was asked to handle you, and unfortunate for you, the person who asked is someone that I wouldn’t mind returning the favor to me some day. He could had asked me for anything. He could had asked me to over throw an empire. He could had asked me to make someone disappear forever. Yet all he asked me was , “Raivo, mess him up a bit. Teach him a lesson.”

And here you are, another title shot, you’re just focusing on what is right in front of you. Honestly, you are making it far too easy for to do this job. I can’t keep count how many people I have seen that are just like you. Wide-eyed optimism believing all that they need to do to be a world champion is to be there and give it their all, but frankly, the industry just doesn’t work like that. Look at the current world champions. RIP, Jeff, Rebecca, each one ruthless, despicable, and wouldn’t hesitate to claw and cheat their way to be a champion. They would turn their backs on their friends and family if it means an opportunity to be a world champion. Hell, even Donovan T, your friend has red in his ledger and wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty to handle his business. That honestly what I admired about him. Quite calculated. I just know that around his presence, I’d have to be careful, like a snake just waiting to strike at the slightest mistake. Yet you, Raivo, just lash out regardless, wasting movement, energy, a subtle offense.

Perhaps this is hard to understand, but try you earnest to try to get it that thick skull of yours. I am doing you… a favor. After all, how many times do you have to lose, mere moments from winning a championship because being screwed out of it because mama once told stupid is as stupid does or how life is like a box of chocolate. Bitch, you ain’t Forrest Gump. You’re a fuckin Jenny, making mistakes over and over and over, throwing yourself at any opportunity that present itself and becoming lost in the moment. And you can’t help to stop for a moment and ask, “why?.... Why am I not an OWA World Champion yet?”
Being given opportunity after opportunity, only to lose to someone sleeping with the General Manger, someone whom is only the world champion to hurt them, and another in a lawless fuckery of non-sense where contracts and rules don’t matter. Do you have any idea how hard it is to win a game where people just keep changing and making up the rules, and Raivo. I’m trying to open your mind, perhaps a little too literally when I try to crack it open. But honestly, this is just getting embarrassing for you and your fans, but at least, now, you have a reasonable excuse for why you are such a weak and pathetic failure. … Me.

No Holds Bar. Raico, this might just be beginning of a new and better version of you, or the end. Perhaps you need a reminder of exactly who I am. I am one of the most dangerous and unpredictable man in this industry. I will not hesitate to cheat to win, when I really want it. Some may call what I do an art form. People can’t help but be amazed and stunned by my actions, my mystique. Look up. Look down. To your left. Right. Behind you. I can strike at any time, and you will never see me coming. That is unfortunately the nature of the business. This is the nature of man. Depravity is birthed by Greed. The Evil that men do, the question is, what evil can you do.

You want it, right? Revenge? You want to teach me a lesson? You want to make me disappear. Maybe you shouldn’t had gone taking challenges knowing there is a target on your back, but you continue to ignore me, thinking like I’m a bully that will leave you alone if you don’t acknowledge them. But there is an issue with that, Raivo. I don’t need you to acknowledge me. I don’t need the respect of a loser. Then why? Why are you doing this? To simply put, Raivo. You are nothing more to me than just a job. I don’t see you an a living human being. I don’t even remotely view you as a man. You are nothing more but a job that I need to finish and in the end, I’ll get my reward. I’ll be clean of a debt and even better be indebted too. Beating the living shit out of you will help me reach goals and ambitions beyond your comprehension.

Tell me, why do you want to be the world champion so badly? What do you have to gain from having that title. To be loved? Respect? Please, nobody loves or respects RIP. All you do is become a tool for this company to either build up the next idiot or to crush their dreams, and do you really think YOU have that in you? Do you think you have what it takes in your very bone and fiber to do whatever it takes to hold on to the championship? Nobody in the history of this company had more to prove and work harder to be the OWA World Champion, breaking every wall and barrier, crushing every opposition, breaking every rule to get there, and you truly think all you have to do is keep getting up and hit really hard?

Raivo, that age of wrestling you grew up end. The one you believe in. It doesn’t exist. The cruel reality is, it never existed. There is always someone, waiting around the corner waiting to use you, abuse you, and wouldn’t hesitate to toss you to the side. And shame on every single one of your fans for making you believe that its all real. They don’t know the truth, hell, they won’t want to believe in it. There are monsters everywhere in this industry, and I’m not afraid to admit that I am one. What makes me worse than everyone else, each and every week that I attack you, I do it with the full intent to incapacitate you. To send you to the hospital. To potentially end your career. You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t take anything from me. I’m fuckin doing this on a whim because someone is out to get ya. Someone doesn’t like you. No, someone doesn’t believe in you, and they asked me to do the most humane thing to help you… To put you down. Raivo, this isn’t just no hold bars, no rules, no limits, no line too far to cross. This, my “friend”… is no mercy.

I suggest getting your affairs together, make amends, say your good byes. Because I intend to finish the job. Shame, you’ll never be the OWA World Champion. Not as long as I’m here.

#BeLikeBea and Ayla Rodriguez have spoken. It’s such good shit!

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