THOUGHTS FROM THE BUNKER …
by Dave “The Brute” Kent
“THE FROST GIANTS HAVE LANDED — AND THE TEMPERATURE IN NPCW JUST DROPPED ABOUT TWENTY DEGREES.”
Well, well, well. Look who finally found themselves a home. The Frost Giants — yes, those Frost Giants — the most intimidating, road-tested, and flat-out terrifying tag team to never sign on the dotted line… until now.
After months of “are they, aren’t they” speculation, they’ve inked exclusive Chill Factor contracts with NPCW. And let me tell you something — that’s not just a signing, that’s a seismic shift. This isn’t picking up a couple of warm bodies to pad the midcard. This is like dropping a glacier into the middle of your ocean just to see which ships survive.
Let’s rewind the tape a little for context.
These two monsters have been free agents since the top of 2025, and every major promotion with a pulse has tried to grab them. Back in March, they showed up at NPCW Madness — at the invitation of Scrooge himself — and all signs pointed to a deal being imminent. The buzz backstage that weekend was that paperwork was being printed before the night of the event was over. Then? Nothing. No signatures, no press release, not even a whiff of follow-up. They packed up, disappeared into the Canadian tundra like mythic beasts, and every promoter from GCW to HCW started circling like vultures.
GCW reportedly came closest over the summer. Negotiations were “98% done” (and you know how I feel about wrestling math — that’s promoter-speak for “we’re arguing about pyro money”). Then it collapsed at the eleventh hour. Sources said creative control was the issue — and if you’ve ever seen the Frost Giants wrestle, you know why. You don’t tell those two how to work; you survive their work.
And of course, even Donnie B from HCW threw his hat in the ring, which is adorable — like watching a housecat try to pick a fight with a snowplow.
But here’s where things get really interesting. Because the question isn’t “why did they sign with NPCW?” It’s how the hell did Alton Bell pull it off?
Let’s remember who we’re talking about here — Alton Bell, a man who was sitting at the commentary table a few months ago, sipping coffee and calling near-falls, suddenly stepping into the role of brand new General Manager and landing one of the biggest tag signings of the year. That’s not just surprising — that’s suspicious in the best possible way.
Bell doesn’t have the reputation of a dealmaker. He’s not a corporate shark, he’s not a veteran promoter, and he’s definitely not a political mover like Scrooge or Van Helsing. So what connections does he have that could lure the Frost Giants out of their icy exile and into NPCW’s warm, dysfunctional embrace?
Word around the locker room is that Bell and the Giants go back years — maybe even to his days as wrestler himself. If that’s true, it means the new GM just cashed in a decades-old favor. And if it’s not true, then the only logical conclusion is that NPCW just made a massive financial or creative promise to these two brutes. Either way, it tells you everything about where this company’s heading.
NPCW’s roster already looks like a fairy tale asylum — dragons, witches, knights, wolves, ghosts — but now? Now you’ve got literal Frost Giants stomping into the mix. The balance just shifted. Teams like the Virtuous Blades and the Reindeer Coalition might be rethinking their life choices, because these boys don’t work matches, they carve monuments.
Mark my words: this is either the smartest move NPCW has made in two years — or the beginning of a very cold war in that locker room.
Bell’s either a genius… or he just made a deal with the devils of the north. And knowing NPCW? Probably both.
NO WORDS BARRED
Dave’s Takes on NPCW House Show from St. John, NB (October 16, 2025)
Well, folks, St. John didn’t just host a house show — it damn near burned the roof off the place. NPCW rolled into New Brunswick with House Show #030, and what looked like a “B-tier” stop on paper turned into a night of bruises, chaos, and a few storylines catching fire faster than a Cornette rant on modern booking.
The crowd was hotter than a July fryer, the locker room politics were simmering, and the main event between the Mirror Saints and Comet & Prancer from the Reindeer Coalition delivered an absolute marathon — 39 minutes of high-impact, high-drama tag team warfare that left both teams bleeding respect and resentment in equal measure.
From the undercard scuffles to Elyra Moane’s manipulative ringside antics, this card was classic NPCW: equal parts art and anarchy. The Saints tried to outthink the reindeer boys, but heart and hustle won out over hubris — at least this time.
