Aired - May 8, 2026
(Black screen. The sound of a heavy book opening.)
(A candle ignites. Ink creeps across parchment like it’s alive.)
(A choir hums low. A single bell tolls—slower this time.)
Voice-over (smooth, ominous):
“Once upon a time… they told you monsters weren’t real.”
(beat)
“They were wrong.”
(The ink burns darker now—spreading like rot across the page.)
“Here… they don’t hide.”
“They reign.”
(The words sear into the screen like a cursed fairytale title card.)
NPCW: DARK FABLE
Voice-over:
“This is the MYTHIC Division.”
“Welcome… to DARK FABLE.”
SIGNATURE MONTAGE (Q2)
1) Frankenstein’s Monster — Mythic Crown Champion
(Lightning rends the sky. Thunder shakes the frame.)
Mordred swings with fury—desperation made flesh.
The Monster does not fall.
He absorbs. Endures. Advances.
A hand clamps around Mordred—lifting him as if he weighs nothing.
A devastating slam. The ring buckles.
Silence—then impact echoes like judgment.
The Monster stands over him. Crown claimed. Not won—taken.
2) The Enforcers — Kong & Ogre
(Steel chains drag across stone. Heavy footsteps echo.)
Kong crushes a man into the mat with raw force—no finesse, only inevitability.
Ogre follows—lifting, driving, ending.
Tag precision without mercy.
Two bodies fall.
Two monsters stand.
Gold raised—not in celebration… but in ownership.
3) King Arthur
(A sword is driven into the ground. The camera circles.)
Arthur rises from one knee—battle-worn, unbroken.
A strike dodged. A counter delivered clean.
Another opponent falls. Then another.
He does not roar.
He does not boast.
He simply stands…
The last one left.
4) Takuma Ryujin
(A dragon’s silhouette coils through smoke.)
Takuma explodes forward—precision wrapped in violence.
A brutal strike combination snaps his opponent backward.
Then—final impact. Sudden. Absolute.
He kneels for a moment… not in weakness—
But in control.
5) Morgana Le Faye
(Dark mist curls across the screen.)
Her opponent charges.
Morgana does not move—until it’s already over.
A twist. A trap. A cruel, inevitable finish.
She rises slowly, eyes cold.
This was never a match.
It was a lesson.
6) Blonde Bombshells — Alice & Dorothy
(Bright light flickers… then distorts.)
Alice spins through an opponent—fluid, sharp.
Dorothy follows—precise, perfectly timed.
Double-team execution—clean, ruthless, synchronized.
They stand side by side.
Not innocence.
Not nostalgia.
Something sharper… wearing a familiar face.
7) Robin Hood
(An arrow cuts across the screen—transitioning the shot.)
Robin slips a strike by inches.
Counters instantly—clean, efficient.
Another opponent falls to precision, not power.
He looks into the hard cam—calm, defiant.
A thief.
A hero.
A problem.
8) Monsters of Myth — Hydra Veyne, Medussa Nemesis, Serpenta Veyne
(A low hiss fills the air. Multiple shadows move at once.)
Hydra overwhelms—relentless, many-headed offense.
Medussa strikes—cold, calculated, finishing with venom.
Serpenta coils and crushes—tight, suffocating control.
Three forces. One presence.
They do not fight for victory.
They consume it.
(The choir rises. War drums thunder beneath it.)
(The arena appears—lit like a cathedral built for conflict.)
Voice-over:
“This isn’t the North.”
“This isn’t the light.”
(beat)
“In DARK FABLE… the story doesn’t end happily.”
(The music drops—just the bell now.)
“It ends… with a winner.”
(beat—longer than before)
“And now… the winners are changing the story.”
“This… is DARK FABLE.”
The camera rises from black.
Not cleanly.
Not quickly.
It emerges as if pulled from beneath stone.
Torchlight crawls across the walls of Scrooge’s Camelot Coliseum, the flames bending and snapping in the rafters as if the building itself is breathing.
The crowd is already standing.
Not simply loud.
Divided.
Armed with belief.
The camera sweeps across a sea of green hoods and Sherwood banners.
A massive poster hangs over the lower bowl:
“THE MERRY BAND DOES NOT KNEEL.”
Another sign shows Robin Hood, Little John, Friar Tuck, Will Scarlett, Maid Marion, and Lark of Sherwood standing beneath a storm-bent tree:
“SHERWOOD BLEEDS TOGETHER.”
Fans in dark green T-shirts pound the barricade, their shirts marked with a crossed bow-and-staff emblem and the words:
“OUTLAW JUSTICE.”
A chant rises sharp and defiant.
“MER-RY BAND! MER-RY BAND! MER-RY BAND!”
Another section answers with Robin’s name.
“RO-BIN! RO-BIN! RO-BIN!”
One fan holds a torn parchment-style sign with black and gold ink:
“THE KING’S HAND COLLECTED ONE DEBT. SHERWOOD COLLECTS THE NEXT.”
The camera shifts.
Gold and crimson flood the next section.
Replica swords catch the torchlight.
A hand-painted shield reads:
“THE TRUE KING STILL STANDS.”
Another poster shows King Arthur pointing toward the ramp, with Frankenstein’s Monster looming in silhouette behind him:
“THE LONG NIGHT WILL CROWN A KING.”
Fans wear black-and-gold Camelot shirts with the phrase:
“CAMELOT DOES NOT FALL.”
The chant starts measured.
Then becomes thunder.
“AR-THUR! AR-THUR! AR-THUR!”
One sign is held high by two fans in chainmail hoodies:
“HE PINNED THE MONSTER’S ENFORCER. NEXT HE TAKES THE CROWN.”
The camera cuts to a pocket of blue, bronze, and sea-worn white.
Sinbad’s faithful stand shoulder to shoulder.
One banner shows a ship breaking through a black tide beneath a burning red moon:
“NO SEA TOO DARK.”
Another sign reads:
“SANDMAN, YOUR DREAM ENDS TONIGHT.”
A fan in a sleeveless Sinbad shirt points toward the ring, the shirt marked with crossed scimitars and the words:
“THE FLAME CALLS THE VOYAGER.”
The chant rolls through the Coliseum like waves against stone.
“SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD!”
Then, louder:
“TAKE THE FLAME! TAKE THE FLAME!”
The camera moves upward.
The light seems to cool.
Black and crimson banners hang from one shadowed section.
Lilith’s supporters do not cheer like the others.
They stand.
Still.
Certain.
A woman in a dark velvet cloak holds a sign:
“LONG LIVE THE QUEEN OF NORTH.”
Another reads:
“MORGANA WANTS POWER. LILITH IS POWER.”
A third, sharper and crueler:
“RAPUNZEL FELL. MORGANA WAITS. GUINEVERE WATCHES.”
Fans in black-and-red Lilith shirts chant slowly.
Coldly.
“LI-LITH! LI-LITH! LI-LITH!”
The chant feels less like support.
More like submission.
Then the camera finds silver and emerald.
Scale-pattern shirts.
Serpent masks.
Replica North Star Tag Team titles raised high.
The Monsters of Myth faithful hiss in rhythm before the words come.
A massive poster shows Hydra Veyne, Medussa Nemesis, and Serpenta Veyne beneath a three-headed serpent sigil:
“MONSTERS DO NOT ASK PERMISSION.”
Another sign reads:
“SERPENTA SPEAKS. THE WORLD LISTENS.”
A third shows Lark of Sherwood caught in a serpent coil:
“SHERWOOD CANNOT OUTRUN MYTH.”
The chant grows from a hiss into a roar.
“MON-STERS OF MYTH! MON-STERS OF MYTH!”
The camera finally settles at ringside.
Julian Ward sits composed at the commentary desk, hands folded, eyes steady.
Brick Brody leans forward beside him, arms crossed, already wearing the expression of a man hoping the night turns ugly.
Julian Ward: “Good evening, and welcome to NPCW: Dark Fable, live from Scrooge’s Camelot Coliseum. I am Julian Ward, joined as always by Brick Brody, and tonight the Road to Ashes of Empire continues through the shadow of The Long Night.”
Brick Brody: “That’s a pretty way to say everybody’s walking into trouble, Julian. I like trouble. Trouble tells the truth.”
Julian Ward: “Last week, truth was difficult to ignore. The Mythic Division shifted again—not through declarations, but through consequences.”
Brick Brody: “And through people getting dropped on their heads. Don’t leave out the important part.”
Julian Ward: “The Monsters of Myth opened the night in non-title action against Lark of Sherwood and Maid Marion. Thirty minutes passed, and neither side could end the other.”
Brick Brody: “That wasn’t some moral victory. That was a warning to both sides. The Monsters learned Sherwood can survive the venom. Sherwood learned survival doesn’t mean conquest.”
Julian Ward: “Tonight, that conflict narrows. Serpenta Veyne steps into singles competition against Lark of Sherwood. The voice of the Monsters of Myth against one of Sherwood’s sharpest rising fighters.”
Brick Brody: “Lark better keep his eyes open. Serpenta doesn’t just beat you with moves. She makes you listen while the trap closes.”
Julian Ward: “Sinbad also continued his rise last week, defeating The Huntsman with a running head kick and placing himself firmly in the path of the Eternal Flame Championship.”
Brick Brody: “And that matters because he’s already had Sandman’s number outside the title picture. You beat the champion before the title match, you stop being a hopeful. You become a problem.”
Julian Ward: “King Arthur and Sir Lancelot delivered one of the most significant victories of the night, defeating the Universal Tag Team Champions, Monster Bash’s Enforcers, in non-title competition.”
Brick Brody: “Arthur pinned Ogre. Let’s say that clearly. He pinned one half of the Universal Tag Team Champions, then looked up the ramp at Frankenstein’s Monster like a man trying to start a war early.”
Julian Ward: “Arthur told the Mythic Crown Champion that at The Long Night, the title would be his. Frankenstein’s Monster did not answer with words. He simply stood and watched.”
Brick Brody: “That’s worse. When a monster doesn’t talk, it means he’s already decided what he’s going to do to you.”
Julian Ward: “Tonight, Arthur faces the Cheshire Cat. And on the surface, that may appear to be a different kind of danger. But with The Long Night approaching, distraction may be Arthur’s greatest enemy.”
Brick Brody: “Cheshire Cat is exactly the kind of opponent you don’t want before a monster. Arthur starts thinking about the crown too soon, and the Cat will have him swinging at smoke.”
Julian Ward: “Lilith, the Queen of the North Champion, also reaffirmed her dominance last week. She defeated Rapunzel, then continued the punishment after the bell until Dorothy intervened.”
Brick Brody: “That wasn’t anger. That was policy. Lilith governs through damage.”
Julian Ward: “And the Queen of the North picture has become increasingly volatile. Morgana Le Faye awaits Lilith at The Long Night. Lady Guinevere has now inserted Camelot’s claim into that conversation. Three forces. One crown.”
Brick Brody: “That title scene is a throne room with knives under every chair.”
Julian Ward: “Tonight, Snow White faces Patchwork Paige. And every match in this division now carries weight, because Lilith’s reign has drawn the eyes of challengers, rivals, and opportunists alike.”
Brick Brody: “Snow White better not look past Paige. Paige is stitched together out of damage and bad intentions.”
Julian Ward: “But perhaps the most unsettling arrival last week came from The King’s Hand. Robin Hood and Will Scarlett demanded the mystery attackers reveal themselves. They did.”
Brick Brody: “Brute Bailiff and Ledger Knight. The King’s Collectors. And they didn’t just show up. They beat Robin and Will, threw Will aside, and left Robin lying under the shadow of some voice on a screen talking about debts.”
Julian Ward: “The first debt, we were told, had been collected.”
Brick Brody: “Yeah, and now Sherwood knows something ugly. These men aren’t ambushers anymore. They’re sanctioned violence with a name.”
Julian Ward: “Tonight, the Merry Band must respond while still facing the dangers already signed before them. Friar Tuck and Little John meet Monster Bash’s Enforcers in non-title action.”
Brick Brody: “Bad timing. Your friends got flattened by the King’s Collectors, and now you’ve got to fight Kong and Ogre? That’s not a recovery plan. That’s a second beating waiting in line.”
Julian Ward: “Sir Galahad also endured thirty minutes against Sandman last week. The Eternal Flame Championship remained with Sandman after the time limit expired, but Galahad forced the champion into deep waters.”
Brick Brody: “He survived Sandman. That’s not the same as beating him, but it’s not nothing. Problem is, tonight Galahad has Mordred. That’s going from a nightmare to a knife.”
Julian Ward: “Mordred, under the continuing presence of Myrddin the Hollow, has become colder. More focused. Last week he issued what he called not a challenge, but a summons, toward Convergent Champion Jack Lumber.”
Brick Brody: “That’s Mordred for you. Other men call people out. Mordred talks like the world already owes him the answer.”
Julian Ward: “And after last week’s broadcast ended, another darkness forced its way onto our screens. The first part of The Trials of Raigen began inside the Blood Oni Dojo.”
The crowd quiets slightly.
The tone shifts.
Julian Ward: “Raigen was beaten. Tested. Not trained in any traditional sense. Sensei Kagehito declared that the Seven Trials of the Blood Oni would begin. And later, in a cold stone cell, the Groundskeeper offered Raigen water, food, and a warning.”
Brick Brody: “Two paths, he said. Destruction and obedience. But there’s a third. I don’t know what that old man is playing at, Julian, but I know this—Raigen’s either going to come out of those trials broken, or he’s going to come out worse for everybody else.”
Julian Ward: “Tonight’s episode continues under that shadow. The Road to Ashes of Empire runs through The Long Night, and every decision now feels irreversible.”
A low bell tolls once.
The crowd stirs again.
Julian Ward: “Tonight, our opening contest will see Serpenta Veyne face Lark of Sherwood.”
Brick Brody: “Venom against speed. Voice against defiance. I like it.”
Julian Ward: “In Match Two, the Universal Tag Team Champions, Monster Bash’s Enforcers—Kong and Ogre—meet Friar Tuck and Little John of the Merry Band in non-title action.”
Brick Brody: “Friar Tuck and Little John are tough. Kong and Ogre are built to make tough men regret proving it.”
Julian Ward: “Match Three brings Patchwork Paige against Snow White.”
Brick Brody: “That one’s going to be strange and mean. Which means it belongs here.”
Julian Ward: “Match Four: Sir Galahad versus Mordred.”
Brick Brody: “Honor against betrayal. Light against rot. And I’ll tell you right now, rot spreads.”
Julian Ward: “Match Five: King Arthur versus the Cheshire Cat.”
Brick Brody: “Arthur better stay focused. You don’t prepare for Frankenstein’s Monster by getting embarrassed by a grin with legs.”
Julian Ward: “And in our main event, the Eternal Flame Championship will be defended. Champion Sandman faces Sinbad.”
The crowd erupts.
The Sinbad chant rises first.
“SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD!”
Then, from another section, quieter and more haunting:
“SAND-MAN… SAND-MAN…”
Julian Ward: “Sandman remains champion after surviving Sir Galahad. Sinbad enters with momentum, certainty, and victories that have brought him to this moment.”
Brick Brody: “This is the kind of title match I like. The champion is dangerous. The challenger believes. And belief is useful right up until the lights go out.”
Julian Ward: “The torches are lit. The Coliseum is divided. The Long Night approaches. And tonight, every match may decide who walks toward it with power… and who is left behind as proof.”
Brick Brody: “Good. Let the weak learn early.”
The camera pulls back.
Robin Hood signs rise.
Arthur’s banners ripple.
Sinbad’s supporters chant toward the main event.
Lilith’s section stands cold and certain.
The Monsters of Myth faithful hiss in rhythm.
The bell tolls again.
This time heavier.
Julian Ward: “Dark Fable begins now.”
Brick Brody: “Then let somebody pay for it.”
The camera returns to the ring.
The crowd is still split from the welcome.
Green banners rise for Sherwood.
Silver and emerald signs answer from the Monsters of Myth faithful.
The bell has not rung yet.
But the first battle of the night has already begun in the air.
The arena lights dim slightly.
Not into darkness.
Into tension.
A low hiss slides through the Coliseum speakers.
Slow.
Layered.
Almost beautiful.
Then—
Serpenta Veyne appears at the top of the ramp.
She does not rush.
She does not raise her arms.
She simply stands there, chin lifted, eyes fixed on the ring as if she has already seen the ending.
Emerald light moves across her like scales beneath water.
Behind her, the screen shows the serpent sigil of the Monsters of Myth.
Hydra Veyne and Medussa Nemesis are not at her side tonight.
They do not need to be.
Their presence is still felt.
Julian Ward: “Serpenta Veyne enters alone tonight, but she carries the full gravity of the Monsters of Myth with her.”
Brick Brody: “That’s the thing about dangerous groups, Julian. Sometimes the one who talks the calmest is the one who knows exactly where the knife goes.”
Serpenta walks down the ramp with measured precision.
She does not acknowledge the fans shouting at her.
She only smiles faintly when the Sherwood section begins to boo.
One fan raises a sign reading:
“LARK HUNTS VENOM.”
Serpenta looks at it.
The smile widens.
Then she steps through the ropes and moves to the center of the ring, waiting.
The lights shift.
Green.
Gold.
Torchlight seems warmer now.
The sound of a bowstring being drawn echoes through the Coliseum.
Then the music strikes.
Lark of Sherwood emerges.
Fast.
Focused.
No theatrics.
No wasted motion.
She pauses at the top of the ramp, eyes locked on Serpenta.
The Merry Band faithful rise behind her.
“LARK! LARK! LARK!”
She starts forward, moving with the tense energy of someone entering a trap by choice.
Julian Ward: “Lark of Sherwood stood across from the Monsters of Myth last week in a thirty-minute draw. Tonight, she faces Serpenta one-on-one.”
Brick Brody: “And that changes everything. In a tag match, you can escape. You can reach your corner. Tonight? There’s nowhere to run once Serpenta gets those claws in.”
Lark slides into the ring.
She rises quickly.
Serpenta does not back away.
They stand several feet apart.
Lark tense.
Serpenta calm.
Referee “Honest” Abe steps between them, gives both competitors a final warning, and calls for a clean contest.
Louie Linville stands centered in the ring.
The noise lowers.
Ceremonial.
Expectant.
Louie Linville: “Ladies and gentlemen… the following contest is scheduled for one fall!”
A pause.
Louie Linville: “Introducing first… representing the Monsters of Myth… SERPENTA VEYNE!”
The emerald-and-silver section erupts in hisses and applause.
Serpenta slowly turns her head, absorbing it like tribute.
Louie Linville: “And her opponent… representing the Merry Band… LARK OF SHERWOOD!”
A roar from the green-and-gold faithful.
Lark nods once, never taking her eyes off Serpenta.
Louie exits.
Abe checks both sides.
The bell tolls.
Minute 1
Julian Ward: “Serpenta closes distance immediately—no feeling-out process—she slips behind Lark and brings her down into the bodyscissored dragon sleeper. That is immediate pressure across the throat and spine.”
Brick Brody: “That’s beautiful cruelty. Wrap the body, bend the neck, take away the breath. Lark came in fast, and Serpenta just turned speed into panic.”
Julian Ward: “Lark tries to shift her hips, tries to pry at the grip, but Serpenta has the scissors locked tight around the ribs. Honest Abe is in close, asking if Lark wants to submit.”
Brick Brody: “First minute, and Serpenta’s already making her answer questions nobody wants to answer.”
Lark refuses.
She claws forward, dragging both bodies toward the ropes.
Serpenta releases just before Abe’s count becomes a factor.
She rises smoothly.
Lark rises slower.
The match has begun exactly where Serpenta wanted it.
Minute 2
Julian Ward: “Serpenta steps in with a roundhouse kick—clean impact across the upper body—but Lark fires back immediately with a Shining Wizard. She meets venom with acceleration.”
Brick Brody: “That’s what Lark has to do. Don’t let Serpenta coil. Don’t let her think. Hit her before she turns the whole ring into a cage.”
Julian Ward: “The kick rocked Lark, but the Shining Wizard catches Serpenta flush enough to stagger her backward. This is the pace Lark needs—sudden, sharp, disruptive.”
Brick Brody: “Yeah, but she can’t just score points. She has to hurt Serpenta enough to stop her from grabbing hold again.”
Lark presses forward.
Serpenta steps back.
Not retreating.
Resetting.
Minute 3
Julian Ward: “Serpenta catches Lark’s forward movement—wheelbarrow DDT—drives her down with precision. But Lark rolls through the damage and answers with a fireman’s carry cutter.”
Brick Brody: “That’s instinct. She got planted and still found a way to cut Serpenta off. That’s how Sherwood fights—ugly when it has to be.”
Julian Ward: “Both competitors land heavily. Serpenta is first to one knee, Lark clutching at her neck after that DDT. The body is already being targeted.”
Brick Brody: “And that matters. Every neck shot makes that dragon sleeper worse later.”
Serpenta watches Lark rise.
She is no longer smiling.
Not because she is afraid.
Because now she is interested.
