SHADOWFALL - August 31, 2025

 

Aired - August 31, 2025

SHOW OPENING

[OPENING SHOT]
The broadcast fades in over a sweeping view of the North Pole Arena, bathed in icy-blue spotlights and packed wall-to-wall with roaring NPCW fans waving signs and banners. The camera pans over a sea of homemade placards:

• "GUIDING LIGHT RUDOLPH!"
  
  

• "ABADDON = NIGHTMARE FUEL"
  
  

• "GOLDIE LOCKS SHINES BRIGHT!"
  
  

• "MISFITS = CHAOS FOREVER"
  
  

• "EDDIE ELLINGTON IS ALWAYS RIGHT" (to Eddie’s delight)
  
  

• "WHEEL OF MISFORTUNE = SINBAD’S DOOM"
  
  

• "FLIPPERS > POLAR BEARS"
  
  

Among the crowd, an entire section of fans—the legendary “Flippermaniacs”—are decked out in penguin suits. They wave flippers in the air while holding aloft a massive banner that reads:

"FREEDOM FOR FLIPPERS!"

The chants of “FLIP-PERS! FLIP-PERS!” roll through the arena as the camera lingers on the rowdy contingent.

---

[CAMERA CUT – SPECIAL GUEST FAN BOX]
The shot shifts to a luxury suite, dimly lit with velvet drapery. Sitting front and center is Ardan Vantrell, expression unreadable, hands clasped around a cane with an ornate silver serpent head. The graphic reads:

"Ardan Vantrell – Co-Owner of NPCW"

Beside him: Mistress Tynell, draped in a midnight gown with piercing eyes; Lucien Vantrell, poised like a hawk watching prey; and Lord Gunthar, arms folded, expression grim. The group watches intently, not cheering, but calculating.

---

[CAMERA CUT – COMMISSIONER’S BOX]
Next, the lens glides across to the Commissioner’s suite. Commissioner Bob Cratchit stands front and center in his official jacket, looking proud but anxious. Flanking him:

• Ebenezer Scrooge, stone-faced, clutching a ledger even here at ringside.
  
  

• Fenwick Grimbough, scribbling furiously into a notebook.
  
  

• Ms. Sweetins, smiling politely but clearly ill at ease as Count Vlad Dragomir of HCW’s Dark Dominion looms in the background, pale and cold, his presence unsettling the others in the room.
  
  

The commentary notes the strange alliance of power players, hinting at bigger political games afoot.

---

[CAMERA CUT – FLOOR LEVEL – CELEBRITY ROW]
Back to ringside, the camera finds more VIPs. NPCW staff escort:

• Victoria Deschamps, Vice Director of the KWO Board, regal and confident in her tailored suit.
  
  

• Special Envoy Bernard, expression unreadable behind tinted spectacles.
  
  

• And GCW Global Champion Damien Black, title belt slung over his shoulder, smirking with quiet superiority as he surveys the crowd like a man who knows he belongs anywhere he goes.
  
  

The fans react with a mixture of awe and boos, a storm of energy filling the building.

---

[CAMERA CUT – ANNOUNCE DESK]
Finally, the broadcast settles on the announce team. At the immaculate desk, Johnny "The Mic" Michaels beams in a sharp dark suit, hair slicked, looking every bit the professional host. Beside him lounges The Expert of Elocution, Eddie Ellington—jeans, t-shirt, sunglasses indoors, smirk curling as he points to his own fan sign in the crowd.

Johnny: “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, to the grandest night of the year here at the North Pole Arena! This is NPCW… SHADOWFALL! We are SOLD OUT to the rafters, and the electricity in this building could light up the whole Arctic Circle tonight!”

Eddie: “Of course they’re sold out, Johnny. They heard Eddie Ellington was going to be here! Forget the matches, the fans came for the ‘Expert of Elocution.’ And I gotta tell you, they’re lucky, because tonight is the biggest, the baddest, the most star-studded event NPCW has ever seen.”

Johnny: “That it is, Eddie! Let’s run down the card: First, a clash of light and darkness—Robin Hood, the outlaw hero of the Merry Band, challenges the sinister Abaddon for the Northern Lights Championship!”

Eddie: “Robin Hood? Please. Abaddon’s going to string him up and use him as a scarecrow when it’s over. The Northern Lights title belongs in the shadows.”

Johnny: “Then, the Queen of the North Title will be on the line—Goldie Locks, one of the most popular stars in NPCW today, defends her crown against the dangerous and mysterious Moonshadow!”

Eddie: “Moonshadow is going to paint the North Pole black, Johnny. Goldie’s fairy tale ends tonight, mark my words.”

Johnny: “Speaking of danger, the NPCW Tag Team Titles are on the line in what promises to be pure chaos—the Misfits of Mayhem take on the monstrous Beasts!”

Eddie: “Oh, I can’t wait for this. The Misfits may be crazy, but The Beasts? They’re not even human anymore! Somebody’s getting eaten alive.”

Johnny: “And then, the bizarre spectacle the whole world’s been talking about—The Wheel of Misfortunes Match! Sinbad, the swashbuckling sailor, steps into uncharted waters against The Sandman!”

Eddie: “I don’t care what the wheel lands on—chains, cages, barbed wire, broken glass—the only misfortune here is that Sinbad agreed to show up. Sandman’s going to bury him.”

Johnny (building to a crescendo): “And finally, the Main Event—the match the entire world has been waiting for. Title versus title. Champion versus champion. The NPCW Universal Champion Sinister Klaus collides with the NPCW North Pole Champion, the Guiding Light of NPCW himself—Rudolph—in a two out of three falls match that will decide the fate of this company!”

Eddie: “Fate? Please. There’s only one fate tonight, and it’s Sinister Klaus walking out with both belts. Rudolph’s nose won’t be shining when Klaus is done with him—it’ll be broken!”

Johnny: “Ladies and gentlemen, you can feel the tension in the air—this is SHADOWFALL! Let’s not waste another moment—let the action begin!”

Cue pyro, theme music, and the opening hype video package.

TONIGHT’S TEAM
Johnny “the Mic” Michaels	The Expert of Elocution - Eddie Ellington
Louie Linville RING ANNOUNCER	Smooth Samantha INTERVIEWER
KC Rogers Special Host

“Accompanied by their deranged master of ceremonies, The Mad Hatter… these are the royal wrecking forces of fury, frost, and fear. From the twisted halls of tyranny and elegance… CRIMSON VIPER, THE QUEEN OF HEARTS… DARK DUCHESS, THE QUEEN OF SPADES… and LADY FROST, THE SNOW QUEEN… TOGETHER, THEY ARE… THE QUEENS OF PUNISHMENT!!”

The arena plunges into darkness, and a ticking clock echoes through the speakers. As the final chime tolls, a gothic orchestral waltz fused with industrial undertones erupts. An ornate, oversized playing card flips on the tron with the words: “THE QUEENS DEMAND SILENCE.”

A slow fog rolls down the ramp, glowing in violet, crimson, and ice blue. Out of the mist emerges The Mad Hatter, twirling his oversized cane and top hat, his grin stretching ear to ear as he dramatically gestures to the curtain.

• Crimson Viper slinks out first, crimson gear glistening, coiled whip in hand, hissing toward the camera like a predator ready to strike.
  
  

• Dark Duchess steps out next, draped in black and silver, a cold sneer beneath her lace veil—her presence alone turns cheers to whispers.
  
  

• Lady Frost, the Snow Queen, follows with ghostly grace, icy breath visible in the cold air she seems to conjure, her crown frozen in shimmering frost.
  
  

The three Queens ascend the apron in eerie synchronization. Inside the ring, they strike their signature poses at each corner—deadly, regal, untouchable—as The Mad Hatter claps slowly and maniacally below.

“At a combined weight of 452 pounds… accompanied by The Huntsman… they are the monarchs of malice, the sovereigns of sorrow, and the rulers of ruin… Regina the Evil Queen, Malice, and Rosalyn the Queen of Thorns… THE QUEENS OF DESPAIR!”

The arena goes dark as a slow, ominous orchestral score swells, underscored by the sound of tolling bells and whispering voices. A blood-red spotlight shines on the stage as The Huntsman steps out first, axe slung over his shoulder, glaring at the crowd. Then, through a haze of black smoke, the Queens of Despair emerge one by one—Regina with regal malice, smirking at the jeering fans; Malice stomping forward with raw fury, cracking her knuckles; and Rosalyn the Queen of Thorns, draped in dark roses, running her hands over the barbed vines on her cloak. Together they descend the ramp in perfect, commanding formation, heads high, basking in the chorus of boos, while the Huntsman stalks behind like their silent executioner.

Johnny: “The night begins with royalty, Eddie—six of the most dangerous women in NPCW stepping into the ring to determine supremacy among the Queens! It’s the Despair against the Punishment, and you can already feel the tension.”

Eddie: “Yeah, Johnny, this is my kind of opener. No heroes, no fan favorites—just six ruthless queens and their loyal jesters. These ladies don’t want cheers, they want carnage.”

Johnny: “We’re underway! Crimson Viper starting things off against Malice. Viper wastes no time, takes her up—belly-to-back suplex right out of the gate!”

Eddie: “That’s how you set the tone, Johnny. Don’t lock up, don’t play around, just drop someone on the back of their head.”

Johnny: “Malice firing right back—she’s got Viper twisted in a Cloverleaf! What a counter from the Queen of Despair!”

Eddie: “That’s what I love—blink and you miss it, these women trade punishment like currency.”

Johnny: “Dark Duchess tags in now, but Malice keeps the pressure—another Cloverleaf! Duchess trying to fight free, but no! She’s trapped in the center of the ring.”

Eddie: “That’s twice Malice has knotted someone up like a pretzel. She may look cold and calculated, but those holds? They’ll rip your knees out.”

Johnny: “Regina now the legal woman. Crimson Viper returns as well. Viper quick on the attack—swinging neckbreaker! She planted Regina!”

Eddie: “But Regina’s not rattled—look at that diving elbow drop! Both queens laying into each other—this is a duel of execution.”

Johnny: “Wait a second—Huntsman on the apron! He’s got that shield, trying to blindside Duchess!”

Eddie: “And Duchess saw it coming! Neutralized! You can’t out-cheat the Queens of Punishment, Johnny. They’ve got Mad Hatter in their corner—trickery is their language.”

Johnny: “Lady Frost tags in—wheelbarrow facebuster! She spikes Malice down!”

Eddie: “But Malice isn’t staying down—Modified Scorpion Crosslock! She’s wrenching back, torqueing Frost’s spine!”

Johnny: “Lady Frost fighting through the pain, refuses to tap! She makes it to Viper for the tag!”

Eddie: “That’s ring awareness, Johnny. A queen doesn’t beg for mercy.”

Johnny: “Viper back in—swinging neckbreaker to Malice again! She’s targeting the head, wearing her down.”

Eddie: “And Malice answers with headbutts! No finesse there—just bone to bone.”

Johnny: “Rosalyn now steps in—the Queen of Thorns! Duchess meets her and we’ve got chaos!”

Eddie: “Tilt-a-whirl headscissors from Duchess!”

Johnny: “Rosalyn snaps back with the Scepter Snap—what a German suplex!”

Eddie: “Oh, that’s nasty. Regal, but ruthless. Just the way I like it.”

Johnny: “Viper and Rosalyn now. Viper lifts—belly-to-back suplex connects! Rosalyn tried to block, but she couldn’t.”

Eddie: “That’s the third suplex Viper’s delivered tonight. She’s building an empire of broken backs.”

Johnny: “Oh no—Mad Hatter’s on the apron! He’s showering Rosalyn with confetti—blinding her!”

Eddie: “I told you, Johnny—trickery is their weapon!”

Johnny: “But Rosalyn snaps back anyway—THORN SPIKE locked in! Koji Clutch on Duchess!”

Eddie: “I don’t care how clever you are, Duchess is gasping for air right now.”

Johnny: “Duchess hammering forehand chops into Rosalyn—over and over!”

Eddie: “That’s a beating, Johnny. Rosalyn’s chest looks like it’s been through a guillotine.”

Johnny: “Viper tries a German Suplex—wait! Rosalyn reverses it into the Glass Garden Slam! What a counter!”

Eddie: “That’s why you can’t count her out—those thorns cut deep.”

Johnny: “Mad Hatter again—he just threw hot tea in Rosalyn’s face! And Duchess levels her with the follow-up!”

Eddie: “Hot tea to the eyes—that’s a royal specialty! I love it!”

Johnny: “Duchess chopping Rosalyn to pieces—goes for the cover! 1…2… NO! Rosalyn kicks out!”

Eddie: “That’s stubbornness, Johnny. Sometimes stubbornness wins wars.”

Johnny: “Rosalyn surges back—CROWN OF THORNS! Fujiwara armbar locked in on Duchess!”

Eddie: “She’s got it torqued, Johnny—she’s bending that arm like it’s a dry twig!”

Johnny: “Duchess has nowhere to go—she taps! She taps! The Queens of Despair draw first blood at Shadowfall!”

Eddie: “What a war, Johnny. No alliances, no mercy. The Despair snatched victory out of the Punishment’s claws—and Rosalyn just crowned herself the deadliest queen of them all.”

Johnny: “What an incredible opening contest! Shadowfall is off and running!”

BLONDE BOMBSHELLS 

The camera cuts away from the roar of the North Pole Arena to the backstage interview zone. The NPCW backdrop gleams under the lights, and standing center frame is KC Rogers, radiant in an elegant black dress. She holds her microphone with poise, smiling warmly at the camera.

KC Rogers: *“Ladies and gentlemen, the energy here tonight is electric, and I am joined by three women who know all about shining under the bright lights. Please welcome the reigning Queen of the North Champion, Goldie Locks, and the North Star Tag Team Champions, Alice and Dorothy—the Blonde Bombshells!”

The trio steps into frame, dripping in gold and confidence. Goldie Locks has the Queen of the North title draped across her shoulder, her golden curls bouncing as she tilts her chin up proudly. Alice and Dorothy flank her, each with their North Star tag belts gleaming around their waists, matching glittering attire making them look like stars ready to explode.

KC Rogers: “Goldie, tonight you put your Queen of the North Championship on the line against one of the most mysterious challengers in NPCW—Moonshadow. What’s your mindset walking into Shadowfall?”

Goldie Locks: “KC, Moonshadow wants to make this about fear. She wants to creep around in the darkness, whispering about curses and shadows, like some bedtime story meant to keep children awake at night. But here’s the truth—when the lights shine brightest, Goldie Locks shines brighter. This isn’t just my title, KC, this is our crown—the crown of every fan who believes in us. And tonight, Moonshadow is going to learn that no shadow can eclipse solid gold.”

The crowd in the arena cheers faintly in the background, audible even from backstage.

KC Rogers: “Powerful words, Goldie. And Alice, Dorothy—your championships are also on the line tonight against the Witch’s Coven. Morrigan and Wicked Willow have been circling you two for weeks, looking to reclaim dominance. How are you preparing for this showdown?”

Alice: “KC, you said it—dominance. That’s what the Coven wants. They think by casting spells and stirring their cauldrons, they can hex their way to the top. But Dorothy and I—we didn’t get here by trickery, we got here by fight, by grit, and by never backing down. And we’re not starting tonight.”

Dorothy: “Morrigan, Willow—you can bring your Coven, your curses, your creepy little rituals, but the Blonde Bombshells aren’t afraid of a little hocus-pocus. Because at the end of the night, we’re still walking out with these North Star Championships around our waists.”

KC Rogers: “So the Bombshells are confident, but this is Shadowfall—the stakes are as high as they’ve ever been. Do you three have any last message for your opponents tonight?”

The three champions glance at each other knowingly, smirks spreading across their faces. Goldie raises her title proudly, Alice and Dorothy unclip their belts, all three holding the gold high as they step closer to the camera.

Goldie, Alice & Dorothy (together): “Witches, shadows, whoever wants to step up—just remember one thing… WE WILL BLOW YOU UP—KA-BOOM!”

They shout the final “KA-BOOM!” in unison, thrusting their belts forward as a small burst of pyrotechnic spark goes off behind them, punctuating the catchphrase. KC Rogers laughs, half-startled but smiling as she signs off.

KC Rogers: “Confident and explosive as ever—the Blonde Bombshells are ready for Shadowfall! Back to you ringside!”

The camera fades back to the arena crowd as the commentary team hypes the upcoming title bouts.

“Accompanied by Zeus… They are the celestial conquerors! Forged in battle and born to reign — ARES and MARS… THE GODS OF WAR!”

Thunder cracks and war drums pound as flames burst along the stage. A blinding gold light beams down as ARES and MARS march side by side, cloaked in flowing red and bronze war robes. They rip them off at ringside, revealing sculpted gear and sneering faces. Zeus follows close behind, laughing and raising a staff high as the crowd boos.

“At a combined weight of 505 pounds… the forest’s strongest bond… the towering titan and the cheerful bruiser… LITTLE JOHN and FRIAR TUCK… THE MERRY BAND!”

Cheerful medieval pub music gives way to upbeat folk rock as Friar Tuck and Little John storm the stage. Friar Tuck, jolly and round, twirls a walking stick like a staff, while the towering Little John cracks his knuckles and plays up his brute strength. They clink imaginary mugs together at the top of the ramp, then charge toward the ring, ready for adventure.

Johnny: “Alright folks, buckle up! The power of Olympus is about to collide with the might of Sherwood Forest as the Gods of War take on the Merry Band!”

Eddie: “Johnny, this isn’t even fair. You’ve got living gods in that ring. Ares and Mars—warriors of legend—led by Zeus himself! What chance does a fat friar and a lumberjack with a bad haircut stand?”

Johnny: “That ‘fat friar,’ as you call him, is Friar Tuck—a scrapper with unbelievable resilience. And Little John has proven he can throw anyone around this ring!”

Johnny: “Oh my! All four men are in the ring! Absolute chaos right out of the gate!”

Eddie: “That’s called intimidation, Johnny! Look at Ares with that knee lift—boom! That’ll cave in a chest!”

Johnny: “And Mars squeezing with a bearhug—double power from the Gods of War—but Friar Tuck answers with a chin lock, and Little John hoists Ares for a towering suplex! Bodies everywhere!”

