As I slowly woke up from my slumber, my ears were greeted by the loud sound of my alarm clock. The constant beeping and buzzing felt like a shock to my system, resembling the piercing screech of a bat screaming out of hell. It seemed like the clock had been set to the loudest possible volume, as if it was determined to ensure I didn't oversleep. The sound reverberated through my room, making it impossible to ignore or sleep through. I tossed and turned like that would make a difference until I yanked the cord out of the power strip. The alarm went mute. I sat at the edge of my bed with my hands and face. I thought my beard was getting slightly longer as I felt the itchy, long facial hair. I looked at long gray hairs. I thought to myself, Man, I'm getting old. I pull a half-smoked joint next to a plate of coke with five lines. I grab a hair tie and put my hair in a man bun. I took a couple of hits off the joint. I took deep inhales, watching clouds of smoke dance in the air. I put out the roach and then grabbed some black jeans on a pile of clean clothes I forgot to fold. I looked at the various photos on the walls of the sports events I completed and family members. There were various poster wrestles like John the Gator, Shadow of Kane, The lord of Mankind, warrior Hogan, The One You Can't See, and other legendary wrestling professionals. I had the post-war North American flag with a quote that said old North America is the best America in the multiverse, maybe even omniverses.

I fold up a dollar bill and then snort two lines of coke. Fuck man, Dave gave me the good shit!!! Whew, Jesus Christ, I'm riding the pale horse head first into the gates of oblivion. I said with my Corny wrestling voice. Man, I don't want to perform today. I looked at a poster that said Welcome to World Wide Wrestling Wars, the main event. I saw myself posing with my fist in a macho way; I noticed how my long gray hair needed to be dyed black, My handlebar mustache and long beard needed a trim, I got bulkier with a few years more cumbersome, I looked at my costume looked amazing I wore a long white fur coat, flashy jewelry, my pants were gold and white,  another photo underneath me was me smoking a cigar laugh with my thumbs down showing my golden grill and I had a big dumb smile, I had a glowing orange spray on cheap tan, but on the poster it made me look amazing. I wore a white and gold cowboy hat that had longhorn horns attached to it. I wear my leather boots and look at my opponents, a trio known as the Sons of the Vulfix Gravekeepers. They were colossal sumo size red necks back, water fuckers that wore creepy satanic goat masks. They looked like they were slashers from a horror flick; they wore bloody and dirty clothes that looked like they were butchers they had covered themselves. The leader had a black goat mask with a pentagram and the mark of the beast on it; they all had various satanic tattoos and runes.

The first brother, Judge Vermin, was wearing brown farmers' overalls, A shredded old brown hood covering the gray goat mask with golden eyes, and a crescent moon; it looked like he had an aura of flies always around him, He wore humanoid skeletal rings, He wore a noose of ropes around his neck, He had a large tattoo of a three head wolf on his chest with blades instead of teeth above it says I love my sweet father vulfix in gothic 13-century letters it looks like it's was made from his blood. He wields a very rusty and bloody shovel that looks like it's from the post-war era; he has a tattoo on his arm that says my father gives me strength. It is a three-wolve with dagger metal teeth. It has a third eye

The second brother, at the executioner's tomb, had long gray hair that touched his knees; his arms had long hair with various tattoos of dubov and other demonic sigils and pentagrams; on his neck, he had a pig and other animal intestines that were in the shape of a noose they left a stain of blood, He had blood stain goat mask that had blue eyes, His skin had carved runes that glowed an unholy dreadful purple just like judge vermin, but he had hues of ghastly green

The leader, Bloodra, was the tallest and bulkiest of the three. He stood hunched over his pale blue eyes, look filled with rage and Blasphemous thoughts. He wore black farmers' overalls with metal bands and demonic pacts. He wore a noose of chains around his neck and a large, spiky dog collar with green tips that looked poisonous. I don't feel like fighting these three punks. Still, the money is worth it, and I can finally go pro in leave this shit hole town and live on that lovely California island, Beautiful babes of la; I want to go surfing in long beach, Way better drugs, and more matches it's been my American dream.

