An audio recording plays of Rupert Mudcocks conversation with the entity known as The Sphinx. Rupert Mudcock: Nygma… you’re going in first.Rupert Mudcock: I want AAPW’s very first entrant to see you standing there. I want them to look into your eyes and know they’re already dead!
Nygma tilts his head slightly, a slow, sinister smile spreading across his face. His voice is low and chilling.
Drake Nygma: Consider it done…
The door slams shut behind him. The wrestlers sit in stunned silence for a beat before Drake Nygma steps forward, pulling on his gloves. He looks around the room, his voice calm and measured.
Drake Nygma: Let the battle begin.
24 hours post ronin rumble
The Sphinx’s Cabin
Dollia Trypp sat watching the powerful yet unmoving form of The Sphinx. In the past 24 hours she had seen footage of what had happened in the ronin rumble, her heart and mind racing as she looked upon The Sphinx, seeing something akin to a timeless entity at rest.
She could hear the haughty, arrogant words of Rupert Mudcock as if they had only been spoken a moment ago. The audio recording came to an end, leaving silence in its wake. The Sphinx had yet to waken, his eyes remained closed, his features sharper, his bones more prominent, as if he had burned through significant energy on both the physical and mental realms.
Dollia Trypp: Wake up. Please. Come back home.
Her words were like a whispered prayer, filled with hope.
A slow ethereal drum beat pulsated, the sound echoing the thump thump thump of his heartbeat, a heartbeat that was growing in strength. It did not happen in a burst of dramatic energy, no it was slow, gradual, instinctive, patient, timeless much like the entity who was waking up.
Rising to a seated position, The Sphinx spoke, a dark whisper, laced with an intense edge. An edge that spoke of patience honed throughout the sands of time.
The Sphinx: I have awoken. What happened? How long was I out for?
Naturally The Sphinx had questions, his mind spinning, seeking out the knowledge of the past 24 hours. His hands twitched at his sides, a sign that he was growing restless, the need to rise, to move, to hunt evident in his bearing.
Dollia moved to his side, her stride graceful and warm, her lips parted as she began to speak
Dollia Trypp: It's been 24 hours, My Sphinx. You entered the ronin rumble at #1 and won the whole thing.
She paused, as if waiting for his reaction.
When he did begin to speak it was with a timeless rumbling quality, like a sandstorm clothed in flesh, unnerving, dangerous, unhinged.
The Sphinx: I won. I started at number one?
His words were cut off a second later an array of memories rose up inside his mind, memories of dominance, of the haughty barked out words of that parasitic oaf Rupert Mudcock. The memories grew more intense as he saw Dollia entering the ring cradling his head, calling him her sphinx, shortly before he’d vanished.
...whispers stirred from the crowd. But as the enormity of the moment settled like ash across the Tokyo Dome, one name reverberated in murmurs, rising with momentum:
The Sphinx.
The Tokyo Dome was still trembling in the wake of Akhenaten’s arrival. Dust hung suspended in shafts of golden light like holy embers, casting long shadows across the ring. As the echoes of the Pharaoh’s declaration faded into silence, the cameras cut away, the broadcast ending abruptly.
But the story did not.
In the dimmed locker room, far from the eyes of the roaring public, The Sphinx—once known as Drake Nygma—sat hunched on a metal bench, his soaked gear still clinging to him. The last of the golden sand still shimmered faintly in his hair, like residue from a dream. His knuckles were bruised, his chest rising and falling like a war drum calming after a siege.
Dollia Trypp stood opposite him, a half-empty water bottle in one hand, the other clutching the ancient parchment she hadn’t realized she had been holding the whole time.
The silence between them was heavy, humming with aftershocks neither of them could name.
Dollia cleared her throat, her voice rough with reverence—and buried frustration. “Do you even know what just happened out there?”
Drake didn’t respond immediately. He was no longer just Drake. Not fully.
When he finally looked up, his eyes still shimmered with flecks of gold. Not just his irises—his soul looked different.
The Sphinx had awakened.
And yet, his smirk still tugged at the edge of his lips. A cracked smile, not of arrogance—but of acceptance. “We were seen. By something old enough to make gods kneel.”
Dollia inhaled sharply through her nose, pacing in front of him. Her heels clacked against the cement like anxious metronomes. “This was not part of the plan, Sphinx. We were working the long game—underdog to champion. Storyline manipulation, crowd psychology, merchandising.” Her voice broke for a second. “Not... summoning the embodiment of celestial judgment in front of eighty thousand people.”
He laughed. It was soft. Raspy. Dangerous.
“It was the plan. You just didn’t know the page I was writing from.”
She whirled on him, eyes blazing. “You let something ancient in. Do you even know what Akhenaten wants from you? From us?”
Drake—no, The Sphinx—rose slowly, every inch of movement deliberate. There was power in the way his shadow moved now, as if light itself bent to emphasize his silhouette. “He’s not a tyrant. He’s... inevitability. Purpose shaped into flesh.”
Dollia shook her head, her voice falling to a whisper. “And what are you now? His avatar? His weapon?”
“No,” The Sphinx murmured. He stepped toward her, gently lifting her chin so their eyes met.
“I’m his judgment.”
Her breath caught. Her heart hammered. In that moment, she could feel the duality crackling within him—Drake’s chaos and charm colliding with a force that had waited millennia to speak.
And yet… her fingers found his wrist, grounding him. Reminding him. She hadn’t managed this man for years without learning how to tame monsters and walk beside gods.
“You don't belong to him,” she whispered. “You're still mine.”
The Sphinx tilted his head, then nodded—just once.
“You’ve always been the only one who saw me before the sand.”
Elsewhere.
Behind a panel of smoked glass, deep in a secured executive suite, masked figures reviewed the footage on a dozen flickering screens.
The final image—Akhenaten’s face bathed in golden fire—burned on repeat.
“Containment is impossible,” one muttered. “He's returned. The cycle begins again.”
Another leaned forward, voice gritted with fear. “And The Sphinx has chosen.”
