The air inside the arena was thick with anticipation, each second stretching longer as the crowd leaned forward in their seats. The excitement was palpable, and the tension rippled through the arena like a storm brewing on the horizon.
Miyu Kojima, standing with her signature poise in the center of the ring, raised the microphone to her lips, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade.
Miyu Kojima: Ladies and gentlemen... this contest is now officially under... New Breed Rules!
The crowd erupted into murmurs, a sea of confusion washing over them. The anticipation quickly turned into a hum of curiosity and apprehension.
Scott Slade, the steady voice of reason, leaned into his mic, eyes narrowing.
Scott Slade: New Breed Rules? What exactly does that mean, Holly?
Holly Hudson: I’ve got no idea, Scott. This is something new even for Ultimate Wrestling. But whatever it is, you know it’s going to be brutal.
Chris Rodgers scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically as if this was beneath his expertise.
Chris Rodgers: Another gimmick to keep the fans hooked. We didn’t need this kind of nonsense back in the day. You grabbed whatever was handy and made sure your opponent couldn’t get up. Simple as that.
The answer came moments later, crackling through the announcers' headsets.
Scott Slade: I’m being told by our director that it means they can bring any weapon they want to the ring. No disqualifications, no holds barred, and no tag team rules will be enforced—so somewhat similar to our main event tonight. This match just became an all-out war. Expect anything to happen.
Chris Rodgers: Jesus, whose bonkers idea was this? Probably Zeagal, he’ll do anything for ratings.
The lights in the arena dimmed, and an ominous rumble shook the ground as the familiar tones of Olga Pavlova’s entrance music, "The Tundra’s Roar," filled the air. The crowd’s murmurs swelled into a low, nervous hum as The Siberian Behemoth stepped into view.
But tonight, something was wrong.
Olga stumbled slightly as she emerged from behind the curtain, a massive hand clutching her stomach. The audience watched, puzzled and intrigued, as the once-unstoppable force of nature now moved with an awkward, sluggish gait. Her normally intimidating form seemed weighed down, her breath labored as sweat beaded on her forehead, glistening under the spotlights. The feast she had been tricked into eating had clearly taken its toll.
Holly Hudson: This is hard to watch... Olga Pavlova is a beast in the ring, but look at her—she’s not herself tonight.
Scott Slade: That feast was a cruel trick. She’s known for her endurance, but no one can fight at full strength after what Kami did.
Chris Rodgers, with a cruel chuckle: You starve a beast, then feed it like a king, and what do you get? This. Look at her, she can barely walk! This match could end quickly if she doesn’t snap out of it.
Behind Olga, the slender yet deadly figure of Snezhnayya Barsa slinked through the curtain, the nagaika whip hanging loosely in his hand. The masked enigma, with his cold and calculating gaze, ignored the crowd, his eyes never leaving the ring. Following him, Viktor Zlovred, the Siberian Warhammer, marched forward, his baton twirling in one hand and brass knuckles glinting dangerously in the other. The Red Reapers were ready for violence, each step more methodical than the last.
As they approached the ring, the crowd grew louder, their unease transforming into a roar of anticipation. Olga took a moment to steady herself, leaning against the ropes, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she glared across the arena. Barsa and Zlovred, standing by her side, remained poised, the tension between them crackling like a live wire.
Holly Hudson: Barsa and Zlovred are as focused as ever, but I can’t shake the feeling that Olga might be the weak link tonight. She’s off her game."
Chris Rodgers: She might be down, but she’s not out yet. They don’t call her the Siberian Behemoth for good looks.
The lights dimmed again, and the music shifted to True Chaotic’s anthem, "My Name Is" by Once Monsters. The crowd reacted with a mix of excitement and disdain as Kami Nakada and Shingo Hara emerged, joined by the devilish duo, Colton and Cassie Hurst.
Scott Slade: And here they come—the always dangerous True Chaotic, and they’ve got backup tonight.
Leading the charge, Shingo Hara moved with confidence, his retractable baton already in hand, his sharp eyes scanning the ring with deadly intent. Behind him, Kami followed with a careful, measured pace, her ribs heavily bandaged under her sleek attire. Every step she took was calculated—despite her injury, her smirk showed she was already plotting the chaos to come.