Minute 4
Julian Ward: “Serpenta hoists Lark—Desert Eagle Powerbomb—high impact. But Lark uses the momentum of the exchange to force the fight outward—diving crossbody to the floor sends Serpenta to the outside.”
Brick Brody: “That’s risk. That’s Sherwood throwing her body through the door before the trap shuts.”
Serpenta lands near the floor mats, rolling toward the barricade.
The Sherwood section comes alive.
“LARK! LARK! LARK!”
Julian Ward: “Honest Abe begins the count. Serpenta is outside, taking her time, recalculating.”
Brick Brody: “She’s not dazed enough. I don’t like that if I’m Lark.”
Abe counts.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Serpenta rises.
Six.
She turns slowly toward Lark.
Seven.
She slides back into the ring.
Julian Ward: “Serpenta beats the count at seven. Lark forced her outside, but she did not force her into desperation.”
Brick Brody: “And that’s the problem. Serpenta got a count to breathe. Predators like breathing room.”
Minute 5
Julian Ward: “Serpenta attacks the moment she re-enters—again to the bodyscissored dragon sleeper. Lark is pulled backward and trapped near center ring.”
Brick Brody: “There it is again. Same hold. Same target. Serpenta’s telling her exactly what she’s going to do and daring her to stop it.”
Julian Ward: “Lark absorbs the punishment this time, trying to keep her chin tucked, trying not to give Serpenta full extension.”
Brick Brody: “That’s not defense. That’s survival with a timer on it.”
Lark kicks her legs.
Abe checks the angle.
Serpenta tightens.
The crowd noise turns anxious.
Lark finally twists enough to force Serpenta to adjust, and the hold loosens.
She rolls away, breathing hard.
Serpenta remains seated for a moment.
Calm.
Patient.
Minute 6
Julian Ward: “Serpenta changes the point of attack—Serpent Bite, shoulder claw applied. She digs into the shoulder and collarbone area, compressing the nerves and forcing Lark down.”
Brick Brody: “That’s mean. Not flashy. Mean. You take away the shoulder, you take away cutters, crossbodies, balance—everything.”
Julian Ward: “Lark is trying to absorb it, but Serpenta straps it in deeper. Honest Abe is asking again. Lark shakes her head.”
Brick Brody: “She can say no all she wants. Her body might give a different answer.”
Lark drops to one knee.
Then both knees.
Her free arm trembles as she reaches toward the ropes.
Serpenta leans her weight into the hold.
Lark refuses to submit.
Abe checks again.
Still no.
Finally Lark rolls toward the bottom rope and gets enough contact to force the break.
Serpenta releases at four.
Not five.
Four.
A message to Abe.
A message to Lark.
Minute 7
Julian Ward: “Lark finds motion again—Serpenta throws a roundhouse kick, but Lark answers with a rolling cutter. That is exactly the kind of sudden counter she needed.”
Brick Brody: “She’s fighting hurt now, and sometimes that makes a fighter sharper. Sometimes it makes her reckless. We’ll see which one Lark is.”
Julian Ward: “Serpenta’s kick landed, but the cutter stopped her from chaining into another hold. Lark is creating disruption, not control.”
Brick Brody: “Disruption buys time. It doesn’t win unless she turns it into damage.”
Lark pulls herself up using the ropes.
The Sherwood chant rises again.
Serpenta rolls to a knee and touches her jaw.
Her eyes sharpen.
The match is no longer ceremonial.
It is personal.
Minute 8
Julian Ward: “Another roundhouse from Serpenta—Lark absorbs enough to stay upright—Shining Wizard connects. Lark puts Serpenta down.”
Brick Brody: “That one landed better. That one got Serpenta’s attention.”
Julian Ward: “Lark is beginning to string together impact offense. She cannot stay in Serpenta’s grip, but if she keeps this match moving, she can keep Serpenta from settling into control.”
Brick Brody: “That’s the plan. Plans are easy until your shoulder starts screaming.”
Lark signals to the crowd.
Not theatrically.
Instinctively.
Trying to summon enough energy to continue.
Serpenta rises slowly in the corner.
She does not look weakened.
She looks offended.
Minute 9
Julian Ward: “Serpenta fires another roundhouse kick—Lark answers with a single leg dropkick. Both connect, but Serpenta’s strike lands with more force.”
Brick Brody: “Lark is throwing herself into every opening, but Serpenta keeps making her pay tolls on the way in.”
Julian Ward: “That is the pattern forming. Lark can answer, but each answer costs her. Each exchange takes more from the shoulder, the neck, the ribs.”
Brick Brody: “That’s how you beat a fast fighter. You don’t chase her. You make every step hurt.”
Lark stumbles back.
Serpenta advances.
Slow.
Measured.
Lark throws a forearm.
Serpenta eats it.
Then steps closer.
The crowd senses the danger.
Minute 10
Julian Ward: “Lark breaks through—Sherwood Destroyer! Serpenta is driven down hard. This may be the opening.”
Brick Brody: “Cover her! Don’t admire it. Don’t breathe. Cover her!”
Lark hooks the leg.
Abe drops.
One.
Two.
Serpenta kicks out.
The Sherwood faithful groan.
The Monsters of Myth section hisses in relief.
Julian Ward: “Serpenta survives at two. Lark had her clearest opportunity of the match, but it was not enough.”
Brick Brody: “And now she’s got to live with the worst feeling in a fight—knowing her best shot didn’t finish it.”
Lark rolls to her knees, breathing hard.
Her shoulder hangs lower now.
Serpenta turns her head slowly toward her.
The faint smile returns.
Minute 11
Julian Ward: “Serpenta answers with force—Desert Eagle Powerbomb. Lark tried to meet her with a single leg dropkick, but Serpenta caught enough of her to drive her down.”
Brick Brody: “That’s the receipt. You hit the big move, and Serpenta comes back with something that folds your spine.”
Serpenta covers.
Abe counts.
One.
Two.
Lark kicks out.
The crowd erupts.
Julian Ward: “Lark survives the pin attempt. But the Desert Eagle Powerbomb may have shifted this match sharply back toward Serpenta.”
Brick Brody: “Surviving is great until you have to stand up afterward.”
Serpenta stays on her.
No frustration.
No wasted argument with the referee.
She pulls Lark up by the damaged shoulder.
Abe warns her about the grip.
She ignores the warning until she is ready.
Minute 12
Julian Ward: “Serpenta goes back to the Serpent Bite—shoulder claw applied again. Lark tries to answer with a headbutt, and she does connect, but Serpenta keeps the hold.”
Brick Brody: “That headbutt was brave. Didn’t matter. Serpenta’s got the claw sunk in.”
Julian Ward: “The damage from earlier is now becoming decisive. Lark’s arm is compromised. Her posture is breaking. Serpenta is not rushing. She is tightening.”
Brick Brody: “This is where a wrestler starts bargaining with herself. Can I last five more seconds? Can I reach the rope? Can I breathe? That’s when the body betrays you.”
Lark reaches.
The ropes are too far.
She plants a foot.
Serpenta wrenches down harder.
Abe drops to Lark’s level.
The Sherwood section begins chanting.
“PLEASE DON’T TAP! PLEASE DON’T TAP!”
Serpenta leans close.
Almost whispering.
Lark’s hand hovers.
She tries once more to crawl.
The shoulder gives.
Her hand hits the mat.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
The bell tolls.
Serpenta releases only after the sound has fully registered.
Then she rises.
Cold.
Composed.
Victorious.
Julian Ward: “Lark of Sherwood fought through every trap, every hold, every layered attack—but the Serpent Bite was too much. Serpenta Veyne has forced the submission.”
Brick Brody: “That wasn’t luck. That was a plan. Neck early. Shoulder next. Make her carry pain until she can’t carry pride.”
Julian Ward: “The Monsters of Myth suffered questions last week. Tonight, Serpenta Veyne answers one of them directly.”
Abe raises Serpenta’s arm.
Lark stays on one knee, clutching her shoulder, breathing through the pain.
Serpenta looks down at her.
Not with rage.
With certainty.
She turns toward the hard camera.
The serpent faithful hiss in rhythm.
Louie Linville: “Here is your winner… by submission… SERPENTA VEYNE!”
Serpenta steps through the ropes and exits slowly.
Lark remains in the ring, refusing help at first.
Then finally allowing herself to stand.
The Merry Band fans applaud her, but the sound is heavy.
Respectful.
Worried.
Julian Ward: “For Lark of Sherwood, this is not a failure of courage. It is a lesson in what happens when courage is isolated.”
Brick Brody: “And for Serpenta? It’s proof. You can bring your speed, your heart, your outlaw songs—she’ll still find the joint that breaks.”
Julian Ward: “The conflict between Sherwood and the Monsters of Myth is far from finished. But tonight, Serpenta Veyne leaves with the first decisive wound.”
SERPENTA VEYNE DEFEATS LARK OF SHERWOOD VIA SUBMISSION (SERPENT BITE – SHOULDER CLAW) AT 12 MINUTES
Backstage – Scrooge’s Camelot Coliseum
Stone corridor.
Torchlight along the walls.
The flame bends as if pushed by a wind that is not there.
Somewhere in the distance, the crowd continues to rumble from the opening match.
But here—
the sound is muted.
Contained.
The camera finds Hana Nakamura standing beside a heavy wooden archway, microphone in hand.
She is composed, but there is anticipation in her eyes.
Beside her stands Sinbad.
Broad-shouldered.
Focused.
Arms at his sides.
No smile.
No swagger.
Only the stillness of a man standing at the edge of dangerous water and choosing to step forward anyway.
Hana Nakamura: “Ladies and gentlemen… please welcome my guest at this time… Sinbad.”
The crowd can be heard reacting from inside the arena.
A wave of cheers rolls through the corridor.
“SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD!”
Sinbad does not turn toward the sound.
He hears it.
But he does not feed on it.
He carries it.
Hana Nakamura: “Sinbad, tonight, in our main event, you challenge Sandman for the Eternal Flame Championship.”
A pause.
Hana’s tone softens slightly.
Hana Nakamura: “But this is not just another title opportunity. You and Sandman have history. Last year, at the North Pole, the two of you went to war… and you came out on the losing end of that feud.”
Sinbad lowers his eyes for a moment.
Not ashamed.
Remembering.
Hana Nakamura: “More recently, though, you defeated Sandman during a series of house show matches. Those victories helped bring you to this championship match tonight.”
She leans in slightly.
Hana Nakamura: “So my question is simple…”
A beat.
Hana Nakamura: “What has changed?”
Sinbad is quiet.
The corridor seems to still around him.
Then he speaks.
Measured.
Low.
Certain.
Sinbad: “The sea does not forgive a man because he has sailed it before.”
A pause.
Sinbad: “It does not say… you have suffered enough.”
He looks toward Hana now.
Sinbad: “It waits.”
Another beat.
Sinbad: “It waits for arrogance.”
“It waits for fear.”
“It waits for the moment a man believes the storm behind him means there is no storm ahead.”
Sinbad turns slightly toward the camera.
Sinbad: “Last year, Sandman took me into waters I did not understand.”
A pause.
His jaw tightens.
Sinbad: “Not because I lacked courage.”
“Not because I lacked strength.”
“But because I thought courage and strength were enough.”
Hana listens closely.
Her expression becomes more serious.
Sinbad: “They were not.”
He exhales slowly.
Sinbad: “Sandman does not fight like other men.”
“He does not rush.”
“He does not rage.”
“He does not need to break your body first.”
A beat.
Sinbad: “He waits until your mind grows tired of resisting.”
The torchlight flickers behind him.
Sinbad: “Last year… I fought him like a warrior trying to conquer a monster.”
A pause.
Sinbad: “And I learned that some monsters cannot be conquered by force.”
Hana nods faintly, letting the words settle.
Hana Nakamura: “But a few weeks ago, you beat him.”
Sinbad turns back to her.
His expression does not brighten.
It hardens.
Sinbad: “Yes.”
A pause.
Sinbad: “Twice.”
The crowd reaction swells faintly from the arena.
Sinbad: “But I will not insult Sandman by pretending those victories ended anything.”
A beat.
Sinbad: “They proved I could reach him.”
“They proved I could cut through the fog.”
“They proved that the man who lost last year…”
His eyes sharpen.
Sinbad: “…is not the man standing here tonight.”
Hana raises the microphone slightly.
Hana Nakamura: “And the Eternal Flame Championship? What does that title mean to you?”
Sinbad looks down.
For the first time, the weight of the night fully settles into his face.
Sinbad: “A flame on the horizon means different things to different men.”
“To the lost…”
“It is hope.”
“To the arrogant…”
“It is conquest.”
“To the desperate…”
“It is anything they can hold before the dark takes them.”
A pause.
Sinbad: “To me?”
He looks directly into the camera.
Sinbad: “It is proof.”
Hana does not interrupt.
Sinbad: “Proof that I can sail back into the waters that swallowed me once…”
“And not drown.”
His voice lowers.
Sinbad: “Proof that the past may wound a man…”
“But it does not own him.”
A beat.
Sinbad: “Sandman carries that championship like sleep itself has chosen him.”
“He stands in silence.”
“He waits.”
“He makes men feel heavy before he ever touches them.”
Sinbad steps closer to the camera.
Sinbad: “But tonight, he does not face the man who sank.”
A pause.
Sinbad: “He faces the man who learned the current.”
The distant crowd rises again.
“SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD!”
Hana looks energized, but still careful.
Hana Nakamura: “Sandman and Sir Galahad went thirty minutes last week without a winner. Sandman retained, but Galahad survived him. Did that match change how you see the champion?”
Sinbad considers this.
Sinbad: “It confirmed what I already knew.”
A pause.
Sinbad: “Sandman can be endured.”
“But endurance is not victory.”
He tilts his head slightly.
Sinbad: “Galahad showed the world that the dream can be resisted.”
A beat.
Sinbad: “Tonight, I intend to do more.”
Hana’s eyes widen slightly.
Hana Nakamura: “You intend to end it.”
Sinbad nods once.
Sinbad: “I intend to wake it.”
The corridor goes quiet.
Even Hana seems to feel the words land.
Sinbad: “Sandman.”
He turns fully to the camera now.
No anger.
No fear.
Only declaration.
Sinbad: “Last year, you took me beneath the surface.”
“You left me there.”
“You believed the silence had claimed me.”
A long pause.
Sinbad: “But I have crossed black seas.”
“I have seen stars disappear behind stormclouds.”
“I have watched good men vanish into depths that never returned their names.”
His voice sharpens.
Sinbad: “And still…”
“I sailed.”
Another beat.
Sinbad: “Tonight, I do not come to steal your dream.”
“I do not come to survive it.”
His eyes lock forward.
Sinbad: “I come to take the Eternal Flame from your hands…”
“And carry it where your shadows cannot follow.”
The crowd reaction from the arena grows louder.
Hana lowers the microphone slightly, moved by the certainty in his voice.
Hana Nakamura: “Sinbad… thank you.”
Sinbad gives a small nod.
Not celebratory.
Respectful.
Sinbad: “Tonight, Hana…”
A pause.
Sinbad: “The tide turns.”
He walks out of frame.
Steady.
Purposeful.
Hana watches him go.
For a moment, she does not speak.
Then she turns back toward the camera.
Hana Nakamura: “Sinbad challenges Sandman tonight for the Eternal Flame Championship… and if his words are any indication, this is not simply about gold.”
A beat.
Hana Nakamura: “This is about returning to the place where he once failed… and refusing to leave empty-handed again.”
She starts to lower the microphone.
Then—
something catches her attention.
Movement.
Far down the corridor.
The camera shifts slightly.
Not a clean cut.
A quiet adjustment.
Past Hana.
Past the torchlight.
Near a narrow side passage partly hidden behind hanging black drapery.
The Puppetmaster stands in shadow.
Patchwork Paige’s manager is motionless at first.
Thin.
Composed.
Hands folded before him.
His face unreadable beneath the strange calm he always carries.
An unknown figure steps into frame.
Only partially visible.
Dark coat.
Gloved hands.
Face obscured by the angle and shadow.
No words are heard.
The crowd noise from the arena covers everything.
The unknown figure extends one hand.
An envelope.
Thick.
Heavy.
The Puppetmaster looks down at it.
Then back at the figure.
A pause.
Long enough to mean something.
The figure gives the faintest nod.
The Puppetmaster accepts the envelope.
It opens slightly as it changes hands.
Inside—
cash.
A visible stack.
The Puppetmaster slides the envelope into his coat.
No surprise.
No hesitation.
Only acceptance.
The unknown figure steps backward into the dark.
Gone.
Hana notices the camera’s focus shift and turns.
Hana Nakamura: “Wait…”
The Puppetmaster looks toward her.
For one uncomfortable second, he and Hana stare at one another from opposite ends of the corridor.
Then he smiles.
Small.
Empty.
He turns and walks away without a word.
Hana remains frozen.
The microphone still in her hand.
Her voice is quieter now.
Hana Nakamura: “I… I don’t know what we just saw.”
A pause.
Her eyes remain on the empty passage.
Hana Nakamura: “But with Patchwork Paige scheduled to face Snow White later tonight…”
She stops herself.
The implication hangs there.
Unfinished.
The camera lingers on the shadowed corridor.
The torch nearest the passage flickers once.
Then dies.
Cut.
The camera returns to the arena.
The opening match has left the Coliseum restless.
Sherwood’s faithful are still standing, but their voices carry concern now.
Lark of Sherwood was not destroyed.
But she was made to submit.
And in Dark Fable, that distinction offers little comfort.
The lights sink lower.
A heavy metallic scrape rolls through the sound system.
Chains.
Dragged slowly across stone.
Then—
a pulse of harsh white light.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Kong emerges first.
Massive.
Silent.
Shoulders rolling beneath the weight of the Universal Tag Team Championship around his waist.
Behind him—
Ogre.
Broader.
Slower.
More deliberate.
The other half of the Universal Tag Team Champions walks like something built for demolition, not competition.
Then—
Dr. Frankenstein appears between them.
Wild-eyed.
Tense.
Already barking instructions before his men have reached the ramp’s midpoint.
He points toward the ring.
Then toward the crowd.
Then toward the titles.
His voice does not need to be heard clearly.
His message is obvious.
Control must be restored.
Julian Ward: “The Universal Tag Team Champions enter tonight carrying more than gold. They enter carrying the memory of last week’s defeat.”
Brick Brody: “King Arthur and Sir Lancelot embarrassed them, Julian. Don’t dress it up. They got beat, and Dr. Frankenstein has probably been screaming in their ears for seven straight days.”
Julian Ward: “Tonight is non-title action, but for Kong and Ogre, this may be about reassertion.”
Brick Brody: “May be? Look at Frankenstein. That man doesn’t want a win. He wants damage he can measure.”
Kong and Ogre step over the ropes and into the ring.
No flourish.
No gesture to the crowd.
The champions stand in the center.
Dr. Frankenstein climbs the steps, leans through the ropes, and points one trembling finger at each of them.
He speaks sharply.
Kong does not react.
Ogre does not blink.
The lights shift.
Green and gold cut through the gloom.
The sound of marching feet joins the music.
Not military.
Communal.
A people’s rhythm.
Friar Tuck emerges first.
Robust.
Grounded.
Eyes forward.
He carries the weight of the Merry Band’s rough night already on his face, but he does not look intimidated.
Beside him comes Little John.
Towering.
Sturdy.
Jaw set.
Hands flexing.
They pause at the top of the ramp and look to the ring.
The Universal Tag Team Champions wait.
Dr. Frankenstein paces behind them like a frantic priest before an altar of violence.
Julian Ward: “Friar Tuck and Little John come into this match under difficult circumstances. Lark has already fallen tonight, and last week Robin Hood and Will Scarlett were left lying by The King’s Collectors.”
Brick Brody: “That’s exactly why this matters. Sherwood can’t just keep taking blows and calling it courage. At some point, somebody has to hit back hard enough that the room remembers.”
Julian Ward: “Friar Tuck and Little John are not here for titles tonight. They are here to prove Sherwood still has strength beneath the bruises.”
Brick Brody: “And they better prove it fast, because Kong and Ogre are not the kind of men who let you build confidence.”
Friar Tuck and Little John enter the ring.
Little John steps directly toward Ogre.
Friar Tuck stares across at Kong.
Honest Abe moves between the teams before contact can happen early.
Dr. Frankenstein shouts from the floor.
Dr. Frankenstein: “You crush them! You understand me? Crush them and remind every kingdom what belongs to us!”
Louie Linville steps into the center of the ring.
The lights settle on him.
The noise lowers.
Ceremonial.
Grave.
Louie Linville: “Ladies and gentlemen… the following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall!”
A pause.
Louie Linville: “Introducing first… accompanied by Dr. Frankenstein… they are the Universal Tag Team Champions… KONG… AND OGRE… MONSTER BASH’S ENFORCERS!”
The reaction is heavy.
Hostile.
Fearful in places.
Dr. Frankenstein spreads his arms as if the reaction belongs to him.
Kong and Ogre simply stand.