Final Scene: Later That Night
In a quiet corridor beneath the Tokyo Dome, Dollia stood alone, staring at a mural none of the staff could explain. It had emerged during the blackout—painted in gold and shadow. A stylized rendering of the Weighing of the Heart.
Her reflection stared back at her in the polished tile floor—warped, flickering with hidden truths.
Behind her, a soft voice spoke—not Drake’s, but something deeper.
“I feel it, Dollia. The trial begins.”
She didn’t turn.
Her voice was calm, even.
“Then we win. Or we burn the gods for trying.”
Backstage – The Forbidden Corridor
The golden sand had vanished.
The Tokyo Dome was still reeling, emergency lights flickering as medics swarmed the fallen fan. In the quiet corridors beneath the arena, the mood was far more volatile.
Drake Nygma—no, The Sphinx now—stood with his back pressed to the cold wall, every breath jagged. His muscles trembled, not from exhaustion, but from something awakening. Something deep. Something divine. Something ancient.
Dollia Trypp paced the narrow hallway, her jaw clenched, her eyes sharp with thought. She was silent, but her movements were furious—like a manager trying to stay calm as her entire strategic plan just got divinely hijacked.
Dollia Trypp (sharply): “He wasn't supposed to arrive yet. You weren’t ready.”
Nygma said nothing. His eyes were still glowing faintly gold in the dark, reflecting the fractured light above like molten glass.
Drake Nygma (quietly): “He called me his child.”
Dollia: “He used you.”
She stepped in close now, grabbing his wrist with surprising strength, her voice low and trembling—not with fear, but with emotion. With rage born from care.
Dollia: “You bled, clawed, survived the gauntlet. You made your own destiny in that ring. And then he—what? Descends like a god and just... claims you?”
She backed off slightly, brushing her wild hair behind her ears, breathing hard.
Dollia (softer): “You’re not some vessel. You’re not a pawn on a sun-lit chessboard. You’re Drake Nygma. You earned this.”
The Sphinx turned his gaze to her now—finally meeting her eyes. His expression was unreadable.
Drake: “But maybe I am the vessel. Maybe this… was always fate.”
That one sentence cracked something in her.
She took a step back like he’d struck her. Her face hardened—not with anger, but with the realization that she might be losing him. Not to death. Not to a heel turn. But to a god.
Meanwhile…
The broadcast had cut to black. Social media was in chaos. Fans speculated if the event had been sabotaged. Others thought it was the greatest work of divine kayfabe ever staged.
But those who were really watching—those who had felt the golden sand—knew this wasn’t a gimmick.
The Temple Locker Room – Hidden Away from Mortal Eyes
Nygma sat shirtless on a bench, the light above him dim and sepia-toned, like a dying sun. His body was still healing, but his soul felt stretched. Like something had been layered over it. Something watching. Something waiting.
Etched into the floor were fresh hieroglyphs. They hadn't been carved—they had appeared.
From the shadows, Akhenaten watched.
Akhenaten: “The world will resist you. They will call you cursed. Broken. A man used by gods.”
Drake Nygma (coldly): “And what am I?”
Akhenaten: “You are judgment made flesh. You are my echo across time.”
Drake didn’t respond immediately. He stared at the hieroglyphs.
Drake (low): “And if I don’t want to be your echo?”
Akhenaten tilted his head ever so slightly, and for a moment, his celestial glow dimmed.
Akhenaten: “Then let Dollia write your story. Let the mortals cheer. But when the scales are weighed, and the Eye opens once more… even you will kneel to purpose.”
Dollia’s Lament – Hotel Balcony, Late Night
Back at the hotel, Dollia stared out over the Tokyo skyline. Her phone buzzed endlessly with media requests, conspiracy threads, hashtags trending with "SUN KING RETURNS," and "NYGMA ASCENDS."
She ignored them all.
Her eyes burned from unshed tears and suppressed fury.
Dollia (softly, to herself): “I saved you from the pit, Drake. Not so you could become someone else’s myth.”
Her hands shook. Not with fear. With resolve.
Dollia (harder now): “You are not their messiah.”
She turned back inside. Her eyes met the empty room. She needed to act.
Not as his manager.
But as the only one who remembered the man beneath the mask of sand and gold.
🔥 Post-Manifestation – The Hotel Room Aftermath
Drake is lying on the floor.
The hotel bed behind him is untouched. He can’t sleep anymore—his dreams are flooded with symbols and forgotten languages. Visions of gold and fire. The pull of destiny clawing at his mind like a hand dragging him upward.
But he’s not crying.
He hasn’t cried in years.
He just feels distant. Like the man he was is trapped behind a door he can’t reopen.
The room is dark except for the sliver of hallway light when the door clicks open—and Dollia enters.
She pauses, seeing him on the floor, shirtless and glowing faintly like the coals of a dying fire.
Dollia (quietly): “You always do this when you're scared.”
He doesn't answer. But his jaw clenches.
She sits beside him. Close but not touching. They both stare at the ceiling.
Dollia: “Remember after that street fight in Philly? The one with the lead pipe?”
Drake (soft): “…you cried harder than I did.”
Dollia: “I thought you were gonna die. You looked at me like you weren’t even there. Like you were somewhere else.”
Drake (whispers): “That’s how I feel now.”
A long pause. Her voice cracks.
Dollia: “I looked up to you, you know. Still do. You were the only one who didn’t give up on me when I was a mess. When I was angry at the world. You made me believe I could build something real.”
Drake: “And now?”
Dollia: “…Now I think I’m watching you fade. Into something I can’t follow.”
She turns, finally meeting his eyes.
Dollia: “And I’m scared I’ll lose you. Not in a match. Not to some god. Just… piece by piece.”
That’s when he finally speaks with feeling.
Drake: “I’m still here. You know how I know? Because when I heard him say ‘my child,’ my first thought wasn’t about power. It was about you. About what you’d say.”
He turns his head toward her, face shadowed, voice hoarse.
Drake: “You’re my anchor, D.”
She reaches out—hesitates—then curls her pinky around his, like she used to when she was sixteen and needed a promise she could hold onto.