And then, there were Colton and Cassie Hurst, chairs slung over their shoulders like weapons of war, their faces lit with mischievous grins. The Hursts, infamous for their willingness to bend the rules—or outright break them—stalked close to the ring, eyes darting between The Red Reapers like predators circling prey.
Chris Rodgers: There they are, the Hursts—bad news for anyone in that ring. They’re going to jump in the second they smell blood.
Holly Hudson: They’re ruthless, and with no disqualifications tonight, they’re free to wreak havoc.
The ring was now surrounded by tension, the energy thick as the two teams faced off. The Red Reapers, standing strong despite Olga’s visible struggle, eyed their opponents warily. Meanwhile, True Chaotic stood confident, their backup close at hand, ready to turn the tides with every dirty trick they knew.
The referee, looking more nervous by the second, glanced at both teams. He knew he had lost control before the match even began. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand and signaled to the timekeeper.
DING! DING! DING!
The war began. The arena exploded into action. True Chaotic, bolstered by the Hursts at ringside, didn’t waste a second. Shingo Hara was the first to charge, baton drawn, his eyes locked on Viktor Zlovred. The sound of their weapons clashing filled the arena as Shingo drove Zlovred toward the corner, the strikes coming fast and hard. The crowd gasped with each swing, the tension palpable.
Scott Slade: Shingo's wasting no time! He’s going for it all!
Meanwhile, Kami Nakada, despite her bandaged ribs, slinked behind the unsuspecting Snezhnayya Barsa, her sharp eyes calculating the perfect moment. A swift knee to the groin sent Barsa crumbling, his grip loosening on the nagaika whip. The masked wrestler’s expression, hidden beneath the mask, spoke volumes through his body language—surprise and pain.
Holly Hudson: Oh, that’s classic Kami! Always the opportunist.
Chris Rodgers, sneering: She’s ruthless, Holly, and that’s what makes her dangerous.
On the outside, Colton Hurst spotted his target: the sluggish, struggling figure of Olga Pavlova. Her weakened state made her an easy mark, and Colton, with a wicked grin, pulled a chair from under the ring. The crowd roared in disapproval, but Colton didn’t hesitate. The crack of steel against flesh echoed through the arena as Olga dropped to her knees, the impact sending a wave of pain across her face.
Holly Hudson: Olga’s taking damage early—Colton knows exactly how to exploit that!
Chris Rodgers: Olga’s been a tank in the past, but tonight? She’s a sitting duck.
In the ring, Cassie Hurst, chair in hand, saw her opportunity as well. She sneaked behind Barsa, still recovering from Kami’s low blow, and drove the chair into his back. The sound reverberated through the arena as Barsa crumpled to the mat, the masked wrestler writhing in pain.
Scott Slade: True Chaotic is running wild! These Hurst individuals are ruthless!
Suddenly, the arena lights flashed, and a wave of gasps swept through the crowd as two figures rushed down the ramp. Mikhail Mordokrov and Svetlana Kazakova stormed toward the ring, their faces set in grim determination.
Scott Slade: Wait a second—here come Mordokrov and Kazakova! This fight’s about to get even more chaotic!
Holly Hudson: It’s 4-on-3 right now, but not for long!
Mikhail Mordokrov, moving with eerie precision, slid into the ring and immediately took aim at Shingo Hara, who barely had time to react. Mordokrov grabbed him by the throat, lifted him high, and slammed him down with a Spectral Slam (Flapjack). The ring shook with the force of the move, and Shingo bounced off the mat, dazed.
The crowd roared in shock as Mordokrov stood tall, his cold, emotionless gaze sweeping the chaos around him.
Chris Rodgers: Mordokrov just turned this match on its head! That man’s a machine—no emotion, just destruction.
Svetlana Kazakova, quick and lethal, zeroed in on Kami. The bandages on Kami’s ribs made her an easy target, and Svetlana wasted no time. She wrapped Kami up in a bear hug, squeezing the life out of her injured opponent before tossing her to the mat with a devastating Olympic Slam.
Scott Slade: Kami’s injured ribs are taking a beating! This could be it for her!
Chris Rodgers: Someone stop them! A beautiful woman like her shouldn’t be abused like this!