Louie Linville: “And their opponents… representing the Merry Band… FRIAR TUCK… AND LITTLE JOHN!”
The Sherwood faithful roar.
“MER-RY BAND! MER-RY BAND! MER-RY BAND!”
Little John raises one fist.
Friar Tuck nods once.
Louie exits.
Honest Abe checks both corners.
Kong begins for the champions.
Friar Tuck begins for Sherwood.
The bell tolls.
Minute 1
Julian Ward: “Friar Tuck and Little John waste no time—quick double team to begin. Friar Tuck cinches in a reverse chin lock while Little John drives a forearm smash across Kong’s chest.”
Brick Brody: “That’s smart. You don’t let Kong get rolling. You get on him early, make the big man carry weight, make him uncomfortable.”
Julian Ward: “Kong attempts to power through, but the combination holds. Friar Tuck has the head controlled, Little John adds impact, and the Universal Tag Team Champion is forced to absorb the opening exchange.”
Brick Brody: “That’s the kind of start Sherwood needed. Not pretty. Not fancy. Just grab, hit, and don’t apologize.”
Dr. Frankenstein slaps the apron with both hands.
Dr. Frankenstein: “Move! Move, you brute!”
Kong growls under the pressure.
Friar Tuck keeps the chin lock tight.
Little John steps out at Abe’s warning, but the point has been made.
Sherwood has struck first.
Minute 2
Julian Ward: “The double team continues. Friar Tuck uses a slingshot to jolt Kong forward, and Little John immediately clamps on a shoulder claw.”
Brick Brody: “That’s good old-fashioned rough work. Pull him off balance, attack the joint, make the monster human.”
Julian Ward: “Kong tries to brace, but he is being worked from two angles. Friar Tuck brings movement. Little John brings pressure. Kong cannot fully defend against either.”
Brick Brody: “This is what happens when the big man gets trapped in the wrong corner. Size doesn’t help much when two men are taking turns cutting pieces off you.”
Honest Abe forces Little John back out as the double-team window ends.
Friar Tuck remains legal.
Kong rises slower now, flexing the shoulder.
Dr. Frankenstein’s face twists with frustration.
Across the ring, Ogre watches.
Still.
Waiting.
Minute 3
Julian Ward: “Kong finally creates an opening—kneebuster to Friar Tuck. That stops the momentum immediately.”
Brick Brody: “There it is. You can outwork him for two minutes, but Kong only needs one clean shot to change the conversation.”
Julian Ward: “Friar Tuck tried to defend, but Kong drove the knee down with force. That could limit Tuck’s base, and his base is central to everything he does.”
Brick Brody: “You take the legs from a sturdy fighter, suddenly sturdy becomes stationary. Stationary gets crushed.”
Kong pulls Friar Tuck away from the Sherwood corner.
Dr. Frankenstein points toward Little John and shouts.
Dr. Frankenstein: “Keep him away from the giant! Isolate him!”
Kong presses Friar Tuck down with one hand across the chest.
Not a pin.
A warning.
Minute 4
Julian Ward: “Kong climbs—diving headbutt connects with tremendous force. Friar Tuck attempted to answer with a splash, but Kong’s impact overwhelms the exchange.”
Brick Brody: “That’s a whole lot of mass falling out of the sky. You don’t block that. You regret it.”
Julian Ward: “Friar Tuck is down, clutching the midsection. Kong has taken control after that early Sherwood burst.”
Brick Brody: “And now Dr. Frankenstein’s calming down a little. He likes what he sees. That should worry everybody.”
Kong rises and beats his chest once.
No theatrical roar.
Just impact.
Friar Tuck rolls toward the ropes.
Little John reaches out from the corner, calling for the tag.
Kong steps between them.
The Enforcers’ shadow has returned.
Minute 5
Julian Ward: “Friar Tuck tries to force the issue—attempting to throw Kong from the ring—but Kong neutralizes it. Too much base. Too much weight.”
Brick Brody: “That was ambitious. Ambition is nice until it lands on top of you.”
Julian Ward: “Kong plants himself, absorbs the effort, and shuts the throw down. Now the tag is made.”
Kong turns and tags Ogre.
The crowd noise shifts.
Lower.
More anxious.
Brick Brody: “Here comes the other problem.”
Ogre steps through the ropes.
Friar Tuck is still trying to reset.
Little John leans farther over the top rope, reaching desperately.
Ogre does not hurry.
That makes it worse.
Minute 6
Julian Ward: “Ogre enters, and the Enforcers double-team Friar Tuck. Ogre lands a punch to the face, and Kong follows with a sledgehammer blow to the chest.”
Brick Brody: “That’ll empty the lungs. That’ll make a man forget where his corner is.”
Julian Ward: “Friar Tuck absorbs the punishment, but the impact is heavy. Honest Abe is counting, and Kong exits before the disqualification.”
Brick Brody: “See, that’s tag-team violence done right. Get in, hurt him, leave before the referee can do anything useful.”
Dr. Frankenstein nods sharply.
Pleased now.
Ogre stands over Friar Tuck.
Little John shouts from across the ring.
Little John: “Tuck! Get up!”
Friar Tuck pushes to one knee.
Ogre’s shadow covers him.
Minute 7
Julian Ward: “Ogre drives a boot to the midsection—Friar Tuck unable to defend. Ogre goes for the cover.”
Brick Brody: “That boot hit like a door getting kicked open.”
Abe drops.
One.
Friar Tuck shifts.
Two—
Friar Tuck reverses the pin.
The crowd surges.
Julian Ward: “Friar Tuck reverses the pin! He’s got Ogre’s shoulders down!”
One.
Two.
Ogre kicks out.
Brick Brody: “That was close. That was real close. Tuck nearly stole one from the champions.”
Julian Ward: “Ogre rises quickly, but that reversal reminded the Enforcers that Friar Tuck is not merely surviving. He is still thinking.”
Brick Brody: “Thinking is great. Now he needs breathing.”
Friar Tuck crawls toward the corner.
Ogre grabs him by the ankle.
Little John’s hand is inches away.
Not close enough.
Minute 8
Julian Ward: “Ogre tosses Friar Tuck out of the ring—Tuck lands near the floor, and Honest Abe immediately begins the count.”
Brick Brody: “That’s Ogre resetting the table. Throw him out, let the floor do some work, make him climb back in hurt.”
Abe counts.
One.
Two.
Friar Tuck rolls back under the bottom rope quickly.
Julian Ward: “Friar Tuck returns at two—and immediately catches Ogre in a sleeperhold. That is a remarkable response.”
Brick Brody: “That’s veteran grit. He got thrown out and came back with a choke. I respect that.”
Julian Ward: “The sleeper is strapped in. Ogre is standing, but the hold is tight. Honest Abe checks in.”
Ogre does not submit.
He staggers once.
Then drives backward into the corner.
Friar Tuck keeps the hold as long as he can, but Ogre peels him off.
Ogre reaches back.
Tag to Kong.
Brick Brody: “He didn’t beat the sleeper clean, but he got to the corner. That’s enough.”
Kong steps back in.
Friar Tuck is breathing heavily now.
Still no tag to Little John.
Minute 9
Julian Ward: “Now all four men are in for a moment—chaos breaking out. Kong lands the Jungle Swing, that swinging side slam, while Ogre adds another sledge to the chest.”
Brick Brody: “That’s the Enforcers turning the ring into a wrecking yard.”
Julian Ward: “But Friar Tuck answers in the middle of it—snap suplex to Kong. He is still fighting through overwhelming pressure.”
Brick Brody: “That’s what makes this dangerous for the champs. Tuck won’t go quietly. But refusing to go quietly still means you might go.”
Little John storms in to cut off Ogre and forces him backward with a heavy shove.
Honest Abe steps between them.
The ring nearly breaks down completely.
Dr. Frankenstein screams from ringside.
Dr. Frankenstein: “Control the match! Control it!”
Kong rises.
Friar Tuck rises slower.
Little John returns to the apron, furious that the tag still has not come.
Minute 10
Julian Ward: “Kong drives a boot to the midsection. Friar Tuck answers with a splash—full body impact—and he goes for the cover.”
Brick Brody: “That’s the chance! He dropped the weight on Kong, now hook something!”
Abe drops.
Before the count can settle, Kong shifts.
Julian Ward: “Kong reverses the pin!”
Brick Brody: “Big man rolled through!”
Abe adjusts.
Friar Tuck reverses again.
Julian Ward: “Friar Tuck reverses back—shoulders down!”
One.
Kong kicks out.
The crowd erupts and groans at once.
Brick Brody: “That was a scramble. That was ugly and dangerous. That’s the kind of thing that can make champions look foolish.”
Julian Ward: “Friar Tuck nearly caught Kong in the confusion. But he still cannot make the tag.”
Kong rises with visible irritation.
Dr. Frankenstein points toward the Sherwood corner.
Dr. Frankenstein: “Do not let him reach! Do not let him reach!”
Friar Tuck crawls.
Little John reaches.
Kong grabs Friar Tuck by the waistband and drags him back.
Minute 11
Julian Ward: “Everyone in again—Kong launches Friar Tuck with a gorilla press drop, and Ogre follows with Ogre’s Wrath, the F-5. Friar Tuck somehow answers with rolling scissors in the chaos.”
Brick Brody: “How is Tuck still moving? He just got thrown, spun, and flattened, and he still found a counter.”
Julian Ward: “Little John entered to even the field, but Honest Abe is working hard to restore order. The Enforcers are using every second of confusion to increase the damage.”
Brick Brody: “That’s champions’ instinct. Or monsters’ instinct. Same thing tonight.”
Little John is forced back.
He slams his hand against the turnbuckle.
The crowd chants for the tag.
“LIT-TLE JOHN! LIT-TLE JOHN!”
Friar Tuck reaches.
His fingertips stretch toward the corner.
Kong steps between them again.
The isolation continues.
Minute 12
Julian Ward: “Kong hammers Friar Tuck with a sledgehammer shot to the chest. Friar Tuck fires back with a cross body block, but he cannot fully capitalize.”
Brick Brody: “That crossbody had heart. The problem is heart doesn’t weigh as much as Kong.”
Julian Ward: “Kong absorbs enough of it to stay in control, and now he tags Ogre back in.”
Brick Brody: “That’s bad news. Friar Tuck needed the tag five minutes ago. Now Ogre comes in fresh enough to end it.”
Ogre steps through the ropes.
Friar Tuck staggers up.
Little John is nearly climbing into the ring out of frustration.
Honest Abe warns him.
Dr. Frankenstein grins for the first time.
It is not a pleasant expression.
Minute 13
Julian Ward: “Ogre catches Friar Tuck—piledriver. Direct impact. Friar Tuck attempted to answer with a splash, but there was nothing behind it.”
Brick Brody: “That’s it. That’s the drop. He’s done.”
Ogre covers.
Abe drops.
One.
Two.
Three.
The bell tolls.
Little John steps through the ropes a second too late.
Kong cuts him off with one cold stare.
Ogre rises slowly.
Dr. Frankenstein throws both arms into the air outside the ring like a man vindicated.
Julian Ward: “Monster Bash’s Enforcers have defeated the Merry Band in non-title action. Friar Tuck fought with grit, resistance, and remarkable endurance, but the isolation proved decisive.”
Brick Brody: “That was the match. Keep Little John out. Make Tuck carry the whole beating. Then drop him on his head when there’s nothing left.”
Julian Ward: “Kong and Ogre restore momentum after last week’s loss. And Dr. Frankenstein appears more relieved than celebratory.”
Ogre’s arm is raised.
Kong stands beside him.
The Universal Tag Team Championships glint under the torchlight.
Little John kneels beside Friar Tuck, checking on him.
Dr. Frankenstein climbs onto the apron and screams toward the crowd.
Dr. Frankenstein: “You see? You see what they are? They are not beaten! They are not humbled! They are mine!”
Kong turns his head slightly toward Frankenstein.
Ogre does not.
For a moment, there is something uncomfortable in the silence of the champions.
Not rebellion.
Not yet.
But weight.
Dr. Frankenstein enters the ring and points down at Friar Tuck.
Then toward Little John.
Little John rises.
Slowly.
Angrily.
Kong steps between him and Frankenstein.
Ogre stands behind him.
The message is clear.
Not tonight.
Little John backs toward Friar Tuck.
Not afraid.
Choosing his fallen partner over another fight.
Louie Linville: “Here are your winners… KONG… AND OGRE… MONSTER BASH’S ENFORCERS!”
The crowd boos heavily.
The Sherwood faithful clap for Friar Tuck as Little John helps him toward the ropes.
Dr. Frankenstein exits with the champions, still shouting instructions, still trying to shape the meaning of the victory before anyone else can.
Julian Ward: “The Merry Band came seeking a response after a difficult stretch. They found moments of courage, but courage alone could not overcome the Enforcers’ sustained brutality.”
Brick Brody: “And that’s the hard lesson. You can be brave, loyal, and tough as old leather. But if you get trapped in the wrong corner with Kong and Ogre, eventually the bill comes due.”
Julian Ward: “Monster Bash’s Enforcers leave with the win. The Universal Tag Team Champions are not unshaken after last week—but tonight, they are no longer unanswered.”
KONG & OGRE DEFEAT FRIAR TUCK & LITTLE JOHN VIA PINFALL (PIILEDRIVER) AT 13 MINUTES
The camera returns to ringside.
The Coliseum has not recovered from the force of the Enforcers.
Sherwood’s banners still move in the crowd, but slower now.
The night is becoming heavier.
The bell has not sounded for the next match.
But something already feels wrong.
Louie Linville stands in the ring.
Beside him, referee “Honest” Abe checks the ropes and waits.
The lights warm.
White and gold.
Soft at first.
Then sharper.
Snow White steps onto the stage.
Not smiling.
Not innocent.
Not fragile.
She walks with purpose, her expression controlled and cold beneath the bright reaction of the crowd.
The fans rise for her, but Snow White does not perform for them.
She moves like someone who has learned that survival is not kindness.
It is discipline.
Julian Ward: “Snow White was scheduled tonight to face Patchwork Paige, a match already made more unsettling by what we witnessed earlier backstage.”
Brick Brody: “Yeah, an unknown figure handing cash to the Puppetmaster is not what I’d call clean business, Julian. And when Puppetmaster is involved, clean business was probably never in the room.”
Snow White walks up the steps and enters the ring.
She pauses at center.
Eyes on the entrance.
Waiting.
Julian Ward: “Snow White appears prepared, but there is no sign yet of Patchwork Paige. No sign of the Puppetmaster either.”
Brick Brody: “That usually means one of two things. Either something went wrong… or something went exactly how somebody paid for it to go.”
Louie Linville looks toward ringside.
Then toward the entrance.
A murmur spreads through the Coliseum.
Snow White’s expression tightens.
The lights cut out.
Complete darkness.
The crowd reacts instantly.
A low, distant toll echoes through the building.
Once.
Then again.
Then—
the big screen flickers.
Black.
Gold.
A symbol appears.
The King’s Hand.
The reaction shifts from confusion into dread.
Boos rise, but they are laced with uncertainty.
Julian Ward: “That symbol again. The King’s Hand.”
Brick Brody: “I told you last week, Julian. That thing wasn’t done reaching.”
The screen holds on the symbol.
Then smoke begins to crawl across the stage.
A figure steps through it.
Slow.
Still.
Unhurried.
A dark gothic priestess.
Black ceremonial robes fused with battle gear.
Pale skin catching the cold light.
Eyes glowing faintly beneath a shadowed brow.
Her expression is sinister calm.
Not anger.
Not excitement.
Certainty.
A smoky aura trails behind her as if the air itself recoils from her presence.
She stops beneath the screen.
Hands folded before her.
The building does not know her.
But it feels her.
Julian Ward: “An unknown competitor has appeared beneath the symbol of The King’s Hand.”
Brick Brody: “Unknown to us, maybe. But look at her. She knows exactly why she’s here.”
Then another figure joins her.
Red and gold.
Fur-trimmed medieval robes.
An ornate crown sitting slightly too large on his head.
A jeweled scepter in one hand.
A smug expression across his thin, calculating face.
Prince John steps into the torchlight as if the entire building exists only to acknowledge him.
He is slender.
Regal.
Luxurious.
And rotten with authority.
He lifts the scepter, not as a weapon.
As permission for the crowd to look upon him.
The boos come quickly.
Prince John smiles as though he has been applauded.
Brick Brody: “Oh, I hate him already.”
Julian Ward: “That appears to be Prince John.”
Brick Brody: “Appears to be? That robe cost more than half the village he probably taxed to buy it.”
Prince John raises one hand delicately.
The crowd boos louder.
He waits.
Then waits longer.
Demanding silence by refusing to proceed.
A microphone is placed into his hand.
He turns toward the audience with theatrical disdain.
Prince John: “Subjects of Camelot…”
The boos sharpen.
He flinches for half a second.
Only half.
Then his smile returns colder.
Prince John: “Yes. Yes. How familiar. Peasants always mistake noise for power.”
He tilts his head, looking over the crowd like a ruler inspecting an unsatisfactory harvest.
Prince John: “You have been indulged for too long. You have cheered thieves and called them heroes. You have mistaken rebellion for virtue. You have mistaken disorder for freedom.”
A pause.
He rests both hands atop the jeweled scepter.
Prince John: “But order has a hand.”
He glances up toward the symbol on the screen.
Prince John: “And that hand… collects what is owed.”
The King’s Hand symbol flickers.
Snow White watches from the ring, eyes narrowed.
Prince John: “Allow me to introduce myself properly, since none of you were born into circles where proper introductions matter.”
The boos rise again.
Prince John’s lip twitches.
Annoyed.
Petty.
Then he overcorrects with sharper cruelty.
Prince John: “I am Prince John.”
A smug pause.
Prince John: “Rightful ruler.”
Another pause.
Prince John: “Restorer of order.”
The crowd chants:
“RO-BIN! RO-BIN! RO-BIN!”
Prince John’s face tightens.
For one brief instant, panic flashes behind his eyes.
Then anger covers it.
Prince John: “Silence.”
The chant gets louder.
“RO-BIN! RO-BIN! RO-BIN!”
Prince John points the scepter toward the crowd.
Prince John: “You chant for an outlaw because you fear law. You worship thieves because thieves flatter the poor. But I assure you…”
He smiles thinly.
Prince John: “Flattery does not stop judgment.”
He turns toward the ring.
Toward Snow White.
Prince John: “Tonight, Patchwork Paige will not be competing.”
A murmur.
Snow White’s eyes move slightly, taking in the change.
Prince John: “Circumstances have been… arranged.”
A colder smile.
Prince John: “In her place, Snow White will face my charge.”
He gestures grandly to the priestess beside him.
She does not move.
Does not bow.
Does not acknowledge the crowd.
Prince John: “Prioress Malveil.”
The name lands like a stone dropped in deep water.
Prince John: “A woman of devotion.”
A pause.
Prince John: “A woman of discipline.”
His smile curdles.
Prince John: “A woman who understands that mercy is merely weakness wearing ceremonial robes.”
Prioress Malveil slowly lifts her glowing eyes toward Snow White.
Snow White stands her ground.
Prince John: “Snow White, you stand there waiting for stitched madness.”
He chuckles.
Prince John: “Instead, you receive sanctified correction.”
The crowd boos.
Prince John turns away from them dismissively.
Prince John: “Come, Prioress.”
A pause.
His voice lowers.
Commanding.
Prince John: “Collect.”
Prioress Malveil begins walking.
Prince John follows slightly behind and to the side, posture relaxed, scepter tucked against his shoulder as if he has already won something that required no courage from him.
Julian Ward: “Prince John has introduced himself as part of The King’s Hand, and Prioress Malveil now replaces Patchwork Paige against Snow White.”
Brick Brody: “You hear what he said? ‘Arranged.’ That envelope earlier is starting to make a whole lot more sense.”
Julian Ward: “If that payment was connected to this change, then Snow White may have been redirected into a very different kind of danger.”
Brick Brody: “Redirected? She got sold a different nightmare.”
Prioress Malveil reaches ringside.
She climbs the steps slowly.
Prince John remains on the floor, looking up at the ring with arrogant ownership.
Malveil steps through the ropes.
Snow White does not retreat.
The two women stand apart.
Snow White bright and dangerous.
Malveil dark and still.
Louie Linville lifts the microphone.
His expression remains ceremonial, but the tension in the building has changed.
Louie Linville: “Ladies and gentlemen… the following contest is scheduled for one fall!”
A pause.
Louie Linville: “Introducing first… already in the ring… SNOW WHITE!”
The crowd cheers, louder now, protective and defiant.
Snow White gives no flourish.
Only focus.
Louie turns toward the opposite side.
Louie Linville: “And her opponent… accompanied by Prince John… representing The King’s Hand… PRIORESS MALVEIL!”
The boos come hard.
Prince John smiles broadly and gives a mock royal wave.
Prioress Malveil remains motionless.
Honest Abe checks Snow White.
Then Malveil.
He gives Prince John a warning from inside the ropes.
Prince John places one hand to his chest, wounded by the suspicion.