🌀 Training Warehouse – A Week Later
Drake moves differently now. Cleaner. Crisper. Like every motion is being guided by invisible strings.
Dollia watches him spar with someone twice his size and annihilate them without blinking. No wasted motion. No hesitation. Just execution.
And for the first time in years, she’s scared of what she sees.
Afterwards, as he’s wiping blood from his knuckles, she walks up and tosses him a towel.
Dollia: “You used to grunt and shout when you fought.”
Drake (dry): “That wasn’t efficient.”
Dollia: “That wasn’t you.”
He freezes—just for a second. And she catches it.
Dollia: “Do you even feel anything anymore?”
Drake (quiet): “I feel… purpose.”
She slaps the towel against his chest—hard.
Dollia: “You feel programmed. Not purposed. I don’t want a champion who’s perfect. I want my brother back.”
He looks away. But his hands are shaking.
And in that moment, she sees it. He’s still in there.
🖤 Memory – Flashback to the Beginning
They were kids—she was sixteen, he was twenty-one.
He found her stealing food from the back of the indie venue. She was rail-thin and all teeth and fire. He didn’t snitch. He bought her dinner.
Young Drake: “You fight like you don’t think tomorrow matters.”
Young Dollia: “It doesn’t.”
Drake: “It does now. ‘Cause I’m gonna make you see what it looks like to matter.”
She’d never believed in anything until that night.
✨ The Chamber of the Veiled Sun – Akhenaten’s Domain
The air hums with golden heat. The floor is obsidian glass, reflecting stars that aren’t part of any known sky.
Dollia steps forward—alone, unarmed, out of breath but burning with purpose. She’s wearing a ring Drake gave her years ago. It pulses like a heartbeat.
Akhenaten waits on a throne of molten gold and living fire.
His face is a mask of impossible serenity. Beautiful. Terrifying.
Akhenaten (calm): “You walk willingly into my presence, knowing what I am. You are either foolish… or faithful.”
Dollia (cold): “I’m neither. I’m family.”
He inclines his head, almost amused.
Akhenaten: “And what does blood mean to gods?”
Dollia: “It means everything. Because he’s still fighting you. And you know it.”
There’s a long silence.
Then:
Akhenaten: “He is mine. His soul burns with divine purpose. You are clinging to ash.”
Dollia: “No. I’m clinging to truth. Drake Nygma is more than your vessel. He’s a person. He’s my brother.”
Akhenaten (softly): “And what would you give… to keep him human?”
The question echoes. It shakes the bones of the world. A test. A trap. A chance.
Dollia’s hands curl into fists.
Dollia: “My place. My future. My name. I’ll walk your labyrinth. I’ll carry your burdens. Bind me to the edge of your shadow if you have to. Just don’t erase who he was.”
Akhenaten (murmuring): “Would you stand between the light and the flame, knowing you will be consumed?”
Dollia: “I’d burn for him.”
The chamber darkens. The stars blink out, one by one, until only Akhenaten’s eyes remain—golden, ancient, eternal.
And then... he laughs. Quiet, chilling.
Akhenaten: “Your loyalty is… inconvenient. But potent. Very well.”
He rises.
Akhenaten: “We shall strike a pact.”
🔥 THE TERMS
Drake’s soul remains his own—as long as Dollia walks the line between realms, bridging the mortal and divine.
She becomes a tether, a living anchor to the mortal plane, gifted with just enough divine essence to keep the balance.
If she falters, if her belief wavers or she stops protecting Drake’s true self, his soul becomes fully divine—no way back.
She can never lie to Drake again. Not even to protect him.
Akhenaten (final): “You will be his truth. And he, your burden.”
He presses a finger to her forehead. A mark blooms—ancient script, glowing dimly.
She falls to her knees, gasping, flooded with visions—Drake laughing as a kid, crying under moonlight, fighting with fury, kissing someone she’s never met in a memory she can’t place.
And then it’s done.
🖤 Back in the Mortal Realm
Drake finds her collapsed on the rooftop, eyes flickering with starlight.
Drake (intense): “Dollia—Dollia, what the hell did you do?”
Dollia (hoarse): “I made sure you don’t forget who you are.”
Drake: “Did he hurt you?”
Dollia: “No. But I think I scared him.”
🕊️ Social Media Reactions (Fan Chatter, Forums, Live Tweets)
🔮 Akhenaten’s Arrival (Post-Ronin Rumble Glimpse)
@WrestleSoulz:The moment Akhenaten's eyes opened behind The Sphinx and the lights shattered in the arena… chills. That's not a gimmick. That’s a god.🦂🦂🦂 #AAPW #RoninRumble #DivineHeel
@SpiritOfStrongStyle:I used to think The Sphinx was just some dark magician gimmick. But that entrance… man. That was biblical. I’m not even religious and I feel like I need to pray #AkhenatenIsComing #SphinxCurse
@SasoriFaithful:You mean to tell me Saikō Sasori’s next opponent is a soul-eating, necro-god-champion from the underworld?? LET’S. FREAKING. GO.#FaceVsEvil #ScorpionKingVsSphinxGod #WrestlingIsArt
🏆 The Sphinx’s Ronin Rumble Win (Fan Reactions)
@HeelHeatCentral:The way The Sphinx didn’t even celebrate after winning Ronin Rumble—just stared into the void like the whole thing was a prophecy playing out. That’s storytelling. #NeutralEvilDoneRight
@StrongStyleSymphony: Saikō wins with honor. The Sphinx wins with inevitability. This ain’t just wrestling anymore. This is fate vs free will. #AAPWMythos #WrestlingIsReligion
🎞️ CINEMATIC HYPE PACKAGE
🦂 "Scorpion King vs The Sphinx"
🎥 Presented like a trailer for an epic samurai vs sorcerer war film
(Cue thunder rolling over mist-shrouded mountain peaks)
NARRATOR (Japanese-accented male, solemn) “One born from sacred flame. The other forged in divine shadow. Two legacies… bound to collide.”
VISUAL: 🔥 Saikō Sasori, in full scorpion warrior mask, standing barefoot in a Kyoto dojo. Candlelight flickers as he performs kata beneath a painted mural of a great battle between gods.