On the outside, Colton Hurst turned to face Mordokrov, his chair raised high, but before he could strike, Mordokrov caught the chair mid-swing. With a terrifying display of strength, he yanked Colton forward, locking him into the Kremlin Cross (Crossface). Colton’s eyes widened in panic, his free hand clawing at the mat as he struggled to escape the hold, but Mordokrov’s grip was ironclad.
Holly Hudson: Colton’s in trouble! He might have bitten off more than he can chew!
Chris Rodgers: I think True Chaotic has been completely caught off-guard by the appearance of the Red Reapers two leaders.
Holly Hudson: Apparently they didn’t think this through enough. They thought they had the surprise one man advantage bringing Hurst down here and changing the rules, but they didn’t account for Mordokrov and Svetlana, undoubtedly the most dangerous duel in the Red Reaper stable.
While chaos reigned inside the ring, Olga Pavlova, still clutching her stomach, fought through the pain on the outside. Her eyes narrowed in determination as she rose, stalking toward Cassie Hurst, who was busy taunting the fallen Barsa. With a roar, Olga grabbed Cassie by the hair, dragging her off the apron and hurling her into the steel steps. The impact was brutal, and the crowd erupted with mixed reactions—half in shock, half in awe of Olga’s raw power.
Holly Hudson: There’s the Olga we know! That’s what happens when you get on her bad side!
Back in the ring, Svetlana Kazakova wasn’t done. She hauled Kami to her feet, but Kami, ever the strategist, fought back. Despite her injuries, she threw sharp elbows into Svetlana’s ribs, breaking free. Kami hit the ropes, coming back with a flying knee that caught Svetlana off guard.
Scott Slade: Kami’s still got fight in her! She’s not going down easy!
Meanwhile, on the outside, Shingo Hara, dazed but not out, climbed back to his feet. He grabbed a nearby chair and swung it toward Viktor Zlovred, who had just recovered from their earlier exchange. The chair connected with a sickening thud, sending Zlovred crashing back to the ground. The crowd was electric now, the energy in the arena reaching a fever pitch as bodies flew and weapons were swung. Mordokrov, standing tall in the center of the ring, surveyed the chaos around him, his cold eyes calculating.
The war raged on, chaos erupting in every corner of the ring and outside of it. True Chaotic, with the Hursts running interference, had taken early control, but the arrival of Mikhail Mordokrov and Svetlana Kazakova had completely turned the match upside down. Inside the ring, fists and weapons flew with reckless abandon, and outside the ring, things were quickly descending into madness.
Shingo Hara, still recovering from a brutal Spectral Slam, fought to his feet. Kami Nakada, despite her bandaged ribs, had just connected with a lightning-fast knee to Svetlana’s jaw, sending the larger woman stumbling backward. Meanwhile Olga was really starting to struggle and was releasing burps and farts at an epic pace.
Chris Rodgers: Ugh, can we please get Olga Pavlova off my screen? She’s more of a spectacle than a wrestler, and not the good kind! You’d need a forklift just to move her!
Holly Hudson, disgusted: You’ve got a real problem, Chris. You might want to keep that misogyny in check. She is not sorry that she doesn’t fit your definition of what you find beautiful in the opposite sex and neither are Scott and I.
Scott Slade: Olga’s a force of nature—whether you like it or not, she’s still dangerous in that ring! She’s made it this far for a reason.
Chris Rodgers: A force of nature? More like a force of nausea. She looks like she’s about to keel over from all those Turkey legs she swallowed whole backstage! I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to eat Cassie!
The camera zoomed in on Olga, and for a moment, it looked like Chris might be right. She stumbled slightly, her face pale and her massive hand clutching her stomach. Cassie Hurst, seeing an opportunity, grabbed a baton from ringside and swung it viciously into Olga’s midsection. The giantess staggered backward, gasping, her free hand clutching the ropes for balance.
Chris Rodgers, sneering: Oh, here we go. Somebody finally put the lumbering ox down.
But something was off. Olga’s face twisted into a look of horror and panic. The sound that followed was unmistakable—a wet, gut-wrenching gurgle from deep inside her stomach. She hunched over, mouth agape, as if she was about to vomit right then and there.
Holly Hudson, worried: Oh no… Olga doesn’t look right.
