EP.: 216
DATE: 09.30.2024
ARENA: THE EPICENTER
BRANDON WALKER VS. MIKE DE LOS HUESOS (c)
SIN CITY CHAMPIONSHIP
Singles Match
Backstage
ELIMINATING DISTRACTIONS: PART 1
For the second time in two nights, we find ourselves in the HEXXX locker room — but compared to the last interaction, everyone it is eerily silent. Spread across three of the four corners of the austere space are the physically imposing Kingslayer, the burly Lars Von Bremen, and leaning against the wall with her arms crossed is Ayumi Seppuku who is neither physically imposing nor burly, but is nonetheless the commanding presence in the room.
She looks first at Kingslayer, who just stares back at her without emotion or focus, and then to Lars, whose eyes are locked on NC-17’s empty locker. She uncrosses her arms and pushes herself off the wall, waiting a breath before slamming her fist sideways into her locker, the sound of metal rattling through the room.
Ayumi Seppuku: What is the matter with you two?! Is this what you want the HEXXX legacy to be!? To crumble at the feet of the SWARM? Or Vae Victis? Or any of the Johnson-Seton extended family. We had SHOOT in the palm of our hands and it’s about to turn to sand if you— if WE don’t start working together.
Lars turns from NC-17’s locker, the dent from his tirade at Ruination still visible, to look at Ayumi and pulls a chewed up toothpick out from between his teeth and flicks it onto the ground.
Lars Von Bremen: You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, do you?
Ayumi snaps her attention to Lars as he shakes his head, laughing.
Lars Von Bremen: I was just thinking that all this shit went sideways after you attacked those Heirs to the Throne twerps. You got excited, you got emotional and look where it’s gotten us. They came after Mr. Teen. Now he’s in the hospital and — for some fucking reason those bug freaks have made me a target so I’m getting jumped every time I walk the halls and meanwhile this sack of shit over here is as stiff and useless as a used cum sock.
Kingslayer doesn’t react to the remark; he just stares ahead at Ayumi. This pisses Lars off even more, causing the former bouncer to stand up and chuck an empty canister of Zyn at his head, but misses.
Lars Von Bremen: WHY DON’T YOU SAY SOMETHING YOU-
Ayumi Seppuku: LARS!
Lars stops, but is still seething as he turns to look at Ayumi now, who is matching his wild gaze with her own. He gestures towards the unmoving Kingslayer, exasperated and almost pleading with Ayumi.
Lars Von Bremen: You want to know what I realized on my WALK, Ayumi? What I saw after I tried to do what HEXXX is supposed to be doing and shaking up the title scene? You’re not the traitor, after all… it’s this fucker right here. He didn’t stop them from attacking me — TWICE and he didn’t stop Troy and Ryan from attacking Mr. Teen either. He needs to GO!
Ayumi closes her eyes and takes a breath before crossing the room and walking over to Kingslayer. He looks down as she approaches, but his expression doesn’t change. She places a hand on his chest and sighs.
Ayumi Seppuku: I know you’re upset Lars, but this is a revolution and the minute they start tearing us apart is the minute we lose everything…
Lars Von Bremen: I don’t give a fuck about your revolution Ayumi. I want revenge. I want blood. CHAOS. To tear it all down — and if that’s not what you want either than what the fuck are we doing here?
Ayumi pauses and steps away from Kingslayer, turning to look at Lars, her expression cold but not dismissive… in fact, it’s extremely focused.
Ayumi Seppuku: Okay, Lars. Where do you want to start?
Lars looks up at Kingslayer and flashes a big smile.
Lars Von Bremen: I think we need to eliminate any… distractions as a first step. Don’t you agree, Ayumi?
Ayumi takes a beat, but nods and puts a hand on Kingslayer’s shoulder. He looks down at her, a golem awaiting its instructions. She looks up at him.
Ayumi Seppuku: Kingslayer. I need you to go get Chick Grillbreast.
BARRY BATES Vs. SCOTTIE BARNES
Singles Match
Backstage
CONSEQUENCE
The backstage area is a whirlwind of activity, filled with the sounds of crew members shouting at each other as they make sure each and every moment captured on camera goes as flawlessly as possible. There’s a distant roar from the capacity crowd filtering through the walls, giving credence to the idea of just how electric the night has been for the go home show before ‘The Hunt.’