🦂 The Sphinx, in black ceremonial robes, in a temple flooded with moonlight. Akhenaten’s ghostly form looms behind him as whispers swirl around his head like smoke.
NARRATOR: “One fights for honor… The other? For something far older.”
🎶 Music shifts: taiko drums, shakuhachi flute, with deep choral notes underneath
DIALOGUE SNIPPETS:
Saikō (VO): “Every warrior must face his shadow. Mine just happens to wear a crown.”
The Sphinx (VO): “He believes in justice. I believe in destiny. And destiny… always collects.”
VISUAL CUTS:
Saikō delivering a mid-air spinning elbow onto a dark-robed opponent.
The Sphinx standing unharmed amid a ring of fallen wrestlers, eyes glowing.
A child bowing to Saikō in the crowd.
The Sphinx gently placing an Anubis coin on an unconscious opponent’s chest.
NARRATOR: “In the end, only one will command fate…”
🌌 Final shot: both men walking toward each other across a bridge under a red moon. The arena fades into a ghostly battlefield behind them.
Cinematic Press Conference — The Sphinx’s Dominance
Location: A lavish, high-tech conference hall that feels cold and foreboding. Stone pillars tower over the space, adorned with ancient Egyptian motifs, casting long shadows across the sleek modern chairs that the press occupy. The AAPW and UOW banners hang from the walls, their colors muted by the dim lighting.
The air is thick with anticipation, the press crowd murmuring among themselves. A long red carpet leads to the podium, its edges illuminated by dim, flickering lights. The atmosphere is electric but tense, almost as if something divine—or monstrous—is about to unfold.
The Arrival
Suddenly, the doors at the back of the room swing open. Dollia walks in first, her heels clicking sharply on the marble floor. She’s dressed in a sleek, black ensemble, tailored perfectly to her figure, exuding power and confidence. Her dark, enigmatic aura mirrors the energy in the room. With every step she takes, the room feels heavier. There is no smile on her face—only a glint in her eye that promises something sinister.
Behind her stands The Sphinx, towering and imposing. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move. His presence alone fills the room with an oppressive, otherworldly energy. His eyes are hidden behind dark shades, his expression unreadable. He moves like a shadow, each step deliberate and measured, as if the world bends to his will. His silence is deafening, almost as though he exists on a plane higher than mortal comprehension.
Dollia takes her place at the podium, brushing her fingers across the microphone. The crowd is silent, staring at her with anticipation. She glances at the press, her gaze as cold as ice. She opens her mouth, and her voice cuts through the stillness like a blade.
Dollia's Address
Dollia: "Ladies and gentlemen of the press... Welcome to what will undoubtedly be a moment you will never forget. And, if I may, I must remind you that we are not here for your usual 'questions,' or your typical 'headlines.' No. This is something far greater than you can comprehend."
She pauses, her lips curling into a sly, almost mocking smile. The air seems to grow heavier with every passing second.
Dollia: "You have witnessed The Sphinx's victory at the Ronin Rumble. You've seen his power. You've felt the earth tremble beneath his feet as he ascends, like the god of the underworld himself. And now, you will bear witness to his next triumph—his defense of the UOW Youngblood Championship."
She turns slowly to glance over her shoulder, her eyes flicking to The Sphinx, who remains still, almost statuesque, like a statue of ancient divinity. His silence is deafening.
Dollia: "But make no mistake. This is not just a title defense. This is not just a match. This is a statement. A proclamation that those who dare challenge the gods of the ring will find themselves erased, forgotten, lost in the shadows of a greater power."
The camera zooms in on her face, her eyes narrowed, glowing with a sinister intensity.
Dollia: "And to those who think they can stand in his way, hear me now."
The crowd shifts, the tension palpable in the air.
Dollia: "Haruki Tanaka... Rupert Mudcock... You two are so consumed by your petty ambitions, your fragile little worlds, that you fail to recognize the force you're about to unleash. The Sphinx is not some mere mortal. He is a harbinger of chaos, an instrument of divine wrath. And he is not done. No, he is only just beginning to clean house."
She glances over at The Sphinx again. There is no movement, no indication that he has even heard her words, but the sheer weight of his presence sends a ripple through the crowd. Dollia’s voice lowers to a whisper, but it’s still audible in the otherwise silent room.
Dollia: "You may think you can control this, Haruki. You may think Rupert can reign over this company, but you are merely fleeting specks in a greater cosmic plan. The Sphinx... is inevitable. And those who oppose him will be cast into the abyss."
Dollia turns back to the press, her eyes glimmering with danger.
Dollia: "The Sphinx’s reign has only just begun. To those who tremble, to those who doubt... let them quake in their boots. Let them feel the weight of his silence. For it is far louder than any word spoken in this room."
The camera cuts to The Sphinx, who stands motionless in the shadow behind Dollia. His figure is almost mythical in the dim light, his presence completely overwhelming. He hasn’t uttered a word—but his silence is more terrifying than any declaration could be.
The Press Reacts
The camera pans over the room of reporters. Some are visibly shaken, unable to break the palpable tension in the room. A few shift uncomfortably in their seats, unsure how to proceed, but no one dares speak.
The air in the room feels thick with dread.
Dollia: "And let this be a warning to all who follow. The Sphinx is the future of AAPW. He is the chosen one. His destiny is written in the stars, and it cannot be denied. Those who seek to stand against him will learn, too late, the price of defiance."
Dollia pauses, her eyes scanning the room once more, letting her words hang in the air before she steps back, signaling the end of the conference. The Sphinx remains unmoving, his gaze fixed forward, like a deity waiting to strike.
Dollia: "Thank you. And remember, Haruki Tanaka... Rupert Mudcock... the clock is ticking."
She steps away from the podium, leaving the room filled with lingering tension. The silence is deafening. The press is left stunned, unsure of what they’ve just witnessed. The image of The Sphinx, standing like a god, fills their minds as they scramble to process the magnitude of the statement.
The camera slowly fades to black, the echoes of Dollia's chilling words lingering in the air as the audience is left in suspense for what is to come next.