Chris Rodgers, cackling: She’s gonna blow! Get ready for the most disgusting thing you’ll ever see in your life!
And “blow” she did.
Without warning, Olga doubled over and unleashed an enormous stream of vomit—half-digested chunks of meat, pasta, and some unidentifiable mush—flying from her mouth in a revolting arc. The vomit sprayed across the ring, hitting the nearest unfortunate target: Snezhnayya Barsa. The masked wrestler had barely gotten to his knees when the chunky wave hit him, splattering over his mask and costume in a grotesque splat.
Chris Rodgers: HA! Oh, my God! Barsa just took a bath in Olga’s dinner! Somebody get the poor guy a mop—hell, a flamethrower might be better!
The crowd went berserk, half laughing hysterically, half gagging at the spectacle. Some fans doubled over, while others pointed and howled at the chaos unfolding. Barsa, frozen in shock, looked down at his own body, covered in Olga’s spew.
Holly Hudson, horrified: That is just vile! Poor Barsa!
Scott Slade: I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this! Olga just threw up all over Barsa!
Chris Rodgers: That’s what happens when you stuff an elephant into a wrestling ring! She’s an abomination—look at Barsa! He’s drowning in lasagna!
To make matters worse, as Barsa tried to stand, his foot slipped in the pool of vomit beneath him. His legs shot out from under him, and he crashed to the mat, flailing like a fish out of water, splashing more vomit across the canvas. The crowd erupted even louder, some fans howling with laughter while others shielded their eyes from the sheer absurdity.
Chris Rodgers: I can’t believe it! Barsa’s drowning in Olga’s vomit! Somebody get him a life vest!
Olga, pale and clearly embarrassed, wiped her mouth, but she had no time to recover as Cassie Hurst, seizing the moment, grabbed a steel chair. She swung it at Olga, connecting with a loud CRACK across her back. Olga staggered but did not fall, her massive frame absorbing the impact.
Chris Rodgers: That’s right! Put the mega beast down!
Inside the ring, Kami Nakada had fought back against Svetlana Kazakova, landing sharp elbow strikes to Svetlana’s ribs. Despite her own injury, Kami used her quickness to her advantage, darting around the larger woman, finally locking her into a tight guillotine choke, trying to bring her down.
Scott Slade: Kami’s showing her resilience! She’s not going down easy!
Meanwhile, on the outside, Shingo Hara, now fully recovered, grabbed a nearby chair and swung it hard at Viktor Zlovred, who had just gotten back to his feet. The chair connected with a sickening thud, sending Zlovred crashing back down, writhing on the floor.
Back at ringside, the vomit-covered Barsa finally managed to roll out of the ring, slipping and sliding as he crawled away from the mess, wiping at his mask frantically, trying to clear his vision. Chris Rodgers was nearly beside himself with laughter.
Chris Rodgers: Barsa’s not even in this match anymore—he’s fighting for his life against Olga’s buffet special!
Holly Hudson: This is ridiculous! He needs medical attention, not your awful commentary!
Scott Slade: It’s chaos in here! Olga’s vomiting, Barsa’s slipping, and True Chaotic’s still in control!
Despite the utter bedlam, Olga Pavlova regained her composure. Wiping the last bit of vomit from her mouth, her face twisted into a look of pure rage. She spotted Cassie Hurst, who had been gloating after the chair shot, and with a bellow of fury, grabbed her by the hair. Olga dragged Cassie to the steel steps and hurled her into them with a force that echoed throughout the arena. Cassie crumpled in a heap, groaning in pain.
Chris Rodgers: "Finally! Olga’s found her use—human garbage disposal and bouncer. Someone get her out of here before she pukes again."
Mikhail Mordokrov, his face twisted into a cruel sneer, stalked around the ring like a predator circling wounded prey. Kami Nakada lay on the mat, motionless after being on the receiving end of a brutal beating. The crowd watched in horrified silence as Mordokrov stood over her, his eyes narrowing in cold calculation.
Scott Slade: This doesn’t look good for Kami. Mordokrov’s in full control, and he’s not the type to show mercy.
Holly Hudson: No, he’s not. We’ve seen what he’s capable of, and Kami’s in serious danger.