Amidst the chaos, there is an air of tension surrounding one man: Arthur Pleasant.
The Provocateur sits in a wheelchair, a stark contrast to the man who usually exudes violence and madness. His body seems frail from the “unholy” destruction he received two weeks ago at the hands of The Unholy Cyber Army. He’s draped in a dark suit that looks ill-fitting, as if it is a costume meant for a much healthier man. Bandages peek out from under his collar, and his face bears marks of a ferocious beating.
The bruises and cuts tell a distinct story of pain and anguish, but Arthur has a different narrative in mind as he holds both SHOOT Project Tag Team Titles over his shoulders in a criss-cross manner.
Arthur Pleasant: Can you believe this place? A circus of misfits and cretins. And yet, I’m the one who’s supposed to be grateful for the ‘honor’ to be on this roster of bullies and madmen.
Arliss Peters, his personal attorney, walks alongside him with a mixed expression of annoyance and resignation. Clad in a sharp suit, Arliss is the epitome of professionalism, yet his eyes betray his impatience.
Arliss Peters: I really don’t think this is the best time for a rant. We need to focus on your legal options, not the theatrics of this show.
Pleasant scoffs, stomping pedantically on the metal of the wheelchair.
Arthur Pleasant: Legal options?! What I need is a proper audience with the head of security. I have business to attend to — very important business.
Arliss Peters: Business that could get you in a lot of trouble. You were nearly incapacitated last week. You need to focus on your recovery, not meddling in affairs that don’t concern you.
Ignoring his attorney as per usual, Pleasant snaps his finger at a man walking past them.
Arthur Pleasant: HEY YOU!
The man with whom Arthur is arbitrarily angry with, happens to be a member of the production team. His badge says ‘Bernard Ulmer’. Bernard looks around as if he isn’t sure Arthur is speaking or pointing to him, despite the fact that he totally is.
Bernard Ulmer: Me?
Arthur’s impatience grows steadily. Arliss goes to say something but is cut off immediately.
Arthur Pleasant: No, the lesser-seen adopted Colton brother, Denzel. YES, YOU. Do you just get paid by Real Deal and his Company of Illustrious Johnsons to just stand around like this? Where is the fucking security office?! OW…UGH… FUCK FUCK FUCKING FUCK!!
Arthur winces and leans forward. He isn’t sure what’s hurting anymore. All he knows is that something hurts and it’s probably Bernard Ulmer’s fault.
Arthur Pleasant: Where are the SHOOT Sec offices located? I need to speak with my best friend, Jeffrey.
Bernard simply shrugs and walks away.
Arthur Pleasant: BERNAAAAARD. You motherless fuck wagon. Whatever.
Pleasant’s lips curl into a sneer and Arliss wheels him off in a direction far away from Bernard Ulmer, conservationist extraordinaire.
Arthur Pleasant: Every concern is mine, Arliss. Everything happening in this pit of depravity is part of my business. And if I want to see someone rotting in solitary confinement, then that’s what I’ll do. You’re here to facilitate that.
Arliss lets out a frustrated sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Arliss Peters: Fine. But I’m not going in with you. You understand that, right? You can take your cane and hobble yourself into the SHOOT Sec offices, but I will not chaperone you only to get murdered by Jeffrey James Roberts. Or the UCA, for that matter.
Arthur Pleasant: Oh, but of course. I didn’t anticipate you growing a set *now*.
His tone drips with insincerity.
Arthur Pleasant: Always the good lawyer, aren’t you? Let’s get moving, shall we?
As they traverse the labyrinthine corridors and dark corners of the Epicenter’s backstage area, the buzz of activity becomes more pronounced the longer they travel. Wrestlers representing the UWA happen to be in attendance, most noticeable Judge James Morgan, Project NEO Heavyweight Champion, no doubt conversing with fellow Consortium members E.B. Mitchell and Sherwin Abrams about the Epicenter. The camaraderie among the talent was palpable, a stark contrast to Arthur’s isolating presence.
Arthur Pleasant: Look at them. A bunch of clowns, completely oblivious to the real game being played. They think they’re the stars, but they’re just pawns in a giant chessboard. Pfft. Fucking idiots.
Arthur yells over to them.
Arthur Pleasant: RUN. Go somewhere else while you can! THIS PLACE SUCKS!
Arliss Peters: Stop being ridiculous.
Pleasant raises an eyebrow, trying to redirect the conversation.