My radio turned on out of the blue. It made me jump down near my boots. Hello, this is your humble, honest host from our black pearl of pure Michigan, Mr. MorningStar.I have a piece of excellent news: star James Earl Pale, aka Mr.Pale, a local gym owner of the black bottom bear who has been wrestling for years, finally got an ample shot opportunity that he has been waiting for years, training with no performance-enhancing drugs just pure diet and dedication he has become an idol and local legend will be put to the test for his first appearance in the world vast wrestling wars or what I like to call it WWWW!  Man, this gets my blood boiling in passion because we are having an uprising with his opponents. It is the trio of the sons of Vulfix Grave Keepers, a pro wrestling group that has been undefeated for six years. Will Mr.Showtime himself be the one who defeats them to become the next Warlord of worldwide wrestling, or will he fall to the darkness and chaos of the dark brothers in Sons of Vulfix, the god of pain Himself? The grave keepers will fight Mr. Pale for his life and career. They will fight hell in the cell; ladders, Tables, chairs, and melee weapons are also available. This will be a match for ages, a battle of dark versus light, old versus new, a struggle that will demonstrate the power of brute strength.

I walk up to turn it off, then walk into the bathroom

I look at the three long scars on my left eye from my first fight with this wrestler's red shadow claw. Man, he did a fucking number on me with that blow. Still, at least I tricked gullible chicks into believing I fought a polar grizzly when Red Shadow Claw knocked me out and used his razor claw blade to slice my left eye. I wash my face, looking at my old green eyes. Man, I grab the black hair dye that covers my hair and step in the shower, wash up, and dye my hair. I shaved my hairy chest, Trimmed down my facial hair, Used my deodorant brand Black Bear Claw, Brushed my teeth, and put on a band tee that said earthwork let this river flow. On the back, there's a photo of me meeting the band with a coke-out smile. My eyes look like one of the Japanese cartoons. I was younger, and my tattoos of various old gods of strength seemed fresh.

Fuck where is my fucking cigs? I have to clear my head.

I walk back into my room. I see my cigs on the TV stand and then pick up the pack Grim smokes; it had a logo of a skeleton wearing a classic mobster al Capone suit; he was sitting in the position like he was going to give a lecture while smoking a black cigarette; the skeleton had black bones, red tie with purple polka dots, He has a Tommy gun in one hand. On the other hand, he is holding an enormous cigar; the eyes of the skeleton look like red diamonds. You beautiful fucks, omg, I might have to go back to the black pearl gas station. I might have to get more packs and catch up with Dale Gold's grand adventures, and I will probably Catch my drinking buddy further, white.

I pull out the long cigarette and put it to my lips; I take deep inhales as I look up to my white ceiling That has various wild game trophies I bought from a local hunter named Craven; my favorite was a massive black boar was the jewels of the crown in my home.

I walk in through my hallways and see my powerlifting and sports trophies. I grab my gold shades. I grabbed my gym as a photo dropped.

After winning the first Olympic wrestling championship, I was with my family and friends. I smiled as I looked at that photo because I was young and won my first biggest challenge. I still have those golden medals. I picked up the photo, folded it, and put it in my wallet. Before I leave, I walk over to my TV, turn it off, and then turn off the lights in my home.

I step on my welcome mat that says fuck you pay me now in bold 90s metal font style. I walk down the hill to go to my white pickup truck, which was vintage from the post-war era. I check my watch. It's 10.pm .fuck!!!! I better start heading out for this shit of a Match. I drive down the town of black creek as I turn on the radio. Howdy, it's you, humble host, Mr. Morning Star. We are back with some more news. Have you heard that Mayor Danny Greyward has stepped down as mayor to become the vice president of the Universal United States of Americas? He will be giving his old position to his 3rd son. Jonnie S Greyward, who has a son and a wife, is a man of science who created the Greyward Tech Department of Research and Development. His son has big shoes he can fill because he has stepped out of his father's legacy to be a beacon for humanity.