So grab a coffee, strap in, and let’s break down the night where the faithful of St. John learned that in NPCW… even the halos crack and the horns shine bright.
Match 1: Crimson Vane vs. La Bruja Muerte
The Hype
You could smell the supernatural stink a mile away with this one — Crimson Vane, the bloodthirsty huntress from Van Helsing’s merry monster murder squad, versus La Bruja Muerte, the undead enchantress with a fan club of black-magic backup dancers. This was framed as a clash between fang and hex — the Hunter’s cold precision versus the Coven’s dark chaos. And when Honest Abe is your ref, you just know the “honest” part’s gonna get tested harder than a lie detector at a politicians’ convention.
The Match
Bell rings, and Vane wastes no time — slaps on the Snare of Silence, that arm-trap crossface that looks like she’s trying to wrench a confession out of a demon. Muerte didn’t tap, but you could hear the ropes begging for mercy. The Coven tried to tilt the scales with a Hypnotize Foe spell — the kind of smoke-and-mirrors garbage that would get you laughed out of Memphis in the ‘80s — but Vane shook it off and kept her foot on the gas.
Minute two, things heated up: Vane landed her Widow’s Howl (Scorpio Rising Axe Kick) flush, like a headshot from Van Helsing’s own crossbow, but Muerte answered back with a flying apron crossbody that nearly took Vane’s head off. Both racked up points like pinball machines, but the real story was how crisp Vane looked — she’s dialed in.
Third minute, Muerte finally lands something nasty — Hell’s Halo (DDT) — that spiked Vane so hard she might’ve seen her ancestors. But before momentum could swing fully, the Coven couldn’t help themselves. Fourth minute, green mist time. Classic heel panic move. Only problem? Honest Abe actually saw it. DQ city.
Kent’s Take
Winner: Crimson Vane via DQ (Green Mist Interference)
Time: 4:00 (felt like a teaser trailer for the real fight)
This was less a match and more a witch trial gone sideways. Vane’s technique looked sharp — the kind of hybrid grappling that reminds me of early Becky Lynch meets Luna Vachon — but Muerte’s reliance on Coven shenanigans kept it from reaching full gear. The crowd in St. John wanted a slugfest, and what they got was a messy hex-off with a disqualification finish that screamed “chapter one.”
And don’t get me started on that green mist. If you’re gonna cheat, at least make it count. Vane didn’t even look blinded — she looked annoyed, like someone spilled matcha on her gear.
If I’m booking, this feud needs a rematch — no interference, no sorcery, just fists and fury. Otherwise, the Coven’s gonna go from “ominous threat” to “cheap magic act” faster than you can say Hocus Brokus.
Rating: ★★★
Match 2: Kris Kingle vs. Heracles (With Zeus)
The Hype
From Olympus to the North Pole — what in the twelve layers of booking hell is this match supposed to be? We’ve got Kris Kringle, the jolly juggernaut of yuletide justice, squaring up against Heracles, the demi-god of deadlifts, led to the ring by none other than Zeus himself — because apparently, thunder gods travel coach now.
On paper, this is a clash of titans: the mythic strongman vs. the holiday heavyweight. In reality, it’s the closest thing to a Christmas special starring a Greek statue and a brawler in a fur coat. But hey — both these guys can move weight and throw hands, and St. John got themselves a barnburner they didn’t see coming.
The Match
Bell rings, and Santa starts strong — The Long Winter, a delayed vertical suplex that hung Heracles up so long he could’ve written another myth on the way down. The crowd popped big; nobody expected Papa Noel to look this sharp out the gate.
Second minute, both men traded haymakers and power moves like two bulls in a china shop. Kringle hit Frostbite (knee lift to the midsection), and Heracles fired back instantly with a Lion’s Roar Buster (spinebuster) that rattled the ringposts. You could almost hear Zeus at ringside yelling “FINISH HIM!” like it was a Mortal Kombat audition.
Third through fifth minutes, it was big-man brutality on loop. Kringle’s Yule Breaker double underhook suplex drew gasps — the crowd couldn’t believe Santa Claus could suplex a demigod. Heracles answered with overhead throws and a spear that looked like it came straight from a coliseum brawl. By minute seven, both men were sweating maple syrup and rage.