Johnny: “Ares and Tuck remain in! Ares charges—knee lift connects right to the gut!”

Eddie: “Smart strategy! Keep the big man winded. You can’t fight if you can’t breathe!”

Johnny: “Here comes the Merry Band—double team! Tuck cinches in the reverse chin lock, and Little John drops the axe handle across the back! Ares is reeling!”

Eddie: “Reeling?! He’s fine. He’s just…thinking. Gods don’t reel, Johnny!”

Johnny: “Ares fires back with another knee lift—Friar Tuck answers with a huge splash in the corner! Both men hitting heavy!”

Eddie: “Tag out, Ares! Don’t waste your divine energy on these forest dwellers!”

Johnny: “And there’s the tag! Mars in, Little John in!”

Johnny: “The Merry Band isolating Mars now—double shoulder claw, rolling scissors, body tackle—oh! Keg Crusher locked in!”

Eddie: “This is a travesty! Referee Honest Abe is letting blatant double-teaming go on too long! Someone call the Olympic Committee!”

Johnny: “Mars with a knee lift, but Little John won’t quit—forearm smash lands! Mars answers back—what a Samoan Drop!”

Eddie: “Finally! That’s power, Johnny! Look at Mars hoist Little John like a sack of grain!”

Johnny: “Powerbomb from Mars! Little John rocked!”

Johnny: “Mars with a lariat, John with a forearm smash—tag to Ares! But Little John scores with a back smash—he’s got the cover! One… two—NO! Ares kicks out!”

Eddie: “Of course he did! You think a god is losing to a guy who bathes in river water? Please.”

Johnny: “Ares blasting away with knee lifts, but the Merry Band keep tagging and double-teaming—towering suplex, keg crusher again! They’re wearing Ares down!”

Eddie: “Come on, Zeus, do something! Call down a lightning bolt, for crying out loud!”

Johnny: “Little John again with the back smash—cover! One… two—NO! Ares kicks out again!”

Eddie: “That’s warrior spirit, Johnny. You can’t teach that. That’s god-blood running through those veins!”

Johnny: “Mars tagged back in, overhead slam on Friar Tuck—big impact!”

Johnny: “Here comes Ares again—but wait! Friar Tuck counters! Sleeperhold! Sleeperhold locked in tight!”

Eddie: “No, no, no! That friar’s cutting off the oxygen! Somebody break this up!”

Johnny: “Ares is fading—he’s down to a knee—he taps! HE TAPS! Friar Tuck makes Ares submit! The Merry Band have done the unthinkable at Shadowfall!”

Eddie: “This is outrageous! You mean to tell me a pudgy friar just choked out the God of War?! I need a drink.”

Johnny: “Believe it, Eddie! The Merry Band score a massive upset, and the crowd in the North Pole Arena is loving it! Sherwood Forest reigns supreme tonight!”

“Standing at 6 feet 4 inches tall… weighing 260 pounds… from the darkened corners of forgotten legends… he is the relentless force that hunts the night—VAN HELSING!”

The lights drop to near-darkness, replaced by a deep blue hue and slow flashes of silver strobe. A haunting pipe organ plays a gothic orchestral theme layered with thunderclaps and wolf howls. Smoke rolls across the ramp as Van Helsing emerges through the mist, wearing a long black-and-blue duster coat and a shadowed fedora. His cold stare pierces the arena as he walks with purpose—no wasted motion, no theatrics. He stops at the ring steps, slowly tilting his head up toward the rafters before stepping between the ropes like a man on a mission. The crowd chants his name in reverence—not out of excitement, but respect.

“From the darkest winter’s heart… weighing in at 310 pounds of pure terror… He is the Alpha Demon, the BRINGER of NIGHTMARES… THIS! IS! KRAMPUS!

The lights dim to a hellish red as heavy industrial metal slams through the arena. Flames erupt along the ramp as Krampus, a towering, horned figure in black and red, stomps forward dragging rusted chains behind him. The crowd boos in dread-filled silence as Lilith follows closely, basking in the fear.

Johnny: Fans, we are back live at Shadowfall—and it’s time for a collision between the Hunters Enclave and the Demonic Legion! Van Helsing, the eternal slayer, goes one-on-one with the monstrous Krampus!

Eddie: This isn’t just a match, Johnny, it’s a war between myth and monster. And if you ask me, Van Helsing walked into the wrong forest—Krampus is gonna hang him up in the branches like a Christmas ornament.

Johnny: Joining us now at the desk—Count Vlad! Count, welcome to commentary.

Vlad: [calm, aristocratic tone] Thank you, Mister Michaels. It is only fitting I watch the great Van Helsing, a hunter of monsters. I assure you, he will wither tonight, as all mortals do.

Eddie: Ha! Now we’ve got some real class here, Johnny. A man of distinction. A man of vision. Count Vlad, it’s an honor to have you.

Johnny: Count, I’ve got to ask before this one gets underway—your Dark Dominion has been running roughshod over HCW. Last night, Mina Harker turned on Scarlett Howl and aligned with you.

Vlad: Mina has finally embraced her destiny. Why cling to weakness, when power welcomes you with open arms? Tonight, Van Helsing will learn that he too is powerless against inevitability.

Johnny: Well, here comes Van Helsing through the curtain! That iconic wide-brimmed hat, the long coat, the silver stake in hand—this crowd is on their feet!

Eddie: They’re on their feet because they want a good view of the execution. Look at Krampus in the ring already—hooves stomping, horns gleaming, and Lilith whispering dark secrets in his ear. Van Helsing’s about to walk into a nightmare.

Johnny: There’s the bell and we are underway! Van Helsing and Krampus lock up in the center—and Van Helsing strikes first with a STAKE TO THE HEART—heart punch right to the chest!

Eddie: And Krampus shrugs it off! The monster answers with NIGHTMARE’S END—a DDT that spikes Helsing’s head into the mat!

Vlad: Do you see, gentlemen? Even his strongest blow fails to bring the beast down. Mortals always believe one strike will end the darkness. They are wrong.

Johnny: Second minute—Van Helsing charges—SILVER BULLET SPEAR! He just drove through Krampus’s midsection!

Eddie: Krampus is still on his feet! He absorbed it, Johnny! This man is not human!

Johnny: Now Van Helsing tries a chokeslam—but Krampus turns it around into the EVIL EMBRACE! That cross-arm choke is cinched in!

Eddie: He’s gonna snap Helsing’s head right off! Tap out, vampire hunter!

Johnny: Van Helsing’s fading—but no! He won’t submit! He pries his way free!

Vlad: Admirable spirit, but futile. The more he resists, the sweeter his inevitable collapse will taste.

Johnny: Fourth minute—Krampus scoops him up—DEMONIC DRIVER! A tombstone piledriver!

Eddie: Oh, that’s it! Dig the grave, shovel the dirt! Van Helsing’s done!

Johnny: But no cover—Krampus just wants to inflict punishment.

Johnny: Van Helsing answers back in the fifth—powerslam plants Krampus!

Eddie: And Krampus just laughs and throws fists and kicks—Holiday Havoc, Johnny! This is a brawl, not a wrestling match.

Johnny: Running DDT from Van Helsing—but Krampus again with the Demonic Driver! These two are throwing their heaviest shots early!

Vlad: And yet, still Helsing looks to me from the ring. Yes… I see that glare, Van Helsing. But you cannot fight me while you drown in the shadow of the Legion.

Johnny: Van Helsing with a throw—Krampus spills to the floor! The referee is counting!

Eddie: Don’t you worry, Lilith’s urging him back in. Look—Krampus beats the count with ease. This monster doesn’t stay down.

Johnny: Big heart punch again! Van Helsing rocking the monster!

Eddie: But look—Paul “The Grinch” Heyman is choking Van Helsing with a cord on the apron! Come on, ref!

Johnny: “Honest” Abe didn’t see it—Krampus getting away with daylight robbery!

Eddie: That’s smart management, Johnny. Don’t hate the player, hate the hunter.

Johnny: Twelfth minute—Van Helsing lifts him up—BACK TO THE GRAVE! A tombstone piledriver of his own!

Eddie: No way…

Johnny: He hit it clean! Krampus is rocked!

Vlad: Desperation. Even the strongest strike cannot contain true evil.

Johnny: Fourteenth minute—chokeslam from Van Helsing—but Krampus answers with another Nightmare’s End! Both men hammering each other down the stretch.

Eddie: How much do these two even have left?

Johnny: Fifteenth minute—STAKE TO THE HEART lands again! Krampus staggers!

Eddie: Oh no—oh no!

Johnny: Eighteenth minute—Van Helsing lifts him up—BACK TO THE GRAVE! He drives Krampus into the canvas—he hooks the leg—

Crowd: ONE! TWO! THREE!

Johnny: He got him! Van Helsing has pinned Krampus!

Eddie: No! That’s impossible! That’s not right!

Vlad: [cold smile in his voice] One battle. Not the war. He should treasure this fleeting moment… because soon, Van Helsing will beg for the mercy of the grave.

Johnny: Fans, Van Helsing survives the Legion tonight—but with Count Vlad right here at ringside, the war between hunter and darkness is far from over!

The bell has just rung. Van Helsing stands tall over the fallen Krampus, chest heaving, sweat pouring down his face. "Honest" Abe raises his hand in victory as the crowd erupts with cheers. Krampus is dragged from the ring by Lilith, who glares daggers back at Van Helsing as she retreats. But Van Helsing doesn’t celebrate long — his eyes immediately cut toward the commentary desk.

Johnny: Van Helsing did it! He survived the Demonic Legion tonight and stood tall!

Eddie: Yeah, but look at him — he’s not even looking at Krampus anymore, Johnny. He’s looking right at Count Vlad!

Van Helsing storms to the ropes, glaring at Vlad, who sits smugly at the commentary table. Vlad calmly lifts a crystal glass of deep red “wine,” swirling it as the fans buzz with anticipation. Van Helsing exits the ring, walking straight toward the desk. Eddie shifts nervously in his chair.

Johnny: Oh no, this is about to break down!

Van Helsing SLAMS both hands on the commentary table, rattling it violently. Vlad never flinches. He simply sips his glass, sets it down delicately, and smirks. Van Helsing leans in, pointing a finger right at him.

Van Helsing (furious, through clenched teeth): I’m going to get Mina back. Do you hear me? She’s not yours, Vlad! She’s not the Dominion’s!

The crowd roars in approval. Vlad leans back, utterly composed, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his suit jacket before answering in that aristocratic, cold tone.

Vlad (calm, deliberate): Mina has already chosen her path… and it does not lead to your side anymore, Mr. Van Helsing. You hunt the monsters, yes… but she has embraced the true power of the Dark Dominion. And that… smirks, tapping his chest …is where she belongs.

Van Helsing snarls, grabbing the edge of the desk as if he’s about to flip it, his rage boiling over. Vlad, still seated, raises his glass once more in a mock toast, smiling coldly at him.

Eddie: Look at Vlad! Cool as ice, Johnny! He knows he’s in Van Helsing’s head.

Johnny: This is about Mina Harker — this is about the Dark Dominion tearing Van Helsing’s heart out!

Van Helsing finally shoves the desk hard, causing Eddie and Johnny’s monitors to nearly fall over, and storms off up the ramp, still glaring back at Vlad. Vlad chuckles darkly, sipping his “wine” again, savoring the moment as the camera zooms in on his sinister grin.

Johnny: Fans, if you thought this was over, it’s only just beginning. Vlad has Mina, the Dominion has the power, and Van Helsing… has nothing but his rage.

Eddie: And rage gets you killed in this world, Johnny.

The segment fades with a close-up of Vlad’s cold smile as Van Helsing seethes on the stage.

MOONSHADOW

The camera cuts backstage to the interview zone, lit in icy blue and silver tones for Shadowfall. Smooth Samantha, looking sharp in a shimmering midnight-blue gown with a microphone in hand, smiles into the camera.

Samantha: Ladies and gentlemen, Smooth Samantha here, and I’m joined by one of the most enigmatic and dangerous competitors in NPCW — Moonshadow. Later tonight, she challenges Goldie Locks for the Queen of the North Championship. Moonshadow, the big question on everyone’s mind: is tonight the night you finally dethrone the Blonde Bombshell?

Moonshadow steps into frame, pale skin glowing under the lights, her violet hair cascading like a veil. She stares straight into the lens with those piercing, otherworldly eyes. Her voice is soft, melodic, but filled with a haunting edge.

Moonshadow (calm, deliberate): Tonight, the cold winds of the North howl in my favor. Goldie Locks… she clings to her crown, a fragile jewel resting atop her golden head. But shadows are patient, and shadows are inevitable. Tonight, her glitter fades. Tonight… the Queen of the North falls.

She tilts her head, lips curling into a faint smile as the crowd watching on the arena screens reacts. Before she can continue, a heavy hand suddenly lands on her shoulder. The camera pans slightly to reveal The Big Bad Wolf, towering over her, his eyes burning with feral intensity. The crowd gives a mixed roar at his sudden appearance.

Wolf (grinning with menace): Heh-heh… tell ‘em, little moon. Tell ‘em what happens when the Pack gets hungry. Goldie Locks? Alice and Dorothy? The Wolf Pack doesn’t just take titles… we devour legacies. Tonight, the Blonde Bombshells get eaten alive.

Moonshadow shoots him a sideways glance, clearly annoyed at the interruption. She folds her arms, but says nothing — keeping her composure as her “Alpha” prowls in close, sniffing at the camera like a predator sizing up prey.

Wolf (leaning closer to Samantha, growling low): You want a headline, Smooth Sammy? Here it is. The Wolf Pack rules Shadowfall. The wolves run the forest. And by the time this night is over, all your pretty little champions… will be nothing but bones in the snow.

He bares his teeth with a feral grin before stomping offscreen, leaving Samantha blinking nervously. Moonshadow lingers a moment, visibly holding back irritation, then slowly leans toward the mic again, whispering like a dark promise.

Moonshadow (soft, cutting): Queens may shine… but shadows consume everything.

She slips away into the darkness, leaving Samantha standing awkwardly, adjusting herself before regaining her poise.

Samantha (to camera, steadying herself): Well… there you have it. The Wolf Pack making their intentions very clear. Back to you at ringside.

“Making their way to the ring… from parts far stranger than fiction… they are the chaos in the calm, the blonde-streaked storm on the horizon… they are Dorothy and Alice… the BLONDE… BOMB… SHELLS!”

The arena goes dark. Sirens blare faintly beneath an aggressive punk rock beat as a voice screams over the system:
“THEY’RE GONNA BLOW THE PLACE UP… KA-BOOOOOM!”

Suddenly, spotlights hit the crowd — and Dorothy and Alice emerge through the fans, wearing black hoodies, wielding kendo sticks, and full of attitude. They slap hands, shout to the rafters, and storm the barricade with raw energy. As they hit the ring, they rip off the hoodies revealing their custom Blonde Bombshell gear — ready to ignite a revolution.

“Together, they summon fear with every step… One, a harbinger of hexes... the other, a goddess of shadow and death...

Representing The Witch’s Coven... they are the arcane alliance known only as…

THE DAAAARK RIT-UAAAAL!

WICKED WILLOW… AND MORRIGAN!”

The arena drops into total darkness as the slow sound of distant, echoing drums and a whispered incantation plays. A blood-red moon rises on the jumbotron, illuminating a circle of glowing runes as smoke coils from the ramp.

Wicked Willow appears first — draped in tattered robes, her arms painted with twisted sigils. Behind her, Morrigan emerges in a flowing black cloak adorned with Celtic runes and raven feathers. Her eyes seem to pierce through the fog, calm and cruel.

As they walk in unison toward the ring, chanting grows louder, and a storm of crimson sparks rains down from above. Willow reaches the apron and slams her staff down, causing the turnbuckles to glow an eerie red. Morrigan circles the ring like a predator, locking eyes with the crowd. Together, they form the Dark Ritual, promising doom to any who oppose them.

Johnny: Fans, it’s time for the North Star Tag Team Titles to be defended! The reigning champions, the Blonde Bombshells — Alice and Dorothy — putting their gold on the line against the dark, twisted forces of the Witch’s Coven: Morrigan and Wicked Willow!

Eddie: Oh Johnny, tonight we crown NEW champions. The Coven have the numbers, the power, and the brains of the Wicked Witch. The Bombshells? They’ve got peroxide and a catchphrase.

Johnny: You say that every time, Eddie, and yet somehow Alice and Dorothy keep walking out with the belts!

Eddie: Yeah, but tonight they’re not fighting cupcakes. They’re fighting Dark Ritual. These two don’t want to win — they want to break bones.

Johnny: Here we go — Alice starting with Morrigan. Alice comes in quick, double knee drop attempt!

Eddie: And Morrigan just shrugs it off! See that? One of the most powerful women in NPCW, Johnny.

Johnny: Quick tag to Wicked Willow — and oh! Big CHOKEBOMB plants Alice right into the mat!

Eddie: Ha! Welcome to the Coven’s world, Alice. Maybe she should’ve stayed in Wonderland.

Johnny: Alice desperate, makes the tag to Dorothy — but Morrigan right back in and hammering away. Dorothy tries the bulldog — but Morrigan just shuts it down!

Johnny: Oh, Morrigan with a brainbuster — goes for the cover! One… two—no! Alice kicks out!

Eddie: That was three, Johnny, Honest Abe’s slow on the count.

Johnny: He’s the most fair referee in the business, Eddie.

Eddie: Fair? He’s letting Dorothy and Alice double-team half the time! Look at them — hurricanrana, spinebuster, moonsault — what is this, gymnastics class?

Johnny: That’s called tag team synergy, Eddie! That’s why they’re the champions!

Johnny: Oh no! Wicked Willow with the Spider’s Web Sidewalk Slam — cover! One, two—Dorothy kicks out! What heart from the Bombshells!

Eddie: Yeah, but heart doesn’t win titles. You need brains. And the Coven have the Wicked Witch pulling the strings right at ringside.

Johnny: Speaking of—she’s up on the apron! Referee “Honest” Abe trying to keep control here!

Johnny: Morrigan with a spinning back fist — but Dorothy fires back! Emerald City Elbow connects!

Eddie: No! Morrigan had that scouted! She’s too smart for Dorothy.