Arliss Peters: Listen, I know next to nothing about wrestling, but you should focus on rehabilitation in time for the Hunt. It should be obvious by this point that the UCA are not to be trifled with.
Pleasant sneers.
Arthur Pleasant: Shower Weevil and Superyeast? I don’t care how many times they brain me or nearly
paralyze me. A stupid brute is a stupid brute is a stupid fucking brute! They’re lucky it wasn’t me against them in a handicapped match! I would’ve taken them apart!
Arliss Peters: Well, you’re basically always going to be in a handicapped match from this point forward.
Arthur Pleasant: That’s not funny.
Arliss Peters: Sorry.
Arthur Pleasant: I’ll tell you this much, Arlo. If I were in any condition to compete tonight? We WOULD have ourselves a handicapped match.
Arliss Peters: I believe the polite word is “challenged”.
Pleasant ignores Arliss’ surprising quip.
Arthur Pleasant: But alas, I’m stuck in this wheelchair, aren’t I? Maybe forever. A cruel twist of fate considering I’m the SHOOT Project World Tag Team Champions. Probably the greatest one of all time, too.
Arliss groans.
Arliss Peters: I don’t think that’s how this—
Arthur Pleasant: –or at least a top two. I’m certainly better than the Badass Brotherhood.
Arliss Peters: Can I be Frank, Arthur?
Arthur Pleasant: Why, Arliss. You know you can always be frank with me.
Arliss Peters: This is all a consequence of your own decisions,” Arliss replied, his tone sharper now. “You’ve made a lot of enemies, Arthur. The Cyber Army is just the beginning.”
Arthur’s demeanor shifts, a glimmer of anger flashing in his eyes.
Arthur Pleasant: Enemies? (smiling) I create enemies like artists create masterpieces. It’s how I thrive. And soon, everyone will understand just how powerful I can be. Even from this “decrepit” shell.
A beat. They arrive at the main office for SHOOT Sec. Surprisingly enough, it’s a smallish room filled with monitors showing various angles of the arena and backstage areas. A couple of security personnel were seated at desks, eyes glued to the screens.
Arthur Pleasant: Head of security? I need to speak with him IMMEDIATELY.
One of the officers, a burly man with a stern face, looks up.
Security Officer Desk ‘Sergeant’: He’s busy, Mr. Pleasant. You’ll need to wait.
Pleasant scoffs.
Arthur Pleasant: Well, I guess that means we should just leave and come back another time, then. Let’s go, Arliss!
Arliss goes to wheel Arthur away, but ~!IT’S A FUCKING MIRACLE!~ Arthur kicks up the leg rests on his wheelchair and stands up.
Arthur Pleasant: Do you know who I am? I… am the SHOOT Project Tag Team Champions. I don’t wait for anyone. I have urgent matters to discuss regarding a certain individual currently in solitary.
The officer’s expression hardens.
Security Officer Desk ‘Sergeant’: I understand, but protocol—
Arthur Pleasant: “Protocol”?! Oh. OH. I’m DONE with PROTOCOL. You think I give a shit about your little rules?! You think I ever did?! Your PROTOCOLS got me just about killed! Protocols my fucking ass. Especially when they just pertain to ONE individual?
Arliss massages the bridge of his nose again.
Arthur Pleasant: I have the power to make your life hell if you don’t expedite my request for this meeting.
Arliss Peters: Arthur, let’s not escalate this. We can handle this with diplomacy.
Arthur Pleasant: Diplomacy is for the weak. If they don’t comply, I will make sure they regret it. Now, call the head of security. Arliss? HAND ME MY TAG TEAM TITLES. And my cane.
The officer exchanges a glance with his partner before reluctantly picking up the phone.
Security Officer Desk ‘Sergeant’: Just a moment.
Arthur’s eyes narrow. Ever calculating, Pleasant sits back down in his wheelchair.
Arthur Pleasant: Oh, I can wait.
ATOMIC PUNKS VS. THE WILD ONES
Tag Team Match
Backstage
I'M TIRED OF ALL THE TALK
The scene opens backstage in the locker room of Red, White & Bruise. Ryan Samuels and Johnny Patriot are sitting across from each other, the tension between them palpable but laced with confusion rather than anger. Ryan, with his usual gruff demeanor, leans forward on the bench, staring at the floor with a furrowed brow. Johnny Patriot, ever the optimist, is polishing his red, white, and blue gear but seems distracted, occasionally glancing at Ryan as if waiting for him to speak.