Mordokrov crouched down, grabbing a fistful of Kami’s hair and yanking her off the canvas with no regard for the pain it caused. The crowd winced as Kami was forced to her feet, her body swaying weakly as Mordokrov towered over her, his massive frame casting a shadow over her battered form. He lifted her high above his head with terrifying ease before driving her back into the mat with a crushing Spinebuster that rattled the entire ring.
Chris Rodgers: That’s it! Spinebuster from Mordokrov! Kami’s body has to be screaming in pain right now.
Scott Slade: She might be finished! Mordokrov’s treating her like a ragdoll!
The thud of Kami’s body hitting the mat echoed through the arena, and for a moment, it seemed like the life had been drained from her. Mordokrov didn’t give her a moment to breathe. He reached down once more, pulling her up by her hair again, showing no regard for her well-being. Kami’s legs wobbled underneath her, barely able to support her own weight.
With a cold smirk, Mordokrov turned toward Svetlana Kazakova, who had been watching with that same cruel glint in her eyes. Svetlana reached into her waistband and pulled out a pair of brass knuckles, slipping them over her fingers with deliberate, menacing slowness. The crowd, sensing what was about to happen, began to shout in protest, but the Red Reapers were beyond caring. This was about sending a message to every American watching at home.
Scott Slade: Oh no... brass knuckles! They’re going to brutalize her!
Holly Hudson: This isn’t just about winning anymore. This is about destroying Kami. Someone needs to stop this!
Mordokrov locked Kami’s arms behind her back, holding her upright, her head hanging down as she gasped for air. Svetlana sauntered forward, the brass knuckles gleaming under the arena lights. Her movements were slow and deliberate, savoring every moment as she lined up her first punch.
With a sadistic smile, Svetlana drove her fist into Kami’s midsection, the brass knuckles digging deep into her ribs. Kami’s body convulsed from the impact, but Mordokrov held her in place. Svetlana didn’t stop. She threw punch after punch, each one aimed with deadly precision at Kami’s already injured ribs. The crowd watched in horror as Kami’s body jerked with each blow, her gasps for breath turning into painful gurgles.
Chris Rodgers: Look at that! Svetlana’s treating Kami’s body like a punching bag! She’s tearing her apart!
Scott Slade: This is hard to watch… Kami’s in real trouble! She can’t breathe!
The camera zoomed in on Kami’s face, her mouth hanging open as blood began to trickle from her lips. She coughed violently, more blood spurting out, a clear sign of internal bleeding. Svetlana, her face twisted in cruel satisfaction, landed one final, devastating punch to Kami’s ribs, causing her to gasp and collapse into Mordokrov’s grasp.
Holly Hudson: Kami’s bleeding internally! She needs medical attention now!
Chris Rodgers: This is what happens when you step into the ring with the Red Reapers. They don’t just beat you—they destroy you.
Suddenly without warning Svetlana threw off the brass knuckles from her right hand and grabbed hold of Kami by the hair as Mordkrov held her in place. She pulled her in close so they were face to face as Kami’s glazed bloodshot eyes looked into the cold dark eyes of Chyornaya Vedma (The Black Witch) of Volgograd began to joyfully open mouth kiss Kami’s bloody mouth shocking everyone in attendance and watching at home.
Scott Slade: Uhhh! What the BLEEEEEEEP!
Holly Hudson: I have no words…
Just as it seemed all hope was lost, a sudden, primal roar echoed through the arena. Shingo Hara, who had been watching in disbelief, snapped. His face twisted into a mask of pure rage, his eyes wild with fury. Without a second thought, Hara grabbed a nearby steel chair, his hands trembling with fury, and charged into the ring with a speed and intensity that made the crowd erupt into cheers.
Scott Slade: Hara’s lost it! He’s coming in like a freight train!
Chris Rodgers: He’s about to do some serious damage and I don’t blame him!
Hara slid into the ring with the chair raised high above his head, and without hesitation, he brought it crashing down onto the back of Mordokrov’s head with a sickening crack. Mordokrov’s body jolted, and he released Kami, dropping her limp form to the mat. The impact left a deep welt on the back of his skull, but Hara wasn’t done. The crowd roared in approval as Hara, his face a mask of fury, turned toward Svetlana.