Johnny: Another cover attempt from Dark Ritual — but the Bombshells won’t stay down! Alice tagging in, Wonderland’s End Moonsault! Cover! One… two—Morrigan makes the save!

Eddie: Close call. Too close.

Johnny: And listen to this crowd, Eddie, they’re firmly behind Alice and Dorothy!

Eddie: That’s because they’re idiots.

Johnny: Willow and Morrigan trying to overwhelm Dorothy with double-teaming now — somersault leg drop, knee facebreaker combo! Dorothy is in trouble!

Eddie: Come on, finish her! Put the blondes away once and for all!

Johnny: Dorothy counters! School-Girl Roll-Up! One… two—no, Willow kicks out!

Eddie: Whew. That was close.

Johnny: But wait — Wicked Willow looks shaken up! She’s hurt, Eddie!

Eddie: No, no, no, no! This isn’t happening!

Johnny: Dorothy sees the opening! School-Girl Roll-Up — the referee’s there! One… two… three! They got her! They did it!

Eddie: WHAT?!

Johnny: The Blonde Bombshells retain the North Star Tag Team Championships! Dorothy with the roll-up on Wicked Willow, and Alice and Dorothy are still on top of the division!

Eddie: This is a travesty, Johnny! Morrigan wasn’t the legal one! The Witch got distracted! Willow was clearly injured!

Johnny: None of that matters — all that matters is Alice and Dorothy fought through the darkness and kept the gold around their waists!

Eddie: You just wait, Johnny. The Coven don’t forget. And the next time, the Bombshells won’t be walking away — they’ll be carried out!

Johnny: What a war — and what a victory for the champions! Fans, stay with us — more Shadowfall action continues after this!

“From the heart of the North Pole, the matriarch of merriment and the iron will behind the holiday throne… she is festive fury and yuletide justice rolled into one! This… is MRS. CLAUS!!”

Soft orchestral bells open her theme, before swelling into a bold, holiday big band march with strong brass and choir backing. The lights shift to a warm golden glow as Mrs. Claus steps onto the stage in her signature red and white cloak, holding a candy cane staff and smiling with pride. She waves to children in the audience, then hands off her staff, takes off the cloak to reveal a ring-ready red-and-white singlet — and walks determinedly to the ring, blowing kisses and high-fiving fans. But make no mistake: when the bell rings, this sweet grandmother turns all business.

“Approaching the ring, she hails from the edge of the veil between life... and what lies beyond... she is the cursed conjurer of doom... the harbinger of the Coven... LAAA BRUUUJAAAAA MUERRRTE!!”

The arena dims to a deathly violet hue as ominous chimes and slow, ritualistic Latin chanting begin to echo. A heavy, doom-laced metal track kicks in with deep drums and thunderclaps. La Bruja Muerte slowly emerges through a swirling haze of incense smoke, draped in black lace and bone-white face paint resembling a gothic calavera. Her eyes fixed on the ring—never acknowledging the crowd. Her aura radiates inevitability—cold, merciless, and cursed.

Johnny: Fans, it’s time for another chapter in this escalating war between holiday cheer and dark magic! Mrs. Claus herself is stepping into the ring tonight to take on the Coven’s own La Bruja Muerte, with the entire Coven lurking at ringside!

Eddie: Escalating war? Johnny, this is a massacre waiting to happen! Look at Mrs. Claus — she should be in the kitchen baking gingerbread cookies, not standing across from La Bruja Muerte, one of the deadliest competitors in the world.

Johnny: Well, Mrs. Claus has proven time and again she’s tougher than she looks — and the crowd here in the North Pole Arena is solidly behind her tonight!

Eddie: Of course they are. Half these people probably got socks and fruitcake from her last Christmas.

Johnny: There’s the bell — and Mrs. Claus right out of the gate with a Jolly Holly Suplex!

Eddie: Too early, Johnny. You don’t just suplex La Bruja Muerte in the first minute and expect it to stick. Look — she shrugs it off like it’s nothing!

Johnny: But Mrs. Claus answering right back with those heavy back hand chops — listen to that echo through the arena!

Eddie: Yeah, sure, and then La Bruja grabs the arm — Cross Armbreaker! That’s the difference, Johnny. Mrs. Claus slaps, La Bruja dismantles.

Johnny: Wait a minute — the Wicked Witch has climbed up on the apron! Morrigan distracting “Honest” Abe while Willow’s chanting on the outside — that’s a Hex distraction!

Eddie: Beautiful teamwork, Johnny. That’s why they call it a Coven! Mrs. Claus didn’t even see it coming!

Johnny: How can you applaud this blatant cheating?!

Eddie: I call it strategy. You call it “cheating” because you still believe in Santa Claus.

Johnny: Back and forth now, Mrs. Claus with a Rolling Forearm Smash—but La Bruja answers with a nasty Snap Suplex!

Eddie: See? Bruja Muerte hits the mat with a purpose. Every move looks like it breaks bones.

Johnny: And now up top — oh no, oh no—Blood Moon Bomb from the top rope!

Eddie: That’s it! Pin her and gift-wrap the victory!

Johnny: Wait — Mrs. Claus reverses the pin! She’s got her rolled up! One… no! Bruja kicks out just in time!

Eddie: I nearly spilled my eggnog, Johnny! Don’t do that to me!

Johnny: Mrs. Claus not backing down — Spreading Christmas Joy Hug! She’s squeezing the life out of La Bruja!

Eddie: Oh come on! That’s not a wrestling move, Johnny, that’s a grandma hug! You don’t win titles with affection!

Johnny: Well, the crowd loves it — and Mrs. Claus is on fire! Christmas Lights Clothesline! La Bruja goes down hard!

Eddie: This isn’t fair — she’s feeding off the crowd’s delusion.

Johnny: La Bruja fires back with a Hell’s Halo DDT attempt—but Mrs. Claus blocks it! Counter kick to the midsection!

Eddie: Lucky shot. That’s all this is — luck. And it’s gonna run out real soon.

Johnny: Another exchange — Bruja connects with a Running Dropkick, but Mrs. Claus still won’t stay down!

Eddie: Honest Abe needs to do the right thing and stop this match. Save Mrs. Claus from herself.

Johnny: Stop the match? She’s giving Bruja everything she can handle!

Johnny: Now wait—oh no—the arena lights are flickering!

Eddie: Oh, that’s not a power outage, Johnny, that’s the Coven calling on the darkness! Look how rattled Mrs. Claus is!

Johnny: Rattled or not, she just hit another Jolly Holly Suplex in total darkness! The crowd roaring for her!

Eddie: Ugh, it’s like watching Christmas defeat Halloween. It shouldn’t happen!

Johnny: Mrs. Claus mounting momentum — forearms, chops, another Spreading Joy Hug!

Eddie: No, no, no, somebody stop this holly jolly nightmare!

Johnny: Claus Crunch! The standing splash connects! She’s covering La Bruja!

Crowd: ONE… TWO… THREE!

Johnny: She’s done it! Mrs. Claus has defeated La Bruja Muerte in the center of the ring!

Eddie: No, no, no, I refuse to believe it. She stole one, Johnny! The Wicked Witch was distracted, Willow wasn’t ready, something went wrong!

Johnny: It doesn’t matter how it happened — Mrs. Claus stands tall tonight at Shadowfall! And listen to this North Pole Arena erupt in Christmas cheer!

Eddie: Christmas cheer? More like Christmas disaster. This isn’t over, Johnny. The Coven doesn’t lose twice. Mrs. Claus just signed herself up for something much, much worse down the road.

Johnny: Maybe so, Eddie — but tonight, holiday spirit prevails!

MISFITS OF MAYHEM 

Camera fades into the Misfits of Mayhem locker room. The lighting is low, a single lamp flickering overhead. KC Rogers stands front and center in a glittering silver sequined dress, microphone in hand. Behind her, Ace MacDougal paces restlessly in his aviator bomber jacket, a cigar stub dangling from his lips. Madman Mason sits in a folding chair, wearing oversized ear muffs, staring directly into the camera like he’s looking through it. Negropolis looms in the corner, arms crossed, his skull mask reflecting the dim light.

KC Rogers: Ladies and gentlemen, I’m here in the Misfits of Mayhem locker room with the NPCW Tag Team Champions—Madman Mason, Negropolis, and their manager Ace MacDougal. Tonight, they defend the gold against the monstrous Beasts. Ace, the Primal Horde’s mind games have taken their toll on this team—most notably Mason, who has been without his emotional support penguin, Flippers, for weeks. How is the team holding up heading into this critical match?

Ace MacDougal: (leans in, cigar wagging as he talks in his thick Scottish brogue) Ach, lassie, ye dinnae need tae worry aboot the Misfits! Look at us—we’re tighter than a Christmas ham wrapped wi’ duct tape! Aye, it’s been rough, aye, it’s been heartbreakin’. Poor Jack here—(pats Mason’s shoulder, Mason doesn’t move, still staring into camera)—he’s had tae soldier on without his wee penguin. They ripped Flippers away like some cruel winter gale. But tonight? (grins wide) Tonight we’re walkin’ out STILL yer NPCW Tag Team Champions. And ye ken whit else? We’re gettin’ Flippers back. The Beasts may bark, they may bite, but we’ll cage ‘em up and send ‘em back tae Dr. Moreau’s cursed lab, mark my words.

KC Rogers: Mason… I have to ask. You’ve been silent since this lullaby has haunted you. Can you tell the fans what’s going through your head right now before this match?

Camera zooms in on Mason’s face. His eyes are cold, unblinking. He just stares into the lens, breathing slowly, his ear muffs snugly over his head. The silence is deafening.

Ace MacDougal: (steps in, half laughing, half serious) Ah, KC, ye sweet daft lass. Jack cannae hear ye. Ye see, he’s locked in. Those ear muffs keep oot the Polly’s cursed lullaby, and keep his heid clear. No more of that song twisting his brain. Naw. Tonight he’s focused, tonight he’s ready tae rumble. An’ trust me—when Mason’s focused, it’s like tossing a lit match into a petrol station. CHAOS, lassie. Pure chaos.

KC Rogers: (a little unsettled) …Right. Negropolis, you’ve been quiet as always. Any final thoughts heading into tonight’s title defense?

Negropolis steps forward slowly, towering over KC, his voice low and gravelly like broken stone.

Negropolis: The Beasts took Flippers. They dragged him into the dark. That crime cannot be forgiven. Tonight… their reckoning begins. They will feel despair. They will feel ruin. And when the ashes settle… the Misfits of Mayhem will still reign. For every wound they’ve dealt us… we will carve it back tenfold. The Beasts will not survive the night.

Negropolis stares into the camera for a long, chilling beat. Mason remains motionless beside him, eyes still locked on the lens. Ace smirks, tugging his cigar, then pats KC on the shoulder like nothing’s wrong.

Ace MacDougal: Now run along, lass. Best tae be out the room before Jack decides tae smash something that isnae nailed tae the floor.

KC looks back nervously as the camera fades to black on Mason’s eerie stare and Negropolis’ shadow looming behind him.

Johnny “The Mic” Michaels: Eddie, I’ll be honest—that gave me chills. Mason hasn’t said a word, Negropolis is practically a walking omen, and Ace MacDougal… well, he seems convinced. The Misfits of Mayhem are more dangerous than ever heading into this one.

Eddie Ellington: Dangerous? Johnny, they’re unhinged! Mason’s sittin’ there like he’s possessed, Negropolis is talkin’ like he’s narratin’ a horror film, and Ace is puffin’ cigars like it’s Hogmanay. These aren’t champions—these are asylum escapees with gold belts!

Johnny: You may not like them, Eddie, but you can’t argue with results. Tonight, they put it all on the line against The Beasts. Can they keep their titles and finally reclaim their mascot, Flippers?

Eddie: If they don’t implode first! Mason looks like he’s ready to tear the world in half just by staring at it. If I were The Beasts, I’d be licking my chops. This could be the night the Misfits finally crack.

Johnny: Fans, buckle up—this one’s going to be chaotic. The Misfits of Mayhem versus The Beasts is coming up later tonight!

Backstage: Robin Hood is lacing up his boots, preparing for his title shot. Maid Marion approaches in a flowing green cloak.

Maid Marion: Robin… please. Let me come with you tonight.

Robin Hood: (hesitant) Marion, it’s too dangerous. You know what the Legion’s capable of.

Maid Marion: Then all the more reason I should be by your side. You’ve carried this fight alone long enough.

Robin pauses, takes a breath, and finally nods. They walk together toward the curtain.

“He is the harbinger of annihilation… the DEMON OF DESTRUCTION… weighing in at 320 pounds of chaos and carnage… THIS… IS… ABADDON!”

A deep rumble shakes the arena as red strobe lights flicker to a pounding war drum beat. Abaddon storms out, muscles rippling and eyes blazing. Clad in demonic armor and breathing heavily through a spiked mask, he rips apart a chain across his chest before roaring at the crowd.

“From the heart of Sherwood Forest… the legendary outlaw turned hero… clever, cunning, and courageous… ROBIN HOOOOD!”

The sounds of flutes and galloping hooves open the theme — a rousing orchestral folk-rock mix. Robin Hood appears in a green hooded cloak, bow slung over his shoulder, standing proudly at the top of the ramp. He gestures to the crowd like a noble outlaw before making his way down with a confident, swashbuckling strut, slapping hands and grinning with charm.

Johnny: Fans, we are moments away from the Northern Lights Championship match! Robin Hood challenging Abaddon, the monster of the Demonic Legion, and Eddie, this story has been intense from the start.

Eddie: Intense? It’s been humiliating! Let’s not forget, Robin Hood only held that title for one day before Abaddon snatched it away at Polar Meltdown Aftermath. That’s gotta be some kind of record for shortest reign.

Johnny: And Grinch Heyman has been waving around a mysterious envelope ever since, threatening to expose Robin Hood with whatever is inside. But last night, Robin was spotted sneaking away from the Legion’s dressing room with that very envelope in his hands!

Eddie: Oh please, Johnny. Stealing envelopes in the dead of night? That’s not a hero—that’s a crook. Abaddon’s gonna punish him tonight, and Heyman’s finally going to show the world what’s in that envelope.

(Bell rings — Honest Abe calls for action. Match begins.)

Johnny: And here we go! Robin charges, Abaddon swings first—Netherstrike connects, but Robin catches him with a Pop-Up Powerbomb out of nowhere! This crowd is on fire!

Eddie: Bah! It’s minute one, Johnny. Even a broken bow hits the target once. Abaddon’s just warming up.

(The back-and-forth begins: suplexes, power moves, Robin’s quick counters. By the 5th minute, both men are trading heavy shots.)

Johnny: Superkick from Robin! Pop-Up Powerbomb! He’s throwing everything he has at the champion!

Eddie: Yeah, and Abaddon’s still standing. You think one merry little outlaw’s gonna take down the Beast of the Legion? Give me a break!

(By the 11th minute, Abaddon nails Abaddon’s Fury and nearly pins Robin, but he kicks out. Marion cheers from the outside, urging him on.)

Johnny: So close! Robin just barely surviving the F-5 variant of Abaddon’s Fury!

Eddie: That’s survival instinct. Even raccoons in the garbage fight when cornered.

(Momentum swings again. At the 17th minute, Lilith blinds Robin with mist, while Heyman waves the envelope at Marion. She reaches for it…)

Johnny: Wait a minute—Lilith with the mist! And Grinch Heyman, what is he—he’s handing that envelope to Maid Marion?!

Eddie: Finally! The truth comes out! Go on, open it, sweetheart. Let’s see what your precious Robin’s been hiding.

(Robin fights back, scoring huge moves—Superkicks, German Suplexes, Pop-Up Powerbombs. But at the 22nd minute, Heyman hands Marion the envelope. She opens it—her face falls.)

Johnny: Oh no… Maid Marion looks devastated! What’s in those photos?!

Eddie: Whatever it is, it ain’t good for Mr. Steal-from-the-rich-and-lose-to-the-poor!

(Robin is visibly distracted by Marion, who backs away in tears. Abaddon seizes the moment, crushing him with suplexes and the Hellbreaker. Robin rallies for one last Pop-Up Powerbomb, but as Marion walks up the ramp in tears, Robin freezes, staring after her. Abaddon locks in the Demonic Grip.)

Johnny: Robin’s looking at Marion—he’s distracted—Abaddon’s got the Demonic Grip cinched in!

Eddie: Squeeze him like the little thief he is! Squeeze, Abaddon!

(Robin struggles, eyes locked on Marion as she leaves, but finally taps out.)

Johnny: No! Robin Hood submits! Abaddon retains the Northern Lights Championship!

Eddie: Ha! I told you, Johnny! He quit! The so-called hero quit! The Demonic Legion reigns supreme again!

Lilith raises Abaddon’s hand as Heyman smirks, holding the now-empty envelope. Robin is slumped in the ring, furious, shouting after Heyman.

Robin Hood: WHY?! WHY?!

Heyman just smirks, pats Abaddon on the shoulder, and walks away with Lilith and the champion.

Johnny: Eddie, whatever was in those pictures—it tore Maid Marion apart, it distracted Robin Hood, and it just cost him the Northern Lights Championship.

Eddie: (laughs) Cost him? No, Johnny—Heyman exposed him. And you know what? Robin’s not half the man people think he is. Abaddon just showed the world.

Johnny: I don’t buy that for one second! Robin Hood fought his heart out, but this was nothing short of manipulation by Heyman and the Legion. Fans, Robin is heading backstage now—after Marion. We’ll try to get answers later tonight.

Camera cuts to Robin storming up the ramp, still demanding answers as the crowd boos Heyman’s smug grin.

Camera rushes backstage after the Northern Lights Championship match. The hallway is dim, shadows thrown by buzzing fluorescent lights. Maid Marion is storming away, clutching the crumpled photos, tears streaming down her face. Robin Hood chases after her, still in his wrestling gear, battered and bruised from the match.

Robin Hood: (panting, desperate) Marion—wait! Please, just hold up a second! Let me explain—

Marion stops, pivots sharply, and SLAPS him across the face. The sound echoes through the hallway.

Maid Marion: (voice breaking) How could you, Robin?! After everything we’ve been through! After everything we’ve fought for—this?!

Robin holds his cheek, eyes wide, guilt written all over his face. He steps forward, hands out pleadingly.