PART I: Dollia’s Thoughts – “The Silence Between Stars”
The flickering candlelight dances against the darkened walls of the private suite. The world outside buzzes with questions, with press conferences, with fear—but here, silence reigns. Dollia sits cross-legged on the floor before a half-burned incense altar, her eyes fixed not on the flames, but on him.
Dollia (internal monologue):
“I’ve known warriors. I’ve known killers. I’ve known kings.”
“But The Sphinx… he is none of those. And he is all of them. He is an echo of something older than memory. Not a man—no, never a man—but a force pretending to wear the skin of one.”
“There’s a stillness in him that unsettles even me. It’s not the silence of peace. It’s the silence between stars. The pause between apocalypses. The breath before a god decides whether to destroy or spare.”
“People think they understand power. Rupert Mudcock thinks it’s wealth. Haruki Tanaka thinks it’s legacy. But The Sphinx doesn’t hunger for either. He’s beyond empire, beyond ego. He doesn’t want gold, and he doesn’t want to lead. He wants the reckoning. The alignment of consequence. The divine judgment that only someone like him can bring.”
“And yet... when he looks at me, there is no wrath. No cruelty. Only... awareness. Like the eye of a storm that knows you’re there, but chooses not to sweep you away.”
“I’ve never feared him. Because I am not foolish enough to believe I could ever control him. I am simply the one who listens, who speaks in his stead, who understands the price of proximity to a god.”
PART II: The Sphinx Speaks – “Ashes of Time”
The room is silent. Dollia finishes lighting a long stick of desert-scented incense, the air thick with the aroma of dust, stone, and myrrh. She turns to find The Sphinx staring out a high, arched window into the night. Moonlight casts jagged shadows across his face. And then, for the first time in days, he speaks.
The Sphinx (low, thunderous, almost a whisper that carries the weight of ancient winds):
“They claw at eternity thinking they can understand it… mortals.”
“With their crowns, their wars, their legacies written in blood and sand. Always believing they matter. Always believing they will be remembered.”
“But time forgets. It swallows kings and lovers alike. Cities are built on the bones of those who once called themselves eternal.”
He turns slightly, just enough that Dollia can see the cold fire burning in his eyes.
“They fear me because I do not pretend. I do not dance the mortal waltz of ambition and praise. I am not beholden to the cycle. I am the blade that ends it.”
“They call me ‘evil’ because I speak the truth. That there is no mercy in fate. That justice is not fair. That gods are not kind.”
He steps closer to Dollia, kneeling beside her in the dim light, his voice softening—but never losing its chill.
“You, Dollia, are not like them. You know your place in the river. You do not try to dam it. That is why I speak to you.”
“I have walked through the end of empires. I have seen civilizations scream for salvation. None were spared.”
He leans in, barely a whisper now.
“And yet, they will come to me, again and again. Mortals. Hoping I am different this time. Hoping the Sphinx will blink.”
“I never blink.”
Ancient desert ruins. A storm gathers on the horizon. Time distorts. The sand moves like water, shadows whisper through pillars carved with forgotten names.
Narration (Dollia Trypp’s voice, steady but low):“There are forces older than truth. Older than the first lie. Older than time itself.One of them… wears the skin of a man.”
Cut to a flickering black-and-white image of Drake Nygma standing motionless in a dimly lit cathedral. The light trembles. The camera lingers on his eyes—glassy, timeless, hollow. A voice like thunder speaks beneath the surface of silence.
“They call him ‘The Sphinx’...But names are mortal things.”
⚖️ Oswald Knight – The Manipulator
Visual: Oswald Knight in a sharply tailored suit, walking through a hall of chessboards and suspended marionettes.
Oswald (cold smirk):“I’ve studied the patterns. Watched the moves.
Even gods crack under pressure, eventually.”
He crushes a bishop between his gloved fingers. Cut to press headlines: “The Penguin Prevails!” “Knight Checkmates!”
⚡ Lightning Man – The Hopeful Flame
Lightning Man training alone in a warehouse. Sparks flicker around him with every move. He tapes his fists in silence.
Lightning Man (voice-over):“You don’t beat shadows by running. You punch through them.The Sphinx… whatever he is… bleeds like anyone else. I’ll find the pulse.”
Lightning Man standing at the edge of a storm, staring up at a thunderous sky. One step forward.
☥ The Sphinx – The Silence Between Stars
A flicker. A shift. All sound cuts. Black void. Only the faint, distant whisper of something inhuman breathing.
Dollia (whispered):“He doesn’t speak because words were born after him.
He watches… because he remembers the first light. And the first betrayal.”
Cut to flashbacks: A younger Drake Nygma, falling through forgotten memories. Visions of him being sacrificed, worshipped, locked away. A voice echoes:
The Sphinx (finally speaking, slow and voidlike):“Mortals seek crowns to define their worth. I wear one made of stars and bones.”
⚔️ The Clash
The final montage: All three competitors facing the ring in separate shots—Oswald bathed in candlelight, Lightning Man under a flickering fluorescent bulb, The Sphinx standing in darkness with only Dollia at his side.
Dollia (to the camera):“He is not here to win. He is here to end.Mr. Knight. Lightning Man. The game is not yours to play.It is his. And he does not forgive.”
Boom. Thunder. Static. Fade to black. Title pulses onscreen:
📱💀 SOCIAL MEDIA BUZZ – “The Sphinx Cometh”
@WrestleMysteries
🧵THREAD: Who—or what—is The Sphinx?
Was he summoned? Cursed? Reborn from an ancient soul pact? Let’s break down the theory 🧵
Drake Nygma = mortal shell
The Sphinx = godlike parasite/guardian
Dollia Trypp = priestess? sister? keeper?
THE SILENCE. THE FREAKING SILENCE.