Holly Hudson: Hara’s snapped! He’s not letting this stand!
Scott Slade: He’s going after Svetlana now!
Hara swung the chair again, this time smashing it into Svetlana’s forehead. The blow was devastating, and blood immediately began to pour from a deep gash across her forehead. Svetlana stumbled backward, her legs wobbling as she tried to stay on her feet. But Hara was relentless. He swung the chair once more, and the impact sent Svetlana crashing to the mat, blood staining the canvas beneath her.
Chris Rodgers: Svetlana’s been busted wide open! Hara’s taking control of this match!
But even as Hara raged, his attention was drawn back to Kami, who lay motionless on the mat. Blood still dripped from her mouth, and her breathing was shallow, barely audible. Cassie Hurst, standing at ringside, saw the same thing and realized the severity of Kami’s condition. Panic flashed across her face as she rushed into the ring, pulling Kami’s lifeless body toward the ropes.
Cassie Hurst: Kami, hold on! We’ve got to get you out of here!
Cassie’s voice was trembling with urgency as she glanced back toward the chaos. Hara was still on a rampage, but Mordokrov was beginning to stir, groggily trying to push himself up. Cassie knew they didn’t have much time. She frantically dragged Kami’s limp form to the edge of the ring, where Colton Hurst was waiting. Colton, his face pale with concern, scooped Kami into his arms, cradling her as she lay limp against his chest.
Scott Slade: Colton’s got Kami! They’re trying to get her out of here!
Holly Hudson: This is serious—Kami could be in real danger!
As Colton carried Kami up the ramp, Cassie grabbed her baton, holding it defensively as Olga Pavlova, Viktor Zlovred, and Barsa began closing in. The odds were stacked against her, but Cassie stood her ground, swinging the baton with desperation. She managed to land a few strikes, but the numbers game was too much. The Red Reapers were relentless.
Chris Rodgers: Cassie’s holding them off, but it won’t last!
Meanwhile, back in the ring, Mordokrov groggily pushed himself to his feet. His eyes locked onto Hara, who stood ready, chair in hand. With a snarl, Mordokrov charged, but Hara was quicker. He sidestepped Mordokrov’s attack and grabbed him by the back of his head, flinging him over the top rope with a fierce throw. Mordokrov’s body crashed to the floor below with a heavy thud, but Hara wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot.
Scott Slade: Hara’s not letting Mordokrov get away! He’s going after him!
Hara leaped out of the ring, his eyes blazing with fury, as he stalked toward the fallen Mordokrov. Grabbing him by the neck, Hara slammed Mordokrov onto the announcer's table with a thunderous crash, sending papers and monitors flying. The announcers scattered, their voices lost in the chaos as Hara stood over Mordokrov, seething with rage.
Holly Hudson: Jesus! Watch out everyone!
Chris Rodgers: He’s going to put Mordokrov through our table, that’s what!
With the crowd chanting his name, Hara climbed onto the table, dragging Mordokrov up with him. He hooked Mordokrov’s head under his arm, locking him into position for a Coffin Nail (Double Underhook DDT). With a mighty roar, Hara drove Mordokrov through the table with a sickening crunch. The table exploded on impact, and Mordokrov lay in a heap of shattered wood and debris, motionless.
Scott Slade: Hara’s completely lost it! He’s lost his damn mind!
With Mordokrov and Svetlana out cold and the battle raging on, the Red Reapers still had the advantage with Viktor, Barsa, and Olga Pavlova left standing. Hara and Cassie were in survival mode as the towering Olga loomed menacingly over them. Hara’s body ached from the punishment, and Cassie, though fierce, was starting to show the toll of the war.
Chris Rodgers: It’s three-on-two now! I think True Chaotic’s luck is about to run out! Olga’s about to crush them!
Holly Hudson: This could be the end. Olga’s not in great shape, but she’s still a beast in that ring.
Olga advanced on Cassie, her massive frame moving with a dangerous determination. She threw a slow but powerful right hand, but Cassie ducked under it, slipping behind Olga. She swung Kami’s police baton with all her might, striking Olga in the side of her ribs. Olga let out a grunt, clutching her stomach.
Scott Slade: Cassie’s doing everything she can to chop the giant down!