Robin Hood: Marion, please… it’s not what it looks like. I swear to you, I can explain—

Marion shoves him back with both hands, furious and heartbroken.

Maid Marion: Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare lie to me again!

Suddenly, Friar Tuck and Little John rush into the scene. Little John immediately wraps his big arm around Marion, guiding her away protectively as she sobs against him. Robin tries to follow, reaching out, but Friar Tuck steps in front of him, planting his hand firmly on Robin’s chest.

Robin Hood: (pleading) Tuck, please—let me talk to her! She needs to hear the truth—

Friar Tuck: (firm, low voice) Let her go, Robin. You need to calm down.

Robin stares at Tuck, torn between rage, desperation, and shame. Tuck glances down at the floor, spotting the photos Marion dropped in her anger. The camera follows his gaze—close-up on the photos, showing Robin Hood in a romantic embrace with Lilith, the seductive demoness of the Demonic Legion. The image is undeniable.

Tuck bends down, picks one up, stares at it for a long, heavy beat. He exhales through his nose, his face twisting in disappointment and anger. He throws the photo back to the ground and shakes his head.

Friar Tuck: (gravelly, cutting) You stupid fool.

With that, Tuck turns his back on Robin, walking away to catch up with Little John and Marion. Robin is left standing alone, chest heaving, eyes glassy, his world collapsing around him. The camera lingers as he slowly kneels, gathering the scattered photos with trembling hands, staring down at his own betrayal staring back at him. The crowd in the arena can be heard reacting audibly through the monitors in the background—boos, gasps, even chants of “You sold out!”

Camera pans down one last time to the photo of Robin and Lilith locked in that forbidden embrace… then fade back to the announce desk.

Johnny: (shaking his head, voice heavy) Folks, I… I don’t know what to say. We just saw it with our own eyes. Those pictures—Robin Hood and Lilith—together. And now, Maid Marion’s walked away in tears, his brothers in the Merry Band leaving him behind. Robin Hood is… alone.

Eddie: (smirking) Ha! What did I tell you, Johnny? The so-called hero of the people, the great noble outlaw? Nothing but a fraud! He betrayed Marion, he betrayed his friends, and worst of all—he betrayed every fan who ever believed in him!

Johnny: No, Eddie, we don’t know the whole story. We don’t know when or how those pictures were taken. This could all be another twisted scheme by Grinch Heyman and the Demonic Legion to tear Robin apart from the inside.

Eddie: (mocking tone) Oh sure, Johnny. Because all those “romantic embraces” just happen by accident, huh? Give me a break. Pictures don’t lie, and neither does Marion’s heart. Robin Hood’s got no one to blame but himself.

Johnny: (somber, reflective) Whatever the truth is, the damage is done. Robin Hood has lost the Northern Lights Title, lost Maid Marion, and maybe even lost the Merry Band. Fans, I don’t know what’s next for Robin Hood, but one thing’s certain—his world just came crashing down here tonight at Shadowfall.

Camera fades to black on Johnny’s troubled face while Eddie chuckles smugly beside him.

POLLY AND THE HORDE 

The camera cuts to Smooth Samantha, radiant in a sleek emerald-green gown, standing backstage with microphone in hand. Behind her looms an eerie sight: the hulking Beasts, shifting and breathing heavily like caged predators, their eyes wild and feral. Between them stands Polly Mason, beaming with a manic gleam, swaying side to side with theatrical delight. And behind them all, looming like a monolith, stands Marcus—arms crossed, leather duster hanging from his massive frame, a heavy steel chain draped over his shoulders. At his feet sits a reinforced cage… and inside, trembling, is poor Flippers the penguin, their captured mascot.

Smooth Samantha: “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m here backstage at Shadowfall with Polly Mason, the Beasts, and their ever-imposing Beast Master Marcus. In just moments, they’ll challenge the Misfits of Mayhem for the NPCW Tag Team Championships. Polly… how are you feeling heading into tonight’s match?”

Polly’s head tilts at the question, her smile stretching unnaturally wide. She steps forward, almost skipping, and grips the microphone with painted fingernails. Then, without warning, her expression softens into mock sadness—before bursting into a twisted sing-song cadence.

Polly (singing):
Oh Jackie boy, my brother cruel,
You mocked my dreams, you broke the rules.
You stole my dolls, you cracked my voice—
But tonight, dear Jack, you’ve got no choice.

You teamed with shadows, cloaked in grime,
But blood runs thin when it’s soaked in slime.
Negropolis? A walking tomb—
But my Beasts bring your final doom.

You held the belts, you played the kings,
But royalty falls when chaos sings.
The titles shine, but not for long—
My monsters march, relentless, strong.

And Flippers? Oh, that waddling fool—
A mascot pawn in Polly’s rule.
He served his purpose, danced his jig,
Now he’s mine to crush or rig.

So Misfits, tremble, feel the quake—
Your family ties are set to break.
The Beasts will feast, the crowd will cry—
And Polly Mason will rise sky-high.

Polly bows with a flourish, arms outstretched like a victorious diva on stage. The Beasts growl and pound their chests, rattling the cage. Flippers flaps his wings in terror. Samantha looks unsettled, but steadies the microphone.

At that moment, Marcus steps forward. His shadow swallows the frame. He places one massive hand on the cage, silencing the Beasts instantly. His eyes are cold, his voice lower than thunder.

Marcus (gravelly, cold): “Tonight… the Beasts don’t just take your belts. They take your hope. Jack Mason—no lullabies, no excuses. Just pain.”

Marcus pushes the cage back, chains clinking as he crosses his massive arms again. Polly claps her hands together like a child, then points toward the arena entrance.

Polly (shrieking): “Come, my monsters! The feast awaits!”

The Beasts let out a guttural roar, and the group storms off toward the entrance. The lights flicker. The arena’s speakers crackle, and that haunting lullaby—the same eerie tune that has stalked Jack Mason for weeks—echoes through the air as the camera lingers on the cage holding Flippers.

The segment fades to black, and the sound of the lullaby bleeds seamlessly into the live arena feed.

[Cut back to ringside – Johnny “The Mic” Michaels and Eddie Ellington at the announce desk]

“Accompanied to the ring by Polly Mason and Marcus the Beastmaster… at a combined weight of six-hundred and eighty-five pounds of primal fury… the genetically unleashed monsters of the Primal Horde… THE BEASTS!”

The arena plunges into darkness as primal howls echo through the speakers. A distorted mix of tribal drums and metal riffs erupts, and two massive silhouettes stomp onto the stage — Beast 1 and Beast 2. Their wild hair, fangs, and snarling expressions are illuminated in flashes of blood-red strobe lights. Polly Mason screeches and laughs manically, hyping them up, while Marcus the Beastmaster stalks behind them with his steel chain, keeping the monsters on a leash. In his hands is the caged penguin, Flippers. The Beasts thrash at the barricades, roaring at the fans, before storming the ring like predators about to feast.

Johnny (wide-eyed, leaning forward): “Eddie… I don’t even know what to say. That was—chilling. Polly Mason just turned a pre-match interview into a funeral dirge, and with Marcus holding that cage, it looks like Flippers’ time may be running out.”

Eddie (smirking, smug): “Chilling? Johnny, that was beautiful! Did you hear those lyrics? That girl’s a poet, a prophet! Polly Mason has taken this whole twisted saga and turned it into art. And with Marcus and the Beasts by her side, the Misfits of Mayhem are in for the beating of their lives.”

Johnny (shaking head): “Beautiful? Eddie, that wasn’t art, that was a threat! Polly promised destruction—she promised to break family bonds, to humiliate her own brother, Jack Mason, and to wipe away everything the Misfits have fought for. And Marcus… that man doesn’t even need to wrestle—he’s an army all by himself!”

Eddie (leaning in): “Exactly, Johnny. Look at them! The Beasts are monsters. Marcus is a one-man wall. And Polly Mason? She’s the evil genius pulling the strings. Tonight, the Misfits aren’t just defending titles—they’re defending their family name. And trust me, it’s not looking good.”

Johnny (firm, resolute): “Well, Eddie, maybe you’ve forgotten who you’re talking about. Negropolis—the stoic sentinel. Madman Mason—the man who’s endured mind games, lullabies, and the kidnapping of his emotional support penguin… and still keeps fighting. They’ve been beaten down, they’ve been mocked, but tonight? Tonight they’ve got a chance to rise above it all!”

Eddie (snorting): “Rise above it all? Please. Jack Mason can barely keep his marbles together. He’s been hearing songs in his head for weeks! If he can’t handle a little music, how’s he gonna handle two beasts and a mastermind like Marcus?”

Johnny (voice rising as the lullaby fades into the arena speakers): “We’re about to find out, Eddie. The Misfits of Mayhem are moments away from making their entrance… and with the stakes this high—the NPCW Tag Team Titles and the future of their family pride on the line—this is going to be a war!”

[Arena lights dim, crowd buzzes, the Misfits’ entrance begins.]

“Accompanied to the ring by Ace MacDougall… the current NPCW Tag Team Champions… weighing in at a combined 522 pounds of absolute unpredictability… they are the agents of anarchy, the lords of lunacy… THE MISFITS OF MAYHEM!!”

[The haunting lullaby that has underscored the Beasts’ promo continues to echo, eerie and unsettling. Suddenly—BOOM! Pyro erupts in jagged bursts of red and white, cutting through the music like a thunderclap. The lullaby cuts out mid-note. The crowd erupts.]

[“Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns N’ Roses (or NPCW’s equivalent) roars over the speakers.]

Johnny (shouting over the music): “There it is! The Misfits are here—and they’re not coming to sing lullabies, they’re coming to fight!”

[From the entrance tunnel, Ace MacDougal charges out first—loud, brash, arms windmilling as he rallies the crowd. He’s dressed in his trademark bomber jacket and scarf, playing conductor to the chaos. Behind him looms Negropolis—towering, stoic, his black trench coat flowing, his skull mask catching the arena lights. He walks with steady, terrifying purpose.]

[And then—Madman Mason bursts out. He’s got on his heavy industrial-style headphones, thick padded earmuffs clamped tight over his ears, and a manic look in his eyes. His movements are jerky, unhinged, unpredictable. He stops halfway down the ramp, staring into the camera with that cold, emotionless glare—like he’s already in another world. The crowd roars louder.]

Eddie (snide): “Look at him, Johnny. Headphones, earmuffs—what’s next, a blindfold? That man’s broken, and Polly knows it!”

Johnny (firm): “Broken? No, Eddie—focused. Those headphones aren’t weakness—they’re his shield. The Misfits aren’t walking into a trap tonight, they’re walking into war on their own terms!”

[On the way to the ring, Ace shouts into the camera, thick Scottish burr booming:]
Ace: “Jack’s locked in! The lullaby’s dead, the Beasts are doomed, and Flippers is comin’ home! Tonight, Misfits march!”

[Negropolis climbs the steel steps, moving slowly and deliberately, never breaking eye contact with Marcus and the Beasts at ringside. He stands on the apron like a sentinel, raising one massive arm in silent defiance. The crowd pops huge.]

[Mason slides under the bottom rope, pops up to his feet, and immediately tears at the turnbuckles, pacing like a caged animal. He points straight at Polly, then at Marcus, then presses his headphones tighter against his head, shaking violently as though psyching himself into another level of madness.]

[Ace joins them in the ring, arms raised to pump the crowd, while Negropolis plants himself behind Mason, looming like a grim shadow of inevitability.]

Johnny (voice rising): “The Misfits of Mayhem—united, dangerous, and ready to fight for family, for Flippers, and for those tag team championships!”

Eddie (with a scoff): “Family? Johnny, Polly is family—and she brought the monsters. Tonight, the Beasts aren’t leaving empty-handed… they’re leaving with those belts and Jack Mason’s sanity.”

[Camera pans over both teams staring each other down—the Beasts with Marcus and Polly, dark and menacing with Flippers’ cage in hand; the Misfits wild, defiant, and ready for war. The tension crackles.]

Johnny (dramatic): “Ladies and gentlemen… it’s time!”

[Bell rings for the championship match.]

Referee: “Honest” Abe

Johnny: “It’s all on the line here in Shadowfall! The Misfits of Mayhem defend the NPCW Tag Team Championships against the monstrous tandem Polly Mason has dubbed… the Beasts! And Eddie, the emotions in this building are white hot.”

Eddie: “White hot? More like red raw! Look at Polly—look at that cage! Flippers is sitting in there, the Misfits’ precious penguin, and Marcus looming behind her like a one-man army. The Beasts aren’t just after the titles, Johnny—they’re here to break family ties once and for all!”

Johnny: “Family is exactly what this is about, Eddie. Mason fighting against his own sister’s twisted crusade, Negropolis standing by his partner, Ace barking from the corner—it’s chaos, it’s heartbreak, and it’s for the gold.”

Johnny: “And here we go—Mason charging in first against Beast number one! The big man’s got fire tonight!”

Eddie: “He’s got headphones on, Johnny! Headphones! What kind of lunatic wrestles with earmuffs? Oh right—Madman Mason does!”

Johnny: “Those earmuffs are blocking out Polly’s lullaby, Eddie! Mason’s staying locked in—oh! Belly-to-belly suplex! The strength of Mason!”

Eddie: “Yeah, but look at the Beasts—immediately swarming, cutting the ring in half. Double-team headlock, bodyslam—this is how you do it! This is tag team wrestling, Johnny. They’re not mad, they’re smart!”

Johnny: “Mason with the tag! Here comes Negropolis—the dark sentinel of the Misfits—big thrust kick, and now a Doom Bomb! Beast one is rocked!”

Eddie: “That skull mask doesn’t make him invincible, Johnny. Look at Beast two—already mauling him with that headlock. That’s raw power against some guy who thinks he’s Batman!”

Johnny: “Batman or not, Negropolis just planted him with the Black Doom! Honest Abe down—one… two—no! Only two!”

Johnny: “These four men are just battering each other—suplexes, slams, bombs—and every time you think it’s over, someone digs deeper! Mason with a spinebuster slam!”

Eddie: “And Beast two says ‘I’ll take that, thank you very much,’ with a headbutt right between the eyes! And—oh ho! He reverses Mason’s pin attempt! Look at that! One… two—no, Mason barely kicks out!”

Johnny: “This is incredible! This isn’t just a title match, Eddie, this is a war for pride, for blood, for family!”

Johnny: “Negropolis back in—Flying Elbow! He’s got Beast one down! Another pin attempt—one… two—no! Beast kicks out again! These Beasts just will not die!”

Eddie: “Of course not! They’re Polly’s monsters, Johnny—she built them for this moment! You think a little flying elbow’s gonna stop ‘em?”

Johnny: “It might—Doom Bomb! Cover—one… two—and still a kick out! The Misfits are throwing everything at them, Eddie, and it’s still not enough!”

Johnny: “Everybody’s in the ring now! Mason with the Psychotic Break, Negropolis with the Bitch Slap—this is total carnage! But Beast one and two answer back—headbutt! Big splash! It’s madness!”

Eddie: “That’s what happens when Honest Abe loses control—let ‘em fight! This is glorious!”

Johnny: “Mason with the Power Bomb! Cover—one, two—no! Beast one kicks out again! These fans can’t believe it!”

Johnny: “Wait—Beast two has thrown Mason to the outside! Honest Abe’s counting! And—oh no, Eddie—Polly’s hovering over him—she’s taken off his headphones!”

Eddie: “Yes! Finally! Let him hear the music, Johnny! That lullaby… that’s her power! Look at Mason—he’s freezing up!”

Johnny: “He’s staring at her, cold as ice… that haunting lullaby filling the arena again… but Mason shakes it off, back into the ring before the count!”

Johnny: “Negropolis back in—Polly with the purse! No—Mason snatches it away! He’s not gonna let her taint this fight!”

Eddie: “Ohhh, but what’s this? Mason’s got the championship belt in his hands. Johnny… Johnny, don’t tell me…”

Johnny: “No—no, Mason, don’t do this—you’re fighting for family! Don’t do this to your partner!”

Eddie (shrieking): “Yes! Yes, do it, Mason! DO IT!”

Johnny (devastated): “He—he hit Negropolis! Mason just hit his own partner with the belt! He’s smiling… Mason’s smiling! And Polly—Polly’s embracing him!”

Eddie (ecstatic): “The family’s reunited! The prodigal son has come home! Mason has seen the light, Johnny—he belongs with Polly, with the Beasts! This is beautiful!”

Johnny (voice cracking): “No! This is betrayal of the worst kind! Honest Abe counts—one… two… three… NO! The Beasts have stolen the NPCW Tag Team Titles after Mason turned on his own brother-in-arms!”

Johnny (somber, broken): “I can’t believe what we just saw… Madman Mason—embracing his sister, aligning with the Beasts—and costing Negropolis and the Misfits the tag team championships.”

Eddie (gleeful): “Believe it, Johnny boy! Blood is thicker than water, and titles are thicker than friendship! Polly Mason just orchestrated the greatest betrayal in NPCW history, and I love it!”

Johnny: “The fans are stunned into silence. Eddie, this isn’t just a title change… this is a tragedy.”

Eddie: “Tragedy for the Misfits, sure. But for the Beasts? For Polly? This is the dawn of a new era! The lullaby never dies, Johnny—it conquers!”

Johnny (low, shaken): “Fans, I… I don’t even know what to say. We’re gonna try to process this, but the night is far from over…”

The bell has long since rung. The arena is a thunderstorm of jeers as The Beasts, Polly Mason, Jack Mason, and the hulking Beast Master Marcus march up the ramp, bloodied but victorious, NPCW Tag Team Championships raised high. The black steel cage containing poor Flippers dangles in Marcus’s grip, its metallic rattle nearly drowned out by the BOOOOOOOs pouring from the crowd.

Crowd: “FREE FLIP-PERS! FREE FLIP-PERS!”

In the ring, Negropolis is still on his knees, clutching at the bottom rope, his skull mask tilted as if his very soul aches. His dark, hollow eyes lock onto Jack Mason halfway up the ramp. The confusion is raw—betrayal hanging heavy in the air. Beside him, Ace MacDougal scrambles to his feet, his face a storm of disbelief, staring wide-eyed at his former ally turned usurper. The fans can sense it—this isn’t just a title loss, this is the fracture of a family.