Eighth minute, Kringle found daylight. Heracles hesitated — maybe waiting for divine intervention — and Kringle didn’t. He dropped the Chimney Collapse (knee drop) right across Heracles’ chest and hooked the leg for the 1-2-3. The crowd counted with him like they were calling Christmas Eve early.
Kent’s Take
Winner: Kris Kringle via pinfall (Chimney Collapse)
Time: 8:00
Well, slap a bow on it — Santa’s Pal just beat a demigod clean in the middle of the ring. And not by sleigh bell shenanigans or elf interference, but by sheer grit and meat-and-potatoes power wrestling. This was exactly the kind of hoss fight the undercard needed — snug, stiff, and simple. No wasted motion, no overbooked nonsense.
Kringle looked like he’d been watching Vader tapes in the North Pole gym all year — just blunt force charisma and believable brawling. Heracles held his own, but he’s still wrestling like he’s auditioning for a cologne commercial instead of trying to win a fight. The guy’s got the build, but the fire? Not quite there yet.
And Zeus at ringside? Completely useless. You’re the king of Olympus and you can’t even distract Santa Claus for three seconds? Somebody get that man a lightning bolt and a clue.
Bottom line: Best match of the night so far.
Kringle’s momentum continues, and Heracles goes back to Mount Olympus to explain to Zeus how he got pinned by a man in red velvet. Good luck with that, big guy.
Rating: ★★★★
Match 3: Monsters of Myth vs. Furiosa Ardilla and Mother Earth
The Hype
Well, if you ever wanted to see what happens when Greek horror icons collide with environmental fury and lucha chaos, you got your money’s worth right here. The Monsters of Myth — Hydra Veyne and Medussa Nemesis — are NPCW’s resident nightmare fuel: a serpentine brawler and a stone-eyed powerhouse with a tag chemistry as cold as marble. Across from them stand Furiosa Ardilla (the human squirrel on caffeine) and Mother Earth, the federation’s embodiment of calm, wrath, and compostable violence.
This match had “beautiful trainwreck” written all over it — myth versus nature, chaos versus order, spandex versus snakeskin. And St. John? They didn’t blink once.
The Match
Right from the bell, Hydra Veyne came in slapping Furiosa around with rapid knife-edge chops like she owed her rent. Ardilla took it, bounced, and kept fighting back, but the Monsters started cycling tags like a well-oiled doom machine.
Medussa Nemesis entered early and immediately made a statement — legsweep DDT, piledriver, and a Big Splash double team sequence with Hydra that nearly broke Furiosa in half. For a while, it was all Monsters, all day — Medussa working like a blunt instrument, Hydra like a buzzsaw.
But here’s where the magic happened: around minute 10, Furiosa caught fire. Despite being tossed around like a raccoon in a hurricane, she started connecting — Axe Kicks, Hurricanrana Drivers, Tornado DDTs — you name it, she hit it. Every time the Monsters tried to double-team, Furiosa neutralized them by sheer chaos. The crowd started chanting her name. That’s when the match hit a new gear.
Mother Earth finally tagged in like a divine force of balance, and good lord, she leveled Medussa with an Air Raid Crash Over-the-Knee Neckbreaker that made the front row gasp. From that point, both teams went full warzone — tag-ins, reversals, big bombs, desperation pins. Thirty-seven minutes. That’s not a typo. Thirty-seven damn minutes.
Hydra landed her signature Nine-Headed End (poisonrana into knee strike) for a near fall that almost ended it, but the squirrel queen kept kicking out like her life depended on it. The end finally came when Medussa reversed a Hurricanrana Driver into a brutal Middle Rope Powerbomb that left Ardilla folded like a road map. Pinfall, three count, done. Crowd booed the finish but gave both sides a standing ovation.
Kent’s Take
Winners: Monsters of Myth via pinfall (Medussa Nemesis pins Furiosa Ardilla, Middle Rope Powerbomb)
Time: 37:00
Let’s call this what it was — an epic. This wasn’t your usual house show tag bout; this was a mythological endurance trial that blended lucha insanity, Joshi-level stiffness, and classic tag storytelling. The pacing was absurd — 37 minutes of non-stop action without a dead spot. That’s New Japan cardio with 80’s tag team psychology.