Blah blah shut the fuck, you are bootlicking cunt said as I turned off the channel, then took out a flask from my glove department in my car; my drinking buddy dale gold gave it to me. He told me he got it from a more solid he healed in the medical bay during the war. I could feel the potent moonshine hit my chest and burn. It felt like a professional boxer set his gloves on fire and then started punching me with the speed of light. I look in the rearview mirror at my bloodshot red eyes and pull up my shades.

I started chain smoking until I reached the big city of New Motown. I Saw a large holographic project of me and the sons of the grave keepers of Vulfix. I saw a projection of smoke tech new weapons and cybernetic weapon enhancement chips. There was dancing, barely clothed strippers that had eyes of pure lust and sexual pleasure; there was a holographic ad for promoting a movie called They Came from Sea. Drive up to the security checkpoint, two gray stone soldiers in massive hulking metal frame armor were armed from head to toe with various smoke tech weapons and another tech.

I gave them ID. Then, one of the Motown police had a marker and the main event poster. I could see the eagerness in his eyes. He was a fan, so I smiled at him. As I signed the poster, he returned to his post like he won the lottery.his joy was so fucking annoying. I swear on everything; I felt like I wanted to puke.

I rolled my eyes. What a fucking loser, I thought as I drove past the entry point to the massive city of new Motown. It was such a beautiful city; I couldn't lie; I miss the old Detroit, but this was a good change for the town. The environment was eco-friendly and advanced; I saw massive mega-corporations resembling towers of pure greed. I thought as I drove past Smoke Tech, Graystone, Greywardtech, bio Lex Corp, and various other corporations. I saw the sky have heavy traffic from new flying cars using solar energy. They made my truck look like a vintage hunk of metal junk on wheels. I drove deep into the city. Driving past little Yokohama, a beautiful small Japanese town in Motown, I heard it's Iron Tiger Claw territory. This gang is known to have been hired as local security guards for Yokohama and merch during corporate wars. My plug supplier is a member of the Iron Tiger Claws. I never met him, but I hope I don't from the stories Dave told me. He's like a death merchant. He would send you the lands of Duhov at the drop of the hat. I swear on the good gods; he was a ruthless son of Bicth.

I roll my windows down and feel the sun's rays hit my skin. The winds blow a cool, light breeze. It felt terrific. The sun's warmth felt divine as if the gods of the sun were blessing our state. I drove until I reached the Sliver Shisa stadium. It was the biggest wrestling stadium in the world. Luckily, it was two hours away by car from black creek. I step into the back of the stadium, park my car, and then walk to my trailer to prepare for the match. You made it here, you fucking old dog. You want a little white before the game. This is pure shit, said Dave rubbing his hands together like he was a Bond villain; he wore a black and white jumpsuit, A lower golden grill, He had a buzz cut with a large x shaped scar

.yeah, but today I want the top self shit like I want to fucking see the throne of the other gods of light and order you got some powder that will unlock my chi and make put me in the zone for battle.

I gave Dave a thousand five hundred dollars from my gym bag; Then I watched Dave unlock his sliver skeletal luggage case; he pulls a bag of pink and purple powder it looked like a fucking easter egg; he put most of the cash in the luggage case in a hidden department pocket then put some money in his wallet. I have your great deal, and I should love the easter morning bag; it's like Coke, but it will last your whole match. It will give high of both shrooms and coke, but with a twist: since you are engaging in a battle, you will go into a state of berserk rage. This stuff, Mr.Showtime, will have to chase the dragons of zailton himself. This right here made the shit I gave you earlier seem like mid in that's my vintage corporation members-only coke.

Pulling out one of his prerolled weed cigars, he lit it with a skull like a liter. He took deep inhales as he puffed out big clouds of smoke. He was coughing the scent of the weed field of my trailer. He closed his luggage and then passed me his blunt.