The Horde pauses. Jack Mason, with that unsettling blank expression, grips the massive arms of the Beasts on either side of him and thrusts them upward, raising their tag belts to the heavens. The audience responds with a deafening wave of boos—so loud the cameras shake.

Johnny “The Mic” Michaels (shouting over the noise): “Oh, come on! That’s mockery! That’s betrayal of the worst kind! Look at him—holding their arms like they’ve conquered the world when all they’ve done is spit in the face of everything the Misfits stood for!”

Jack then yanks the cage from Marcus’s grip. The crowd gasps as he turns, staring down Ace in the ring. His pale eyes don’t blink. His hands tighten around the bars of the cage, Flippers flapping frantically inside. The tension builds—then Jack begins to spin. One, two, three full rotations before with a mighty hurl, he sends the cage hurtling toward the ring like a missile!

Johnny: “NO! NO! HE’S GONNA—!”

Ace’s eyes bulge wide, and with a burst of impossible speed for a man his size, he leaps upward, arms stretched. The cage collides against his chest, and Ace clutches it desperately, rolling back but somehow cushioning the impact. The arena gasps—then erupts into wild cheers as Ace rises, panting heavily but holding Flippers’ cage safe and sound.

Jack Mason (finally speaking, his voice low and icy): “You can have the snow chicken. He’s served his purpose.”

The crowd explodes in outrage. Jack drops his arms, turns on his heel, and leads Polly, Marcus, and the Beasts backstage. Polly’s voice carries faintly over the chaos—her soft humming of the same eerie lullaby that has haunted NPCW for weeks. The sound is chilling, like nails on the soul.

Back in the ring, Negropolis staggers to his feet, clutching his ribs, his eyes never leaving Jack’s retreating figure. Ace rushes over and rips open the cage, scooping Flippers into his arms. The penguin burrows against him, safe again. Negropolis lowers himself, taking Flippers into his gloved hands. He holds the mascot gently, lifting him to his chest like a fallen comrade. The crowd suddenly ROARS in unison.

Crowd (chanting): “NEGGIE! NEGGIE! NEGGIE!”

The skull-faced giant cradles Flippers, then slowly nods to the fans in silent acknowledgment. Ace pats his shoulder, his usual clownish grin replaced with a weary, grim expression. Together, with Flippers safe, they exit the ring and begin the long walk up the aisle. The ovation is thunderous—every clap a salve on the fresh wound Jack left behind.

The camera cuts upward to the Commissioner’s box. Commissioner Cratchit looks pale, his glasses sliding down his nose in disbelief. Beside him, Ms. Sweetins is fuming, leaning forward against the railing, aghast at the treachery they’ve witnessed. And yet, at the end of the row, Ebenezer Scrooge is leaning back, hands folded over his cane, a twisted grin splitting his face.

Scrooge (delighted): “Bah! Humbug? No—gold! Ratings gold, my friends! This is money falling from the sky!”

But then—slowly—the camera pans to Count Vlad. The Count sits in chilling silence, fingers steepled before his lips in a triangle, eyes glowing faintly red. Finally, he breathes one single word, low and cold, sending a shiver down every spine watching.

Count Vlad: “Excellent…”

Ms. Sweetins turns sharply, glaring daggers at him.

Ms. Sweetins (snapping): “Is this your doing, Vlad? Did you orchestrate this?!”

Vlad finally lowers his hands and looks at her, his lips curling into a thin, cruel smile.

Count Vlad: “No one crosses the Count.”

The camera lingers on his smirk before fading to black.

Perfect — here’s Johnny and Eddie’s desk wrap-up reaction right after that post-match chaos. This will give the betrayal some breathing room before moving into the next segment:

The broadcast cuts back to the commentary desk. Johnny “The Mic” Michaels is leaned forward, his headset askew, looking almost sick from what just unfolded. Eddie Ellington sits beside him, stone-faced for once, his usual smug grin nowhere to be found.

Johnny (voice still raw from shouting): “Folks, I—I don’t even know what to say. I really don’t. We just witnessed one of the most despicable, gut-wrenching betrayals in NPCW history. Jack Mason, a man who built the Misfits with his own two hands, just threw it all away. He turned his back on his family, on Negropolis, on Ace, on every single fan chanting his name week after week!”

Johnny slams his hand on the desk for emphasis. The crowd can still be heard faintly chanting “NEGGIE! NEGGIE!” in the background.

Eddie (measured, but shaking his head): “Johnny, I’ve seen a lot of things in this business. I’ve seen friendships shatter, I’ve seen titles change hands, I’ve seen legends fall. But what Jack Mason did tonight? That wasn’t just betrayal—it was annihilation. He didn’t just break the Misfits, he ripped their soul out and stomped on it.”

Johnny (pointing into the camera): “And let’s not forget Flippers! That innocent little snow chicken—used as a pawn, tossed like garbage, almost shattered in front of our very eyes! Thank heaven Ace caught him. Thank heaven Negropolis was there to cradle him, to remind us that not everyone in this business has lost their heart!”

Johnny’s voice cracks as the camera cuts briefly to replay footage: Jack hurling the cage, Ace’s miraculous catch, Negropolis holding Flippers as the crowd roared.

Eddie (grimly): “Jack Mason said it himself, Johnny: Flippers served his purpose. Those are the words of a man who’s lost his way. A man who’s not leading The Horde… but commanding it like an army. And if Polly Mason’s lullaby and Count Vlad’s smirk up there in the box mean anything? This was only the beginning.”

Johnny (somber, shaking his head): “You’re right, Eddie. Tonight wasn’t just about tag team gold. It wasn’t even about betrayal. This was about something darker, something bigger. Jack Mason has aligned himself with monsters—literal and figurative—and the Misfits, the heart of NPCW, may never be the same again.”

Johnny takes a deep breath, staring into the camera, visibly rattled.

Johnny: “Ladies and gentlemen… Shadowfall has taken its toll. But if you thought this night couldn’t get any more shocking… trust me. The storm is far from over.”

The feed lingers on Johnny’s grim expression before cutting to commercial.

SANDMAN and THE WHEEL 

The broadcast returns from commercial to a wide shot of the arena. The lights dim and a spotlight cuts through the haze of stage smoke, landing dead center in the ring. There it stands: the ominous, towering Wheel of Misfortunes—its jagged edges painted in dark crimson and black, sections marked with dangerous stipulations like “Cage Match,” “I Quit,” “Lumberjack,” and more. The crowd murmurs in anticipation, their eyes fixed on the deadly wheel.

Beside it, dressed in his crooked striped suit and bowler hat, is Fenwick Grimbough—the NPCW Director of Rules and Regulations. The once-jolly elf’s face is twisted with greed and cynicism, his spectacles reflecting the light as he clutches his crooked clipboard to his chest. On the other side of the wheel, standing still as a statue, is The Sandman. He is cloaked in black and gray, his emotionless eyes locked on the wheel like it owes him a soul.

Fenwick Grimbough (grinning, stepping forward): “Ladies and gentlemen, creatures of the night, and those foolish enough to dream of victory… it is now time for the Wheel of Misfortunes!”

The crowd boos loudly, though there’s an undercurrent of nervous energy in the air.

Grimbough (mocking, in a sing-song voice): “Later this very evening, that man—the harbinger of restless sleep, the weaver of terrors, The Sandman—will face the so-called sailor of stories, the adventurer of the seven seas, Sinbad!”

The crowd pops for Sinbad’s name, chanting “SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD!” briefly. Sandman’s expression doesn’t flinch; his stare stays fixed on the wheel.

Grimbough (continuing, sly): “But what kind of contest will they endure? That is the mystery, and that mystery… rests in the hands of fate.”

He spreads his arms dramatically toward the wheel. The crowd grows louder, restless. Grimbough turns to Sandman, leaning toward him with a sneer.

Grimbough: “Sandman, step forward. Let us see how destiny wishes to torment you both.”

Sandman slowly steps toward the massive wheel. His movements are deliberate, unnerving, his long fingers reaching out like the claws of a nightmare. With a sudden burst of strength, he grips the handle and gives the wheel a violent tug. The sound of the wood and iron clattering echoes through the arena as the wheel spins wildly.

The crowd gasps, the camera zooming in on each passing option: “Inferno Match”… “Coffin Match”… “Falls Count Anywhere”… “TLC.” The wheel rattles faster and faster, then gradually begins to slow. Fans rise to their feet, clapping and cheering with every click of the wheel’s mechanism. Finally, after what feels like forever, the wheel ticks to a stop on one word:

“TLC!”

The arena erupts. The graphic flashes across the screen: Sandman vs. Sinbad – Tables, Ladders & Chairs Match – Tonight at Shadowfall! The crowd roars in excitement, chanting “T-L-C! T-L-C!”

Sandman slowly tilts his head back toward the hard camera, and for the first time tonight, his lips curl into a thin, unsettling smile. He leans close to the camera, his voice low, raspy, and dripping with malice.

Sandman: “Sinbad… tonight… your dreams… will become… a nightmare.”

The arena boos and cheers in equal measure as Sandman holds his cold, expressionless stare into the lens. Grimbough cackles in the background, clapping his hands together like a delighted hyena. The camera lingers one last moment on the sinister wheel before cutting away to the next segment.

MAIN EVENT VIGNETTE 

🎶 [Low, ominous bells toll as snow drifts across the screen. Old footage of Rudolph’s title win plays in grainy, triumphant color.]

NARRATOR (serious, cinematic):

“March 30th. Madness. Against all odds, Rudolph shines bright — winning the Six-Man Tag, claiming the North Pole Championship, and carrying the light while Santa Claus was gone.”

🎥 [Clips roll: Rudolph holding the belt high. Fans cheering. Santa’s silhouette fading to black with “INJURED” graphic.]

NARRATOR:

“With his mentor on the shelf, Rudolph stood tall. He conquered the Alpha Monster. He kept the light alive.”

🎥 [Cut to Polar Meltdown highlights — Santa returns, teaming with Van Helsing, smiling, shaking hands. Quick flashes of matches against Alpha Monster.]

NARRATOR (tone shifting, colder):

“But dreams don’t last forever…”

🎥 [July 25 — Rudolph standing bloody but victorious over Jack Frost. Suddenly, Frost and Abaddon attack. The crowd roars as Santa storms out. The arena shakes—until the betrayal.]

💥 [SLOW MOTION: Santa lifts Rudolph… PILEDRIVER onto the North Pole Title. Freeze frame. Colors invert to dark red and black.]

NARRATOR:

“One moment of betrayal… and Santa Claus was gone forever.”

🎥 [Santa rising slowly, the Universal Title in hand, now transformed. His eyes burning red. The birth of Sinister Klaus.]

---

🎥 [Cut to Rudolph in studio, dark background, red nose glowing faintly. He speaks slowly, deliberately.]

RUDOLPH:

“You were my mentor, my leader… my family. And you threw it all away.”

---

BRICK BRODY (voiceover, growling):

“That wasn’t just a heel turn… that was Klaus reclaiming his throne. And ever since? He’s been turning NPCW into his personal snow globe of doom.”

🎥 [Montage: The Slay Team (dark reindeer) attacking. Sinister Klaus looming over fallen opponents. The ring bathed in shadowy light.]

BRICK BRODY:

“Four reindeer corrupted into the Slay Team. Shadows creeping across the North. Klaus is runnin’ the show now.”

---

🎥 [Cut to Sinister Klaus in his throne room, Universal Title across his shoulder. His voice is calm but venomous.]

SINISTER KLAUS:

“I made you, Rudolph. I molded you. Every step you took in that ring… was because I allowed it.”

🎥 [Flash cuts: Klaus delivering piledrivers, choking opponents in the ropes, the Slay Team standing behind him.]

SINISTER KLAUS (snarling):

“At Shadowfall, I don’t just take your title… I take your hope.”

---

🎥 [Back to Rudolph, clutching the North Pole Title tight.]

RUDOLPH:

“This nose doesn’t just guide sleighs. It shines through shadows. And at Shadowfall, I’ll make sure it burns a hole straight through you.”

---

🎶 [Music builds — triumphant horns clashing with dark organ chords. Split-screen: Rudolph, bathed in red light, vs Klaus in the shadows, belts on their shoulders.]

NARRATOR (intense, rapid-fire):

“Champion versus Champion. Light against Darkness. Protégé versus Mentor. TITLE versus TITLE.”

💥 [Both men step face to face in slow motion — Rudolph’s red light vs Klaus’s dark shadow crashing together.]

RUDOLPH (voiceover): “I will guide NPCW out of the dark.”
SINISTER KLAUS (voiceover): “And I will bury it in shadow.”

---

NARRATOR (final line, echoing as the SHADOWFALL logo crashes onto the screen):

“At SHADOWFALL… the fate of NPCW will be decided.”

🎶 [Fade out to silence, then a single echo of Klaus’s sinister laugh.]

[INTERLUDE: AT RINGSIDE WITH KC ROGERS & SPECIAL GUESTS]

The arena lights come back up after the main event vignette, and the camera swings down toward ringside. At the front row, a small VIP section has been roped off with black-and-gold velvet ropes. Seated comfortably in the prime seats are three figures of major importance: Victoria Deschamps, the Vice Director of the KWO Board; Bernard, the former NPCW Commissioner and now the Board’s official liaison; and the smug, coiled presence of GCW Global Champion Damien Black. The camera zooms in as the crowd murmurs, some booing at the sight of Black, while others buzz with curiosity about the gathering.

Walking down the aisle with a microphone in hand is KC Rogers, sharp in his tailored suit, his trademark smirk just short of cocky. He steps to the barricade, leaning over slightly as the camera tightens on the trio.

KC Rogers (with smooth delivery): “Ladies and gentlemen, what a night it has already been here at Shadowfall. And as if the action in that ring wasn’t enough, I am here at ringside with some very distinguished company. Allow me to introduce… to my left, the Vice Director of the Board, Victoria Deschamps.”

The crowd gives a respectful cheer for Deschamps, who smiles warmly and waves, clearly embracing the spotlight with ease.

KC Rogers: “Next to her, a man who knows this company inside and out—former Commissioner of NPCW and now official liaison to the Board, Bernard!”

Mixed reaction from the fans—cheers for his legacy, some boos for his current position. Bernard gives a polite nod, adjusting his tie, ever the composed diplomat.

KC Rogers (with a raised eyebrow and smirk): “And finally… oh, this one needs no introduction, but I’ll give him one anyway. He is the reigning, defending GCW Global Champion… Damien Black.”

The crowd instantly boos, heat rolling in from all corners of the arena. Black, in a designer leather jacket with the Global title draped arrogantly across his lap, smirks knowingly. He doesn’t react to the jeers, simply tilts his head back with his signature cold, dangerous glare—eerily comfortable in the hate.

KC Rogers: “Victoria, let me start with you. This is your first time in front of the NPCW faithful—how have you been enjoying the spectacle of Shadowfall so far?”

Victoria Deschamps (smiling, gracious but measured): “Well, KC, I’ll admit… I’ve been very surprised by some of what I’ve seen tonight. This company thrives on chaos and passion, and while certain moments have left me raising an eyebrow…” she smirks slightly at the Beasts’ earlier antics “…I must say, the energy of these fans and the drive of this roster has made for one incredible night of wrestling.”

Crowd cheers loudly in agreement.

KC Rogers (turning to Bernard): “Bernard—you know this place, you know these wrestlers, you’ve called this home before. What’s your take on what we’ve seen unfold here tonight?”

Bernard (measured, concerned tone): “KC, I’ll be honest with you, as proud as I am of these men and women, I am also… concerned. Some of the results tonight have shaken the balance of NPCW. Alliances forming, dangerous elements gaining ground, champions being pushed to the brink… It’s thrilling, yes—but as someone who’s cared about the future of this company, I can’t help but worry about where we’re headed if things keep escalating.”

Crowd gives a sympathetic applause, clearly respecting Bernard’s voice of reason.

KC Rogers (nodding, then turning with a knowing grin): “And now… Damien Black.”

The boos swell louder, Damien smirks and slowly brings the mic toward him, the GCW Global Title gleaming under the lights.

Damien Black (calm, cold, dripping arrogance): “It’s been… adequate.”

The crowd erupts in boos, and KC chuckles knowingly, letting the tension hang a moment.

Damien Black: “Don’t get me wrong, the effort here is undeniable. The fights, the fury… they’ve been entertaining. But this is not GCW. There—I face the best in the world. Here? The action is… let’s call it a worthy distraction. Nothing more.”

The crowd is furious, chanting “N-P-C-W! N-P-C-W!” Black smirks, clearly enjoying the hate.

KC Rogers (grinning slyly): “Well, Damien, speaking of distractions… rumor has it you’ll be joining us later tonight on commentary for our historic main event. The people want to know—what can we expect?”

Damien leans forward slightly, his eyes narrowing, voice low and deliberate.

Damien Black: “What you can expect, KC… is clarity. While everyone else will be blinded by their emotions, their loyalties, their so-called ‘passion,’ I will elevate this broadcast simply by being there. I’m interested in how this main event turns out… because whichever man survives tonight… will soon find out just how deep the shadows run when they cross into my world.”

He leans back, smirking again, as the crowd rains boos. KC, ever the smooth operator, chuckles into the mic.

KC Rogers: “Well, there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Victoria Deschamps, Bernard, and Damien Black—the eyes of the Board, and the eyes of GCW—right here at Shadowfall. Back to you.”

The camera lingers on the trio one last time—Victoria composed, Bernard concerned, Damien smirking arrogantly with the Global title on display—before cutting back to the announcers.

[CUT BACK TO THE ANNOUNCER’S DESK]

The camera fades from the VIP section back to the broadcast table. Johnny “The Mic” Michaels sits forward, eyes wide with excitement, while Eddie Ellington leans back in his chair, stroking his chin with a sly grin.

Johnny Michaels (energized, serious): “Folks… did you hear that? Did you feel that? The Vice Director of the Board, Bernard the Liaison, and… good grief… GCW’s Global Champion Damien Black, right here at ringside! That is not just a who’s-who of power and influence—those are people who can change the entire course of NPCW with a single decision, a single word, Eddie!”

Eddie Ellington (mocking, smug): “Johnny, calm yourself before you hyperventilate. You act like this is some terrifying development. Let’s call it what it is: a show of class. NPCW should be grateful that someone of Damien Black’s caliber even bothered to show up, much less lower himself to call commentary on our main event.”