Furiosa Ardilla? She’s a damn revelation. If this woman doesn’t get a title program in the next month, someone in booking needs to be locked in a broom closet with Cornette until they repent. Her timing, her fire, her ability to sell Medussa’s power while staying credible — that’s veteran-level work. Mother Earth, meanwhile, continues to be the “anchor” of that team — grounding chaos with poise and believable offense.
As for the Monsters of Myth? Unreal. Hydra Veyne might be the most improved worker in NPCW right now — her transitions are crisp, her tag awareness elite, and her Nine-Headed End is a kill shot worthy of any PPV main event. Medussa Nemesis remains an absolute force; every movement looks like she’s trying to end a career.
This match had everything: double teams, reversals, reversals of reversals, wild crowd swings, and no cheap finish. Just pure ring work and ring psychology. Even “Honest” Abe managed not to screw it up — miracle of the night right there.
Bottom line? This was a war. One of the best NPCW tag bouts of the year. St. John got an all-timer on a house show — and the Monsters of Myth cemented themselves as the federation’s most dangerous duo.
If you didn’t like this one, brother, you don’t like wrestling.
Rating: ★★★★★¼
Match 4: Prince Charming vs. Frankenstein’s Monster
The Hype
Okay, this one reads like a fever dream somebody booked after binge-watching Once Upon a Time and Frankenstein Unbound. On one side, you’ve got Prince Charming — the federation’s glitter-soaked narcissist with aerial flash and an ego that could power downtown Toronto. On the other? Frankenstein’s Monster, the reanimated juggernaut stitched together by bad intentions and better lighting, led to the ring by his creator, the perpetually scheming Dr. Frankenstein.
This feud’s been simmering ever since Charming called the Monster “a pile of parts who couldn’t lace up Cinderella’s slippers.” Yeah — he said that on live mic. Needless to say, Dr. F took that personally. So here we are: beauty vs. beast, showman vs. science project, in front of 2,100 screaming New Brunswick fans who came to see sparks — maybe literal ones — fly.
The Match
Bell rings, and right off the bat, Charming tries to play matador to a bull made of meat and lightning. The Monster starts heavy, landing a crushing Bolt Driver (double axe handle smash) that nearly flattens Charming like a pancake. For a guy stitched together, the big man’s got snap. Charming bails early, buying time, playing up to the crowd, preening like he’s auditioning for a shampoo commercial.
Minute two, Charming flips the momentum — nails a Shooting Star Leg Drop that looked crisp as hell. Say what you will about the guy’s arrogance, but his athleticism’s legit. The Monster eats it, staggers, but doesn’t fall. That’s when things get ugly. By the third minute, we’ve got a slugfest: Sentons vs. Heavy Hands, finesse vs. force. Every time Charming takes to the air, the Monster clubs him out of midair like he’s swatting a bug.
But then… the payoff. Fourth minute, Charming tries a desperate Sasuke Special — and damn near kills himself doing it. But here’s the twist: he connects. Monster goes down hard on the outside, maybe more stunned than hurt. “Fast Count” Frank starts the count. Dr. Frankenstein’s screaming, waving jumper cables, trying to “recharge” his creation like this is 1931. But the big lug doesn’t make it back. Ten count. Ding ding ding. Prince Charming wins — by count-out.
Kent’s Take
Winner: Prince Charming via count-out (Sasuke Special)
Time: 4:00
Alright, so here’s the thing: this wasn’t a technical classic, but it did deliver a compact, entertaining story. Charming bumping like a madman, Monster throwing clubbing shots like he’s auditioning for an old-school All Japan run, and Dr. Frankenstein doing his best “angry dad at a science fair” act on the floor.
The count-out finish? A little lame. Not “end of the world” bad, but you could feel the crowd deflate — they wanted to see Charming flattened or the Monster electrocute him mid-ring, not a walk-off ending that looked like someone forgot to charge the monster’s battery. Still, the Sasuke Special spot got the pop of the night up to that point, and Charming milked it like the showboat he is.