It is utterly false.
Abe calls for the bell.
The bell tolls.
Minute 1
Julian Ward: “Both women open carefully—neither committing fully—Snow White breaks the stillness first with the Kiss of Spite, a single knee facebreaker. Malveil absorbs the punishment, but that landed clean.”
Brick Brody: “Good. Hit the mystery before the mystery starts hitting you. Snow White didn’t wait around to learn the sermon.”
Julian Ward: “Prioress Malveil takes the impact and barely reacts. That may be the most unsettling part of this opening minute.”
Brick Brody: “Some people sell pain. Some people file it away and punish you later.”
Snow White backs away just enough to reset.
Malveil slowly turns her head back toward her.
Prince John taps the scepter lightly against the floor.
Not nervous.
Not yet.
Minute 2
Julian Ward: “Malveil engages now—Faithbreaker Suplex, vertical lift and controlled impact. Snow White answers immediately—Kiss of Life, bridging dragon suplex.”
Brick Brody: “That’s a sharp answer. Malveil tried to make this solemn and slow, and Snow White folded her over before she could settle in.”
Julian Ward: “Snow White bridges beautifully, forcing Malveil to fight through the position. No pinfall counted there, but the momentum remains contested.”
Brick Brody: “This is not what Prince John wanted. Look at him. He wanted a public execution, not a fight.”
Prince John’s smug smile thins.
Malveil rolls to one knee.
Snow White is already standing.
The crowd senses that Snow White has come prepared for the unknown.
Minute 3
Julian Ward: “Prince John is already involving himself—distracting Snow White from the floor. Snow White still turns back and lands the Thorn Crown Driver, a spike DDT on Malveil.”
Brick Brody: “That plan backfired. He waved the scepter, ran his mouth, and Snow White planted his priestess anyway.”
Julian Ward: “But the distraction has consequences. Snow White is forced onto the defensive after taking her attention away from Malveil, even briefly.”
Brick Brody: “That’s what managers like him do. Even when they fail, they muddy the water.”
Prince John snaps at Abe, insisting he did nothing.
Abe points directly at him.
Snow White steps toward the ropes, glaring.
That is the opening Malveil needs.
Minute 4
Julian Ward: “Malveil capitalizes—Faithbreaker Suplex connects again. Snow White absorbs the punishment, still affected by that brief distraction.”
Brick Brody: “Now the match changes. Snow White got drawn toward the loud coward on the floor, and Malveil made her pay.”
Julian Ward: “Malveil’s offense is controlled. There is no wasted emotion, no surge. She lifts, drops, and resets.”
Brick Brody: “That’s the scary kind. Not rage. Procedure.”
Snow White rolls to her side.
Malveil stands over her and folds her hands.
Prince John smiles again.
Confidence returning too quickly.
Minute 5
Julian Ward: “Another Faithbreaker Suplex from Malveil. Snow White is forced to absorb the impact again, and the defensive stretch continues.”
Brick Brody: “Three of those vertical suplexes in five minutes. That’s not random. She’s stacking damage on the back and neck.”
Julian Ward: “Snow White entered this match with a strong opening, but Malveil and Prince John have slowed the pace dramatically.”
Brick Brody: “That’s what The King’s Hand does. They don’t just fight you. They put rules around the fight that only help them.”
Prince John gestures with the scepter, as if conducting a ceremony.
The fans boo.
He mouths the word “order” at them.
Snow White grips the ropes and pulls herself upright.
The defensive stretch ends.
Her eyes sharpen.
Minute 6
Julian Ward: “Both women reset and collide again—Malveil secures the Silent Sermon, a sleeperhold, while Snow White drives her down with another Thorn Crown Driver. Both attacks land in the same exchange.”
Brick Brody: “That’s nasty. Malveil got the hold, Snow White got the spike. Everybody paid.”
Julian Ward: “Malveil keeps enough control to strap the Silent Sermon in deeper. Honest Abe checks Snow White, but she refuses to submit.”
Brick Brody: “That sleeper fits her. Silent Sermon. She’s choking the fight out of you and calling it doctrine.”
Snow White drops to one knee.
Her hand reaches.
Malveil’s eyes glow faintly, expression unchanged.
Snow White twists hard, getting one foot under her.
She forces her weight backward into the ropes.
Abe calls for the break.
Malveil releases at four.
Prince John applauds lightly.
Too pleased with himself.
Minute 7
Julian Ward: “Prince John again—this time handing something to Malveil. A foreign object passed into the match while Abe’s view is compromised.”
Brick Brody: “There it is. Power without honor. He doesn’t fight. He orders somebody else to cheat.”
Julian Ward: “Snow White still lands the Thorn Crown Driver in the exchange, but Malveil’s assisted strike appears to have done damage.”
Brick Brody: “That object changed the collision. Snow White hit the move, but Malveil made her pay for it.”
Abe turns back too late.
The object is gone.
Prince John adjusts his robe as though offended by the accusation that has not yet been made.
Snow White touches the side of her face, checking for blood.
Malveil rises.
Still calm.
Still glowing-eyed.
Minute 8
Julian Ward: “Snow White attempts the Apple Splitter, the destroyer—but Malveil neutralizes it. Important reversal there.”
Brick Brody: “That could’ve turned the whole match. Malveil read it and shut it down before Snow White could spike her.”
Julian Ward: “That neutralization gives Malveil space, and space is dangerous with Prince John still active at ringside.”
Brick Brody: “Snow White’s fighting two battles. One in the ring, one against the snake with the crown.”
Prince John hears the crowd booing him and smiles.
Then a chant begins.
“FAKE KING! FAKE KING! FAKE KING!”
His smile collapses for just a second.
He slams the scepter once against the floor.
Malveil does not react.
Snow White does.
She almost smiles.
Almost.
Minute 9
Julian Ward: “Malveil attempts the Silent Sermon again. Snow White counters into the Seven Lock Curse, Gargano Escape-style pressure. Both women struggle for position, and neither secures full advantage.”
Brick Brody: “That was a technical knot. Sleeper against escape hold. Neck against shoulder. Nobody got what they wanted, but both felt it.”
Julian Ward: “Snow White’s ability to counter from danger is keeping her in this match. Malveil’s composure is keeping her from losing control.”
Brick Brody: “And Prince John is keeping himself just useful enough to be a problem.”
Snow White releases and rolls clear.
Malveil resets to one knee.
Prince John steps closer to the apron.
Abe warns him again.
Prince John raises both hands, all innocence and insult.
Minute 10
Julian Ward: “Prince John attempts to involve himself again—and this time he accidentally strikes Malveil. Snow White takes full advantage—Thorn Crown Driver connects.”
Brick Brody: “Ha! That’s what happens when royalty tries to do working-class violence. He hit his own charge.”
Julian Ward: “Snow White plants Malveil hard, and Prince John’s expression has changed. That smug calm has cracked.”
Brick Brody: “There’s the panic. That’s who he really is.”
Prince John’s eyes widen.
He points at Snow White.
Then at Abe.
Then at Malveil.
He is furious at everyone except himself.
Snow White rises and steps toward him.
Prince John retreats immediately.
The crowd roars.
Minute 11
Julian Ward: “Prince John interferes again—and again he catches Malveil by mistake. Snow White follows with the Gilded Grip, arm drag into arm bar.”
Brick Brody: “He did it twice! That crown’s cutting off blood to the brain.”
Julian Ward: “Snow White has the arm extended. Malveil is finally showing signs of strain as Snow White attacks the joint.”
Brick Brody: “And look at Prince John now—he’s not smug anymore. He’s petty, scared, and looking for somebody to punish.”
Malveil reaches the ropes with her boot.
Abe calls for the break.
Snow White releases cleanly.
Prince John slams the scepter against the floor again.
Too hard this time.
The jewel rattles.
He notices.
Then tries to look composed.
Minute 12
Julian Ward: “Malveil regains control—Faithbreaker Suplex. Snow White answers with the Apple Splitter. Both high-impact attacks connect in a brutal exchange.”
Brick Brody: “That was ugly in the best way. Suplex, destroyer, bodies folding, heads snapping. This match just got mean.”
Julian Ward: “The replacement match has become a severe test for Snow White. She prepared for Patchwork Paige, but Prioress Malveil has brought an entirely different threat.”
Brick Brody: “And that’s the advantage. Snow White had no tape, no plan, no warning. Just darkness and a priestess with bad intentions.”
Both women are down.
Prince John paces.
He points at Malveil, demanding she rise.
Malveil does, slowly.
Snow White does the same.
The crowd builds.
Minute 13
Julian Ward: “Malveil strikes with the Rite of Silence—headlock driver. Snow White answers by launching herself through the ropes—Glass Coffin Dive sends Malveil to the outside.”
Brick Brody: “That’s Snow White making the fight violent on her terms. If you can’t solve the mystery, throw yourself through it.”
Malveil lands on the floor.
Abe begins the count.
One.
Two.
Three.
Prince John rushes toward Malveil, not to help with concern, but to command.
Four.
Five.
He points frantically toward the ring.
Six.
Malveil rises.
Seven.
She returns.
Julian Ward: “Prioress Malveil makes it back in at seven. Snow White created separation, but not enough to end the threat.”
Brick Brody: “And Prince John nearly lost his mind out there. He can dress like a king, but he sweats like a coward.”
Prince John glares toward commentary.
Brick smiles.
Minute 14
Julian Ward: “Another exchange—Faithbreaker Suplex from Malveil. Snow White answers with Witch’s Justice, the modified Gory Bomb. Heavy impact from both sides.”
Brick Brody: “Both of them are landing finish-level offense now. This isn’t introduction anymore. This is survival.”
Julian Ward: “Snow White continues to meet Malveil strike for strike, throw for throw. But the cumulative interference and the surprise replacement have kept this match unstable.”
Brick Brody: “That’s the whole point. The King’s Hand doesn’t need clean dominance. They need you off balance long enough to collect.”
Snow White leans against the ropes.
Malveil kneels across from her.
Prince John whispers something from the floor.
Malveil gives no indication she hears him.
But she rises when he finishes.
Minute 15
Julian Ward: “Malveil steps in—Divine Palm, sharp palm strike. Snow White absorbs the punishment, but that shot visibly staggered her.”
Brick Brody: “That palm was nasty. Short distance, right to the target. No windup. No warning.”
Julian Ward: “Malveil’s striking is beginning to break through Snow White’s rhythm. She is less mobile now, less able to string offense together.”
Brick Brody: “That’s when a manager like Prince John gets brave again. When somebody else has already made it safe.”
Prince John raises the scepter and nods as if the strike was his idea.
The crowd boos him mercilessly.
He soaks it in.
But his eyes keep darting toward Snow White.
Still afraid she might turn it.
Minute 16
Julian Ward: “Malveil lands a superkick. Snow White answers with the Gilded Grip, arm drag into arm bar. Again, she targets the arm.”
Brick Brody: “Snow White’s smart. Malveil’s got power and control, but if you attack the arm, you change the suplexes, the sleepers, the grip.”
Julian Ward: “Snow White has not abandoned strategy despite the chaos. She is still trying to build a path to victory.”
Brick Brody: “That’s why she’s dangerous. She doesn’t just fight pretty. She fights with a grudge.”
Malveil rolls through the pressure before Snow White can fully extend the arm.
Prince John exhales dramatically, then acts as if he never doubted.
Snow White sees it.
Her eyes narrow.
Minute 17
Julian Ward: “Prince John gets involved again—ramming Snow White with the scepter while Abe is obstructed. Malveil follows into the exchange, but Snow White still lands the Apple Splitter.”
Brick Brody: “That scepter shot was rotten. That’s not management. That’s assault with jewelry.”
Julian Ward: “Malveil covers after the sequence—Snow White reverses the pin!”
Abe drops.
One.
Prioress Malveil kicks out.
The crowd gasps.
Brick Brody: “Snow White almost stole it right out of the trap. That would’ve made Prince John swallow his crown.”
Julian Ward: “The pin attempt fails, but Snow White’s resilience is becoming the story. Every time The King’s Hand adds pressure, she finds a counter.”
Brick Brody: “Careful, though. Resilience is expensive. She’s paying for every comeback.”
Prince John is red-faced now.
He points the scepter at Abe and yells.
Abe points back.
One more infraction may cost him.
Prince John retreats, furious and humiliated.
Minute 18
Julian Ward: “Malveil strikes again—Divine Palm. Snow White answers with the Gilded Grip. Another arm attack, another attempt to slow Malveil’s control.”
Brick Brody: “Snow White knows the arm is the opening. The problem is Malveil keeps hitting her hard enough to make every opening smaller.”
Julian Ward: “Both women are wearing damage now. Malveil’s arm has been repeatedly targeted. Snow White has absorbed suplexes, strikes, a sleeper, and outside interference.”
Brick Brody: “This is where the match stops being about game plans and starts being about who can still make one good cruel decision.”
Snow White pulls Malveil down.
Malveil rolls through.
They separate.
The crowd stands.
Prince John clutches the scepter tighter.
His confidence now feels forced.
Minute 19
Julian Ward: “Malveil connects with another Divine Palm. Snow White answers with Witch’s Justice—modified Gory Bomb. That may be the strongest response Snow White has left.”
Brick Brody: “She dug deep for that one. That was pain talking back.”
Julian Ward: “Malveil is down. Snow White is down. Prince John is shouting from the outside, demanding movement, demanding obedience.”
Brick Brody: “That’s what he does. He doesn’t lead. He doesn’t fight. He orders. And when that doesn’t work, he panics and gets meaner.”
Snow White crawls toward Malveil.
Not enough for a cover.
Malveil turns to her stomach.
Snow White reaches for the ropes, pulling herself up.
The fans begin chanting.
“SNOW! SNOW! SNOW!”
Prince John looks around, rattled by the support.
Then points violently toward Snow White.
Prince John: “End her!”
Malveil rises.
Slow.
Obedient.
Or perhaps merely aligned.
Minute 20
Julian Ward: “Snow White goes for the Glass Coffin Dive again—she launches herself toward Malveil—but Malveil reverses it. She catches the momentum—transitions—Sanctified End, inverted STF!”
Brick Brody: “Oh, that’s bad. That’s real bad. She turned the dive into a trap.”
Julian Ward: “Snow White is caught. The body twisted, the pressure applied. She absorbs the punishment, but Malveil has position.”
Brick Brody: “She’s bent wrong. That’s not a hold you endure for long.”
Abe drops to check.
Snow White refuses to submit.
She claws forward.
The ropes are close.
Prince John steps toward them.
Not touching.
Just close enough to loom.
Abe turns to warn him.
In that instant, Malveil shifts her weight, forcing Snow White’s shoulders down while maintaining the contorted pressure.
Abe sees the shoulders.
He drops.
One.
Two.
Three.
The bell tolls.
The crowd erupts in boos.
Prince John throws both arms into the air as if he has personally conquered a kingdom.
Malveil releases slowly.
Snow White rolls to her side, clutching her neck and shoulder, pain etched across her face.
Julian Ward: “Prioress Malveil has defeated Snow White. A sudden replacement, a night of interference, and finally the Sanctified End.”
Brick Brody: “That wasn’t just a debut. That was an ambush with paperwork.”
Julian Ward: “Snow White fought through the unknown, through Prince John’s interference, through repeated shifts in control. But The King’s Hand has introduced another dangerous piece.”
Prioress Malveil kneels in the center of the ring.
Head lowered.
Hands folded.
Prince John climbs the steps, enters between the ropes, and stands behind her.
He raises the scepter over her like he is presenting a weapon he owns.
Louie Linville: “Here is your winner… PRIORESS MALVEIL!”
The boos grow louder.
Prince John takes the microphone again from ringside staff.
He waits for silence.
The crowd does not give it.
His face twitches with irritation.
Prince John: “You may boo.”
A pause.
He smiles, but it is tight.
Prince John: “The defeated always resent order.”
Snow White pushes herself up near the ropes.
Prince John glances at her and smirks.
Prince John: “Let this be understood.”
He points the scepter toward the King’s Hand symbol still glowing on the screen.
Prince John: “The King’s Hand does not merely strike from shadow.”
A beat.
Prince John: “It appoints.”
Another beat.
Prince John: “It replaces.”
His eyes drift toward Snow White.
Prince John: “And when necessary…”
A cruel smile.
Prince John: “It corrects.”
Prioress Malveil rises behind him.
The smoky aura seems to thicken around her shoulders.
Snow White reaches her feet with help from the ropes.
She stares at them.
Prince John sees it.
For just a moment, the smugness slips.
He takes one half-step back behind Malveil.
Then catches himself.
Straightens.
Raises his chin.
Brick Brody: “There it is again. The second Snow White stands, he hides behind his monster.”
Julian Ward: “Prince John calls himself a ruler restoring order. But tonight, that order has arrived through manipulation, replacement, and force.”
Brick Brody: “That’s power without honor. Dangerous combination.”
Prince John exits first.
Prioress Malveil follows, never turning her back fully to Snow White.
The King’s Hand symbol fades from the screen.
But the feeling remains.
Snow White stands in the ring, wounded but upright.
The crowd applauds her.
She does not celebrate.
She watches them leave.
Julian Ward: “Snow White expected Patchwork Paige. Instead, she became the first victim of Prioress Malveil under Prince John’s command.”
Brick Brody: “And now the King’s Hand has a collector, a knight, a bailiff, a priestess, and a prince who likes buying outcomes. That’s not a faction anymore, Julian. That’s an infestation.”
Julian Ward: “The reach of The King’s Hand expands again. And tonight, its shadow has fallen across Snow White.”
PRIORESS MALVEIL DEFEATS SNOW WHITE VIA PINFALL (SANCTIFIED END – INVERTED STF) AT 20 MINUTES
Backstage – Scrooge’s Camelot Coliseum
The camera opens on a quieter corridor beneath the arena.
Stone walls.
Iron torch brackets.
A long table against one side, covered with folded banners and unused ring standards.
The noise of the Coliseum is distant here.
Muffled.
Like a storm behind a door.
King Arthur stands alone near an arched window cut into the stone.
He is not in full pageantry.
Not yet.
But he is prepared.
Battle-worn gold and crimson.
A cloak resting over one shoulder.
Excalibur’s presence implied even before the camera finds the hilt near his side.
Arthur’s face is steady.
Focused.
The kind of focus that comes not from calm—
but from accepting that calm is no longer available.
A production assistant lingers nearby, waiting to cue the interview.
Arthur adjusts one gauntlet.
Then—
footsteps.
Fast.
Angry.
Robin Hood enters frame first.
Will Scarlett follows half a step behind him.
Robin’s jaw is tight.
His eyes are burning.
Will is quieter, but no less dangerous.
Arthur turns before they speak.
He reads the urgency immediately.
King Arthur: “Robin.”
Robin does not waste time.
Robin Hood: “Prince John.”
Arthur’s expression hardens slightly.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
Robin steps closer.
Robin Hood: “Tell me you saw it.”
King Arthur: “I saw enough.”
Will folds his arms, glancing down the corridor as if expecting The King’s Hand to step out of the shadows at any moment.
Will Scarlett: “He walked in under their symbol like he owned the building.”
Robin points back toward the arena.
Robin Hood: “He replaced a match. He introduced a priestess under The King’s Hand. He stood there calling the crowd peasants like Nottingham all over again.”
A beat.
Robin’s voice lowers.
More controlled.
More dangerous.
Robin Hood: “Arthur…”
He steps closer.
Robin Hood: “When did you last hear from Richard?”
Arthur does not answer at once.
The silence is enough to trouble both men.
King Arthur: “Months.”
Robin stares at him.
Robin Hood: “Months?”
Arthur nods once.
King Arthur: “The last word I received from King Richard was before this road darkened.”
Robin turns away sharply, processing.
Will watches Arthur carefully.
Robin Hood: “That makes no sense.”
A pause.
Robin turns back.
Robin Hood: “Richard would not allow John to come here like this. Not with men calling themselves The King’s Hand. Not with collectors and bailiffs and priests crawling out of the dark in his name.”
Will Scarlett: “Unless Richard doesn’t know.”
Robin looks at Will.
Will’s face is grim.
Will Scarlett: “Or unless he can’t answer.”
The words land hard.
Arthur’s gaze lowers slightly.
Not with weakness.
With calculation.
King Arthur: “I will not speak as though certainty exists where it does not.”
A beat.
King Arthur: “But I have heard rumors.”
Robin’s eyes narrow.
Robin Hood: “What rumors?”
Arthur looks toward the narrow window.
Beyond it, only darkness.
King Arthur: “Something stirring beyond the stable roads.”
A pause.
King Arthur: “Beyond Camelot.”
“Beyond the North.”
His voice grows quieter.
King Arthur: “In the Outer Realms.”
Will’s posture shifts.
Robin goes still.
Robin Hood: “Richard went there?”
King Arthur: “I do not know.”
A beat.
King Arthur: “But Richard was never a king who waited while shadows gathered at the border.”
Robin exhales through his nose.
Anger fighting concern.
Robin Hood: “So while he’s gone, John slithers into Camelot wearing silk and calling it law.”