Johnny Michaels (snapping back): “Lower himself?! Eddie, that man didn’t come here to shake hands and sign autographs—he came here to send a message. Did you hear his words? He said tonight’s action was just ‘adequate!’ He’s not here to respect NPCW—he’s here to loom over it! To stake a claim, to let our champions know that GCW is watching, and worse, that Damien Black is waiting in the shadows!”

Eddie Ellington (grinning, shrugging): “And maybe that’s exactly what this place needs, Johnny-boy. A wake-up call. Because let’s be honest, these people can chant ‘N-P-C-W’ all night long, but when Damien Black decides to step into that ring, every one of their heroes is going to fold faster than paper in a snowstorm. He’s not called the Global Champion for nothing.”

Johnny Michaels (pounding the desk): “But this isn’t GCW, Eddie! This is NPCW, and I don’t care how dangerous, how arrogant, how talented Damien Black is—our champions, our fighters, our people will not let this company be belittled or overshadowed! Not tonight, not ever!”

The camera zooms in slightly on Johnny as he leans toward Eddie, fire in his voice.

Johnny Michaels: “And mark my words—when he sits at this desk later tonight during our main event, he’s not just going to be watching… he’s going to be scheming. And if I were either champion in that match, I’d be looking over my shoulder. Because when Damien Black lurks… no one is safe.”

Eddie smirks, chuckling under his breath, while Johnny turns back to the camera, intensity radiating.

“Representing the Wolf Pack… she is power, precision, and primal fury unleashed… this is the relentless… MOON SHADOW!”

A single wolf howl echoes through the arena as a pale blue light bathes the stage. Tribal drums and a dark, synth-heavy track pulse through the speakers as Moon Shadow steps through the mist — draped in a shredded cloak and war paint under her eyes. Her gaze is ice-cold, her stance unshakable. She raises her arms to the crowd and lets out a primal scream, causing the arena to echo with energy. Strong. Unapologetic. Alpha in her own right — and a force within the Pack.

“Making her way to the ring… the woman who rewrote the fairy tale with fire and fury… she’s beauty, she’s brutality, she’s the original bombshell… GOOOLDIE… LOOOCKS!”

The arena lights flicker gold and crimson as a slow, heavy rock track kicks in with the opening line:
“This story ain’t for children…”

Goldie Locks steps through the curtain in her studded leather jacket, golden aviators reflecting the crowd lights, dragging a steel chair behind her. Her blonde curls spill out of her hoodie as she surveys the crowd with a smirk — a veteran who’s seen the system fail too many times. She points to the camera and mouths, “We’re not done yet,” before sliding into the ring with the weight of history and a spark of revolution.

Johnny: “Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen—this is the Queen of the North Championship Match! Goldie Locks, representing the Blonde Bombshells, defends against Moonshadow of the Wolf Pack. This is going to be a STREET FIGHT match! And joining Eddie and myself on commentary is none other than the voice of the Northern Belles, the Iron Maiden herself—Vera Steele!”

Vera: “Thanks, Johnny. Always a thrill to be here at Shadowfall. I’ve been following both women closely, and I’ll say this—tonight will come down to who makes fewer mistakes. Both are dangerous competitors, but with very different toolsets.”

Eddie (smirking): “Toolsets? Vera, Moonshadow doesn’t need a toolset. She’s got claws, fangs, and the Wolf Pack at ringside. Goldie Locks? She’s a pretty blonde with a title belt that’s about to find a new home.”

Johnny (rolling his eyes): “Here we go again…”

Johnny: “And right out of the gate Moonshadow latches onto that sleeper! She’s trying to sap the oxygen from the champion in the very first minute!”

Vera: “Classic Wolf Pack strategy—wear down the opponent, grind them into mistakes. But Goldie’s positioning—see how she’s tucking her chin? That’ll keep her conscious longer.”

Eddie: “Oh please, Vera, let her nap. It’ll save her the embarrassment of what’s coming later.”

Johnny: “Wait a minute—Goldie with a reversal! She’s got Moonshadow stretched out in the Twin City Twister Surfboard!”

Vera: “That’s excellent counter-wrestling—using leverage to turn defense into offense. Moonshadow’s flexibility is being tested here.”

Eddie: “Flexibility? She’s a wolf, Vera! Wolves don’t tap out! They bite!”

Johnny (shocked): “Oh my GOD! Piledriver through the timekeeper’s table! Goldie Locks is broken in half!”

Vera: “That’s high risk, high damage—it could shorten careers. If Honest Abe hadn’t been counting, this might already be over.”

Eddie (gleeful): “Finally! Goldie’s head hit the table harder than a New Year’s hangover! We’ve got ourselves a new champion in the making!”

Johnny (furious): “She’s thrown Honest Abe out of the ring! There’s no official! The Wolf Pack’s circling!”

Vera: “This is where Moonshadow thrives—chaos. Without rules, she can dig deep into her vicious arsenal.”

Eddie: “Oh boo-hoo, Johnny. It’s called using your environment. Don’t blame Moonshadow for being smart.”

Johnny: “Goldie showing her heart! She just launched Moonshadow out of the ring like a rocket! The champ is still alive!”

Vera: “Good ring awareness. She’s creating space to reset herself.”

Eddie: “Reset? Reset?! She should quit while she can still walk!”

Johnny (excited): “What a sequence! Bulldog by Goldie, pin attempt—kick out! Lycan Lock by Moonshadow—Goldie won’t quit! These two are throwing everything at each other!”

Vera: “This is pure resilience on display. Neither woman wants to give an inch. Notice how Moonshadow’s shifting her grip on the Lycan Lock—she’s targeting the carotid artery for maximum effect.”

Eddie (snapping): “Would you stop giving away the game plan, Vera?! Let Goldie suffer in peace!”

Johnny (yelling): “She just smashed Moonshadow with the timekeeper’s bell! Moonshadow is busted wide open! The champ has turned the tide!”

Vera: “Goldie’s desperation is showing—but it’s effective. That’s a momentum shift.”

Eddie (outraged): “Call the cops! That’s a felony! She should be arrested, fined, suspended—oh wait, it’s Goldie, so you’re all gonna cheer! Hypocrites!”

Johnny: “Moonshadow is relentless. Another superplex, another near fall. Goldie Locks is running on fumes.”

Vera: “This is where conditioning matters. Moonshadow’s grappling is grinding Goldie down—each escape costs her valuable energy.”

Eddie: “And every second is another nail in Goldie’s golden coffin. The Wolf Pack is howling tonight!”

Johnny (voice cracking): “Moonshadow lifts her high—Body Slam on the concrete! My God, Goldie hit hard! She’s not moving—”

Referee Honest Abe slides back into the ring.

Johnny: “Abe makes the count—ONE… TWO… THREE! Moonshadow has done it! Moonshadow is the new Queen of the North Champion!”

Johnny (somber, shaken): “The crowd is stunned… Goldie Locks gave everything she had, but the Wolf Pack’s alpha female has conquered the throne.”

Eddie (celebrating): “Raise the banners, light the torches! The Wolf Pack rules the night! All hail the real Queen of the North—Moonshadow!”

Vera (calm, respectful): “That was a war. Both women pushed each other to the limit. Moonshadow’s endurance and brutality carried her to victory, but Goldie Locks should be commended—she showed heart that few could match.”

Johnny (pointing to the screen): “And look at the Wolf Pack flooding the ring—they’re draping Moonshadow with the championship belt as she howls to the heavens! The era of Goldie Locks is over… the age of Moonshadow has begun.”

Eddie (smug): “Better get used to it, Johnny. The Pack runs wild, and tonight they run this entire company!”

RUDOLPH THE GUIDING LIGHT

The camera cuts backstage to the familiar NPCW interview set. The lights glimmer off the NPCW logo backdrop. Smooth Samantha stands poised with a mic in hand, her polished smile steady, her tone serious yet inviting. Beside her stands Rudolph, the NPCW North Pole Champion. His belt gleams across his chest, and his glowing red nose burns bright against the darkened backdrop, a beacon of contrast to the heavy, ominous atmosphere that has filled Shadowfall.

Samantha (with calm professionalism): “Ladies and gentlemen, Smooth Samantha here, and with me now is the North Pole Champion, Rudolph. In just a short while, you’ll be stepping into the main event—a Champion versus Champion clash against Sinister Klaus, with both the Universal and North Pole Championships on the line. Rudolph, before we get into your mindset, I have to ask… we’ve seen a night filled with chaos, betrayals, and darkness creeping into NPCW. How are you handling what feels like an increasingly hostile night for the North Pole faithful?”

[Rudolph adjusts the belt on his shoulder, tilting his head slightly down before raising his gaze to the camera. His voice carries calm conviction, yet there’s an edge of fire behind it.]

Rudolph (measured but firm): “Samantha, you’re right. Tonight hasn’t gone the way a lot of us hoped. We’ve seen heartbreak. We’ve seen the shadows grow stronger. The Misfits, the Wolf Pack, the Beasts, GCW—one by one, it feels like the darkness is trying to swallow everything we’ve built here in NPCW.”

He pauses, taking a breath, his glowing nose illuminating the air with a faint shimmer.

Rudolph (passionate): “But I want every single person watching—whether you’re here live at Shadowfall, or watching around the world—to hear me when I say this: as long as I’m standing, as long as this light shines, the shadows will not win.”

[Samantha nods, lowering the mic slightly as the crowd in the arena can be faintly heard reacting over the PA. Rudolph leans in toward the mic again.]

Rudolph (building intensity): “I’ve been called a lot of things: an underdog, a misfit, even a fluke. But what I am… is the Guiding Light of NPCW. And tonight, in that ring, I’m not just fighting for myself. I’m fighting for the Bombshells. I’m fighting for the Reindeer Coalition. I’m fighting for every fan in the Polar Dome who refuses to let the cold and the dark snuff out hope.”

[He raises the North Pole Championship high, the gold gleaming under the lights.]

Rudolph (resolute): “Sinister Klaus may call himself the Universal Champion, but tonight—I unify these titles. I carry NPCW out of the shadows and back into the light. And when it’s all said and done, you’ll see it: Rudolph standing tall, shining bright, guiding NPCW back where it belongs—together, stronger than ever.”

[Rudolph slings the belt back across his shoulder and turns, looking directly into the camera with unshakable determination. Samantha tilts her head with a composed smile, nodding firmly.]

Samantha (signing off): “There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. The North Pole Champion, Rudolph, ready for the fight of his life in our main event. Can he unify the championships and push back the darkness, or will the era of Sinister Klaus swallow NPCW whole? That answer comes tonight, in just moments, at Shadowfall.”

The camera lingers on Rudolph’s glowing nose and focused eyes as the shot fades back toward the commentary desk.

The camera cuts back to the commentary desk. Johnny “The Mic” Michaels is sitting forward, eyes wide with intensity, while Eddie Ellington leans back in his chair, smirking but clearly rattled by the gravity of Rudolph’s words.

Johnny (fired up): “Listen to that, Eddie! That is not just a champion talking—that is a leader of men! Rudolph standing tall, promising to guide NPCW back into the light when it feels like the shadows are closing in tighter than ever!”

Eddie (half-grinning, shaking his head): “Johnny, I’ll give the red-nosed wonder this—he knows how to talk. He’s got the fans in the palm of his hand. But words are one thing, surviving Sinister Klaus in a two-out-of-three falls match? That’s another story entirely! Klaus is meaner, darker, and more dangerous than he’s ever been. You don’t unify championships by wishing on a Christmas star.”

Johnny (leaning in, emphatic): “No, Eddie—you do it with courage, heart, and the will to fight for something bigger than yourself. And that’s exactly what Rudolph has! You heard him, folks—tonight isn’t just about gold, it’s about the very soul of NPCW! Can the Guiding Light shine through, or will the shadows of Sinister Klaus cover everything in darkness?”

Eddie (low, almost ominous): “Either way, Johnny… after tonight, nothing in NPCW will ever be the same.”

The camera lingers on their faces—Johnny’s hopeful fire, Eddie’s wary smirk—as the crowd roars in the background and the main event hype graphic flashes across the screen.

“From the dreamlands beyond time and terror… weaving nightmares into reality… he is the bringer of sleep… the tormentor of your mind… SAAANDMAAAAN!”

The arena lights dim to a haunting blue hue as an eerie, slow lullaby echoes through the speakers—distorted like it's playing from an old music box. Thick mist pours from the stage, crawling across the ramp as Sandman emerges, gliding through it with unnatural stillness. Dressed in flowing, tattered robes with silver sand slowly falling from his hands, he locks eyes with the crowd, unmoved, as the air grows heavier with every step.

“Hailing from the seven seas and standing tall as a legend of adventure… daring, bold, and beloved… this is the one and only SINBAAAAD!!”

An adventurous orchestral score with pounding drums and rising strings blares through the arena, evoking the spirit of epic voyages. The titantron shows crashing waves, mythical beasts, and old treasure maps. Sinbad steps through the curtain clad in pirate-inspired gear—ornate boots, a long coat with gold trim, and a sash across his waist. He greets the fans with a confident grin, salutes the crowd like a seasoned captain, and points to the sky before storming the ring. He climbs the ropes, brandishes an imaginary spyglass, and bellows to the crowd with infectious energy.

The wheel has landed on Tables, Ladders, and Chairs. The crowd roars as the carnage begins. Fenwick Grimbough quietly takes a seat beside the timekeeper, scribbling notes, while Ebenezer Scrooge plops himself down at commentary, a smug grin plastered on his face.

Johnny: “Fans, it is time for Match Nine here at Shadowfall, and it’s a brutal one — Sandman versus Sinbad, and the Wheel of Misfortunes has given us Tables, Ladders, and Chairs!”

Eddie: “This is Sandman’s playground, Johnny! The man was born in chaos. And look over there — Fenwick Grimbough sitting beside the timekeeper. Every time that ghoulish accountant shows up, nothing good follows.”

Scrooge (interrupting, smug): “Oh, nothing good? On the contrary, gentlemen — what could be better than profit? Because when you buy your official Scrooge Toys NPCW action figures — available now in all North Pole outlets — you’re investing in legacy!”

Johnny (sighing): “…And joining us, unfortunately, is Ebenezer Scrooge.”

Eddie (snickering): “Don’t be jealous, Johnny. He’s got more business sense than you ever will. I love it!”

Johnny: “Sandman with a cradle suplex early, snapping Sinbad to the mat—”

Eddie: “But Sinbad fires back with those open-hand chops! You can hear those echoes clear up to the rafters!”

Scrooge (cutting in): “And speaking of echoes, don’t forget your NPCW Fan Investment Punch Cards — every chop, every slam, every suplex gets you closer to lifetime shareholder value!”

Johnny: “Sandman spins with that fist—no wasted motion!”

Eddie: “Yeah but Sinbad plants him with a hammerlock DDT! That’s veteran instinct right there.”

Scrooge: “Instinct, investments, it’s all the same, gentlemen — diversify your portfolio, diversify your holds!”

Johnny: “Sandman’s got the sleeper locked in!”

Eddie: “This could put Sinbad out before he ever gets a table set up!”

Scrooge (talking over both): “Or you could put your money to sleep in a safe bond through Scrooge Enterprises! We’ll guarantee returns while these two knock each other senseless.”

Johnny: “Standing clothesline from Sandman! But Sinbad fires back with an inverted backbreaker — these two are just slugging it out!”

Eddie: “Sandman with the dust in the eyes! Ha! Classic Sandman — fight dirty, fight smart!”

Johnny: “Sinbad answers with an inverted tornado DDT! What a counter!”

Johnny: “Sandman with the G-T-S! He hits it!”

Eddie: “It’s over, Johnny! Count it!”

Johnny: “1…2…no! Sinbad kicks out!”

Scrooge (talking over the count): “Not as strong as a Scrooge Fan Punch Card, Johnny! You never kick out of compound interest!”

Johnny: “Wait—Sinbad’s got him up! POWERBOMB THROUGH THE TABLE!”

Crowd: “HOLY—! HOLY—!”

Eddie: “No! No! That’s destruction! That’s… that’s bad for Sandman’s spine!”

Scrooge (unimpressed): “Well, it’s very bad for the table’s resale value, I’ll tell you that much.”

Johnny: “And now Sandman retaliates — MOONSAULT THROUGH THE TABLE! Sinbad’s down!”

Eddie: “Sandman showing you why he thrives in this madness!”

Scrooge: “Oh, I can sell that broken table on Scrooge Auction House — limited edition, battle-tested lumber!”

Johnny: “Sinbad smashing Sandman’s head into the announce table— Eddie, hold onto your notes!”

Eddie: “Forget the notes, Johnny, I’m holding onto my life! Sinbad’s got a mean streak a mile wide.”

Scrooge (smirking): “Don’t worry, Eddie, I’ll insure you. Premium rates apply, of course.”

Johnny: “Sandman catches him—G-T-S! He hits it again! Cover—1…2…3! It’s over! Sandman survives the chaos!”

Eddie (ecstatic): “Yes! Yes! Sandman wins it! Just like I told you, Johnny — he’s the man of mayhem, the master of misery, the Sandman!”

Johnny: “Sandman victorious in a brutal Wheel of Misfortunes TLC Match, and folks, Fenwick Grimbough is scribbling something down at ringside — and I don’t like the look of it.”

Scrooge (standing, straightening his tie): “I’ll tell you what it means, Johnny — it means Sandman stock is on the rise. Invest today, reap rewards tomorrow. Ha ha!”

The camera lingers on the wreckage of broken tables and battered bodies as Sandman has his hand raised, glaring at Fenwick’s note-taking. The chaos feels far from over.

Got it — here’s how we can present the post-match Golden Ticket reveal as a big, ominous, storyline-driving moment:

---

END OF MATCH PRESENTATION

(The bell has just rung. Sandman stands tall over Sinbad, his expression as cold and eerie as ever. The arena is buzzing with a mix of boos and unease. Referee “Honest” Abe raises his hand, but Sandman barely acknowledges it, eyes locked in a distant, haunting stare.)

Johnny Michaels: “Sandman has done it, folks. Against the odds, in a brutal Tables, Ladders, and Chairs contest, the Nightmare himself has put Sinbad down for the three!”