Ryan Samuels: (grumbling, his voice low and frustrated) Johnny… what the hell are we doin’, man?
Johnny looks up, his usual smile replaced by a more thoughtful expression. Ryan sits up, his hands on his knees, shaking his head in disbelief.
Ryan Samuels: (gruffly, trying to make sense of things) I mean, we signed the contract, we got this damn cage match at The Hunt comin’ up, but none of this makes any sense anymore. What the hell are we fightin’ for?
Johnny raises an eyebrow, slightly confused.
Johnny Patriot: (optimistic but cautious) Well, we’re fighting for justice, Ryan! We’re fighting for freedom! We’re fightin’ because Malice is a tyrant, and the Punch Line? They’re still the enemy. Aren’t they?
Ryan lets out a deep sigh, rubbing his face with his hands.
Ryan Samuels: (grumbling) That’s just it. I was pissed off at Roy. Hell, I hated him for a long time. But now… now I just feel bad for the guy. He’s broken, Johnny. He’s been chewed up and spit out by Malice, and I don’t even know if he can come back from it.
Johnny nods slowly, seeing the weight of the situation but still unsure where Ryan is going with this. Ryan shakes his head, clearly conflicted.
Ryan Samuels: (continuing, frustration building) Then there’s Rick. I was pissed off at him too, but now? I don’t know, man. He’s alright, I guess. I got no real beef with him anymore. He’s just doin’ what he’s gotta do. I can respect that.
Ryan pauses, thinking about the third member of The Punch Line, Harv Norris.
Ryan Samuels: (gruffly, with a hint of agreement) But Harv… I was pissed at him too, but when he came down to the ring and got in Malice’s face? Hell, I agree with him now. Malice treats them all like garbage, and Harv’s the only one with the guts to stand up to him.
Johnny, sensing Ryan’s uncertainty, puts his flag-themed gear down and leans in.
Johnny Patriot: (earnestly) So what are you saying, Ryan? You’re not pissed off at any of them anymore? We’re supposed to fight these guys, and now you’re starting to side with them?
Ryan lets out a growl of frustration, running his hand through his hair.
Ryan Samuels: (exasperated) That’s just it, Johnny! I’m not pissed at them anymore, at least not in the same way. I was ready to take their heads off, but now? I look at ‘em, and all I see is a couple of guys just tryin’ to survive the same crap we’re dealin’ with. They hate Malice just as much as we do. They’re stuck in the same damn mess.
Johnny sits back, crossing his arms and pondering Ryan’s words. For once, the always-energetic Patriot seems unsure of the situation.
Johnny Patriot: (thoughtfully) Yeah… Malice is the real problem here. That guy’s a monster. But we’ve still got the match, and they’re still gonna try and take us out. We signed the contract, Ryan. It’s on. But I get what you’re saying. It’s all… weird now.
Ryan leans back, his frustration turning into confusion. He stares up at the ceiling for a moment, as if trying to figure out where to go from here.
Ryan Samuels: (sighing) Damn right it’s weird. I was ready to tear them apart, and now it’s like I don’t even know what we’re fighting for. I mean, yeah, Harv’s annoying, but at least he’s got some fire left. Roy? He’s just a shell of the guy I used to hate. And Rick… hell, Rick’s just tryin’ to keep it together.
Johnny nods, feeling the weight of the situation himself now. The two sit in silence for a moment, the reality of the match at The Hunt sinking in.
Johnny Patriot: (earnestly) So, what do we do? The cage match is happening. We can’t back out. But it feels like we’re all just… stuck.
Ryan Samuels: (gruffly, but with a hint of resignation) We fight, Johnny. That’s what we do. We’ve got no choice. But it ain’t about takin’ down Roy or Rick or Harv anymore. This is about settin’ things right. Malice? He’s the one who needs to pay. He’s the one holdin’ those guys down. And hell, if we take The Punch Line out in the process, so be it. But this match? This fight? It’s bigger than all that now.
Johnny nods, his patriotic spirit still burning but tempered with a sense of purpose now. He reaches over and slaps Ryan on the shoulder, trying to keep their morale up.