Arthur turns back to him.
King Arthur: “Prince John has always understood the shape of a throne.”
A pause.
King Arthur: “Never its burden.”
Robin’s face tightens.
Robin Hood: “He’s afraid.”
Will nods.
Will Scarlett: “Always was.”
Robin looks toward the arena.
The memory of last week still visible in him.
Brute Bailiff.
Ledger Knight.
The King’s Collectors.
Robin and Will left down.
The screen.
The voice.
The first debt collected.
Now Prince John.
Now Prioress Malveil.
The Hand grows fingers.
Robin Hood: “If Richard is missing… if something has happened to him…”
Arthur steps closer, his voice low but firm.
King Arthur: “Then we find the truth.”
Robin looks back at him.
King Arthur: “But not by letting anger make decisions in place of judgment.”
Robin almost laughs.
No humor in it.
Robin Hood: “Judgment is easy when your enemies announce themselves.”
King Arthur: “And deception is easier when they know you are eager to strike.”
Will steps in slightly between the tension.
Not separating them.
Grounding it.
Will Scarlett: “Arthur’s right.”
Robin turns toward him sharply.
Will does not back down.
Will Scarlett: “I hate it too. John being here. The Hand. All of it.”
A beat.
Will Scarlett: “But we don’t chase every shadow he throws. We hold our own ground.”
Robin says nothing.
Will’s voice becomes firmer.
Will Scarlett: “The Merry Band will hold against the Hand.”
A pause.
Will Scarlett: “Friar Tuck and Little John got bloodied tonight. Lark got caught. We got dropped last week.”
His jaw tightens.
Will Scarlett: “Fine.”
A beat.
Will Scarlett: “Then we learn.”
Robin looks at him.
Will steps closer.
Will Scarlett: “We don’t break apart.”
“We don’t run blind.”
“We don’t give John what he wants.”
A long pause.
Robin’s breathing slows.
Not calm.
Controlled.
He looks back to Arthur.
Robin Hood: “If you hear from Richard…”
Arthur nods before he finishes.
King Arthur: “You will know.”
Robin holds his gaze.
Then nods once.
Robin Hood: “And if I find Prince John first?”
Arthur’s answer comes without hesitation.
King Arthur: “Then remember the difference between justice and satisfaction.”
Will lets out a low breath.
Almost a laugh.
Will Scarlett: “That sounded expensive.”
Robin finally allows the faintest edge of a smile.
It vanishes quickly.
Robin Hood: “Come on.”
Will turns with him.
The two men move down the corridor.
Before they leave frame, Robin stops once.
Not turning fully.
Robin Hood: “Arthur.”
Arthur looks toward him.
Robin Hood: “Careful with the Cat tonight.”
A beat.
Robin Hood: “Things that smile too much usually know where the trap is.”
Arthur nods.
King Arthur: “I will remember.”
Robin and Will exit.
Their footsteps fade.
Arthur remains alone for only a moment.
The silence left behind feels heavier than before.
Then Hana Nakamura enters from the opposite side, microphone in hand.
She is careful.
She clearly heard enough to know the mood has changed.
But she does not push immediately.
She steps into position beside Arthur.
Hana Nakamura: “King Arthur…”
A pause.
Her voice is earnest, but softened by concern.
Hana Nakamura: “I know that was… clearly a serious conversation. But thank you for joining me.”
Arthur turns toward her fully.
Composed again.
But not untouched.
King Arthur: “Of course, Hana.”
Hana Nakamura: “Tonight, you face the Cheshire Cat. And under ordinary circumstances, that would be difficult enough. But with The King’s Hand expanding, Prince John appearing, and your Mythic Crown match against Frankenstein’s Monster at The Long Night drawing closer…”
She pauses.
Hana Nakamura: “How do you stay focused?”
Arthur looks toward the corridor where Robin and Will exited.
Then back to Hana.
King Arthur: “Focus is not the absence of burden.”
A beat.
King Arthur: “It is the discipline to carry one burden at a time.”
Hana nods.
King Arthur: “The Cheshire Cat is not an opponent one may overlook.”
A pause.
King Arthur: “He thrives in distraction.”
“He turns uncertainty into terrain.”
“He makes men question the shape of the ground beneath them.”
Arthur’s expression sharpens.
King Arthur: “So tonight, I will not chase riddles.”
“I will not swing at mist.”
“I will not allow his smile to pull my eyes from the fight in front of me.”
Hana Nakamura: “Last week, you and Sir Lancelot defeated Kong and Ogre in non-title action. You pinned Ogre with the King’s Decree. Then you called out Frankenstein’s Monster directly.”
A beat.
Hana Nakamura: “Was that a message to the champion… or to yourself?”
Arthur considers this.
The question lands deeper than Hana perhaps expected.
King Arthur: “Both.”
A pause.
King Arthur: “Frankenstein’s Monster is not merely champion.”
“He is a question.”
Hana listens closely.
King Arthur: “What does power mean when it has no mercy?”
“What does victory mean when it is taken without understanding?”
“What does a crown become when it rests upon something made to endure pain, but not to answer for it?”
A beat.
Arthur’s voice lowers.
King Arthur: “At The Long Night, I do not face a man seeking glory.”
“I face a creation that has been taught ownership.”
Hana’s eyes flicker with unease.
Hana Nakamura: “And Dr. Frankenstein?”
Arthur’s jaw tightens.
King Arthur: “Dr. Frankenstein mistakes command for kingship.”
A pause.
King Arthur: “He built strength and calls it destiny.”
“He points at monsters and believes obedience is loyalty.”
“He sees the Mythic Crown not as responsibility…”
Arthur’s gaze sharpens.
King Arthur: “…but as proof that force may rule without consequence.”
A brief silence.
The crowd can be heard chanting in the arena.
“AR-THUR! AR-THUR! AR-THUR!”
Hana glances toward the sound, then back.
Hana Nakamura: “At The Long Night, Frankenstein’s Monster defends the Mythic Crown against you. Many see it as the defining match of this road before Ashes of Empire.”
Arthur nods.
King Arthur: “It should be.”
A beat.
King Arthur: “A crown must be more than metal.”
“It must answer for the people beneath it.”
“It must carry law without cruelty.”
“Strength without tyranny.”
“Judgment without vanity.”
His eyes drift again toward the distant arena.
King Arthur: “If I fail, then the Mythic Crown remains in the hands of a monster guided by a man who sees life as material.”
A pause.
King Arthur: “If I succeed…”
He turns back to the camera.
King Arthur: “Then Camelot does not merely claim a title.”
“It restores meaning to one.”
Hana lets that breathe.
Then asks carefully:
Hana Nakamura: “And tonight?”
Arthur’s face becomes still.
Immediate.
King Arthur: “Tonight, I defeat the Cheshire Cat.”
A pause.
King Arthur: “Not because he is lesser.”
“Not because he is harmless.”
“But because every path to a crown is lined with tests designed to make kings careless.”
A beat.
King Arthur: “I cannot afford carelessness.”
Hana nods.
Hana Nakamura: “One final question. After what we just saw with Robin and Will… are you concerned that The King’s Hand is not just targeting the Merry Band, but something larger?”
Arthur looks directly into the lens.
The answer comes calmly.
That makes it heavier.
King Arthur: “Yes.”
A pause.
King Arthur: “The Hand does not strike like thieves.”
“It establishes authority.”
“It replaces order with obedience.”
“It collects debts no one agreed to owe.”
A beat.
King Arthur: “If Prince John has come here under that banner, then this is no longer merely Sherwood’s concern.”
His eyes harden.
King Arthur: “It is Camelot’s.”
Hana lowers the microphone slightly.
Hana Nakamura: “King Arthur, thank you.”
Arthur nods.
King Arthur: “Thank you, Hana.”
He steps away.
Not hurried.
Not dramatic.
But with purpose.
The camera follows for a few steps as he walks down the corridor toward the arena.
Torchlight catches the gold of his gear.
The chant grows louder.
“AR-THUR! AR-THUR! AR-THUR!”
Hana remains behind, watching him go.
Then she turns back to the camera.
Hana Nakamura: “King Arthur faces the Cheshire Cat later tonight. But the questions surrounding Prince John, The King’s Hand, and the silence of King Richard may have opened a far larger danger.”
A pause.
Hana Nakamura: “And at The Long Night, Arthur still walks toward Frankenstein’s Monster… and the Mythic Crown.”
The camera holds on the empty corridor.
For a moment, a draft moves through.
One torch flickers.
Then another.
In the distance—
something metallic echoes.
Not a bell.
Not a chain.
A crown being moved where no crown should be.
Cut.
The camera returns to ringside.
The air inside Scrooge’s Camelot Coliseum feels tighter now.
The King’s Hand has expanded.
Prince John has revealed himself.
Prioress Malveil has arrived.
And somewhere beneath all of it, the road to The Long Night continues to narrow.
In the ring, referee “Slow-Count” Sam stands with his hands at his sides, watching the entranceway with a cautious expression.
The lights shift.
Gold.
White.
A single clear note rings through the arena.
Then—
Sir Galahad steps into view.
Merlin follows behind him.
Galahad’s face is focused, but the strain of last week’s thirty-minute war with Sandman is still there in the way he carries his shoulders.
He walks forward like a man who has survived something sacred and terrible—
and now must prove survival did not empty him.
Julian Ward: “Sir Galahad enters tonight after enduring thirty minutes with Sandman for the Eternal Flame Championship last week. He did not leave with the title, but he did leave with proof of endurance.”
Brick Brody: “Endurance is nice, Julian. But tonight he’s not dealing with Sandman’s silence. He’s dealing with Mordred’s rot. Different kind of poison.”
Galahad reaches the ring.
He pauses at the steps.
Merlin leans close and speaks quietly.
Galahad nods once.
Then he enters.
No flourish.
No hesitation.
The Coliseum begins to darken.
The gold fades.
The torchlight dulls.
The air seems to press downward.
A low, hollow tone rises through the sound system.
Then—
Mordred appears.
Still.
Cold.
His eyes fixed on Galahad.
Behind him stands Myrddin the Hollow.
Unmoving.
Not quite beside him.
Not quite behind him.
More like a shadow given permission to wear a shape.
Julian Ward: “Mordred’s path has become increasingly unsettling under the presence of Myrddin the Hollow. This no longer feels like guidance.”
Brick Brody: “No. It feels like possession with better posture.”
Mordred begins walking.
Slow.
Controlled.
No wasted motion.
He does not look at the crowd.
He does not acknowledge Merlin.
He looks only at Galahad.
Myrddin follows without sound.
Julian Ward: “This is oath against betrayal. Purity of purpose against corrupted claim.”
Brick Brody: “And don’t forget the ugly part. Galahad fights like the world should reward honor. Mordred fights like honor is something fools carry into the grave.”
Mordred steps into the ring.
Myrddin remains outside.
Merlin stands opposite him at ringside.
Two old powers.
Two different kinds of watching.
Louie Linville moves to the center of the ring.
The crowd lowers into anticipation.
Louie Linville: “Ladies and gentlemen… the following contest is scheduled for one fall!”
A pause.
Louie Linville: “Introducing first… accompanied by Merlin… SIR GALAHAD!”
A strong reaction rises.
Not wild.
Respectful.
Earned.
Galahad steps forward and gives a restrained nod.
Louie Linville: “And his opponent… accompanied by Myrddin the Hollow… representing the Broken Crown… MORDRED!”
The boos are heavy.
Mordred’s expression does not change.
Myrddin’s head tilts slightly.
Louie exits.
Slow-Count Sam gives both men instructions.
Mordred stares through him.
Galahad keeps his eyes forward.
The bell tolls.
Minute 1
Julian Ward: “Galahad moves first, and Merlin immediately intervenes from the outside—flash powder thrown as a distraction. Mordred attempts to defend, but the burst catches him off balance.”
Brick Brody: “That’s Merlin tilting the board early. Don’t tell me the old wizard doesn’t know how to play dirty when he has to.”
Julian Ward: “Galahad uses the moment to establish early pressure. It is not decisive damage, but it disrupts Mordred’s rhythm before he can settle into the match.”
Brick Brody: “Against Mordred, disruption matters. You let him get comfortable, and suddenly the match starts feeling like a funeral procession.”
Mordred backs away, blinking through the powder.
Myrddin does not react.
Merlin watches carefully.
Slow-Count Sam warns Merlin, but not strongly enough to matter.
Minute 2
Julian Ward: “Galahad launches himself—The Chosen Fall, the 630 senton, connects early. Mordred answers with a clothesline on the exchange.”
Brick Brody: “That’s a hard trade. Galahad goes to the heavens, Mordred brings a blunt answer from the ground.”
Julian Ward: “The Chosen Fall lands, but Mordred’s clothesline cuts down Galahad’s momentum. Both men are already taking significant impact.”
Brick Brody: “That’s the danger for Galahad. His offense is spectacular, but Mordred only needs one ugly shot to make beauty irrelevant.”
Galahad rolls to one knee.
Mordred does the same.
Their eyes meet.
No hesitation from either.
Minute 3
Julian Ward: “Myrddin the Hollow gets involved—staff shot from the outside. Galahad attempts to defend but is caught cleanly.”
Brick Brody: “There’s the shadow tax. You fight Mordred, you pay Myrddin too.”
Julian Ward: “Slow-Count Sam did not see the full contact. Mordred capitalizes as Galahad staggers from the illegal strike.”
Brick Brody: “That’s why you bring something like Myrddin to the ring. Not to cheer. To make sure the rules show up late.”
Merlin protests from the opposite side.
Sam turns toward him instead.
Myrddin has already returned to stillness.
Mordred steps in, eyes cold.
Galahad clutches his side.
The complexion of the match has changed.
Minute 4
Julian Ward: “Galahad answers with a leg hook belly-to-back suplex, but Myrddin interferes again—another staff shot. Both attacks land in the same sequence.”
Brick Brody: “Galahad got the throw, but Myrddin made sure he didn’t get the reward.”
Julian Ward: “That has become a dangerous pattern. Galahad succeeds inside the ring, but the outside presence of Myrddin immediately contaminates the advantage.”
Brick Brody: “Contaminates? He clubs him with a staff, Julian. Say it like it is.”
Galahad stumbles forward after the suplex.
Mordred drops to a knee, but Galahad cannot follow.
Merlin steps toward Myrddin.
Myrddin slowly turns his head.
Merlin stops.
Not afraid.
Measuring.
Minute 5
Julian Ward: “Galahad goes again to the leg hook belly-to-back suplex. Mordred answers with a sitout powerbomb—strong counter-impact.”
Brick Brody: “That powerbomb stopped Galahad cold. Mordred’s not trying to outshine him. He’s trying to collapse him.”
Julian Ward: “Galahad’s suplex lands, but Mordred’s powerbomb drives him down with greater force. The Broken Crown’s representative is beginning to take command physically.”
Brick Brody: “And you can feel it. Galahad is working harder for everything.”
Mordred rises first.
He looks down at Galahad with no visible satisfaction.
Only expectation.
As if this is where the match was always meant to go.
Minute 6
Julian Ward: “Both men reset, and Galahad creates separation—jumping reverse bulldog. Mordred attempts to defend, but Galahad drives him down cleanly.”
Brick Brody: “That’s the burst Galahad needed. Quick, sharp, and not too pretty for its own good.”
Julian Ward: “Galahad is trying to shift the pace. He cannot allow Mordred and Myrddin to turn this into a slow dismantling.”
Brick Brody: “Exactly. Don’t let the rot spread. Hit it, move, hit it again.”
Galahad rises with renewed energy.
The crowd responds.
Merlin nods once from ringside.
Mordred rolls to the ropes.
Myrddin watches Galahad now.
The interest is subtle.
And deeply unsettling.
Minute 7
Julian Ward: “Another exchange—Galahad lands the leg hook belly-to-back suplex, and Mordred answers with a vertical suplex. Equal impact, equal cost.”
Brick Brody: “Now they’re trading throws. That’s where pride starts making decisions instead of strategy.”
Julian Ward: “Neither man fully controls the sequence. Galahad remains active, Mordred remains heavy in response.”
Brick Brody: “Mordred’s like a bad debt. You think you’re making progress, then he reminds you he’s still there.”
Both men rise slowly.
Slow-Count Sam keeps a cautious distance.
The crowd is fully invested now, split between Galahad’s resilience and Mordred’s threat.
Minute 8
Julian Ward: “Galahad attempts The Chosen Fall again, but Mordred cuts him off with a spear. Tremendous impact. Mordred covers.”
Brick Brody: “That spear split him in half. Cover him, that might be it.”
Slow-Count Sam drops.
A beat slower than expected.
One.
Two—
Galahad twists.
Julian Ward: “Galahad reverses the pin!”
Sam adjusts.
One.
Two—
Mordred kicks out.
Brick Brody: “That slow count may have saved Mordred. Sam took forever getting down there.”
Julian Ward: “Galahad nearly turned Mordred’s offense against him, but Mordred escapes at two.”
Brick Brody: “That was close enough to make Myrddin blink. If he blinks.”
Mordred rolls away, expression colder now.
Galahad pulls himself up, breathing harder.
Merlin pounds the apron once.
The match is tightening.
Minute 9
Julian Ward: “Galahad connects with a Pele Kick, but Myrddin casts from the outside—a curse directed at Galahad. The interference again changes the exchange.”
Brick Brody: “That’s not managing. That’s warfare from the floor.”
Julian Ward: “Galahad lands the kick, but the curse visibly disrupts him afterward. His balance falters, his momentum fades.”
Brick Brody: “That’s the worst kind of interference. Not just a cheap shot. It gets into the bones.”
Merlin shouts toward Myrddin.
Myrddin turns toward him with slow, hollow calm.
For a moment, the two old figures hold the frame more than the wrestlers.
Then Mordred rises behind Galahad.
Minute 10
Julian Ward: “Galahad attempts a running Shooting Star Press—Mordred reverses it. Inverted sitdown faceslam. Galahad absorbs the punishment, but that reversal was severe.”
Brick Brody: “Mordred read it perfectly. Galahad went airborne, and Mordred turned him into wreckage.”
Julian Ward: “That may discourage Galahad from going high risk again, especially with the damage accumulating from Myrddin’s interference.”
Brick Brody: “It should discourage him. But Galahad’s stubborn. That’s his gift and his problem.”
Galahad rolls toward the corner.
Mordred follows.
No rush.
No emotion.
He reaches down and pulls Galahad up by the head.
Merlin watches, concern now visible.
Minute 11
Julian Ward: “Galahad fights back with a jumping reverse bulldog. Mordred answers with a swinging neckbreaker. Both men continue to trade control in violent bursts.”
Brick Brody: “That neckbreaker landed nasty. Mordred’s targeting the head and neck now. That’s not coincidence.”
Julian Ward: “Galahad’s offense remains explosive, but Mordred’s counters are beginning to land with more consequence.”
Brick Brody: “Because Mordred doesn’t care how it looks. He just wants the body to stop working.”
Mordred sits up after the neckbreaker.
Galahad turns to his side, hand at the back of his neck.
The crowd chants for Galahad.
Mordred seems almost annoyed by it.
Minute 12
Julian Ward: “Galahad creates an opening—Pele Kick connects. Mordred absorbs it, but Galahad needed that strike.”
Brick Brody: “That’s a reset kick. Might not finish a man, but it makes him stop walking through you.”
Julian Ward: “Mordred is staggered. Galahad has space, but whether he has enough energy to capitalize is another question.”
Brick Brody: “He better find it. You don’t get endless chances against a man with a haunted wizard outside.”
Galahad pushes himself upright.
Merlin calls to him.
A measured instruction.
Galahad nods.
Mordred steadies himself against the ropes.
Myrddin remains expressionless.
Minute 13
Julian Ward: “Merlin now casts from ringside—a spell of rejuvenation directed toward Galahad. Mordred attempts to defend against the interference, but Merlin succeeds in restoring some measure of energy to his charge.”
Brick Brody: “So now both old men are working the match. Staffs, spells, powder—this is less a wrestling match and more a siege with ropes.”
Julian Ward: “Merlin’s intervention may be necessary after the damage Galahad has taken, but Slow-Count Sam is losing control of the perimeter.”
Brick Brody: “Losing control? I’m not sure Sam ever had it.”
Galahad breathes deeper.
His posture improves slightly.
Mordred watches the exchange with quiet contempt.
He does not argue.
He attacks.
Minute 14
Julian Ward: “Galahad attempts the Horizontal Gory Special, but Mordred drives through with a spear. That shuts the attempt down violently.”
Brick Brody: “That’s the second time the spear has stopped Galahad from building something big.”
Julian Ward: “The hold never fully develops. Mordred’s impact cuts it off before Galahad can apply pressure.”
Brick Brody: “That’s smart. Don’t let the knight wrap you up. Break him before he can make it noble.”
Galahad hits the mat hard.
Mordred stands over him.
The crowd boos.
Mordred does not care.
He looks toward Merlin.
Then toward Myrddin.
Something passes between the two shadows on the outside.