Eddie Ellington: “I told you, Johnny! Nobody—and I mean nobody—turns a dream into a nightmare like Sandman. Sinbad’s flying carpets won’t help him now!”

(Suddenly, Fenwick Grimbough rises from his chair at ringside, clutching a small black velvet box. He slides into the ring, adjusting his crooked spectacles with that slimy grin plastered across his face. Behind him, Ebeneezer Scrooge abandons the commentary desk and struts toward the ring with his cane, a sinister gleam in his eye.)

Johnny Michaels: “Wait a minute—what’s this about? Scrooge is heading to the ring, and Fenwick doesn’t look like he’s here to congratulate Sandman out of the goodness of his heart!”

Eddie Ellington: “Of course not, Johnny! This is about business. Big business.”

(Fenwick stands beside Sandman, microphone in hand. He gestures dramatically toward the towering figure as the crowd rains down boos.)

Fenwick Grimbough: “Ladies and gentlemen… and all you pathetic little North Pole peasants—witness what true inevitability looks like! The Sandman has conquered his trial in the Wheel of Misfortunes. And now, as Director of Rules and Regulations, I am authorized to present him with a… very special reward.”

(Fenwick slowly opens the velvet box. Inside, gleaming under the arena lights, is a massive Golden Ticket embossed with ornate NPCW lettering. The boos grow louder as Fenwick pulls it free, holding it high for the camera to zoom in.)

Johnny Michaels: “A… Golden Ticket?! What is this?”

Eddie Ellington: “Oh, Johnny, I’ll tell you what it is—it’s power. That right there is opportunity in solid gold form!”

(Scrooge takes the mic from Fenwick, brushing him aside, and raises the ticket up like a trophy.)

Ebeneezer Scrooge: “You see, Johnny, Eddie, and all you imbeciles watching at home… this isn’t just a piece of paper. This Golden Ticket gives the Sandman the right to cash in a championship match—anytime, anywhere. Some restrictions may apply, of course—legal fine print and all that—but make no mistake… your heroes, your so-called champions, now live under the shadow of the Sandman’s dreamless sleep!”

(The crowd erupts in boos, some fans throwing popcorn toward the ring. Sandman doesn’t smile, doesn’t gloat—he just takes the Golden Ticket in his hand and stares at it coldly, then raises his head to the hard camera, finally speaking in his eerie, emotionless tone.)

Sandman: “Dreams… end. Nightmares… endure. And now… with this ticket… I decide when the darkness falls.”

(He holds the Golden Ticket against his chest as Scrooge claps gleefully behind him. Fenwick bows low as though presenting a king. The boos thunder louder, the atmosphere thick with dread.)

Johnny Michaels: “Oh no… oh no, Eddie! The Sandman has the power to strike any champion at any time! This could change the balance of NPCW forever!”

Eddie Ellington: “And I say it’s about time, Johnny! Let the darkness in—the Sandman holding that Golden Ticket means the whole roster is about to lose a lot of sleep!”

(Camera cuts to Sandman, standing stoic in the middle of the ring, chain over his shoulders, Golden Ticket in hand, as the screen fades out to transition into the next segment.)

SINISTER KLAUS 

(The camera cuts backstage. The lighting is colder here than usual — shadows stretch long across the corridor. Smooth Samantha stands ready with her trademark poise, microphone in hand. The camera pans to her right, where the massive, imposing figure of the NPCW Universal Champion, Sinister Klaus, looms. The frost-edged belt gleams across his shoulder, and his eyes burn with icy malice.)

Smooth Samantha: “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome my guest at this time… the NPCW Universal Champion… Sinister Klaus.”

(The crowd boos audibly from the arena feed. Klaus tilts his head slightly, savoring it like fuel, his breath misting in the cold air around him.)

Smooth Samantha: “Klaus, tonight’s Shadowfall event has already shaken NPCW to its core. We’ve seen chaos, darkness, and shifting power in ways no one expected. You’ve called this night the dawn of something… inevitable. My question is simple: what should the NPCW Universe expect when you step into the main event to face Rudolph, Title-for-Title?”

(Klaus lets out a low, chilling laugh, his beard bristling, his voice rumbling like a winter storm.)

Sinister Klaus: “What should they expect, Samantha? Heh-heh-heh… Expect what you’ve already seen tonight. The shadows creeping into every corner. Heroes falling. Hope… breaking. Tonight is not chaos—it is order. My order. My will.”

(He slowly adjusts the Universal Championship on his shoulder, tapping the faceplate with one gloved hand.)

Sinister Klaus: “The so-called Guiding Light… Rudolph… he still clings to this naïve illusion that he can banish the dark, that his little glow can keep the night at bay. But what happens when the night grows colder? When the frost consumes every flame? The light fades… the shadows endure. I endure.”

(He leans closer toward Samantha, his icy breath almost fogging the microphone.)

Sinister Klaus: “After the main event… the pretender’s glow will be snuffed out, and these championships will be unified under me. Universal. Eternal. Unstoppable. The Age of Klaus… begins tonight.”

(The crowd boos louder from the arena feed. Klaus just smirks, almost feeding on it.)

Smooth Samantha: “So you’re saying it’s not a matter of if—only when.”

Sinister Klaus: (coldly) “Not when, Samantha… now. The shadows are here. NPCW belongs to the dark… and soon, it belongs… to me.”

(Klaus gives a terrifying glare into the camera, clutching the Universal Title tighter against his chest. Then, with a sinister chuckle, he turns and walks off into the dimly lit hallway, the camera lingering on the mist in his wake before cutting back to the arena.)

(Camera cuts back to ringside. Johnny “The Mic” Michaels and Eddie Ellington are at the desk. The arena is buzzing, but there’s a tension in the air after Klaus’s ominous words.)

Johnny: “I’ve got chills running up my spine, Eddie… and not the good kind. That was the Universal Champion, Sinister Klaus, making it crystal clear — in his mind, the shadows have already won. He believes tonight ends with Rudolph’s light extinguished and NPCW unified under his darkness.”

Eddie: (grinning smugly) “And why shouldn’t he believe it, Johnny? Look at him! The man’s a force of nature. You saw him — cold, confident, unshakable. Meanwhile, Rudolph’s out there playing holiday hero with a shiny nose and a speech about hope. Cute. But cute doesn’t win titles. Power does. And power is spelled S-I-N-I-S-T-E-R K-L-A-U-S.”

Johnny: (leaning forward, passionate) “Oh, come on, Eddie! Don’t you dare count Rudolph out. We’ve heard his words tonight too — he’s fighting for the people, for the entire NPCW Universe! That glow you mock? That’s the light of belief, of unity, of everything Klaus wants to crush under his boot. Klaus may think shadows last forever, but when that bell rings… it’s heart, it’s spirit, it’s courage that shine through.”

Eddie: (rolling his eyes, dismissive) “Yeah, yeah, heart, spirit, courage… sounds like you’re narrating a children’s bedtime story, Johnny. This isn’t a fairy tale. This is Shadowfall! And when it’s all over, Rudolph’s bedtime story ends with Klaus tucking him in for good.”

Johnny: (firmly) “We’ll see about that, partner. The stage is set. Hope versus despair. Light versus shadow. North Pole Champion versus Universal Champion. Title-for-Title, Two-out-of-Three Falls — and it’s coming up later tonight! Don’t you dare go anywhere!”

(Camera lingers on their faces — Johnny fired up, Eddie smug and confident — before fading to the next segment.)

“From the frozen wastes beyond mercy... weighing in at 327 pounds of fearsome frost and wrath... he is the bringer of reckoning, the punisher of the naughty... this is no jolly myth—this is Sinister Klaus!”

A cold blue mist floods the stage as a low, ominous bell tolls, and a blizzard-like fog coils across the ramp. The arena falls into total darkness. A warped, industrial-metal version of a twisted Christmas anthem explodes through the speakers—chains clanging, sleigh bells distorted, ghostly whispers echoing. A guttural "HO... HO... HO..." rumbles as a black iron chariot slowly emerges, pulled by four corrupted reindeer in war armor. Riding atop is Sinister Klaus—a towering specter in black and crimson, arms crossed, beard like a battle flag, eyes like frozen fire. He steps down from the chariot, dragging a rusted sack behind him, and marches to the ring with judgment in every step—unbothered by the crowd's terror.

“Ladies and gentlemen… he lit the way through the storm, and now he leads this entire federation! From the North Pole… your reigning, defending NPCW North Pole Champion… RUUUDOLPH… THE RED-NOSED… REINDEER!!”

The arena erupts in cheers as the stage explodes in red and white pyro. Uplifting rock-pop music with sleigh bell undertones kicks in as a red spotlight scans the crowd—then locks on RUDOLPH, bursting through the curtain with unshakable energy and a confident grin. His glowing red nose pulses with the beat as he slaps hands, points to the NPCW North Pole Championship around his waist, and rushes the ring with the speed of a sled on Christmas Eve.

Johnny: “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for our main event! Title versus title, two out of three falls! The Universal Champion, Sinister Klaus, against the North Pole Champion, Rudolph! NPCW’s very fate may be decided in this ring tonight!”

Eddie: “I can feel the chill already, Johnny. Sinister Klaus isn’t just walking into this match — he’s walking in as the future of NPCW. And Rudolph? He’s just a blinking reindeer caught in the headlights.”

Johnny: “And joining us now on commentary, we are being… honored, I suppose, by the Global Champion of GCW himself, Damien Black.”

Damien: (calm, arrogant tone) “Honored? You’re welcome, Johnny. Let’s be honest, I’m the only real world champion at this desk. Tonight is just formality. Klaus is going to crush Rudolph, unify these trinkets, and push NPCW deeper into the shadows. And I’ll enjoy every second of it.”

Johnny: “Here we go! The bell sounds and Klaus storms across the ring—BIG axe bomber, the North Pole Drop!”

Eddie: “Rudolph got run over like a sled in rush hour traffic! Cover him, Klaus!”

Johnny: “Klaus with the pin already, but wait—Rudolph reverses! Small package! One… two… oh my goodness Klaus kicks out!”

Damien: (mocking) “Cute. Desperate roll-up by Rudolph. But the light can flicker all it wants, Johnny. Klaus will snuff it out.”

Johnny: “Klaus with a Yule Elbow! Dropped right across the chest of Rudolph. This offense is suffocating.”

Eddie: “And look at those Stocking Stuffer strikes! Right to the head! That red nose is going to be black and blue by the end of this one.”

Damien: (dry chuckle) “This is domination. Rudolph looks like a kid trying to fight his dad. The only miracle tonight is that he hasn’t been pinned yet.”

Johnny: “Rudolph fires back! Flying body press—Guiding Light! He’s got him covered—no! Klaus turns it into a pin of his own! One… two… Rudolph kicks out! What a sequence!”

Eddie: “That was luck, Johnny. Don’t sell it as anything else. The only light Rudolph’s guiding is straight to the loser’s locker room.”

Johnny: “Dropkick from Rudolph! He’s fighting back here, Eddie!”

Damien: “Momentum doesn’t matter, Johnny. Klaus is methodical. Rudolph’s just wasting energy before Klaus puts him to bed.”

Johnny: “Naughty List! Big running leg drop from Klaus! Cover—no, only one! Rudolph kicks out!”

Eddie: “That’s frustration-proof Klaus is in control. He could pin him all night long if he wanted. He’s toying with him.”

Damien: “Rudolph’s hanging by a thread, and it’s about to snap. Watch.”

Johnny: “Rudolph with a headbutt! The Guiding Light strikes again! He’s rallying, dropkick connects! Another dropkick! He’s got Klaus staggered—”

Eddie: (interrupting) “Fluke! Fluke shots! Klaus is regrouping. Don’t let the nose fool you, Johnny, Rudolph’s running on fumes.”

Damien: “This is a dead reindeer walking. You can throw all the dropkicks you want — Klaus is still standing.”

Johnny: “Bearhug! Klaus with the Klaus Crush! He’s squeezing the life out of Rudolph!”

Eddie: “Tap, Rudolph! Save us the trouble!”

Johnny: “No, he’s holding on! The champion of the North Pole refuses to quit!”

Johnny: “Sleeper! To All A Goodnight! Rudolph’s got him in deep—Klaus struggling—”

Damien: (snarling laugh) “Doesn’t matter. He’s not strong enough to keep Klaus down.”

Johnny: “Headbutt by Rudolph—but wait, Klaus sends him through the ropes with a Gift Wrap Toss! Rudolph on the outside!”

Eddie: “And look who’s out there—Fenwick Grimbough! Referee didn’t see it, but Grimbough tripped Rudolph! The man can’t get back in the ring!”

Johnny: “The referee’s count is rising—seven… eight… nine… ten! No! Klaus takes the first fall, thanks to Grimbough’s interference!”

Damien: (mock applause) “Beautiful. Strategic. That’s why Klaus is a true champion. He knows how to use every resource available.”

KLAUS WINS FIRST FALL BY COUNTOUT!

Johnny: “And now Klaus pouncing immediately! Leg drop, pounding strikes, coal crusher boot right to the face! Rudolph is in big trouble here.”

Eddie: “Trouble? He’s finished! Stick a candy cane in him, he’s done.”

Damien: “See how easily Klaus controls him? This isn’t competition. This is inevitability.”

Johnny: “But Rudolph keeps swinging back! Double punches! Dropkick connects again! He won’t give up!”

Johnny: “Atomic drop from Klaus! He’s wearing down Rudolph, goes for the cover—only one! Rudolph still alive!”

Eddie: “Barely. You call this alive? He’s twitching!”

Johnny: “Dropkick by Rudolph! He’s still fighting—but wait, Klaus throws him through the ropes again! The Gift Wrap Toss! Rudolph’s on the outside!”

Damien: (mocking laughter) “Look at him argue with Grimbough again. Pathetic. You’d think he’d learn.”

Johnny: “Fenwick’s grabbing his arm! The referee is counting—seven… eight… nine… ten! No! That’s it! Klaus wins the second fall by count out, and with it the match! Sinister Klaus unifies the titles!”

Eddie: “History made! NPCW belongs to Klaus now!”

Damien: (smugly, cold) “Just like I said. The shadows always win. Rudolph was never in Klaus’s league. Now there’s only darkness ahead for NPCW.”

KLAUS WINS SECOND FALL BY COUNTOUT!

Johnny: (somber) “This is a dark night for NPCW. Fenwick’s interference, Damien Black here gloating, and Klaus standing tall with both titles… Folks, we’ll stay with you as long as we can. Don’t go anywhere…”

(Camera lingers on Klaus holding both belts high, Fenwick applauding at ringside, Damien smirking at commentary as boos rain down.)

The bell has rung. “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel (Dark Orchestral Mix)” thunders as Sinister Klaus stands tall in the ring, hoisting both the Universal and North Pole Championships above his head. The boos are deafening. The arena feels smothered in despair. The cameras cut to fans burying their faces, some screaming in protest.

Johnny: "I… I can’t believe what we’ve just witnessed. Sinister Klaus… has done the unthinkable. He’s standing there with both titles, as if he’s consumed the very heart of NPCW!"

Eddie: "Ha! Look at that picture, Johnny! That’s what a champion looks like—two belts, absolute dominance, and the whole world bowing whether they like it or not!"

The crowd’s boos rise as Fenwick Grimbough slithers into the ring. He steps beside Klaus, his crooked grin spreading ear-to-ear as if savoring the darkness choking the North Pole. Klaus raises the belts higher as Fenwick claps slowly, mockingly, at the destruction that has been wrought.

The camera cuts to a corner where Rudolph sits on the mat, clutching his ribs, his nose still faintly glowing but dimmed. His eyes are wide with shock as he stares at the scene. He looks broken, the “Guiding Light” nearly extinguished.

Johnny: "There’s Rudolph, watching everything slip away right in front of him. This was supposed to be the night of light, the night he led us out of the darkness! Instead—look! Look at what’s happening! NPCW is drowning in shadows!"

Eddie: "Cry me a river, Johnny! Rudolph had his shot, he blew it, and now Klaus owns it all! History doesn’t remember good intentions—it remembers winners."

Suddenly, the crowd ERUPTS. Bernard vaults the barricade, microphone in hand, suit wrinkled from the leap but fire in his eyes. He storms into the ring, standing firm against Klaus and Fenwick.

Bernard: "Hold on one second…!"

The crowd roars, sensing hope. Klaus sneers, lowering the belts to glare at Bernard. Fenwick tilts his head, intrigued, his grin curling into something darker.

Johnny: "It’s Bernard! Bernard is here! Thank heavens—maybe someone can stop this madness!"

Eddie: "Oh please. What’s he gonna do, Johnny? Quote some rulebook at Klaus? This isn’t a board meeting—it’s his ring now!"

Bernard: sternly, into the mic "Fenwick, as you know—per the NPCW rules and regulations, section 6.4, ‘Championship changes’… a title can only change hands via pinfall or submission, unless the match stipulations state otherwise and the title holder agrees. Tonight’s match did not waive that rule!"

The crowd ERUPTS in cheers! Klaus’s face twists with fury, while Fenwick’s grin falters. Bernard points to the belts.

Bernard: "Therefore—the NPCW North Pole Title remains with Rudolph!"

The roof nearly blows off the arena. Honest Abe rushes over, wrests the North Pole Title from Klaus’s hands, and returns it to Rudolph, who clutches it tightly against his chest like a lifeline. His expression is conflicted—relief, but also shame.

Johnny: "YES! Thank heavens, there is still justice in NPCW! Rudolph may have fallen tonight, but he has not been stripped of the people’s title!"

Eddie: "This is ridiculous! You mean to tell me the guy lying on the floor, bleeding, holding his belt like a teddy bear—he’s still champion?!"

Damien Black: calm but chilling "It’s only right. If you force the champion to quit or lay him out flat, you’ve proven beyond doubt you are superior. That’s the truest definition of championship gold."

Bernard turns, locking eyes with Rudolph. His face softens, sorrowful.

Bernard: "However…" he pauses, pained "because you won the match tonight, Klaus, the NPCW Universal Championship will be recognized… as the top title in NPCW."

Gasps echo through the crowd. Rudolph’s jaw drops. He clutches Bernard’s jacket, shaking his head violently.