I took a couple of hits and coughed hard. What the fuck are you smoking, bro? This must come from the gardens of Verdan themselves; this is that druid pack. I passed the blunt back to him, trying to catch my breath. I took a seat cause I felt somewhat lightheaded because I took a heavy hit. I rub my beard; how many lines should I snort for the match? I don't want to fucking od a mid-fight that would tarnish my legacy of being Mr Perfect Natural. I laugh as I watch Dave take deep inhales. He puts on red aviator shades. I recommend that a big boy like yourself take four thick lines that will last to match or snort them over time. I passed him a silver plate from the gym bag, and easter Sunday was the symbol for the year of the rabbit on it.

He pours half of the bag on the plate. He cut for thick lines of powder; He poured the rest into the bag, ensuring that he scraped all of the easter Sunday morning. He pulled out a hundred-dollar red bill and rolled it like a straw. I got money on you, old man; You better fuck those boys up. I took the plate, and the rolled-up red bill sat in my polar grizzly bear lazyGrandad armchair. I smirked before I snorted the Easter Sunday morning. I felt a magical rush through my body, a head rush that made me lean back into my chair because I was so dizzy. The world felt like it stopped spinning for a couple of moments. I rub my face and breathe deeply. Man, I'm a little wired; I'm not going to lie to you, Dave, you got this batch from the Iron Tiger claws. He looked at me and laughed.

No, brother, this came from the Morrigan daughters of the cosmic warg. They let me cook. I'm their high facility, but of course, at a high price that I won't divulge, or they would put my and my loved ones' heads on the plate. Because they are a cult that worships Wayaothteme, the cosmic warg, they are led by the rumored outer god Morrigan, the daughter of Odin, and Wayaothteme, the cosmic warg. From their great battle, the blood of Odin, the crow father, and rage fused with Wayaothteme, the cosmic warg blood, and rage became the physical manifest of the god's wrath. Another aspect here is the herald of Morgen. Dave Jamesport said that Lightwood is Morrigan's physical gang leader and pawn.

Yo, pour me a drink of that moonshine on the counter. I want to take toast on your impending match with those sicko bastard backwater scumbags or with take a nose dive in our career in you make me lose ten thousand dollars on this match. I pray to the gods of victory that you win for me and your old dog. He firmly shakes my hand with the grip of a warrior. Just because he is petite and skinny doesn't mean he is weak and a sheep. I saw the glow purple and gold of his cybernetic Hercules trojan horse omega frame, hidden exoskeleton, and hidden cyber muscle from the rival of smoke tech, Bio Rain, a company that works biological cyberware, bio drugs, Biology warfare, and other horror movies mad fucking scientific evil shadow government I thought as he walks out he waves his hand I felt for a moment he hands ten hands and sixty fingers I was wondering if I was hallucinating from the easter Sunday, but I shrug it off. I walk into the dressing room of my trailer. I put on my long pink fox mink; my golden brass knuckles dug into my hands as I shouted fuckkkkkk, that shit never gets fucking old my hands glow blue and then blend with my flesh.

I finally reached the back room. I saw all of the new wrestlers and old ones. John the gator was wearing all-black robes and sitting beside his pet gator. It was an Albino's. It had a name tag that said, snowflake princess. I laugh at the name tag but then at John holding my hand. So you are mr Showtime, huh? Well, brother, if you are an old North American pure breed like me, then we will be brothers regardless of the match's outcome, said John the gator. He gave me a firm and strong hand. His hand was rigid like a gator hide. I sit next to him, watching the holographic TV displaying the match. John Gator motioned his hand to pay attention. They finally showed my match, my first debut, and the title match. I watched the screen to see the intro for each grave keeper.