Not words.
Understanding.
Minute 15
Julian Ward: “Galahad goes again to The Chosen Fall, but Mordred meets him with another spear. Galahad takes the worst of the exchange.”
Brick Brody: “That’s brutal. Galahad keeps going airborne, and Mordred keeps turning him into a target.”
Julian Ward: “For the second minute in a row, Mordred has used the spear to destroy Galahad’s momentum.”
Brick Brody: “At some point, courage turns into bad math.”
Mordred rises slower this time.
The repeated effort has cost him too.
Galahad lies near center ring.
Merlin looks deeply concerned now.
Myrddin’s stillness feels almost satisfied.
Minute 16
Julian Ward: “Mordred presses the advantage—lifting inverted DDT. Galahad attempts to defend but cannot. Mordred covers.”
Brick Brody: “That should do it. He spiked him. Cover’s there.”
Slow-Count Sam drops.
One—
Galahad kicks out.
The crowd erupts.
Julian Ward: “Only one, despite the damage. Galahad still has fight left.”
Brick Brody: “Slow count or not, Galahad kicked early. That’s pride talking. Maybe survival too.”
Julian Ward: “Mordred does earn value from the pin attempt, but not the result.”
Brick Brody: “And now he’s irritated. That might be worse for Galahad.”
Mordred looks at Sam.
Not shouting.
Just staring.
Sam backs up half a step.
Mordred turns back toward Galahad.
Minute 17
Julian Ward: “Mordred charges—spear attempt—Galahad reverses. Galahad tries to follow with the Pele Kick, but Mordred neutralizes it.”
Brick Brody: “That was a defensive scramble. Galahad saw the spear coming, but he couldn’t turn the counter into full offense.”
Julian Ward: “Mordred’s scouting has become clear. He knows Galahad’s bursts. He knows the kick. He knows the aerial entries.”
Brick Brody: “And Galahad knows if he gets hit with one more spear, he might not get up.”
Both men separate.
The crowd rises with them.
Merlin is shouting instructions now.
Myrddin grips the staff.
For the first time, there is visible tension around the Hollow.
The match has reached its breaking point.
Minute 18
Julian Ward: “Both men are exhausted—another reset—Galahad goes back to the Horizontal Gory Special. Mordred answers with a sitout powerbomb, but Galahad maintains enough control to transition.”
Brick Brody: “Wait—he’s still got it! He ate the powerbomb and kept the grip!”
Julian Ward: “Galahad straps in the Horizontal Gory Special. Mordred is trapped. The pressure is across the shoulders, the back, the spine. Center of the ring.”
Brick Brody: “That’s bad. That’s real bad. Mordred’s got nowhere to go.”
Mordred reaches out.
The ropes are too far.
Myrddin steps forward.
Merlin moves to cut him off.
Slow-Count Sam turns toward the outside for a split second.
Mordred tries to shift his weight.
Galahad pulls deeper.
The crowd rises.
Mordred’s hand hovers.
His face twists.
Not fear.
Rage.
The hold tightens.
Mordred taps.
The bell tolls.
The Coliseum explodes.
Galahad releases and drops backward, breathing hard.
Merlin raises both arms at ringside.
Myrddin stands frozen.
Mordred rolls away, clutching his shoulder and back, fury burning through the pain.
Julian Ward: “Sir Galahad has done it. After surviving Mordred, after enduring Myrddin’s interference, after absorbing repeated spears and counters, Galahad forces the submission.”
Brick Brody: “That was grit. I’ll give him that. Mordred threw rot, power, and that Hollow thing on the outside at him—and Galahad still found the hold.”
Julian Ward: “Last week, Galahad endured Sandman. Tonight, he defeats Mordred. The Eternal Flame may no longer be around his waist, but his resolve remains unmistakable.”
Slow-Count Sam raises Galahad’s arm.
Galahad winces, still damaged.
But standing.
Louie Linville: “Here is your winner… by submission… SIR GALAHAD!”
The cheers swell again.
Mordred pulls himself to the corner.
He does not look at Galahad.
He looks at Myrddin.
Myrddin says nothing.
That silence feels worse than anger.
Merlin enters the ring and places a hand on Galahad’s shoulder.
Galahad keeps his eyes on Mordred, understanding that the victory may not end the matter.
It may deepen it.
Julian Ward: “For Mordred, this loss does not erase the danger he poses. But it does interrupt his claim of inevitability.”
Brick Brody: “And men like Mordred hate interruption. That’s the kind of loss that festers.”
Julian Ward: “For Sir Galahad, this is a meaningful victory on a difficult road. The champion Sandman waits in the main event tonight against Sinbad, but Galahad has reminded this division that he remains a force of consequence.”
Brick Brody: “Yeah, but he paid for it. Everybody pays on Dark Fable.”
Mordred exits slowly.
Myrddin follows.
No words.
No gesture.
Only a darkness leaving the ring without truly leaving the night.
Galahad stands with Merlin beside him.
The crowd applauds.
But Galahad’s expression is not triumphant.
It is wary.
Julian Ward: “The light survives again. But the shadows do not retreat. They remember.”
Brick Brody: “And next time, they come back meaner.”
SIR GALAHAD DEFEATS MORDRED VIA SUBMISSION (HORIZONTAL GORY SPECIAL) AT 18 MINUTES
The camera returns to the ring.
The Coliseum has not settled.
Sir Galahad’s victory still echoes through the stone.
Mordred submitted.
Myrddin withdrew.
But no one inside Scrooge’s Camelot Coliseum believes the darkness has been driven back.
It has only changed corridors.
Now the lights shift.
Gold and crimson.
Steady.
Regal.
A low horn sounds.
Then another.
The crowd rises before the entrance curtain even moves.
King Arthur steps into view.
Merlin walks beside him.
Arthur’s expression is composed, but not distant.
He has heard what Robin Hood said.
He has seen Prince John arrive.
He knows Frankenstein’s Monster waits at The Long Night.
But tonight, his eyes are locked forward.
Not toward the future.
Toward the test in front of him.
Julian Ward: “King Arthur enters tonight with burdens gathering around him. The King’s Hand has expanded. Prince John has arrived. Questions surround King Richard. And at The Long Night, Frankenstein’s Monster waits with the Mythic Crown.”
Brick Brody: “Yeah, and that’s exactly why this match is dangerous. Cheshire Cat doesn’t have to be stronger than Arthur. He just has to make Arthur think about everything except him.”
Arthur walks down the ramp, cloak shifting behind him.
The Camelot faithful chant in rhythm.
“AR-THUR! AR-THUR! AR-THUR!”
Merlin keeps pace, eyes scanning the arena.
Not just watching the opponent.
Watching the shadows.
Arthur climbs the steps and enters the ring.
He stands at center.
One hand briefly touches his chest.
A silent oath.
Then—
the lights fracture.
Purple.
Blue.
Green.
A crooked laugh slips through the speakers.
Not loud.
Not theatrical.
Too close.
The big screen flickers with distorted smiles that appear and vanish before the eye can settle.
Then the Cheshire Cat appears on the stage.
Half-turned.
Grinning.
Head tilted.
As if he has been standing there the whole time and the arena only just noticed.
Behind him comes the Mad Hatter.
Restless.
Animated.
Eyes bright with nonsense and malice.
A teacup in one hand.
A crooked hat angled low.
He waves cheerfully at the crowd, then frowns as if insulted by their refusal to understand the joke.
Julian Ward: “The Cheshire Cat arrives with the Mad Hatter. This is not merely a question of offense. It is a question of disruption.”
Brick Brody: “That Hatter is a walking headache, Julian. And the Cat? He fights like a bad dream with footwork.”
Cheshire Cat drifts down the ramp.
Never quite walking straight.
Sometimes ahead of the beat.
Sometimes behind it.
The Mad Hatter skips, stops, points at fans, whispers into his teacup, then laughs at nothing.
Arthur does not react.
He watches.
Still.
Brick Brody: “That’s what Arthur has to do. Don’t chase the grin. Don’t chase the joke. Hit the body when it gets close.”
Cheshire Cat slides into the ring and rolls to his feet with exaggerated grace.
The Mad Hatter settles at ringside opposite Merlin.
Merlin’s gaze narrows.
The Hatter smiles and raises his teacup in greeting.
Louie Linville stands at center ring.
The colored lights dim.
Only the ring remains bright.
Ceremonial.
Uncertain.
Louie Linville: “Ladies and gentlemen… the following contest is scheduled for one fall!”
A pause.
Louie Linville: “Introducing first… accompanied by Merlin… KING ARTHUR!”
The crowd erupts.
Arthur gives one restrained nod.
Louie Linville: “And his opponent… accompanied by the Mad Hatter… the CHESHIRE CAT!”
The reaction turns chaotic.
Boos.
Laughter.
Uneasy cheers from pockets of fans who enjoy the danger.
Cheshire Cat bows deeply.
Too deeply.
His grin never leaves.
Louie exits.
Referee “Honest” Abe checks both competitors.
Arthur stands ready.
Cheshire Cat lounges back into his corner as if bored by the idea of fairness.
Abe calls for the bell.
The bell tolls.
Minute 1
Julian Ward: “Arthur moves with immediate discipline—Indian Deathlock applied early. He is not allowing Cheshire Cat to set the rhythm.”
Brick Brody: “That’s smart. Take away the legs, take away the dancing. You can’t grin your way out if your knees are screaming.”
Julian Ward: “Cheshire Cat attempts to answer with Last Supper, but Arthur’s positioning prevents him from gaining meaningful impact. The hold is locked in.”
Brick Brody: “That’s Arthur sending a message. This isn’t Wonderland. This is a ring.”
Abe drops beside Cheshire Cat.
Honest Abe: “Do you submit?”
Cheshire Cat shakes his head, still smiling.
But the smile twitches.
Arthur leans back, tightening the pressure.
Cheshire Cat reaches toward the ropes, fingers stretching theatrically.
Then he claws just close enough to force the break.
Arthur releases cleanly.
Merlin nods from ringside.
The Mad Hatter frowns into his teacup.
Minute 2
Julian Ward: “Cheshire Cat attempts Standing Diamond Dust—Arthur reverses it. Jumping knee drop connects, and Cheshire Cat is caught cleanly.”
Brick Brody: “That’s what I mean. The Cat tried to get cute, and Arthur made it simple. Knee. Body. Mat.”
Julian Ward: “Cheshire Cat attempted to defend, but Arthur followed the reversal sharply. This is an extremely focused start from the King.”
Brick Brody: “He needed it. You let the Cat get slippery, and suddenly the match turns into smoke.”
Cheshire Cat rolls to the side, still trying to smile through the impact.
Mad Hatter slaps the apron.
Mad Hatter: “Wrong answer! Wrong answer! Ask the question upside down!”
Arthur ignores him.
That may bother the Hatter more than anything.
Minute 3
Julian Ward: “Cheshire Cat finally gets movement—hurricanrana sends Arthur over. That is the first clean shift in momentum for the Cat.”
Brick Brody: “There he is. You can’t keep him still forever. Sooner or later he turns sideways and makes gravity look stupid.”
Julian Ward: “Arthur tried to brace, but the hurricanrana takes him off balance. Cheshire Cat needed that opening.”
Brick Brody: “And now watch the Hatter. He’s louder when the Cat gets room.”
The Mad Hatter begins clapping out of rhythm.
Loudly.
Distractingly.
Arthur rises and looks briefly toward him.
Merlin steps closer.
The Hatter stops clapping.
Smiles.
Then starts again.
Minute 4
Julian Ward: “Arthur answers with a Flowing DDT—clean impact. Cheshire Cat responds with another hurricanrana. Both men land offense, but Arthur’s DDT carries greater consequence.”
Brick Brody: “That DDT stuck him. The Cat flipped him, sure, but Arthur planted him like a royal decree.”
Julian Ward: “Arthur remains committed to grounding Cheshire Cat whenever possible. The Cat is trying to pull him into motion, into angles, into instability.”
Brick Brody: “And that’s the whole match right there. Arthur wants a straight road. Cat wants a hallway full of trapdoors.”
Cheshire Cat rolls backward and lands seated in the corner, grinning up at Arthur.
Arthur approaches carefully.
No rush.
No frustration.
That patience begins to draw cheers from the Camelot faithful.
Minute 5
Julian Ward: “Arthur hits the King’s Decree—Pedigree connects. Cheshire Cat simultaneously attacks the arm, pulling into a Fujiwara armbar. Both men create danger in the same exchange.”
Brick Brody: “That’s a nasty trade. Arthur drops him on the face, Cat tries to take the arm home with him.”
Julian Ward: “The King’s Decree lands, but Cheshire Cat’s grip on the arm prevents Arthur from capitalizing immediately.”
Brick Brody: “That’s how the Cat survives. Even when you hit him, he leaves something wrong behind.”
Arthur grimaces as the Fujiwara pressure bends the shoulder.
Abe checks the angle.
Arthur turns his hips and pulls toward the ropes.
The Cat adjusts.
Arthur reaches again.
This time, the rope is there.
Abe calls for the break.
Cheshire Cat releases at four.
Still grinning.
Arthur rotates his arm and rises.
Now the match has a target.
Minute 6
Julian Ward: “Both corners become active—Merlin casts a curse toward Cheshire Cat, but Mad Hatter erupts at ringside with nonsensical taunts, antagonizing and agitating Arthur.”
Brick Brody: “This is the circus part, and I mean that as an insult.”
Julian Ward: “Merlin’s curse appears to force Cheshire Cat onto the defensive, but the Hatter’s disruption affects Arthur more directly. The Cat benefits from the confusion.”
Brick Brody: “The Hatter doesn’t have to make sense. He just has to make Arthur listen for half a second.”
Mad Hatter circles the outside, waving the teacup.
Mad Hatter: “Two kings, no crowns! One crown, no head! Ask the cat! Ask the cat!”
Arthur’s jaw tightens.
Merlin calls to him.
Merlin: “Arthur. Eyes forward.”
Arthur refocuses.
Cheshire Cat, now cautious under Merlin’s curse, slips away rather than engage fully.
The match becomes strange.
Uneven.
A test of attention.
Minute 7
Julian Ward: “Arthur attempts the arm trap crossface, looking to end this decisively, but Cheshire Cat neutralizes the hold before it is fully applied.”
Brick Brody: “That’s the Cat wriggling out before the door locks. Once Arthur gets that crossface tight, the joke is over.”
Julian Ward: “Cheshire Cat remains on the defensive under Merlin’s influence, but he is surviving by denying Arthur clean control.”
Brick Brody: “Defense can be offense if it frustrates the right man.”
Arthur keeps pressure on the arm and neck, trying to turn Cheshire Cat over.
The Cat twists, gets one knee under him, then slips free.
Mad Hatter applauds wildly.
Merlin stares at him like he is contemplating a spell he should not cast.
Minute 8
Julian Ward: “Arthur changes tactics—atomic drop connects. Cheshire Cat attempts to defend but cannot prevent the impact.”
Brick Brody: “That’ll take some bounce out of the Cat.”
Julian Ward: “Arthur is not letting frustration dictate him. He moves from submission attempt to direct impact, continuing to reduce Cheshire Cat’s mobility.”
Brick Brody: “That’s king work. Not glamorous. Effective.”
Cheshire Cat staggers.
For the first time, the grin slips entirely.
Only for a moment.
But the camera catches it.
Arthur sees it too.
He steps in.
The Mad Hatter rushes to the apron side, muttering quickly.
Abe warns him back.
The Hatter backs away, offended.
Then smiles into the teacup.
Minute 9
Julian Ward: “Arthur goes back to the arm trap crossface—this time he gets it. But Mad Hatter throws hot tea toward Arthur’s face from ringside.”
Brick Brody: “Oh, come on—hot tea? That lunatic weaponized teatime.”
Julian Ward: “The tea catches Arthur, but he refuses to release the hold. The arm trap crossface is fully applied.”
Brick Brody: “That’s focus. That’s the difference tonight. The Cat and the Hatter tried to make him chase nonsense, and he held onto the fight.”
Cheshire Cat kicks.
Twists.
Reaches.
The ropes are too far.
Merlin steps toward Mad Hatter, blocking any further interference.
Honest Abe drops beside Cheshire Cat.
Honest Abe: “Do you submit?”
Cheshire Cat shakes his head.
Arthur pulls back harder.
The Cat’s grin is gone now.
His hand lifts.
Hovers.
Mad Hatter shouts from ringside.
Mad Hatter: “No, no, no! Tap sideways! Sideways!”
Cheshire Cat taps.
The bell tolls.
The Camelot faithful erupt.
Arthur releases immediately and rolls to one knee, wiping tea from the side of his face.
Merlin enters quickly to check on him.
The Mad Hatter clutches his hat with both hands, aghast.
Cheshire Cat rolls toward the ropes, stunned and furious beneath the fading grin.
Julian Ward: “King Arthur remains focused through distraction, through interference, through illusion—and he forces Cheshire Cat to submit.”
Brick Brody: “That’s the win he needed. Not because the Cat is the Monster. He’s not. But because Arthur proved he can keep his eyes on the fight while the world turns stupid around him.”
Arthur rises.
Honest Abe raises his arm.
The crowd chants.
“AR-THUR! AR-THUR! AR-THUR!”
Louie Linville stands and makes the announcement.
Louie Linville: “Here is your winner… by submission… KING ARTHUR!”
Arthur does not celebrate wildly.
He looks toward the entrance.
The same direction from which Frankenstein’s Monster appeared last week.
For a moment, the cheers feel distant.
Merlin stands beside him.
The Mad Hatter helps Cheshire Cat to the floor, still ranting.
Mad Hatter: “Unfair! Unfair! The tea was perfectly timed!”
Cheshire Cat glares back at the ring.
Arthur does not look at them.
His mind has already moved forward.
Not carelessly.
Inevitably.
Julian Ward: “For King Arthur, tonight was not a detour. It was a test of discipline. The Cheshire Cat tried to turn the ring into uncertainty. Arthur answered with control.”
Brick Brody: “And now The Long Night gets closer. Frankenstein’s Monster is watching this somewhere. Dr. Frankenstein is watching too. They saw Arthur pin Ogre last week, and now they saw him make the Cat tap.”
Julian Ward: “The road to the Mythic Crown continues. And King Arthur walks it with focus intact.”
Brick Brody: “Good. He’ll need it. Because the Monster won’t throw tea.”
Arthur exits the ring with Merlin.
The Camelot banners rise across the Coliseum.
But Arthur’s expression remains grave.
The victory is real.
The larger war remains.
Julian Ward: “King Arthur survives the smile, silences the riddle, and keeps his eyes fixed on The Long Night.”
Brick Brody: “One more step toward the Monster. One less excuse when the Monster steps back.”
KING ARTHUR DEFEATS CHESHIRE CAT VIA SUBMISSION (ARM TRAP CROSSFACE) AT 9 MINUTES
Backstage – Scrooge’s Camelot Coliseum
The camera fades in slowly.
Not into a corridor.
Into stillness.
The stone walls are there.
The torches are there.
But the space feels altered.
Quieter than it should be.
Distant.
As if the sounds of the arena have been pushed behind glass.
A thin stream of sand falls from somewhere above the frame.
Grain by grain.
Soft.
Endless.
Hana Nakamura stands near a narrow archway, microphone in hand.
She looks composed, but her eyes keep drifting toward the darkness beside her.
Because Sandman is already there.
The Eternal Flame Champion stands half in torchlight, half in shadow.
The title rests over one shoulder.
It should gleam.
Instead, the gold appears muted.
As if even metal grows tired in his presence.
Sandman does not pace.
Does not warm up.
Does not look anxious.
He simply exists in the frame, calm and unreadable, his eyes fixed somewhere just past the camera.
Hana takes a breath and begins.
Hana Nakamura: “Ladies and gentlemen… please welcome my guest at this time… the Eternal Flame Champion… Sandman.”
A low reaction rolls from the arena.
Not cheers.
Not boos.
Something stranger.
A murmur.
A recognition.
Hana turns slightly toward him.
Hana Nakamura: “Sandman, tonight you defend the Eternal Flame Championship against Sinbad in our main event.”
Sandman does not answer immediately.
A few grains of sand fall between them.
Hana continues, carefully.
Hana Nakamura: “This match carries history. Last year, at the North Pole, you and Sinbad fought through a long and bitter feud… and when it ended, Sinbad came out on the losing side.”
A pause.
Hana Nakamura: “But recently, Sinbad has beaten you in house show competition. He believes he has learned from last year. He believes he understands how to survive you now.”
Sandman slowly turns his head toward Hana.
His voice is quiet.
Soft.
But it fills the space anyway.
Sandman: “Survival is often mistaken for awakening.”
Hana holds the microphone steady.
Sandman: “A man opens his eyes…”
A pause.
Sandman: “…and believes the dream has ended.”
He looks down at the Eternal Flame Title.
Not admiring it.
Observing it.
Sandman: “But dreams do not always vanish when morning comes.”
“They linger.”
“They sit behind the eyes.”
“They wait beneath the breath.”