Damien: low and firm "And yet, Klaus beat him. Rules or not, the image stands: Rudolph broken, Klaus victorious. What will the people remember, Johnny? The fine print? Or the blood on the canvas?"

Johnny: "No… no, this can’t be happening. Don’t tell me the Universal Championship just overtook the North Pole Title!"

Eddie: "HA! What did I say, Johnny? Winners make history. Rudolph’s holding a consolation prize. Klaus holds the crown jewel!"

Bernard gently pushes Rudolph back, murmuring a quiet “I’m sorry.” Klaus begins to laugh—a low, guttural sound that builds into a mocking cackle as he stares directly into Rudolph’s eyes.

Johnny: "Klaus is laughing in his face! This is disgusting!"

Suddenly—WHAM! Fenwick blindsides Rudolph with the Universal Title! Rudolph crumples to the mat, the crowd screaming in horror.

Johnny: "OH, COME ON! ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!"

Eddie: "Beautiful! That’s what happens when you get in the way of progress!"

Bernard scrambles, trying to shield Rudolph, but Fenwick clubs him across the jaw and tosses him out of the ring like garbage. Klaus joins in, raining boots and fists down on Rudolph’s body, screaming guttural curses.

Finally, Klaus grabs Rudolph by the neck, dragging him onto the North Pole Championship belt. He locks Rudolph into position… lifts…

Johnny: "Don’t do this, Klaus! For God’s sake, don’t do this!"

…and DRIVES him head-first into the steel with a vicious piledriver. The sickening impact leaves Rudolph sprawled, blood pouring from his forehead, his glowing nose flickering weakly.

Johnny: "NO! NO! DAMN IT, NO! Rudolph’s been broken in half on his own championship belt!"

Eddie: "You’re looking at the true power in NPCW right now, Johnny! Klaus, with Fenwick at his side, standing tall while Rudolph bleeds like yesterday’s news!"

Damien: calm, chilling finality "The light has flickered… and the shadow reigns supreme."

 Klaus hoists the battered Rudolph up by the throat, laughing as Fenwick eggs him on. The Guiding Light looks broken, the fans in hushed despair—when suddenly, a booming, triumphant tune not heard in years erupts from the arena speakers. The crowd EXPLODES with noise.

Johnny (screaming): “Wait a minute—wait a minute!!! I know that music… I KNOW that music! Oh my GOD—IS THAT—IS THAT KRIS KRINGLE?!”

At the top of the ramp, through a storm of pyro and light, emerges Kris Kringle—long grey-white hair and beard flowing, armored in his old green-and-black battle gear. His eyes burn with fury, his stride is that of a warrior reborn. The audience is thunderous.

Eddie (snide): “Oh great. Fantastic. We’ve hit desperation, Johnny. The NPCW is so desperate to save Rudolph they dug up this old relic from the history books. Look at him! He creaks when he walks!”

Damien (measured, disdainful): “He might look like a warrior, but time is undefeated. Sinister Klaus isn’t going to be rattled by a man clinging to faded glory.”

Kringle storms into the ring, fists flying! He DECKS Fenwick Grimbough with a single shot that sends the crooked elf tumbling out. Klaus turns—Kringle BLASTS him with a haymaker! The two clash, exchanging heavy shots in the middle of the ring like titans of two eras colliding.

Johnny: “Listen to this crowd! The roof is coming OFF! Kris Kringle is here, and he’s bringing the FIGHT to Sinister Klaus!”

Cupid	Dancer	Dasher	Vixen

Up the ramp, the dark Slay Team—Cupid, Dancer, Dasher, Vixen—storm out, ready to tilt the numbers. But suddenly, they’re cut off by four figures: a bespectacled bow-tied elf, a rugged mountain guide woman, and two rough brawlers in torn jeans and t-shirts. They meet the Slay Team halfway, fists flying, keeping the dark reindeer at bay.

Agent Buckle	Sorina	Tom	Finn

Johnny: “Wait—who the heck—WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?! They’re holding the Slay Team BACK!”
Eddie: “I don’t know, Johnny, but I’m telling you—this place has gone MAD!”
Damien (calm, irritated): “This is chaos. Absolute chaos. No discipline, no order—just bodies flying everywhere.”

Back in the ring, Rudolph, bloody but defiant, rises to his feet. He locks eyes with Kringle. The two nod—and then together, they unload on Klaus with hammering fists, the crowd in absolute delirium.

Commissioner’s Box – Interlude

Ms. Sweetins leaps to her feet, tears of joy in her eyes.
Ms. Sweetins (breathless): “He DID come!”

Scrooge scoffs, clutching his cane.
Scrooge: “What are you blathering on about, woman?”

Sweetins turns to Vlad, fire in her eyes.
Ms. Sweetins: “There will always be champions of hope to fight your darkness. Always.”

She storms out, brushing past Grinch Heyman waiting outside the box.
Grinch Heyman (smirking): “Well? Did you get your miracle?”
Ms. Sweetins (hushed, fierce): “Here’s your match for tomorrow. Lilith gets her title shot. Now out of my way—I need to get to ringside!”
She storms off. Heyman smiles darkly, muttering to himself.
Heyman: “Oh, this is going to be delicious.”

Inside the box, Vlad rises slowly, smoothing the lapel of his immaculate suit. He leans toward Scrooge with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Vlad (measured, aristocratic): “Tomorrow… the main event will be Rudolph… against Jack Mason. For the North pole Title. Make it happen.”

Scrooge sputters, baffled.

Scrooge: “Mason? Why Mason? Why not give them the rematch—Klaus and Rudolph? That’s the money!”

Vlad’s expression sharpens, his tone still calm but laced with venom.

Vlad (low, deliberate): “Mr. Scrooge… I do not suggest. I do not negotiate. I tell you what will happen. And if you are as wise as you are wealthy, you will not insult me by asking why.”

He leans in closer, voice dropping to a silken whisper.

Vlad (cold smile): “Just… make it a reality.”

Scrooge swallows hard, his bravado evaporating. He glances at Cratchit nervously.

Scrooge: “…You heard the man. Make the match.”

After Scrooge reluctantly obeys, Vlad remains standing, perfectly composed. He straightens his cufflinks, then turns ever so slightly toward the camera — as though he’s been aware of it all along. His voice is calm, cultured, with a hint of wicked delight.

Vlad (to camera, aristocratic and cold): “Do not mistake tonight for chaos. Every shadow you’ve seen fall across this company… was by design. And tomorrow… the light you cling to will flicker, and die.”

He gives the faintest, amused smirk — then slowly sinks back into his chair, eyes gleaming, as if pulling unseen strings.

Back in the Ring

The fight rages, but suddenly, ominous church bells TOLL. The lights flicker. Fenwick, clutching his jaw at ringside, sneers and raises a hand in signal.

Fenwick (over PA, voice booming): “GRIM TIDINGS TO ALL!”

From the crowd, two monstrous figures emerge—Belsnickel, and beside him a hulking, skeletal-faced man with cracked grey skin, hollow glowing eyes, and chains dangling from his armor. The crowd GASPS in horror.

Belsnickel	Hans Trapp

Johnny (shaken): “Oh no… oh no, it can’t be… that’s… THAT’S HANS TRAPP! Hans Trapp is here in NPCW! A legacy of terror!”
Eddie (gleeful): “Now THIS is what I like to see! Kringle’s worst nightmare come back to haunt him! Welcome back to the darkness, Johnny boy!”
Damien (flat, admiring): “That… is a dangerous man. Hans Trapp is the kind of force that doesn’t just fight you—he breaks you.”

Belsnickel and Hans Trapp hit the ring, overwhelming Kringle and Rudolph. Klaus regains his footing, and together the villains unleash a savage beating. The lights darken, the crowd in horrified disbelief as Kringle and Rudolph are stomped down into the mat.

Johnny (desperate): “This isn’t right! Somebody’s got to stop this—Kris Kringle, Rudolph—they’re being destroyed!”
Eddie (laughing): “Stop it? Johnny, this is DESTINY! The shadows have claimed NPCW, and you’re looking at the monsters who are going to run this place!”
Damien (with cold certainty): “The balance of power has shifted tonight. NPCW will never be the same again.”

RINGSIDE

The camera catches Ms. Sweetins rushing down the ramp to where Victoria Deschamps and Bernard are sitting, her eyes full of determination despite the chaos. The bespectacled elf Buckle and the mountain guide Sorina soon flank her at ringside.

Ms. Sweetins (warmly, almost relieved): “Buckle! You were able to convince him to come! And this must be Sorina!”

Sorina gives a solemn nod of acknowledgment. Buckle adjusts his bow tie with a nervous grin.

Buckle: “Yes—and apologies for being late. We… had a little side diversion to take care of first.”

Ms. Sweetins looks past them at the two rough-edged men—Tom and Finn—brawling with the Slay Team at the ramp to keep them from interfering.

Ms. Sweetins (concerned, urgent): “Who are your friends?”

Buckle (proud, quick): “Tom and Finn of the Hunters Enclave. They helped us with that diversion. But… that’s a story for another time.”

Ms. Sweetins (eyes fixed on the ring, troubled): “I fear though… Kris is having a rough time with this Grim Tidings faction…”

Buckle (grinning, hopeful): “Oh, don’t you worry, Ms. Sweetins. I think he may still have a trick or two up his sleeve…”

THE COMMISSIONER’S BOX

The Commissioner’s box shows Scrooge, Cratchit, and Vlad watching intently. The door creaks open—enter Sandman, ethereal and unsettling, Golden Ticket in hand. His voice drips like smoke.

Sandman: “Scrooge… I wish to cash in my prize. Tomorrow… I will take the North Pole Title from Rudolph at the Labour Day Wrestlefest.”

Scrooge snaps around, irritated.

Scrooge (annoyed, cutting him off): “Read the fine print, dream-dweller. That ticket is good for the Northern Lights Title only—not any title.”

Sandman’s eyes narrow, his voice a low growl.

Sandman: “…Fine. Then tomorrow, Abaddon shall taste the sands of eternal sleep.”

Scrooge lets out a dry, cruel chuckle.

Scrooge (mocking): “Ha! Then it’s your funeral, isn’t it? … Cratchit, mark it down. That’s five matches tomorrow. Now let’s turn our eyes back to the ring.”

Vlad, silent until now, merely smirks, fingers steepled as though everything is still under his control.

Inside the ring, Rudolph is beaten bloody, trapped in the corner as Belsnickel and Hans Trapp lay into him. Kringle is down on one knee, struggling. Across from him, Klaus towers over, ready to deliver a running boot to Kringle’s skull to finish him once and for all.

Kringle, battered but unbroken, looks up and raises a trembling finger to the rafters.

Johnny (urgent): “Wait a second—Kringle’s pointing to the sky… what’s he—what’s he looking at?”

Eddie (mocking): “He’s delirious, Johnny! He’s seeing stars before Klaus sends him into retirement again!”

Then—suddenly—the arena lights shift. A booming, jolly “HO HO HO” echoes through the speakers. The crowd gasps, then ERUPTS.

Johnny (losing his mind): “OH MY LORD—LISTEN TO THIS CROWD! Don’t tell me—don’t you dare tell me!”

Damien (dark, unnerved): “…No. This is impossible. This cannot be.”

Spotlights blaze into the rafters. There, high above, in red coat and iconic battle-gear… it’s SANTA CLAUS HIMSELF.

Crowd: “SAN-TA! SAN-TA! SAN-TA!”

Johnny (voice cracking): “IT IS! IT’S SANTA CLAUS! MY GOD—IF HE’S HERE—WHO IN THE HELL IS SINISTER KLAUS???”

Eddie (panicked, sputtering): “NO! NO WAY! THIS IS A TRICK! SOME CHEAP IMPERSONATOR! IT CAN’T BE HIM!”

Santa lets out another “HO HO HO!” timed perfectly as the music swells into “Here Comes Santa Claus.” On the line “Down the Chimney…” Santa leaps from the rafters, rappelling down by harness. The crowd is in absolute pandemonium as he lands in the ring, tearing the harness free and raising his fists.

Damien (low, awestruck): “…The Red Saint returns to the battlefield.”

Belsnickel and Hans Trapp immediately lunge at Santa—but Santa throws a thunderous punch that knocks Belsnickel clean out of the ring. He then SMASHES Trapp with a brutal headbutt, sending him staggering through the ropes to the floor.

Meanwhile, Kringle seizes the moment—rising to his feet and burying a heavy shot into Klaus’s ribs, knocking him back into the ropes. The crowd roars as Kringle and Santa lock eyes, nod… then clasp each other’s arms. Together they charge Klaus with a massive DOUBLE CLOTHESLINE that sends the Universal Champion tumbling to the outside beside his stunned allies.

Johnny (exploding): “DOUBLE CLOTHESLINE! SANTA AND KRIS KRINGLE, SIDE BY SIDE—CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!”

Eddie (furious, shrieking): “This is madness! This is a disgrace! Somebody stop this Christmas Carol nightmare!”

Damien (measured, ominous): “The tides have turned. Hope has been reforged… but darkness never yields so easily.”

The final shot inside the ring: Santa Claus, Kris Kringle, and a battered but still standing Rudolph, united together, staring down Klaus, Fenwick, Belsnickel, and Hans Trapp at ringside. The crowd is deafening with “SAN-TA! SAN-TA!” chants.

Johnny (closing the show, his voice soaring with emotion): “Ladies and gentlemen… Shadowfall has lived up to its name. Darkness threatened to consume us all—but tonight, HOPE HAS RETURNED! SANTA CLAUS IS BACK! KRIS KRINGLE STANDS TALL! RUDOLPH STILL FIGHTS! What does this mean for tomorrow—for Wrestlefest—for the future of NPCW?! We’ll see you at Labour Day Wrestlefest—GOOD NIGHT EVERYBODY!!!”

THE COMMISSIONER’S BOX

As the show fades, we cut one last time to Vlad. Scrooge and Cratchit gape at the ring in shock, but Vlad sits perfectly still, his smirk razor-thin. He leans forward, eyes gleaming, and speaks directly toward the camera, his aristocratic voice chilling.

Vlad (cold, deliberate): “Let them cheer their saints. Let them cling to their jolly old myths. Tomorrow… the true winter begins.”

The screen cuts to black with the echo of his words and the roar of the crowd still ringing.

CLOSING SEGMENT

The arena has quieted after Santa’s shocking return. The crowd’s chants of “HO HO HO” still echo faintly as the camera slowly rises, gliding past the rafters and private balconies until it reaches a shadow-draped luxury box. Inside, the Circle of the False Light sits in eerie composure—watching, not celebrating. The contrast is chilling.

Ardan Vantrell sits at the center of the box, his long crimson and gray robes flowing around him like a throne. His pale, unblinking eyes fix not on the ring, but on the audience itself—as if piercing into every viewer’s home. At his right stands Lucien Vantrell, silent and statuesque, masked bone-white and still as a statue. Across, Mistress Tynell reclines, sipping red wine from a crystal chalice, her lips curving in a dangerous half-smile. Behind them, looming with soldierly posture, is Lord Gunther, his gloved hands resting on the hilt of his curved saber.

The camera lingers. Then Ardan finally speaks—softly, yet with a resonance that commands silence.

Ardan (measured, hypnotic): “Listen to them… listen. They are enthralled. Tonight’s spectacle has captured their eyes, their hearts… their very breath. The reach is remarkable.”

The faint echo of the crowd below—cheering still for Santa—underscores his words like a choir he alone conducts.

Mistress Tynell (silken, skeptical): “Professional wrestling, my Master? These brutish contests of costume and theater? Surely this is beneath the Circle’s design…”

Ardan (his smile widening, voice lowering): “Ah, but therein lies the brilliance. Theater, illusion, spectacle—it is the oldest form of truth wrapped in lies. Here, the people gather willingly, their spirits open, their defenses abandoned. Do not be fooled by the costumes, Tynell. This… is a stage upon which the very soul of the world can be whispered to.”

He leans forward, eyes narrowing.

Ardan (with weight): “And yet… I sense the hand of another. Vlad. His influence here grows thicker than even I anticipated. His machinations stir beneath every shadow cast in this company… though his endgame remains unclear.”

Lucien stirs for the first time, his masked head turning slightly. His voice is low, clipped, like a blade dragged across stone.

Lucien: “Then he becomes a threat, Father. Allow me to—”

Ardan raises a hand, silencing him with almost supernatural gravity. The air itself feels like it stops.

Ardan: “No. Not yet. Patience, my son. A spider must never shake the web before the prey is fully caught.”

He gestures to Gunther without looking at him.

Ardan: “The Mirror Saints. Summon them to NPCW. Their presence will… refract the narrative to our design.”

Lord Gunther (curt, military precision): “It shall be done. The Saints will march within the fortnight.”

Mistress Tynell (leaning forward, voice smooth as poison): “And what of the Whisper, Master? He has never applied his talents on such a… broad canvas before. His gifts were for shadows, not for stages.”

Ardan turns his pale eyes on her, the faintest smirk forming.

Ardan (calm, inevitable): “There is always a first time. The Whisper will adapt… or he will dissolve. Either way, he will serve.”

The camera drifts closer, framing Ardan’s aged but ageless face in stark detail. His whisper now drops to the level of a secret, meant to crawl into the viewer’s own ear.

Ardan (direct, to camera): “The audience believes they are watching wrestlers… heroes and monsters, light and shadow. But they are watching us. And soon… they will follow where we lead.”

The screen begins to fade to black, but his pale eyes remain, piercing through the void one last time.

Ardan (final whisper): “The Circle closes… and the world is already inside.”

CUT TO BLACK.
[END SHOW]

WRESTLEFEST LABOUR DAY

SEPTEMBER 1, 2025

NPCW WEBISODE

MATCH 1 - Dark Match
FRANKENSTEIN’S MONSTER	VS	HANSEL
MATCH 2 - Dark Match
NUTCRACKER LEGION	VS	MERRY BAND
MATCH 3 QUEEN OF THE NORTH TITLE MATCH TRIPLE THREAT MATCH
MOONSHADOW	VS	LILITH GOLDIE LOCKS
MATCH 4 NORTHERN LIGHTS TITLE MATCH Golden Ticket Cash In
ABADDON	VS	SANDMAN
MAIN EVENT NORTH POLE TITLE MATCH
RUDOLPH	VS	JACK MASON