Cassie struck Olga again with the baton, this time aiming at her legs. Olga staggered, her balance faltering, but the behemoth wouldn’t fall so easily. She swung back at Cassie, her huge arm connecting with a powerful backhand, sending Cassie sprawling across the ring. The crowd gasped at the impact as Cassie clutched her ribs, writhing in pain.
Chris Rodgers: That’s it! Olga’s swatted Cassie like a fly!
Olga, now panting heavily, lumbered toward Cassie, her hand clutching her stomach once more. The signs were there—sweat pouring down her face, her steps growing uneven. The feast she was tricked into eating was catching up with her again.
Holly Hudson: Olga’s in trouble… she doesn’t look good at all.
Olga stopped suddenly, clutching her stomach, her face twisting into a look of agony. The familiar gurgling sound rose from her gut, and before anyone could react, the inevitable happened. Olga doubled over, vomiting profusely once more—this time, the torrent was even worse. Half-digested food sprayed across the mat, splattering in every direction.
Scott Slade: Oh no! Olga’s vomiting again!
Chris Rodgers: She’s gonna blow chunks all over the ring! Someone get her out of there!
The sight was horrifying, and the crowd’s reaction was split between gasps of disgust and morbid fascination. Olga, barely able to stand, staggered backward, clutching her stomach with both hands. Her face pale, she turned and stumbled out of the ring, making her way up the ramp, holding her mouth as she rushed backstage to avoid further humiliation.
Holly Hudson: Olga’s out of here! She can’t continue in her condition!
With Olga gone, the match suddenly shifted back into a 2-on-2 scenario. Hara, bloodied and beaten, wiped the sweat and blood from his face as he got to his feet. Cassie, still holding her ribs, used the ropes to pull herself up. They exchanged a quick glance—now was their chance.
Chris Rodgers: It’s down to 2-on-2! This is the moment for True Chaotic to take control!
Hara charged at Viktor, hitting him with a flurry of strikes. Viktor, still recovering from the earlier onslaught, staggered but managed to fight back, catching Hara with a stiff uppercut. Hara stumbled, but he wasn’t going to back down. He ducked under Viktor’s next punch and nailed him with a vicious Snap Suplex, sending Viktor crashing hard to the mat.
On the outside, Barsa, who had barely recovered from the earlier chair shots, grabbed a steel pipe from under the ring and slid back inside. Cassie spotted him and swung the baton, but Barsa blocked it with the pipe. The two exchanged a rapid series of strikes—steel pipe against baton—each hit reverberating through the arena.
Holly Hudson: Cassie’s holding her own, but Barsa’s relentless!
Barsa, using his agility, ducked under Cassie’s swing and swept her legs, knocking her to the ground. He raised the pipe above his head, ready to strike a final blow, but Cassie rolled out of the way just in time. She scrambled to her feet, grabbing the police baton once more, and cracked it against Barsa’s ribs. Barsa groaned, doubling over as the baton struck again—this time, a vicious hit to his spine.
Scott Slade: Cassie’s not backing down! She’s fighting like a wildcat!
Chris Rodgers: Too bad she can’t pin anyone. What’s the point?
Inside the ring, Viktor, dazed but not out, managed to get back to his feet. Hara, sensing the moment, hit the ropes and came flying back with a Flying Clothesline, knocking Viktor down once more. Hara quickly followed up, locking Viktor into a Dragon Sleeper, his biceps squeezing around Viktor’s throat.
Viktor gasped for air, his arms flailing as Hara tightened the hold. The crowd was on its feet, screaming for Viktor to tap, but the giant Russian wasn’t giving up so easily. Barsa, still struggling with Cassie on the outside, saw his partner in trouble and threw a desperate punch with the steel pipe. The pipe connected with Cassie’s shoulder, sending her stumbling back into the barricade.
Chris Rodgers: Cassie’s down! And look at Barsa—he’s going after Hara!
Barsa slid into the ring, abandoning the pipe and rushing toward Hara, breaking the hold with a well-placed kick to Hara’s head. Hara collapsed, clutching his skull, as Barsa helped Viktor to his feet.
The two Russians, bloodied but determined, exchanged a nod before turning their attention back to Hara. They hoisted him up for a Double Suplex, slamming him hard onto the canvas. Viktor went for the pin.