His gaze rises again.
Sandman: “Sinbad believes he escaped something.”
A faint tilt of the head.
Sandman: “Perhaps he did.”
A beat.
Sandman: “But escape is not conquest.”
Hana’s expression tightens with focus.
Hana Nakamura: “Earlier tonight, Sinbad said that last year you took him beneath the surface and left him there. He said tonight he does not come to survive the dream… he comes to wake it.”
For the first time, the corner of Sandman’s mouth moves.
Not quite a smile.
More like the memory of one.
Sandman: “Men speak bravely before sleep.”
A pause.
Sandman: “They promise themselves they will resist.”
“They promise they will remember who they are.”
“They promise the dark will have no claim.”
Sandman slowly shifts the title on his shoulder.
Sandman: “Then the room grows quiet.”
A beat.
Sandman: “The body grows heavy.”
“The thoughts soften.”
“The hand opens.”
His eyes settle directly on the camera.
Sandman: “And whatever they swore to keep…”
“…is surrendered.”
Hana swallows slightly.
Not fearfully.
But the atmosphere is difficult to ignore.
Hana Nakamura: “Last week, you defended this championship against Sir Galahad. That match went the full thirty-minute time limit. You remained champion, but Galahad endured everything you brought.”
Sandman’s eyes move back toward her.
Sandman: “Galahad endured.”
A pause.
Sandman: “Yes.”
He lets the word hang.
Sandman: “Endurance is a candle in a sealed room.”
“It glows.”
“It warms the hand.”
“It gives the desperate something to admire.”
A longer pause.
Sandman: “But all candles learn the same truth.”
Hana waits.
Sandman: “There is only so much air.”
The distant crowd can be heard now, faintly chanting:
“SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD!”
Sandman hears it.
He does not react.
Hana Nakamura: “Does Sinbad’s recent success against you concern you at all?”
Sandman turns his head slightly toward the sound of the chants.
Sandman: “Concern belongs to men who believe time is moving against them.”
A pause.
Sandman: “Time does not move against me.”
The sand continues falling.
Soft.
Steady.
Sandman: “It circles.”
“It returns.”
“It brings each man back to the door he thought he had passed through forever.”
His voice lowers.
Sandman: “Sinbad has stood at this door before.”
A beat.
Sandman: “He remembers the cold beneath it.”
Hana lifts the microphone a little closer.
Hana Nakamura: “But he says he is not the same man anymore.”
Sandman nods once.
Slowly.
Sandman: “No one is.”
A pause.
Sandman: “That is the mercy of suffering.”
“It changes the shape of the soul.”
Another pause.
Sandman: “But not all change is escape.”
He looks directly into the lens again.
Sandman: “Some men become stronger.”
“Some become wiser.”
“Some become only more certain of the lie they need to believe.”
The arena chants grow louder.
“TAKE THE FLAME! TAKE THE FLAME!”
Sandman’s hand rests on the Eternal Flame Championship.
Sandman: “They call this a flame.”
A pause.
Sandman: “They speak as though flame belongs only to light.”
His fingers slowly trace the edge of the title plate.
Sandman: “But every flame casts shadow.”
“Every flame consumes.”
“Every flame leaves ash.”
A beat.
Sandman: “Sinbad wants to carry it where my shadows cannot follow.”
The almost-smile returns.
Fainter.
Colder.
Sandman: “He does not understand.”
A pause.
Sandman: “The shadow is not behind him.”
Sandman steps slightly closer to the camera.
Sandman: “It is beneath his feet.”
Hana lets the words settle, then asks the final question.
Hana Nakamura: “Tonight, when you stand across from Sinbad with the Eternal Flame Championship on the line… what does he need to understand?”
Sandman is silent.
The sand keeps falling.
The torchlight flickers.
Then his answer comes quietly.
Sandman: “That victory in a dream is still a dream.”
A beat.
Sandman: “That the sea he crossed…”
“…was sleeping.”
Another pause.
Sandman: “That the man who believes he has awakened…”
“…is often only deeper in.”
Hana lowers the microphone slightly.
Sandman turns fully toward the camera now.
No anger.
No urgency.
Only absolute calm.
Sandman: “Sinbad.”
A long pause.
Sandman: “You came back to the place that swallowed you.”
“You brought victories like lanterns.”
“You brought courage like a sail.”
“You brought memory like a map.”
His eyes sharpen.
Barely.
Sandman: “But tonight…”
“The lantern dims.”
“The sail folds.”
“The map burns.”
A beat.
Sandman: “And when your hand reaches for the Eternal Flame…”
He looks down at the title one final time.
Sandman: “You will find sleep waiting between your fingers.”
The corridor grows even quieter.
Sandman steps backward.
The shadow accepts him slowly.
Hana remains in the frame, holding the microphone, watching the space where he stood.
For a moment, she does not speak.
Then she turns back toward the camera.
Hana Nakamura: “Sandman defends the Eternal Flame Championship against Sinbad tonight in our main event.”
A pause.
Her voice is softer now.
Hana Nakamura: “Sinbad believes the tide turns tonight.”
Another pause.
Hana Nakamura: “The champion believes the tide was never awake.”
The camera lowers slightly.
The stream of falling sand continues.
One grain.
Then another.
Then another.
Cut.
The camera returns to the arena.
The lights do not rise.
They fade.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Until Scrooge’s Camelot Coliseum is held in a dim amber glow, the torches along the stone walls burning like tired stars.
The crowd understands before the announcement comes.
This is the main event.
This is the title match.
This is the place where last year’s failure and tonight’s belief meet across the same ring.
A single stream of sand begins falling on the big screen.
Grain by grain.
Endless.
Soft.
Inevitable.
The sound of the crowd lowers.
Not because they are quiet.
Because the building itself seems to muffle them.
Then—
Sandman appears.
The Eternal Flame Championship rests over his shoulder.
He does not raise it.
Does not clutch it.
Does not show it off.
He simply carries it like something already known to belong to him.
His steps are slow.
Barely marked.
His eyes are forward, but unfocused, as if he is looking through the ring and into something beneath it.
Julian Ward: “Sandman enters as Eternal Flame Champion, and there is no urgency in him. No fear. No visible concern.”
Brick Brody: “That’s what makes him dangerous, Julian. Most champions protect the title. Sandman looks like he’s waiting for the challenger to realize the title was never the thing trapping him.”
Sandman walks down the ramp beneath the falling image of sand.
The crowd reaction is divided.
Some boo.
Some chant his name in that low, unsettling rhythm.
“SAND-MAN… SAND-MAN…”
He steps through the ropes and into the ring.
The title remains on his shoulder until Slow-Count Sam approaches.
Sandman looks down at the belt.
Then hands it over without hesitation.
As if possession is temporary.
As if return is inevitable.
The lights shift.
The sand vanishes from the screen.
A deep blue glow fills the arena.
The sound of waves begins.
Low.
Rising.
Then the sharp cry of wind through sails.
The crowd comes alive.
Sinbad steps onto the stage.
No theatrical grin.
No swagger.
His eyes are fixed on the ring.
On Sandman.
On the championship.
This is not a man chasing opportunity.
This is a man returning to the place that once swallowed him.
The Sinbad faithful erupt.
“SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD!”
Then louder:
“TAKE THE FLAME! TAKE THE FLAME!”
Sinbad walks forward.
Every step measured.
Every breath controlled.
He does not point to the title.
He does not shout at the champion.
He simply advances.
Julian Ward: “Sinbad has spoken of tonight as proof. Not simply proof that he can defeat Sandman, but proof that the past may wound a man without owning him.”
Brick Brody: “He beat Sandman on the house shows. He earned this shot. But this is different. This is the title. This is the bright light. This is where all those pretty words either turn into gold… or turn into regret.”
Sinbad reaches ringside.
He pauses.
Looks into the ring.
Sandman stands still.
Waiting.
Sinbad climbs the steps and enters.
The two men stand across from each other.
The champion calm.
The challenger focused.
Slow-Count Sam lifts the Eternal Flame Championship high.
The title plate catches the torchlight.
For once tonight, the gold burns.
Louie Linville stands at center ring.
His voice carries with solemn weight.
Louie Linville: “Ladies and gentlemen… this is your main event of the evening!”
The crowd roars.
Louie Linville: “The following contest is scheduled for one fall… and it is for the ETERNAL FLAME CHAMPIONSHIP!”
Another surge.
Louie turns toward Sinbad.
Louie Linville: “Introducing first… the challenger… SINBAD!”
The cheers swell.
Sinbad remains still.
Focused.
Louie turns toward the champion.
Louie Linville: “And his opponent… he is the ETERNAL FLAME CHAMPION… SANDMAN!”
The reaction lowers into that strange mixed sound again.
Fear.
Respect.
Resistance.
Slow-Count Sam shows the title to Sinbad.
Then to Sandman.
Then hands it to ringside.
The bell tolls.
Minute 1
Julian Ward: “Sinbad opens immediately—discus back elbow. He strikes first and strikes cleanly.”
Brick Brody: “That’s the right start. Don’t let Sandman slow the room down. Hit him before the dream gets comfortable.”
Julian Ward: “Sandman absorbs the punishment, but Sinbad has established the tone early. He is not waiting for the champion to dictate rhythm.”
Brick Brody: “Last year, maybe Sinbad waited too long to understand what he was in with. Tonight, he’s making Sandman understand him first.”
Sandman turns his head slowly after the elbow.
No anger.
No panic.
Sinbad does not admire the shot.
He resets.
Ready for the next exchange.
Minute 2
Julian Ward: “Sinbad attempts another discus back elbow—Sandman reverses, looking for a backbreaker, but Sinbad neutralizes it before full impact.”
Brick Brody: “Good defense. Sandman tried to fold him early, and Sinbad got out before the trap snapped shut.”
Julian Ward: “The champion finally engaged with a counter, but Sinbad denied the follow-through. That neutralization is important.”
Brick Brody: “It tells Sandman something too. Sinbad isn’t just charging in. He’s prepared for the counters.”
Sandman’s hands remain low.
Sinbad circles.
Slow-Count Sam watches from a cautious distance.
The crowd chants again.
“SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD!”
Sandman hears it.
He does not acknowledge it.
Minute 3
Julian Ward: “Sandman reaches for the sleeper—his first attempt to draw Sinbad into that fading place. Sinbad neutralizes it quickly.”
Brick Brody: “That’s the hold. That’s the door. Sinbad slammed it shut before Sandman could pull him through.”
Julian Ward: “A year ago, that kind of control was where Sandman could take over. Tonight, Sinbad is refusing to let the champion settle into the neck and breath.”
Brick Brody: “That’s growth. Or fear turned into strategy. Either way, it worked.”
Sinbad pries free and backs to center.
Sandman watches him.
For the first time, there is something almost curious in the champion’s expression.
Sinbad has remembered the old nightmare.
And adjusted.
Minute 4
Julian Ward: “Sinbad lands the hammerlock DDT. Sandman attempts to defend, but he is driven head-first into the mat.”
Brick Brody: “That was sharp. That was mean. That was exactly what a challenger needs in a title match.”
Julian Ward: “Sinbad attacking the arm and shoulder line while driving Sandman down. It is targeted offense, not reckless aggression.”
Brick Brody: “He’s not just trying to beat Sandman. He’s trying to take away the sleeper, take away the grips, take away the champion’s tools.”
Sinbad rises quickly.
Sandman rolls to his side.
The crowd senses the challenger has real control.
The chant changes.
“TAKE THE FLAME! TAKE THE FLAME!”
Minute 5
Julian Ward: “Sinbad continues—Inverted Facelock Backbreaker. Sandman absorbs the punishment, but this is sustained offense now.”
Brick Brody: “Sinbad is putting damage into the spine and neck. That’s smart. You make Sandman carry pain instead of letting him hand it out.”
Julian Ward: “The champion has not been able to fully impose his pace. Sinbad is keeping this match physical, direct, and grounded in impact.”
Brick Brody: “And that’s the one thing dreams hate, Julian. Hard contact.”
Sandman rolls toward the ropes.
Sinbad follows, but carefully.
Not rushing into a trap.
He reaches for Sandman.
Sandman’s hand moves suddenly.
The room changes.
Minute 6
Julian Ward: “Sandman catches him—sleeper applied. This time Sinbad cannot fully defend. The champion has it strapped in.”
Brick Brody: “There it is. That’s the fog. That’s where Sandman starts making your body feel like it belongs to the floor.”
Julian Ward: “Sinbad is trapped. The sleeper is tight. Slow-Count Sam is checking the challenger.”
Brick Brody: “This is the test. All those speeches, all that growth, all that ‘tide turns’ talk—right here, right now.”
Sinbad drops to one knee.
The crowd rises in anxiety.
Sandman tightens the grip.
Sinbad’s hand lifts.
Sam asks.
Sinbad shakes his head.
No submission.
He plants one boot.
Then the other.
He drives backward into the corner, forcing Sandman to loosen the hold.
A second impact.
The grip breaks.
Sinbad staggers free, gasping.
Sandman remains calm.
The champion has finally touched the old wound.
Minute 7
Julian Ward: “Sandman follows immediately—running bulldog. Sinbad attempts to defend, but Sandman drives him down.”
Brick Brody: “That’s how fast it turns. One sleeper, one breath stolen, then face-first into the mat.”
Julian Ward: “The champion has shifted momentum. Sinbad’s early offense was impressive, but Sandman is beginning to impose consequence.”
Brick Brody: “This is where a lot of challengers start remembering why they lost the first time.”
Sandman turns Sinbad over slowly.
He does not cover.
He watches him breathe.
That may be worse.
Sinbad pushes up to his hands and knees.
Sandman waits just long enough for him to rise.
Minute 8
Julian Ward: “Sinbad answers—short arm lariat. He pulls Sandman in and cuts him down.”
Brick Brody: “Good. Don’t let him stare holes through you. Hit him in the mouth.”
Julian Ward: “Sandman tried to continue the pressure after the bulldog, but Sinbad finds a clean counterstrike. That may stabilize the challenger.”
Brick Brody: “It better. You can’t let Sandman stack minutes. The longer he controls time, the worse it gets.”
Sinbad takes a breath.
Deep.
Measured.
He shakes feeling back into his arm.
Sandman rises again.
Slower now.
Still unbothered.
But slower.
Minute 9
Julian Ward: “Sinbad attacks the arm—cross armbreaker applied. Sandman attempts to defend but cannot prevent the extension.”
Brick Brody: “That’s the work from earlier paying off. Hammerlock DDT, arm control, now the armbreaker. Sinbad came with a plan.”
Julian Ward: “The champion is trapped. Slow-Count Sam checks for the submission.”
Brick Brody: “Sandman doesn’t quit easy. I don’t even know if he thinks about pain the same way other men do.”
Sandman does not submit.
His free hand presses against the mat.
Sinbad pulls back, extending the arm further.
The crowd roars.
Sandman slowly shifts his hips.
Inch by inch.
The rope is reached.
Sam calls for the break.
Sinbad releases at four.
Not reckless.
Disciplined.
The challenger has damaged the champion’s arm.
And the crowd knows it.
Minute 10
Julian Ward: “A long reset between both men—neither able to gain immediate control—then Sandman lands a front kick. Sinbad answers with another Inverted Facelock Backbreaker.”
Brick Brody: “That backbreaker hit again. Sinbad keeps returning to the spine and neck. That’s how you make the dream bend.”
Julian Ward: “Sandman’s front kick briefly halts Sinbad’s advance, but the challenger responds with heavier impact.”
Brick Brody: “This is not the same Sinbad from last year. He’s taking shots, but he’s not drifting. He’s answering.”
Both men are down briefly.
Sinbad turns to one knee.
Sandman sits up.
The visual draws a reaction.
The champion rising like sleep returning.
The challenger rising like a sailor refusing the undertow.
Minute 11
Julian Ward: “Sinbad goes back to the cross armbreaker. Sandman attempts to defend, but Sinbad secures it again.”
Brick Brody: “Same arm. Same pressure. That’s not courage anymore. That’s strategy with teeth.”
Julian Ward: “Sandman is in real danger. The Eternal Flame Champion is being forced to survive repeated attacks on the arm.”
Brick Brody: “And that matters for the sleeper. You weaken the arm, the grip changes. The champion’s weapon gets duller.”
Sandman refuses to submit.
But the first visible sign of strain appears.
His fingers flex.
His shoulder pulls tight.
Sinbad wrenches backward.
The crowd rises.
Sandman again reaches the ropes, slower this time.
Sam calls the break.
Sinbad releases.
He looks down at Sandman’s arm.
Then at Sandman’s face.
The champion’s calm remains.
But the damage is real.
Minute 12
Julian Ward: “Sandman fires back—standing clothesline. Sinbad answers with a short arm lariat. Both men landing heavy shots now.”
Brick Brody: “That’s a collision. Sandman wants to turn this into blunt force. Sinbad’s not backing up.”
Julian Ward: “The champion catches him clean, but Sinbad returns fire immediately. The challenger refuses to let Sandman own the exchange.”
Brick Brody: “That’s how you take a title. You don’t just win moves. You deny the champion comfort.”
Sandman’s clothesline staggers Sinbad.
Sinbad’s lariat staggers Sandman.
They separate.
Both breathing harder now.
The title waits at ringside.
Unclaimed in this moment.
Minute 13
Julian Ward: “Sandman attempts the spinning fist strike—Sinbad neutralizes it. That is another important denial.”
Brick Brody: “Sinbad saw it coming. Sandman tried to change the angle, and Sinbad shut the door.”
Julian Ward: “The challenger’s defensive reactions tonight have been exceptional. He has neutralized the sleeper once, the backbreaker once, and now the spinning fist.”
Brick Brody: “That’s what happens when history teaches instead of haunts.”
Sandman pauses.
Sinbad does not pursue blindly.
The crowd grows louder.
They sense something shifting.
Not a victory yet.
But the possibility of one.
Minute 14
Julian Ward: “Sandman catches him again—sleeper applied. This may be the champion’s final pull back into control.”
Brick Brody: “He’s got it. That’s deep. That’s bad. Sinbad’s arm is reaching, but the grip is tight.”
Julian Ward: “Sinbad attempts to defend but cannot. Sandman straps in the sleeper, and Slow-Count Sam is right there.”
Brick Brody: “This is where Sandman steals the flame back from the challenger’s hand.”
Sinbad fades to one knee.
Then both knees.
The arena becomes thunder.
“SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD!”
Sam lifts Sinbad’s arm once.
It drops.
He checks again.
Sinbad’s hand trembles.
Sandman pulls tighter.
The champion’s damaged arm is still enough.
But not as strong as before.
Sinbad’s fingers curl.
His fist clenches.
He refuses.
He drives one elbow backward.
Then another.
The grip loosens slightly.
Sinbad turns his body, slipping enough to survive.
Not break free cleanly.
Survive.
Sandman releases only when the hold loses its center.
Sinbad collapses forward, breathing hard.
The crowd roars with relief.
Sandman stands over him.
For the first time, the champion seems almost stiller than before.
As if considering what has not happened.
Sinbad did not submit.
Minute 15
Julian Ward: “Sandman moves in—spinning fist strike. Sinbad absorbs the danger and counters—cross armbreaker! Cross armbreaker applied again!”
Brick Brody: “He got it! He got the arm! Same arm, center of the ring!”
Julian Ward: “Sandman is trapped. The champion is trapped. Sinbad has the cross armbreaker fully extended.”
Brick Brody: “No ropes this time. No easy escape. The champion’s arm has been worked all match!”
Sandman reaches.
The ropes are too far.
Sinbad pulls back with everything left in him.
The crowd is on its feet.
Slow-Count Sam drops beside the champion.
Honest Abe is not here. This is Slow-Count Sam, and even he cannot slow this moment.
Sandman’s hand hovers.
His face remains calm.
But the arm is bent.
The shoulder is trapped.
The title is slipping into consequence.
Sinbad yells through clenched teeth, holding the extension.
Sandman reaches again.
Still too far.
The arena sound becomes one massive wave.
“TAP! TAP! TAP!”
Sandman’s fingers stretch.
Then curl.
Then—
his hand strikes the mat.
Once.
A stunned breath passes through the building.
Then again.
The bell tolls.
The Coliseum erupts.
Sinbad releases and rolls backward, clutching his ribs, eyes wide with exhaustion and realization.
Sandman turns to his side, holding his arm.
The Eternal Flame Champion has submitted.
Julian Ward: “Sinbad has done it.”
A long pause beneath the roar.
Julian Ward: “Sinbad has defeated Sandman. The Eternal Flame Championship has changed hands.”
Brick Brody: “He didn’t survive the dream tonight, Julian.”
A beat.
Brick Brody: “He broke it.”
Sinbad pushes to one knee.
He looks toward ringside.
Slow-Count Sam is handed the Eternal Flame Championship.
Sandman remains seated near the ropes, his expression unreadable.
Not rage.
Not disbelief.
Something quieter.
Something deeper.
Sam steps to Sinbad.
For a moment, Sinbad does not reach for the title.
He just looks at it.