I heard a long church bell ring that was demonic; an orchestra of cultists sang the songs of Vulix, Candle, and Enslaved people, And holograms were projecting demons; black and purple smog spread everywhere in the area, causing some fans to choke. People held up signs that said we are the children of the one who tortured outer gods and grand gods for fun. It was pig blood all over the signs. The grave keepers teleported in the middle of the ring as their auras all combined to make a massive dreadful mass of energy that looked like a gigantic smiling moon with bleeding eyes, I thought to myself as I watched the screen. Was I tripping off the easter Sunday morning? I watched on the back door entrance TV hologram as robe cults in purple and black bring a black goat, white goat, and grey lamb. Judge Verim stepped forth, pulled out a dagger, and cut the throat of the black goat, pouring blood on him and his brothers. He ate the raw flesh, grabbed the goat's intestine, and then wrapped it around his head like a turban of flesh. He ripped the flesh of The black goat, pulling his mask down and eating the raw flesh; the cult members had smiles of glee as they watched the barbaric ritual. Then Bloodra, with his bare hands, rips the gray goat in half as black and crimson blood flows all over him; some cults dance around him as he pours blood all over the cult members and the crowd. The executioner's tomb summoned an iron of dark royal purple angry and crimson hues. I watch as the cult members drag the last seal in the iron madien that levitates in the air and pour goat blood and flesh every spray the hell cell ring and ring cage. The song of dread goes louder and louder. I took a small spoon and ran into the bathroom. I go into the stall. There are performance-enchanting drugs and needless all over the floor. I take a little bump off the Easter Sunday

As the arena lights dimmed and the crowd's roar filled the air, the tension between me and the Sons of Vulix, the Gravekeepers, was palpable. The ring was surrounded by a haze of smoke and flashing lights, adding an eerie ambiance to the already-charged atmosphere. I could smell the scent of death and decay before I even made an entrance. It was like I was walking in a slaughterhouse. The smell was so foul, and overwhelming members of the crowds wore gas masks to protect themselves from foul stench.

On the other hand, my entrance was met with awe, jealousy, envy, and fear from the audience as I  strutted down the ramp, exuding confidence and swagger in my elaborate attire. The white fur mink coat billowed behind you, a big classic cowboy hat that screamed Texas, a big classic cowboy luxury belt, and white gold fireworks shot up in the area; the area rained buckets of cash, making the crowd go wild trying to take all the bills, catching the glint of the spotlights as I made my way to hell and the cell ring. My golden and white snakeskin boots against the metal ramp echoed throughout the arena, and my watch caught the eyes of fans as they Saw the diamond dance from the light that reflected on it; I had my golden and white Luchador-inspired pants that had golden gems attracted to it was punctuating the silence falling over the crowd. I ran up to the members of the crowd who were my fans, hugged them, took corny selfies, gave one of my pairs of glasses, and then gave one a signed shirt. I could see the joy. In the eyes of this young kid with long gray dreadlocks and light oak brown skin, he wore a shirt with a detective on. It made my day. Honestly, I care about my kid fans. The adults, on the other hand, can make me cringe or piss me off.

As I  climbed into the ring, the Sons of the Gravekeepers stood opposite me, imposing figures casting long shadows in the dim light. The shadows look like a pack of hell hound's getting ready to pounce on prey. The eerie glow of their satanic goat masks seemed to pierce through the darkness, giving them a menacing and otherworldly presence and cosmic. It felt like my heart stood still at this moment, but my energy and chi rose from the easter morning Sunday as I felt my aura ported. A pink and purple aura increased with every layer of fear I felt at that moment. I felt at first fear, but then the flames of rage ignited with my heart, mind, and soul. I felt like I was a bull seeing red for the first time. I was ready for this fight; I thought as I watched the body grave keepers stare into my very soul like they wanted to tear me limb from limb. The last brother was cutting his wrist, and his skin turned pale.