“Fast Count” Frank actually did his job for once, which probably means somebody slipped him a Tim Hortons gift card before the bell. No nonsense, no screwjob, just a straight count-out that fit the storyline — the Monster’s brute power can’t compensate for Charming’s agility… or his ego.
Bottom line:
Frankenstein’s Monster looks like a star in the making but needs to sell less like a robot running low on RAM.
Prince Charming continues to prove he’s the prettiest heel with the nastiest moonsault in the company.
Dr. Frankenstein’s ringside antics deserve a spin-off.
Fun little undercard match. Not an instant classic, but exactly what a house show should offer — fast, flashy, and just enough absurdity to make you question your life choices in the best way possible.
Brute’s Parting Shot:
Prince Charming wins the battle, but you better believe Frankenstein’s Monster’s coming back for the whole damn war.
Rating: ★★½
MAIN EVENT – Mirror Saints (w/ Elyra Moane) vs. Comet and Prancer
The Hype (Teaser)
Alright, strap in, because this one had “house show classic” written all over it before the bell even rang. On one side, you’ve got the Mirror Saints — Sorin Savax and Vael Thorne, walking contradictions in leather and vanity, wrestling like they’re possessed by ghosts who worship tape study and violence in equal measure. Their manager, Elyra Moane, plays the dark muse at ringside, a cross between Luna Vachon and a cursed art installation.
Across the ring, the Reindeer Coalition — Comet and Prancer, the crowd-favorite holiday bruisers, who somehow make reindeer-themed offense work without looking like they belong in a Rankin-Bass cage match. They’re pure face energy: kids cheer, parents grin, and cynics (like me) begrudgingly admit they can go bell-to-bell.
This wasn’t just a random pairing — this was redemption. The Reindeer boys have been climbing back toward title contention. The crowd was hot, the lights low, and Elyra was already whispering bad omens before the match even started.
The Match
And good lord, did this thing go long. Thirty-nine minutes of grit, glory, and near-falls — the kind of match that has you questioning if the timekeeper fell asleep on the bell.
We started with Comet on fire, hitting a Comet’s Crash diving headbutt right out of the gate, popping the St. John crowd like someone just announced free beer. The Saints tried to stall, tag in, slow the pace — textbook heel tag strategy — but Comet and Prancer stayed on them like rabid caribou, forcing the Mirror Saints into early defensive tags.
By minute five, the Saints found rhythm: Sorin with the Crown of Ashes (Saito Suplex) and Vael with his vicious AntiCross Octopus Hold — double-teaming perfection. You could tell they’d been watching their Midnight Express tapes, the way they isolated limbs and worked timing. But the Reindeer boys kept fighting from underneath — Comet’s explosive offense and Prancer’s resilience making them feel like underdog heroes straight out of a Saturday morning cartoon with barbed wire.
As the match stretched past the fifteen-minute mark, fatigue set in — and that’s where this thing got good. Vael started working more methodical, leaning into those big heel strikes like a man who hates kneecaps. Sorin was the enforcer, tossing suplexes like receipts. Comet and Prancer answered back with double-teams that wouldn’t look out of place in a Young Bucks highlight reel — Shooting Star Press, Reindeer Kick, Face in the Mud — bam, bam, bam, near-falls piling up faster than my caffeine bill.
Then it just… kept going. We hit twenty, then thirty minutes, and instead of dragging, it turned into this desperate, pride-fueled brawl. Both teams trading double-team sequences like they were playing hot potato with destiny. Elyra Moane screamed orders like she was summoning something from another dimension. “Honest” Abe somehow kept control of it all, which, frankly, deserves its own star rating.
The finish came at minute thirty-nine, after nearly forty minutes of punishment. Sorin, clearly running on fumes and ego, went for one last back kick on Prancer, but the reindeer dodged, Comet hit a Sunset Flip, and Sorin — the proud, vain, ruthless Sorin Savax — got counted out after collapsing on the floor, unable to make it back in time.
Comet & Prancer win by count-out in a rare babyface victory that didn’t feel cheap — it felt earned.