@UOWFanatic94
No one:
Literally no one:
The Sphinx: [Unmoving. Unblinking. Unbothered. Unholy.] 😭😭😭
@LightningHeartz
Lightning Man is the only one in this match with an actual pulse and soul. Man’s fighting myth and metaphor with fists of hope. We LOVE to see it. ⚡💪🏽💛 #ShockTheGods
@ThePenguinIsKing
Oswald Knight walks into every match like he’s calculating a war crime. Absolute menace in a $5k suit. I respect the evil, ngl. 🐧💼 #CheckmateSoon
@MythMatchMoments
the sphinx doesn’t even breathe on camera. i’m convinced the man’s heartbeat syncs with tectonic plates.
@DrakeWorshipForum
Okay but what if The Sphinx ISN’T evil?? What if he’s just ancient and furious and tired of watching humans fumble existence?? What if he’s the final evolution of emotional detachment??? 😭☥
@HotTakesNSteelChairs
Imagine being Oswald Knight. You spend 6 months running mind games and outplaying everyone—only to get third-partied by a literal death god sharing a body with someone who looks like a tortured poet.
@CursedMatchEdits
🎥: “When your opponents are a corrupt politician and a thunder-powered anime protagonist, but you’re an ancient celestial executioner trapped in a vessel of bone and regret.”
Cue: Gregorian chanting + zoom on The Sphinx’s blank stare
#ThisIsNotAWrestlingMatch
#ItIsAProphecy
@WrestleWeeb91
Lightning Man: “I fight for the people.”
Oswald Knight: “I fight for control.”
The Sphinx: “I fight because the stars demand blood and time must kneel.”
EXCUSE ME??? 😭😭😭
🗿☥ THE SPHINX SPEAKS
Just before the final faceoff... the silence breaks.
Only once.
AAPW.COM EXCLUSIVE VIDEO
The lights dim. Dollia Trypp stands alone, eyes gleaming. Behind her, The Sphinx looms in shadow, half-seen, like a forgotten statue rediscovered in a ruin.
Dollia:"He has said nothing… until now."
The Sphinx lifts his head. His voice is not loud, but it echoes with something older than speech.
The Sphinx:“By bloodshed do the gods make known their will.I am the blade that answers.”
Cut to black.
🕯️ THE MYSTIC SAGE BOARD – Fan Theories About The Sphinx
🔺 THEORY 1: The Forgotten God of Judgment
“He is not a man. He is not a wrestler. He is the incarnation of an ancient deity cast from the heavens before language was born.”
Highlights:
The Sphinx is believed to be a pre-Abrahamic god whose name was erased from history.
His silence is not for theatrics—it is law. When he speaks, fate is altered.
Some say his eyes don’t see—they weigh souls.
Quote from Reddit user @TomeOfAsh:
“Drake Nygma isn’t the Sphinx’s puppet. He’s the vessel—and every match is a ritual.”
🦋 THEORY 2: An Avatar of Ma’at’s Twin – The Divine Beast of Balance
“Where there is justice, there must be terror. The Sphinx is the counterweight of mercy—he exists to destroy what slips past mortal judgment.”
Highlights:
Ties into Egyptian mythology, claiming The Sphinx is the long-lost brother of Ma’at.
He does not serve balance. He enforces it—through destruction.
Dollia Trypp is suspected to be a modern-day Oracle of Ma’at, guiding him in secret.
Fan art exists showing Dollia with golden wings shielding a broken Drake Nygma from The Sphinx’s full transformation.
🩸 THEORY 3: A Deathless Warden from the War of the Realms
“The Sphinx was a soldier in the primordial war between gods and monsters. When the realms collapsed, he was cursed to watch humanity decay.”
Highlights:
This one crosses timelines—tying Sphinx to other mythos (Norse, Mesopotamian, even cosmic horror).
Fans believe the Scorpion Trial of Saikō Sasori mirrors the kind of ancient rites The Sphinx survived.
Suggests he recognizes Saikō as something more than mortal, and that his silence masks recognition.
📿 THEORY 4: Drake Nygma Made a Pact—But Not With a Demon
“He didn’t sell his soul. He split it.”
Highlights:
In this theory, Drake was once an ordinary man seeking revenge or protection.
Instead of summoning a demon, he awakened an ancient being dormant in his bloodline.
The Sphinx is not possessing Drake. He is sharing the soul, and every time Drake fights, he loses a little more control.
Tumblr Post from 
“It’s not that The Sphinx is quiet. It’s that Drake is screaming so loud inside, and no one can hear him anymore.”
🧠 THEORY 5: The Sphinx Is Wrestling’s Answer to Cosmic Horror
“The ring is not his battleground. It’s his prison.”
Highlights:
This one comes from the horror nerds. Think Lovecraft meets Lucha Underground.
The Sphinx is said to be an “Echo of the Old Ones,” bound by arcane law to perform conflict through ritual combat.
The crowd? The fans? They're not watching the myth unfold—they're unknowingly feeding it.
🎭 MEMES AND CHAOS:
@WrestleMemez:
📸 Oswald Knight doing his villain promo
📸 Lightning Man striking a pose with thunder in the background
📸 The Sphinx standing perfectly still while the camera melts
“This isn’t a triple threat. It’s a TED Talk, a shonen anime, and an apocalypse in a trench coat.”
if the sphinx ever even looks at me i’m ascending. i’ll cry blood. i’ll become stardust. i’ll stop paying taxes. i don’t even want him to speak i want him to exist near me.
@ChaosLoreWrestling
🕵️♀️ Compiled every time Dollia touches her temple before The Sphinx enters = 17 times.
Every one followed by:
Opponent losing consciousness
Lighting shift
Audience going dead silent
Y’all she’s summoning something 💀☥
🌍 GLOBAL MEDIA FRENZY: "The Sphinx Disappears"
Breaking headlines across the world:
[ESPN After Dark]: “The Sphinx Walks Out of Ronin Rumble… And Into Myth”
[BBC Wrestling Worldview]: “God or Man? Wrestling’s Most Terrifying Enigma Vanishes After Victory”
[Vice Wrestling]: “Akhenaten’s Chosen? Inside the Ancient Bond That May Explain The Sphinx”
[Tokyo Sports]: “Saikō Sasori’s Next Challenger Is Not of This Earth—AAPW Prepares for Spiritual Warfare”
🧵 TWITTER/X MELTDOWN
@WrestleSpirits
The Sphinx didn’t win the Ronin Rumble. He ended it. Everyone else fought in a match. He performed a judgment.