The referee signaled for the match to begin, and the tension in the air reached a fever pitch. The clash between my luxurious flamboyant, flexing all-America classic bodybuilder persona and the Sons of the Gravekeepers' ominous aura promised a battle unlike any other; this was going be a fucking spectacle that would go down in wrestling history if I won or not because I'm going give them more hell than the little demons they worship. It was like an air conditioning stop; The air was filled with multiple flying demonic beings and creatures beyond my comprehension. I saw colors that I thought my imagination couldn't even think of. The face of Bloodra turns into a realistic bat hybrid with long, bloody fangs. The bat part spreads to make it look more like a werebat; the area lights turn crimson red, and the crowd is dead silent, frozen in time. Even the referee was frozen. Judge Vermin's head kept twisting rapidly like a bobblehead from hell; He grew large bat-like wings.

Time went back to normal, and I heard the loud noise of the crowd. It was a thunderous roar like I was in a Roman gladiator Colosseum.

As the bell rang, signaling the start of the match, the arena erupted into chaos. The clash of titans had begun, with each move and countermove met with thunderous cheers and gasps from the crowd. The ring became a battleground where larger-than-life personalities collided in a showdown of epic proportions. I grabbed Judge Vermin by the head, crashing it multiple times into a steel chair in the ring; I could hear him laugh and scream with every blow. I would see his eyes glow with glee and pleasure like he had hit the most brutal bump of all time. I tossed him on the side as I felt the hands and arms of Bloodra warp around as his body slammed into an extended food court table. Fucck, you, goat fuckers,. I curl up from my lower back hurts. The haters in the crowd cheer louder and louder. But I heard my fans say get up multiple times, so I got back on myself to hit Bloodra with various mixed combinations of boxing techniques. I hit his chest with heavy blows, making him fall backward; Judge Vermin grabbed me from behind, and the executioner's tomb grabbed me as well. They felt like they were locking me down. Bloodra grabbed an iron bat and hit my stomach ten times, slow but heavily back to back. I spit blood as I felt vermin grab my head and punch me in the face three times harder and harder. I could feel his rage behind the blows. His knuckles felt like a club with hidden blades.

I then felt my muscles increasing in mass, and I broke free, kicking off Judge Vermin; I put Bloodra in a chokehold and then slammed him into the table. Executioner Tomb kicked me in my stomach, sending me flying on the ropes of the ring.

Wow, this is a ticking time bomb that has exploded. We have the undefeated wrestling trio from the depths of the darkness, The Son of Vulix grave keepers, versus Mr.Showtime, Mr. Plae, the old American show stopper. This is the first match so far. It does look so good for Mr. Showtime, Jim said the wrestling host announcer with a hype energy and passion in his voice.

The outcome of this match would not only determine the victor but also etch a new chapter in the annals of wrestling lore, a tale of a new rivalry, spectacle, and the indomitable spirit of the competitors who dared to step into the ring to display a fight that will be a battle between dark and light Rodrick this match is going to have a special said Jim the main announcer he goes on a ten-minute rant on the glory of wrestling and combat sports.

The intensity between me and the Sons of the Gravekeepers peaked as the match unfolded. The ring became a stage for a performance, a dance with the Dutchess death unlike any other, a dance of power and skill that captivated the audience with each move, parry, and counter. Whenever I thought I had the upper hand, these sons of births would get ready with a heavy blow that barged me with attacks. Judge vermin broke my left arm by bending until it snapped, hitting with steel countless times. I could see the bloodlust in his eyes from his damaged mask. I felt the peak of the Easter Sunday morning peak. It was incredible and inane. I felt a boost of energy and chi like never before. I saw the fear in the eyes of the tiro as they burned from my chi aura, slowly their skin turning into ash.

I then got a second wind. I felt a berserker rage come over me. I fix my arm as I push off all of the grave keepers. I grab Bloodra, take him on the top rope, then flip him over, slamming him into a table and breaking it. A larger-than-life presence commanded attention; each gesture and taunt met with a roar of approval from the crowd. The Sons of the Gravekeepers, with their brute strength and intimidating presence, fought back fiercely, their every move calculated and precise. Judge Vermin grabbed a metal bat and hit me in the head, but the bat broke in half and melted from my body heat alone.