Kent’s Take
Winners: Comet & Prancer via count-out (39:00)
Folks, let me tell you something — this was a damn barnburner. It wasn’t perfect, but it was alive. This wasn’t one of those sterile, overproduced TV matches with synchronized dives and fake crowd noise — this was sweaty, desperate, real tag team wrestling.
The pacing was smart — they built in acts, like a movie. Act I: the Reindeer’s hope spot. Act II: the Saints’ control stretch. Act III: a war of attrition that would make old Crockett Promotions blush.
Now, I’ll say it — the count-out finish again (two in one night, are you kidding me?) was the only real gripe. Whoever’s in charge of finishes back there needs to lay off the indecisive booking juice, because this deserved a pin, not a ten-count copout. But if you were in that building, you got your money’s worth.
Elyra Moane continues to be gold at ringside — her subtle facial expressions tell the story the Saints don’t always remember to sell. The Reindeer Coalition? They’re sneaky good. They’re like if Ricky Morton had antlers and a sugar high. Their timing’s crisp, their teamwork’s tight, and they know how to work a crowd.
As for the Saints — Sorin and Vael are pound-for-pound one of the most technically gifted tag teams on the roster, but they’ve got the same problem every narcissist duo does: they care more about looking flawless than winning decisively. That’s how you get beat by guys dressed like Christmas mascots.
Bottom Line:
This was a war of endurance, storytelling, and spite.
The Saints need to start finishing matches before the forty-minute mark or risk gassing out their own heat.
The Reindeer Coalition? They’re ready for a title shot, and the crowd knows it.
Brute’s Parting Shot:
This wasn’t a match — it was a wrestling symphony. And if the Saints don’t course-correct soon, the only thing they’ll be leading is a funeral dirge for their own momentum.
Rating: ★★★★
THE FINAL WORD
By Dave “The Brute” Kent
Well, folks — let’s talk about Brick freakin’ Brody. Yeah, that same Brick Brody who strutted into my bunker last week lookin’ like he’d just crawled out of a Harley dealership’s lost and found bin.
Now, don’t get me wrong — I respect the man’s legacy. Once upon a time, the guy was a legitimate draw. Big crowds, bloody brawls, and promos that made you believe he could bite through a turnbuckle. But let’s not rewrite history, alright? Because before he was “The Beast of Bangor,” this man went by Beautiful Brody. That’s right — feather boas, baby oil, and a hairdryer that traveled first class. The only thing dangerous about him back then was his cologne bill.
So yeah, forgive me if I didn’t exactly quake in my boots when he tried to puff up his chest and call me out on my own damn show. Brody’s been running on fumes for years — a relic from the days when a stiff punch and a beer gut counted as “psychology.” The man looks like he’s one bad bump away from a sponsorship deal with Bengay.
Now he wants a fight? A tag match at Chill Factor Ten? Fine. I told him right there on live TV — The Brute doesn’t back down. You want to drag the past into the present, let’s see if your body can cash the nostalgia checks your mouth keeps writing.
But here’s the kicker: I ain’t sayin’ who my partner is. That’s my business. What I will say is, I’ve got options. A lotta guys have reached out. Some big, some fast, some meaner than a two-headed pitbull with a caffeine habit. Hell, I could pick anyone from NPCW or HCW and make this a headline fight.
Then again… maybe I won’t have to. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find some poor soul desperate enough for airtime that they’ll tag with me for free. Maybe one of the Amigos needs a warm-up match before the Christmas loop. Lord knows Brody ain’t the kind of partner anyone lines up for — the guy’s reputation backstage is colder than a Canadian ice bath.
So go ahead, Brody. Keep flexin’ that nostalgia muscle. Keep talkin’ about how “tough” you were when cable still had a dial. You picked this fight, old man, and now you’re gonna get it — The Brute and whoever’s brave (or foolish) enough to join him.
At Chill Factor Ten, the past meets the present — and only one of us walks out with a future.
And between you and me, brother… it ain’t gonna be the guy still livin’ off VHS highlights.
See you in the ring, Brody.
– DAVE “THE BRUTE” KENT
“If you can’t handle the truth, don’t come knockin’ on my bunker door.”
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