The flame he came back for.
The proof.
Then Sam hands it to him.
Sinbad takes the championship.
The arena explodes again.
Louie Linville: “Ladies and gentlemen… here is your winner… by submission…”
A pause, almost swallowed by the crowd.
Louie Linville: “And NEW ETERNAL FLAME CHAMPION… SINBAD!”
Sinbad rises fully.
Slowly.
The title in both hands.
He lifts it high.
The blue and bronze section of the crowd erupts.
Fans jump.
Signs wave.
“NO SEA TOO DARK!”
“THE FLAME HAS A VOYAGER!”
“SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD!”
Sandman pulls himself up in the corner.
He watches Sinbad.
No attack.
No complaint.
No protest.
Just watching.
Sinbad lowers the title.
Their eyes meet.
The history between them fills the ring.
Last year’s loss.
The North Pole feud.
The recent house show victories.
The doubt.
The return.
The title.
Sandman gives the faintest nod.
Maybe respect.
Maybe warning.
Then he slips through the ropes and drops to the floor.
He walks away without looking back.
The crowd remains loud.
Sinbad stands center ring.
Breathing hard.
The Eternal Flame Championship held against his chest now.
Julian Ward: “Last year, Sinbad was taken beneath the surface by Sandman and came back without victory. Tonight, he returned to that same darkness and emerged champion.”
Brick Brody: “That’s what I respect. He didn’t pretend the past didn’t happen. He walked back into it and took something from it.”
Julian Ward: “Sandman entered as champion, calm as ever, certain as ever. But Sinbad had learned. He targeted the arm, weakened the sleeper, survived the champion’s pull, and forced the submission with the cross armbreaker.”
Brick Brody: “That was not luck. That was a man solving a nightmare one joint at a time.”
Sinbad climbs to the second rope.
He raises the title again.
The crowd chants louder.
“SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD!”
Merely moments ago, the Eternal Flame felt like something trapped in sleep.
Now it burns in new hands.
Julian Ward: “The Road to Ashes of Empire has shifted again. The Eternal Flame has changed bearers. Sinbad stands now not as challenger, not as survivor, but as champion.”
Brick Brody: “And everybody who wanted that title just woke up angry.”
Sinbad steps down from the ropes.
He looks at the championship one more time.
Then toward the hard camera.
His expression is exhausted.
But certain.
The tide has turned.
SINBAD DEFEATS SANDMAN VIA SUBMISSION (CROSS ARMBREAKER) AT 15 MINUTES TO BECOME THE NEW ETERNAL FLAME CHAMPION
Julian Ward: “The Merry Band said they would hold their own against The Hand. Next week, Will Scarlett gets the first direct opportunity to answer the collection.”
Brick Brody: “He better make it count. Because Brute Bailiff doesn’t look like a man you teach lessons to easily.”
Another graphic appears.
FRANKENSTEIN’S MONSTER IN ACTION
The building reacts with dread and noise.
Julian Ward: “Frankenstein’s Monster will be in action next week.”
Brick Brody: “There it is. The Mythic Crown Champion. The thing waiting at the end of Arthur’s road.”
Julian Ward: “Every appearance by Frankenstein’s Monster now carries the shadow of The Long Night. Arthur has made his claim. The Monster has yet to truly answer.”
Brick Brody: “He answers by breaking things, Julian. That’s the problem.”
Julian pauses.
The next graphic hits.
The crowd erupts before he finishes reading it.
ETERNAL FLAME TITLE – TRIPLE THREAT MATCH
SINBAD vs SANDMAN vs SIR GALAHAD
Julian Ward: “And after what happened tonight, next week’s main event will be enormous. The Eternal Flame Championship will be defended in a Triple Threat Match.”
A beat.
Julian Ward: “New champion Sinbad… against former champion Sandman… against Sir Galahad.”
The crowd roars.
Brick Brody: “That is madness. Sinbad just won the title. Sandman just lost it. Galahad went thirty minutes with Sandman last week and beat Mordred tonight. Put all three in the same ring? That’s not a title defense. That’s a firestorm.”
Julian Ward: “Sinbad’s reign begins under immediate pressure. There is no long celebration. No easy first defense. He must face the man he dethroned and the man Sandman could not defeat within the time limit.”
Brick Brody: “Welcome to being champion. You get the title, then the wolves find your door.”
Julian Ward: “And that is not all. Next week, Dark Fable will also welcome special guests.”
A pause.
The crowd buzzes.
Julian Ward: “The Convergent Champion… Jack Lumber.”
A loud reaction.
Brick Brody: “Oh, Mordred’s going to love that.”
Julian Ward: “Last week, Mordred issued what he called not a challenge, but a summons, to Jack Lumber. Next week, the Convergent Champion comes to Camelot.”
Brick Brody: “Bring the axe, bring the title, bring backup. Because Mordred doesn’t invite people. He lures them.”
Julian continues.
Julian Ward: “And also appearing next week… the Universal Champion… Ghost of Christmas Past.”
The crowd reaction becomes deeply mixed.
Shock.
Curiosity.
Unease.
Brick Brody: “Now that’s interesting. Ghost of Christmas Past in Camelot. The Universal Champion walking into this place while The King’s Hand is spreading, Frankenstein’s Monster is looming, and the Eternal Flame just changed hands.”
Julian Ward: “The Universal Title picture changed at Whiteout. The consequences of that change now begin to reach Dark Fable.”
Brick Brody: “Good. Bring every champion into the same storm. Let’s see who still looks tall when the lightning starts hitting.”
The camera pulls back slightly.
The desk.
The ring.
The fans.
The torches.
All of it.
The night feels larger now than when it began.
Julian Ward: “Tonight, Serpenta Veyne wounded Sherwood’s momentum. The Enforcers restored force for Monster Bash. Prioress Malveil arrived under Prince John’s command. The King’s Hand expanded. King Richard’s silence became a question no one can ignore. Sir Galahad forced Mordred to submit. King Arthur stayed focused on the road to the Mythic Crown.”
A pause.
Julian turns toward the ring one final time.
Julian Ward: “And Sinbad defeated Sandman to become the new Eternal Flame Champion.”
The crowd erupts again.
“SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD! SIN-BAD!”
Brick Brody: “That’s a full night, Julian. Crowns missing. Hands collecting. Monsters watching. Champions falling. New champions getting thrown right back into the fire.”
He grins.
Brick Brody: “That’s Dark Fable.”
Julian Ward: “The Long Night approaches. And every week, the shadows grow more crowded.”
A final pause.
Julian Ward: “For Brick Brody… I’m Julian Ward.”
He looks into the camera.
Julian Ward: “This has been Dark Fable.”
Brick leans forward with one last line.
Brick Brody: “Sleep light. The Hand’s still open.”
The camera pulls away from the desk.
The ring remains in frame.
Empty now.
But not peaceful.
Above the entranceway, the screen briefly flickers.
Not long.
Just enough.
A flash of black and gold.
The symbol of The King’s Hand.
Then it vanishes.
The final shot is the Eternal Flame graphic fading into darkness—
with Sinbad’s name now burned beneath it.
Fade to black.
The screen does not return to the arena.
It slips.
Not a cut.
Not a fade.
A failure.
The broadcast image bends at the edges—
like heat rising from stone.
Then—
black.
No music.
No narration.
No Julian Ward.
No Brick Brody.
No crowd.
Only silence.
Then—
a faint red glow.
Interior – Lantern Chamber
Red lanterns hang from the ceiling.
Dozens of them.
Some whole.
Some cracked.
Some swaying though there is no wind.
Their light is dim.
Unstable.
Watching.
The chamber is wider than before.
Still bare.
Still polished from years of impact.
But now the shadows feel closer.
More patient.
At the center—
Raigen stands.
Barefoot.
Bruised.
Marked from the previous night.
The welts remain.
The cuts remain.
The blood has dried in thin, dark lines along his ribs and shoulder.
His breathing is shallow.
But controlled.
Not healed.
Not whole.
Present.
Around him—
seven figures.
Masked.
Unidentified.
The same seven.
But this time—
no kendo sticks.
No chains.
No weapons.
Their hands are empty.
That makes them worse.
At the far end of the chamber—
Sensei Kagehito sits in shadow.
Still.
Unmoving.
Unquestioned.
His eyes are on Raigen.
Not with concern.
Not with anger.
With measurement.
A long silence.
Then—
a bell rings.
Once.
The sound does not echo.
It is swallowed.
Trial One – The Trial of Silence
The seven move.
No shout.
No signal.
No breath.
Only motion.
One strikes from behind.
Raigen reacts late.
A forearm catches him high across the back of the neck.
His body jolts forward.
Before he can turn—
another masked figure sweeps his leg.
Raigen hits the wood hard.
No sound leaves him.
His hand presses to the floor.
He rises.
Too slow.
A palm strike catches his ribs.
Another strikes the shoulder.
A knee drives into his stomach.
He bends.
A kick throws him sideways.
He falls again.
The lanterns sway.
Raigen pushes himself up.
His eyes search.
One figure to the left.
One behind.
Two circling.
Three fading into the red light.
He is looking too much.
Thinking too much.
Another strike comes from his blind side.
Raigen turns—
late.
The blow lands against his jaw.
His head snaps sideways.
He staggers.
A second attacker closes.
Raigen blocks this one.
Barely.
He catches the wrist.
Turns.
Counters with an elbow.
The masked figure steps away before the elbow lands clean.
Another strike comes from behind.
Raigen is thrown again.
Harder this time.
He rolls across the floor.
Stops near the edge of the lantern light.
Kagehito does not move.
Does not speak.
Raigen pushes to one knee.
His breathing sharpens.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
The seven circle.
No footsteps.
No voices.
No command.
Raigen’s eyes flick from one mask to another.
A shoulder twitch.
A hand shift.
A foot sliding half an inch.
Too many signals.
Too late.
They attack again.
A fist cuts toward his face.
Raigen raises an arm.
Blocks.
A second strike comes low.
He catches it against his thigh.
Pain shoots up his leg.
A third attacker moves in—
Raigen turns before the strike lands.
This time—
not because he saw it.
Because he felt the floor change beneath him.
He shifts.
The strike misses by a breath.
Raigen counters.
A short palm to the chest.
The masked figure stumbles back.
Raigen does not follow.
Another attacker enters.
Raigen moves before contact.
Not fast.
Correct.
The blow passes across empty space.
Raigen catches the arm.
Turns through the shoulder.
Drives the figure down.
The body hits the wood.
For the first time—
one of the seven stays down.
Raigen freezes.
Only for a moment.
That moment costs him.
A heel strikes the back of his knee.
He drops to one leg.
A fist catches his temple.
The chamber tilts.
The lanterns smear red across his vision.
He braces one hand on the floor.
The seven close again.
Raigen shuts his eyes.
Not surrender.
Adjustment.
The silence deepens.
His breath slows.
The chamber becomes smaller.
Not visually.
Inside him.
No crowd.
No Kagehito.
No masks.
No Blood Oni.
Only pressure.
Weight.
Movement.
The air before a strike.
The shift of wood beneath a foot.
The displaced breath that no one allows to become sound.
A figure attacks from behind.
Raigen turns before the strike arrives.
Block.
Counter.
A shoulder strike to the ribs.
The masked figure folds.
Raigen sweeps the leg.
Second body down.
Another comes from the left.
Raigen steps in, not away.
The attacker’s momentum dies against his frame.
Raigen hooks the arm.
Turns the body.
Throws him into a fourth.
Both fall.
Raigen’s eyes open.
They are clearer now.
Not calmer.
Sharper.
Three remain standing.
They circle wider.
Testing.
Raigen stops turning his head.
He listens without listening.
Feels without reaching.
One moves.
Raigen shifts.
The strike misses.
Counter to the sternum.
The figure drops.
Another tries immediately.
Raigen ducks beneath the arm.
Rises behind him.
Hands lock.
Throw.
The body lands hard and slides across the polished wood.
One remains.
The last masked figure stands across from Raigen.
Still.
Waiting.
Raigen’s breathing stays controlled.
The figure steps in.
No feint.
No flourish.
A straight strike.
Raigen moves half a step.
Enough.
He catches the wrist.
Turns beneath it.
His elbow drives back.
Impact.
The final figure drops to one knee.
Raigen releases him.
The figure falls the rest of the way.
Silence returns.
All seven are down.
Raigen stands in the center of the chamber.
Chest rising.
Falling.
Controlled.
Blood at the corner of his mouth.
Bruises deepening across his body.
But his eyes are steady.
Kagehito remains seated.
For a long time—
nothing.
Then he stands.
The room changes with him.
He walks forward.
Slow.
Measured.
The seven masked figures remain on the floor around Raigen.
Kagehito stops a few steps away.
His voice is quiet.
Sharp.
Final.
Kagehito: “Thought…”
A pause.
Kagehito: “…is delay.”
Raigen says nothing.
He does not nod.
He only listens.
Kagehito studies him.
Kagehito: “Better.”
The word lands with more weight than praise.
Raigen lowers his head.
Not in submission.
In exhaustion.
The nearest red lantern flickers.
Its glass catches his reflection.
For a split second—
the reflection is wrong.
Raigen’s face is there.
Bruised.
Bloodied.
But behind his eyes—
not Oni.
Something else.
A faint shape.
Gold through red.
Ancient.
Watching.
Dragon eyes.
Then—
gone.
The lantern steadies.
Raigen lifts his head.
Kagehito has seen it.
Or perhaps he has not.
His expression reveals nothing.
A second bell rings.
This one lower.
Heavier.
The seven masked figures rise.
Slowly.
One by one.
No anger.
No humiliation.
No resentment.
They return to their positions.
Then walk to the wall.
Each retrieves a weapon.
Kendo sticks.
Chains.
Short wooden staves.
Wrapped cords.
The red light darkens.
Raigen’s breathing changes.
Just slightly.
Kagehito turns away from him and returns to the shadowed end of the chamber.
But he does not sit.
Not this time.
He remains standing.
Trial Two – The Trial of Flesh
The seven figures surround Raigen again.
Now armed.
The chamber feels smaller.
The lanterns lower in the frame as if the ceiling itself has descended.
Raigen’s eyes move to the weapons.
Kagehito speaks.
One word.
Kagehito: “Endure.”
Raigen does not raise his hands.
Does not step back.
One of the masked figures moves behind him.
CRACK.
A kendo stick across the shoulder.
Raigen’s body jerks.
He stays upright.
CHAIN SNAP.
Across the ribs.
The old wound opens.
Fresh blood rises immediately.
A staff drives into his thigh.
A cord wraps across his chest and rips away.
Raigen’s feet slide.
But he does not fall.
Another strike.
Another.
Another.
This is not the beating from before.
That was punishment.
This is examination.
Every blow asks a question.
Can the body remain?
Can the breath obey?
Can pain enter without becoming command?
A kendo stick cracks across Raigen’s back.
His hands twitch.
Instinct says block.
Kagehito’s voice cuts through the chamber.
Kagehito: “No defense.”
Raigen lowers his hands.
Another strike lands.
Harder.
The sound tears through the silence.
Raigen bends forward.
A chain whips across his side.
He turns with it by accident.
The blow drags him off balance.
A staff hits his knee.
He drops to one foot.
For a moment—
he almost falls.
Then—
he plants the foot differently.
Wider.
Lower.
Not bracing against pain.
Receiving it.
Another kendo strike comes.
This time Raigen shifts the angle of his shoulder.
The stick still lands.
The pain still blooms.
But the force travels through him differently.
Down.
Into the legs.
Into the floor.
A chain snaps across his chest.
He exhales at the moment of impact.
Not a grunt.
A release.
The blow marks him.
But does not move him as far.
The seven continue.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Wood.
Chain.
Cord.
Staff.
Skin splits.
Blood runs.
Down his shoulder.
Across his ribs.
Along his stomach.
Dripping onto the polished floor.
Raigen sways.
But each time he sways—
he learns where the weight goes.
A strike to the back.
He lets the force pass through the hips.
A blow to the thigh.
He sinks lower.
A cord across the torso.
He turns just enough that it does not take his breath with it.
No defense.
No blocking.
Only adjustment.
Only survival becoming structure.
The masked figures strike harder.
As if ordered by the lesson itself.
Raigen’s face tightens.
His vision blurs.
The red lanterns become long trails of fire.
His knees tremble.
His spine screams.
The body remembers collapse.
It wants the floor.
It wants darkness.
It wants the end of sensation.
A chain lashes across his back.
This one breaks him forward.
Raigen drops to both knees.
The seven halt for half a breath.
Not mercy.
Waiting to see whether the trial ends.
Raigen’s hand lowers toward the floor.
Almost touches.
Then—
a whisper.
Not in the room.
In memory.
Soft.
Old.
Unremarkable.
Present.
Groundskeeper: “Pain is not your enemy…”
Raigen’s fingers stop above the wood.
His eyes sharpen.
A breath.
In.
Slow.
Out.
Slower.
The Groundskeeper’s voice continues in memory.
Not fully heard.
Not fully spoken.
Felt.
Groundskeeper: “You will be shown only two paths.”
Raigen closes his eyes.
A kendo stick strikes his shoulder.
He does not fall.
Groundskeeper: “One of destruction…”
A chain lashes across his ribs.
He exhales through it.
Groundskeeper: “…and one of obedience.”
A staff drives into his back.
His spine bows.
Then straightens.
Groundskeeper: “But there is always a third.”
Raigen rises.
Slowly.
Not because the pain lessens.
Because it no longer decides.
He stands.
Blood runs freely now.
His body trembles.
But beneath the tremor—
a center.
The seven attack again.
The blows come harder.
Faster.
Raigen does not block.
Does not counter.
Does not run.
He adjusts.
He grounds.
He receives.
A stick breaks across his shoulder.
The broken half spins away into the lantern light.
Raigen remains standing.
A chain wraps across his torso.
The masked figure pulls.
Raigen steps with it.
Turns the pull into balance.
The chain slips free.
Another strike lands against his chest.
Raigen breathes into it.
The impact sinks.
Then disappears into stillness.
The seven begin to slow.
Not from mercy.
From confusion.
The body before them should be breaking.
It is bleeding.
It is damaged.
It is marked.
But it is no longer being ruled.
Kagehito watches from the shadow.
For the first time—
his eyes narrow.
Not displeasure.
Recognition.
The beating continues.
Raigen stands in the center of it.
Not proud.
Not defiant in the way the Blood Oni would demand.
Something else.
The Groundskeeper’s words settle inside him.
A third path.
Unseen by those who demand control.
A path where the veil is lifted.
Another strike.
Raigen absorbs.
Another.
He adjusts.
Another.
He remains.
Kagehito raises one hand.
The seven stop instantly.
The chamber holds its breath.
Kagehito steps forward.
His voice is low.
Kagehito: “Enough.”
The word does not echo.
It ends the trial.
The seven masked figures step back.
Raigen remains standing.
Barely.
But standing.
Blood falls from his fingertips.
His shoulders rise and fall.
Controlled.
Kagehito walks around him once.
Slowly.
Examining the wounds.
The stance.
The breath.
The eyes.
He stops in front of Raigen.
A long silence.
Raigen does not meet his eyes at first.
Then he does.
Kagehito’s face remains unreadable.
Kagehito: “Flesh obeys pain.”
A pause.
Kagehito: “Unless spirit commands flesh.”
Raigen says nothing.
Kagehito leans closer.
Kagehito: “You endured.”
A beat.
Kagehito: “But endurance is not freedom.”
The warning lands quietly.
Raigen’s breathing does not change.
Kagehito turns away.
For a split second—
behind Raigen—
the lanterns flare.
Not red.
Gold.
A silhouette overlays his form.
Not Oni.
Not fully.
A dragon.
Coiled behind him.
Wings folded.
Eyes open.
Vast.
Ancient.
Gone.
The lanterns return to red.
The seven masked figures lower their heads.
Not bowing.
Not yet.
But they felt it.
Kagehito stops walking.
He does not turn back.
But he knows.
The silence becomes heavier.
Then—
a door opens.
Two masked figures step forward.
Raigen braces as if expecting to be dragged again.
But this time—
they do not grab him.
They stand on either side.
Waiting.
Raigen takes one step.
His leg nearly fails.
He catches himself.
Takes another.
Blood marks the floor behind him.
Kagehito’s voice follows.
Kagehito: “Tomorrow…”
Raigen stops.
Kagehito: “The third trial begins.”
A pause.
Kagehito: “What you hear…”
Another beat.
Kagehito: “…will try to own you.”
Raigen does not answer.
He walks toward the door.
Past the lanterns.
Past the seven.
Past the shadow of the Sensei.
The camera follows from behind.
His back is torn.
His stance is damaged.
But with every step—
less broken.
The hallway waits beyond.
Cold stone.
Dim light.
Silence.
As Raigen passes into it, one lantern near the doorway flickers again.
For the briefest moment—
its glass reflects not the Blood Oni crest.
But the curve of a dragon’s eye.
Watching.
Choosing.
The screen distorts.
Snow.
Heavy.
Silent.
Then—
black.
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