This clash of styles and personas created a dynamic spectacle that kept the audience on the edge of their seats. The ring was a canvas where Mr.Showtime and The grave keepers were painted in sweat, determination, pain, fear, and hope, where every moment held the promise of victory or defeat. Dave  Cambridge, the wrestling announcer, said it's an ever-switching tide. He leaned forward and spilled his cup of wine on his lap.

As the match neared its climax, high-flying maneuvers and bone-crunching slams electrified the arena, sending shockwaves of excitement through the crowd. The tension was palpable, the stakes higher than ever as the battle raged. I was slammed by Jude vermin as the cage electrified me, and the spikes on the cell stabbed me. I felt like the air was knocked out of the wind of me.

This is a hell of a match in hell in our cell. The tides of this battle are a chaotic tide of pain and suffering, but who do you have your money on, Jim? Dave screamed excitedly as he jumped up, almost making his headset disappear.

I  rallied against the Sons of the Gravekeepers in sheer determination and grit, unleashing a flurry of signature moves and finishing maneuvers that left the audience in awe. The ring shook with the impact of each blow, the drama unfolding with every pinfall and near fall.

Finally, in a pivotal moment that seemed to freeze time, I delivered the decisive blow that secured my victory. The arena erupted in a deafening roar of applause and cheers, a standing ovation for a performance that transcended mere entertainment. Fireworks burst, and the crowd threw a fit I had never seen before.

As I stood victorious in the center of the ring, I was pumping my fist in the air, jumping up and down. I was basking in the crowd's adulation; I knew this moment would forever be in the worldwide wrestling war and sports history. The clash with the Sons of the Gravekeepers had tested my mettle and pushed me to my limits, I thought at the time, but in the end, I emerged triumphant, a champion in every sense of the word. The referee passed me the championship heavyweight division. It's a white and gold belt with a bald eagle on it.

As the dust settled and the echoes of the intense match faded into the background, I stood in the center of the ring with a huge smile showing my gold teeth, adrenaline, and chi still coursing through my veins. The crowd's cheers and applause washed over me like a wave of validation, confirming my championship victory and solidifying my status as a wrestling icon. I thought in my head that if I kept this up, I might be able to join the legendary wrestling warlord Hall of Fame.

The Sons of the Gravekeepers defeated but not broken, slowly made their way out of the ring. Their imposing figures were now humbled, but I could see the rage burn in their eyes. The match's outcome didn't stop the darkness in their hearts. Despite the loss, newfound respect lingered between my formidable opponents and me, a mutual understanding forged in a battle that one day, we would meet again on an enormous battlefield to bathe the victor's blood.

The arena buzzed with excitement and chatter as fans discussed the epic showdown they had just witnessed. My victory entertained the masses and left an indelible mark on professional wrestling, a performance that would be remembered for years.

Backstage, amid the hustle and bustle of the post-match chaos, I was greeted by a sea of well-wishers and fellow wrestlers, all eager to congratulate Me on my triumph. The camaraderie and respect shared among colleagues added to the sense of accomplishment that filled the air. The media running in hit me with a barrage of questions. I throw a heart sign, then dash to my trailer

As I took off my jewelry and shoes, I peeled off my extravagant costume and wiped away the sweat of the match; a sense of satisfaction washed over me as I smoked the leftover tail that Dave left in my trailer ashtray. The journey to this moment had been long and challenging, but the victory was sweet and well-earned; a testament to my dedication and passion for the sport was undying, but I was happy about the prize money. I can finally move out of fucking black creek

Looking ahead, I knew that more challenges and rivalries awaited, each an opportunity to push yourself further and continue to leave your mark on the professional wrestling world, maybe even the universe. With the taste of victory still fresh in my mind, I was ready to face whatever lay ahead, confident in my abilities and hungry for more triumphs. I thought as I held the belt for the heavyweight division championship title.