Johnny Patriot: (confidently) You’re right. We go in there and fight. We do what we have to do, but we don’t forget what’s really at stake. We’ll take down Malice, and if The Punch Line wants to keep standing with him, we’ll put ‘em down too. But no matter what, we’re fighting for something bigger.
Ryan Samuels: (grumbling but agreeing) Damn right. Let’s just get this over with. I’m tired of all the talk.
Johnny stands up, grabbing his flag and slinging it over his shoulder, trying to add a bit of his usual flair to the situation.
Johnny Patriot: (smiling slightly) For freedom, for justice, and maybe, just maybe… for a little bit of clarity, partner.
Ryan grunts and stands up, giving Johnny a half-smirk before shaking his head.
Ryan Samuels: (gruffly) You’re still ridiculous, you know that?
Johnny Patriot: (grinning proudly) That’s why you love me.
The two share a brief chuckle, but the weight of the situation still hangs over them as the scene fades.
POWER DEVIL VS. JEFFREY JAMES ROBERTS
Singles Match
Backstage
REMEMBER WHOSE FAULT THIS IS
Backstage, and we already know who we’re looking at. It’s not the Empire colorway tech fleece suit, though that helps. It’s not even the golden blonde hair or the look of disgust in his eyes. But there’s no one in SHOOT who can match him for lank. Golden Burkhalter is standing with his arms crossed, and he looks…well, he looks a bit pensive. When he speaks, his vocal tone is measured–considered.
Burkhalter: What really fucks me up? Like the part that irks me more than anything is that people…they just say shit about me.
With a shake of his head, he continues.
Burkhalter: They just think they know me, right? Like clearly there can’t be much to me. I’m not blind to it. I know I’m not a road scholar. I know I’m not a genius. I know I’m not much of a tactician, okay? So I get it. But there’s a whole-ass human being here, no matter how you might feel about how I carry myself or handle my business.
His eyes finally meet the camera. We can see now how tense he is, the tendons in his neck visible. Slowly, he uncrosses his arms–his hands fists.
Burkhalter: There’s also a bunch of whole-ass humans in that place, Josh.
With a frustrated sigh, Joey points at the camera.
Burkhalter: You’re so…fuckin’ just doing whatever you want, right? I was just minding my business–you decided you were going to give me charity. I told you on no uncertain terms I wasn’t interested–I thought I was pretty clear, dude–and you decided that wasn’t good enough. And after I decided I needed to teach your ass a lesson, you decided that what our whole ‘thing’ needed was you escalating things too far. Every step you’ve taken, every action you’ve made, all to just feel better about who you are. All to pay for something that doesn’t have anything to do with me, or to maybe give you cover from coming from a position of money. Maybe you can’t understand why I wanted to achieve this off the sweat of my own work and not a handout. Maybe you just can’t get that. Maybe because you’re a “take how I can get it” guy, maybe because you never had to work for shit, maybe because you really think I’m that pathetic. But I wasn’t gonna hand my mom keys to a house I bought with another man’s money. Call that pride if you want, right? Cause I’m deadass that there’s plenty of people watching and saying I’m dumb for leaving free money. Know what every one of you can do?
The New Aeon breaks out into a sneering smirk.
Burkhalter: Nah, I don’t gotta say it. You know.
He walks forwards slowly, taking up more space in the frame. His smirk morphs to a disgusted frown then to a set, stiff lipped gritting of his teeth.
Burkhalter: But I tell you something you don;t already know. This is for you, Josh. Look at my eyes and tell me if I’m a liar, okay? I’m going to get a match with you. And when that bell rings, what I did to you in the hallway is gonna feel like some love tap shit. It’s gonna feel like we were just getting into some horseplay. I didn’t like you when that happened; Now I want to shelf you. Maybe for good. And just so you don’t handwave that, lemme be real clear: Yes, I am threatening your career.
Even closer, Joey moves. Until all that we can see are hisprofile, head and shoulders. He’s not blinking. He’s not moving. He doesn’t even breathe hard–he’s switched to an almost cold, reptilian vibe.
Burkhalter: Look at me, Josh.
He smiles, but there’s nothing warm in it.
Burkhalter: Look me in my eyes.
His gaze narrows.
Burkhalter: Remember where I came from. Remember what I’ve been through. Remember how it felt. You remember, when they’re mopping your blood up. Remember when they’re setting your nose. Remember when they tell you the bad news about how long you’ll be out of active competition. Remember this face. Remember these eyes.