And then… he vanished.
Something happened in that ring. Something not meant for mortal eyes.
@TryppFanatic42
Where is Dollia? Where is Drake? Why did the air bend around them when they left?
Why does no one remember who entered after Entry #30?
I think we watched a god return home.
@SwordOfAkhenaten
I translated part of the hieroglyphs in that hype video before the Ronin Rumble.
It says: “One shall rise not as a man, nor beast, nor king… but as judgment incarnate.”
We’re witnessing divine punishment, y’all.
🎙️ PODCAST: Deadlock Mythos – The Sphinx Files (Pt. 1)
"He entered the Rumble like a shadow wrapped in sunfire. And then… silence.
We’ve tracked flights, backstage camera footage, GPS data… and it all cuts out five minutes after the final bell.
One minute he’s there. The next, not even the security feeds remember.
People say they saw Dollia mouth the words, 'He must speak with the King.'
Who is the King?
Who… is Akhenaten?"
🧠 REDDIT THEORIES (Level 9000 Intensity)
/r/SphinxSightings
“What if Drake Nygma was never a wrestler? What if he was the vessel chosen to walk through modern arenas to continue an ancient rite of sacrifice? Every match? A blood tithe.”
/r/AAPWConspiracy
“Notice the Ronin Rumble lights dimmed 0.44 seconds before The Sphinx's theme hit. That’s the same timestamp as the solar eclipse during his debut match. Look it up.”
🧵 TUMBLR THREADS
@DivineDollia
Akhenaten didn’t summon The Sphinx.
He owed him.
Look at the ancient cartouches. There's always a second figure beside the throne—a lion-faced shadow with no name. That was him.
The King of the Sun… ruled by fear of the beast behind him.
🔥 THE SPHINX’S WORDS (Posted by Dollia on X, triggering absolute chaos):
"By bloodshed do the gods make known their will."– The Sphinx, after the Ronin Rumble
No hashtags. No context. Just… that.
It trended for 18 hours straight.
📸 FANS MEME, THEN APOLOGIZE TO THE VOID
Lightning Man: "You’ve got no spark left, Sphinx!"
The Sphinx: [stares in primordial dread]
Crowd: already in Latin chants
idc what he is. god, devil, time ghost, idc.
put me in The Sphinx’s path and let fate consume me.
🧱 AAPW OFFICE – Statement from Haruki Tanaka (leaked email):
"We do not control The Sphinx. We do not own him. We survive him."
– Haruki Tanaka to AAPW Board of Directors
[LEAKED TRANSCRIPT – “Shadows of the Sphinx” Underground Fan Documentary Interview]
Source: Redacted | Interviewer: ████████ | Interviewee: Anonymous Occult Researcher
(camera glitches, VHS static crackles before stabilizing)
INTERVIEWER:
You claimed you’ve traced sightings—ritual patterns—from Luxor to Kyoto, to wherever the Ronin Rumble was held?
RESEARCHER (voice distorted):
The symbol carved into the mat post-match? That wasn’t showmanship. That was language. Pre-dynastic—older than Seti I, older than the Black Pyramid myths. It translates loosely to “The Will of the Gods is Written in Blood.”
(cut to footage of The Sphinx standing still mid-ring after his victory—unmoving, blank-eyed, ominous silence)
RESEARCHER:
That silence? That’s not character work. It’s the stillness of something that waits. That listens through time. I believe The Sphinx isn’t Drake Nygma. Drake is the vessel. The true Sphinx is… a being known in proto-Semitic texts as Aru-Shaphai — "He Who Watches the Threshold of Fire." He's been linked to Akhenaten's exile and possible disappearance. This being was said to be entombed in flesh for disobedience to Ra's divine order.
(pauses; shows blurred photos of a stone mask in a Cairo museum; it resembles The Sphinx’s face paint)
INTERVIEWER:
So what’s the connection with Akhenaten now?
RESEARCHER (flatly):
A deal. The Pharaoh sought to become a god. In doing so, he bound himself to that which even gods feared. The Sphinx is no champion. He is a consequence. A reckoning that walks.
(glitch. Frame skips to a fan meme: Oswald Knight nervously adjusting his tie with caption “When you realize your triple threat includes an Old Testament horror.”)
(another glitch; dramatic quote in blood-red font on black)
"By bloodshed do the gods make known their will." — The Sphinx
RESEARCHER (last words before feed ends):
The Ronin Rumble didn’t crown a contender. It opened a tomb. And we let it in.
(footage ends. Symbols flash: ☥, 𓂀, an inverted ouroboros surrounding the Youngblood Title. Then blackout.)
[LOCATION: Osaka Station, Japan – 2:13 AM | 4 days after the Ronin Rumble]
Footage originally posted by 
(Footage begins grainy, handheld. The hum of fluorescent lights. An almost empty station. A vending machine flickers in the background. A lone train car sits still on the tracks.)
(Camera pans slowly. There—at the far end of the platform—is The Sphinx. Towering. Cloaked in his black and gold mantle, his back to the camera, facing the tunnel. Unmoving. Utterly still. His mask reflecting the cold station light.)
(He does not react to passersby. A dog walking by begins to bark frantically, then cowers behind its owner. A child points and starts crying. The air itself seems… wrong.)
(There is no announcement. No footsteps. No sound. Just silence. The footage begins to distort slightly, like the film itself is resisting him.)
(Then, very slowly—he turns his head. Only his head. Toward the camera. No words. No gesture. Just that look. That impossible, eternal gaze. The feed cuts.)
WITNESS TESTIMONY – Local Janitor (translated):
“He wasn’t breathing. That’s what I noticed. No breath. No heat from his body. I thought he was a statue at first. But statues don’t watch you. I felt like he could see through me—into things I hadn’t done yet.”
Online Buzz – Selected Posts from Fans:
@KrypticKage:
“He stood there like he was waiting for something. Or someone. Not a man. A monument.”