Joey spits.
Burkhalter: And remember whose fault this is.
With that, Joey chuckles–dryly, mirthlessly–and walks out of frame. The feed cuts away…
Backstage
ELIMINATING DISTRACTIONS: PART 2
We cut to the back to find Chick Grillbreast pacing frantically.
Chick Grillbreast: ARGH! I DIDN’T KNOW BIRDS GOT THE FLU! NOW MY EGGS COST $5 A DOZEN!
Chick punches a nearby wall.
Chick Grillbreast: AND CHICKENS CAN’T HAVE CHICKEN SOUP TO GET BETTER BECAUSE THAT’S BIRD CANNIBALISM!
Chick roars out in despair.
Chick Grillbreast: WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO EAT FOR BREAKFAST NOW? EVERYTHING ELSE IS CARBS! WAFFLES, CARBS. PANCAKES, FRENCH TOAST, CARBS. MUFFINS, CARBS! IT CARBAGEDDON!
Chick is about to punch the wall again but stops, as if a lightbulb of an idea went off in his head.
Chick Grillbreast: BACON! Of course! And sausage! Just as long as pigs can’t get the flu also…
The muscular meat man Chick Grillbreast is deep in thought as the camera pans over and shows Kingslayer, his red mask hiding his face and long red trench coat barely touching the ground as he steps into frame and moves slowly towards Chick.
He looks around, presumably for some sort of weapon, and seems to settle on grabbing a large metal skillet from the top of the catering cart. Flecks of dry omelet fall to the ground as he raises it up and closes the distance between himself and a still unaware Chick Grillbreast.
Kingslayer closes the distance and raises the weapon above his head, ready to bring it down — but freezes. The imposing HEXXX member and Chick’s former tag partner continues to hold the skillet up above his head just as Chick turns around and recoils in surprise.
At first, Chick looks concerned but he soon lets out a hearty laugh.
Chick Grillbreast: Dai- Kingslayer! You heard about my sausage and bacon situation and here you are with a frying pan to help me quench my need for protein! How did you know!?
Kingslayer doesn’t respond other than to tilt his head in confusion.
Chick Grillbreast: I know… I know… you can’t be talking to me. Because of … that Lard Von Breadman guy and Yummi Soup Cuckoo lady, but I am so happy you still care about my gainz.
Chick flashes an oblivious smile as Kingslayer lowers the skillet, looking at him intensely as the fighter reaches out and softly grabs a hold of the frying pan, his fingers running along Kingslayer’s hand as he takes the weapon away.
Chick Grillbreast: Now… do you know where we can find some big sausa-
In an instant, Chick Grillbreast is down on the concrete, disoriented face turned to the ceiling as an intense-looking Lars von Bremen steps out of the shadows, cracking his knuckles as he stalks around the recovering Grillbreast.
Lars yells in anger as he kneels down to deliver a solid blow to Chick, sending him recoiling. Kingslayer stands and watches, unable or unwilling to move, as Lars trades his right hand for his left, a big brass ring slicing across the forehead of Chick, bleeding him like a stuck pig before it has the chance to become bacon OR sausage.
Chick doesn’t even have time to yell or scream as he is even barely able to fight back, pushing Lars’ face away from his — but only for a moment. Lars pulls himself on top of Chick so they are staring face to face. Lars is breathing heavily, but has enough energy to look back at Kingslayer and wink.
Lars Von Bremen: How does it feel to know I got to mount him first?
Lars doesn’t wait for any sort of response; instead he turns back to face Chick and swings his right fist wildly at the fighter’s face, then his left, then his right, then his left! Chick coughs up blood as he tries to roll to his side — his face already swelling.
Lars sneers at Chick before stepping up and off of his prey. He watches with a smug satisfaction as he kicks the fighter in the ribs for good measure. Kingslayer still only watches, unmoving as Lars steps back until he’s shoulder to shoulder with his HEXXX associate. He grins with malice.
Lars Von Bremen: You know… that felt great. And I couldn’t have done it without your help, KINGSLAYER. Thanks. I’ll make sure your MOTHER knows how helpful you were.
Lars walks backwards, away from the scene as Kingslayer turns to watch. Lars simply waves a curt goodbye, chuckling to himself as he vanishes into the shadows, leaving emotional and physical carnage in his wake.
RIA VS. AYUMI SEPPUKU
Singles Match