@ChokeOnMyPopcorn:
“Y’all worried about Oswald Knight but THE DAMN SPHINX JUST PHASED INTO OSAKA LIKE HE WAS WAITING FOR AN APOCALYPSE BUS.”
@MythWrestlingTheory:
“The Sphinx isn't just a wrestler. He’s a signal. A rupture in time wearing a mask. Tanaka and Mudcock opened a door with that contract.”
Updated Fan Theory (Red String Edition):
Multiple unconfirmed reports place The Sphinx near other ancient sites over the past year—Petra, Teotihuacan, Delphi.
The phrase “By bloodshed do the gods make known their will” was recently found scrawled in Enochian script in the locker room wall of UOW’s training facility.
Rumors that Drake Nygma no longer sleeps. Dollia Trypp seen speaking in Sumerian during a backstage segment, though she has no known linguistic background.
Final Note from the Underground Wrestling Conspiracy Discord:
“He appears when the world tilts out of balance. He is not a man chasing gold. He is a judgment cloaked in muscle and myth. Oswald Knight and Lightning Man may be in a title match... But only one of them is being weighed.”
“The Oracle of the Forgotten God”
Dollia Trypp’s Role as the Voice of The Sphinx
Where The Sphinx walks, silence follows.
He does not speak at press conferences.
He does not sign autographs.
He does not respond to his name—because that is not his name. That is the vessel. The human host. Drake Nygma.
And so enters Dollia Trypp, the only living being with permission to interpret the will of the unknowable.
She is his handler, his herald, his anchor to the human world. Without her, there would be no comprehension of his intent—no messages, no warnings, no interviews. Only destruction.
She Interprets, She Translates, She Shields the World
Dollia speaks for The Sphinx in arenas, in meetings with promoters, at championship contract signings.
When The Sphinx is addressed directly, it is Dollia who turns and answers, as if translating ancient commands carved into her soul.
"The Sphinx does not chase belts. He gathers omens."
– Dollia, after The Ronin Rumble.
"He does not seek titles, Mr. Knight. He wants your truth, peeled bare in violence. He wants your ending. The titles are just another way of showcasing his dominance, the message? There is nothing you nor anyone else can keep from his hands”
– Press conference warning.
She Handles His Human Life
Drake Nygma, the man underneath the mask, is… disappearing.
Consumed by the divine hunger of The Sphinx.
But there are still traces. Shadows of habit. Rituals of survival.
Dollia ensures he eats.
She keeps hotel staff away.
She negotiates with management. She signs contracts.
She carries with her ancient relics—amulets, scrolls, and black candles—to keep the worst parts of him contained until the match.
She reads in languages long thought extinct. She wears gloves made from the skin of a dead oracle. She does not sleep well—but she is fiercely loyal.
And perhaps… perhaps she believes that within this god-shaped shadow, some part of Drake still listens.
Her Personal Belief
Dollia believes The Sphinx is not merely a wrestler, or a force of divine reckoning.
She believes he is a necessary correction—a god of silence born in an age of noise.
She sees herself not as a manager, but a priestess. A keeper of balance.
"The world won’t understand until it bleeds for the answer. I only hope they listen before the final bell tolls."
– Dollia Trypp, unsanctioned promo at UOW HQ.
Backstage Behavior
Other wrestlers instinctively avoid locker rooms when The Sphinx is present.
Dollia is often seen drawing ritualistic patterns in chalk outside his door.
She does not speak to others unless spoken to. When she does, her words are unsettling but poetic—like riddles carved into a tomb wall.
Why This Matters
Dollia's presence is what makes The Sphinx work. Without her, he would be a storm without direction—unpredictable, uncontrollable, unsanctionable. She is both the oracle and the leash, walking beside a god who could snap the world in two… and she’s the only one unafraid.
I. The Price of Proximity to a Forgotten God
To stand beside The Sphinx is to stand beside a presence that is older than time and colder than death.
He is not simply powerful—he is primordial, an echo of Akhenaten’s final god, something that predates language, predates morality.
And Dollia has chosen to be his mouthpiece.
This choice comes at a cost—spiritually, psychologically, even physically.
She is not possessed, but she is marked.
Her aura has changed. Animals sense it. Mirrors fog near her. Lights flicker when she’s angry.
She has dreams that are not hers—dreams of deserts without end, of pyramids that bleed, of gods buried in salt and silence.
II. The Fraying of the Soul
To speak for The Sphinx is to carry his words—but he does not whisper them.
No, they arrive like thunder behind her eyes, like scripture carved into the folds of her mind.
She bleeds from her nose sometimes after a promo.
Her heart races after a match—not from fear, but from exposure.
She is standing in the shadow of divinity… and divinity burns.
There are days when she speaks in ancient tongues she never learned.
There are nights when she cannot hear her own voice, only his, as if he's replaced her echo.
And still, she stays.
III. Sanctified Madness
There is something holy and unholy about Dollia now.
She wears it like a cloak. People feel it around her.
She knows too much, and worse—she knows she is not supposed to know it.
In wrestling terms: she is untouchable.
No one will lay a hand on her.
Not because of fear of The Sphinx, but because something older is watching.
Her eyes have seen Akhenaten’s ruin.
Her dreams are filled with golden coffins and apocalyptic laughter.
And still—she believes.
IV. Spiritual Erosion
Every time she channels his words, a little more of Dollia Trypp fades.
She is becoming a conduit—less person, more oracle.
She forgets names. Dates. What she liked before.
She no longer remembers her favorite color. She doesn't sleep in beds anymore—only on floors made cold with obsidian dust.
“To speak for the gods is to slowly forget you were ever human.”
—Journal entry, torn and burned at the edges, discovered in a locker after a Sphinx match.
V. Why She Endures
Because she loves him.
Not in a romantic way, but in a sacred way.
She loves Drake Nygma—the man, the vessel—and believes that her presence keeps him from being lost completely to the god.
She’s his big brother’s keeper. His last tether. The only one who looks at The Sphinx and says:
“I know you. I know you beneath the mask. And I will carry your name through the fire.”
And maybe… just maybe… he listens.