1… 2…
But Hara kicked out at the last second, the crowd exploding with relief.
Holly Hudson: Hara kicks out! He’s still in this!
Chris Rodgers: Barely! How much more can he take?
Cassie, seeing Hara in trouble, slid back into the ring, grabbing the baton once more. She swung it at Barsa, but the masked Russian caught it this time, yanking it from her hands and tossing it aside. He grabbed Cassie by the throat, lifting her high into the air, preparing for a Chokeslam—but Hara, with a burst of energy, leaped up and delivered a Dropkick to Barsa’s chest, forcing him to release Cassie.
Barsa crashed into the corner, gasping for breath, as Hara turned his attention to Viktor once more. The two clashed in the center of the ring, trading brutal punches and kicks, each strike sending shockwaves through their battered bodies. Viktor, desperate, threw a wild punch, but Hara ducked under it and hit him with a Running Knee Strike, knocking Viktor down again.
Scott Slade: Hara’s in control! He’s going for the win!
Hara signaled to the crowd, climbing the ropes for his finishing move. With Viktor laid out, Hara leaped from the top rope, delivering the missile drop kickl straight to Viktor’s chest. The impact was devastating, and Viktor lay motionless on the mat.
Holly Hudson: What an impact! Viktor is sprawled out!
Hara draped his arm over Viktor’s chest, but before the referee could count, Barsa tackled him, breaking up the pin. Barsa, desperate, pounded on Hara with fists, but Cassie grabbed the steel chair again and swung it hard at Barsa’s back. The sound echoed through the arena as Barsa crumpled to the mat.
Cassie, knowing she couldn’t make the pin, stood guard as Hara, gasping for breath, crawled over to Viktor. With one last surge of energy, he draped his arm over the fallen Russian.
1… 2… 3!
DING! DING! DING!
Scott Slade: I can’t believe it! True Chaotic has somehow won this… war of a contest!
The crowd erupted in cheers as Hara rolled off Viktor, his chest heaving with exhaustion. Cassie, battered but victorious, collapsed beside him, raising her fist in triumph. The referee raised Hara’s hand as the crowd chanted his name, the arena shaking with their applause.
Chris Rodgers: Hara just won the war for True Chaotic! What I want to know is how is a match like this even legal?
Scott Slade: Wait till the main event. Apparently hardcore wrestling is completely legal in Japan.
Chris Rodgers: And they call us savages…
Holly Hudson: They were outnumbered and outgunned, but they never gave up. This is what Ultimate Wrestling is all about! Congratulations to True Chaotic.
Hara, his face bloodied and bruised, slowly stood up, helping Cassie to her feet. Together, they raised their arms to the crowd, the victors of a brutal, chaotic battle.
The air backstage was thick with tension as Hiroshi Nakamura stood nervously, microphone in hand. His eyes flickered toward the entrance curtain as a group of imposing black-suited men approached, their steps synchronized in eerie silence. Their black sunglasses reflected the dim lighting, faces impassive. At the center of the group walked Jeffrey James Roberts, his wrists and ankles shackled with thick chains. The faint sound of metal clinking with each step was the only sound in the hallway. His expression was vacant, but there was something unsettling beneath the stillness. Nakamura swallowed hard as the group surrounded him like a black cloud.
Hiroshi Nakamura: G-Gentlemen! I was hoping I could… um…
The words trailed off as the leader of the group stepped forward, fixing Nakamura with a gaze that could freeze fire. He didn’t say a word, but the unspoken command was clear: proceed carefully. Jeffrey, now directly in front of Nakamura, tilted his head ever so slightly, his blank eyes focused on the interviewer as if sizing up prey. Nakamura’s grip tightened on the mic as a cold sweat began to form at the back of his neck.
Hiroshi Nakamura: ... get a word with... Mr. Roberts?
The tension was suffocating. No one responded, but the weight of their silent scrutiny pressed on Nakamura, making it hard to breathe. Jeffrey’s eyes wandered slowly, tracing the outline of Nakamura’s face and shoulders as if he were contemplating something far more sinister than words.
Hiroshi Nakamura: You... uh... have a chance to win the Young Blood Championship tonight in your match against Drake Nygma. The last time we saw you in the ring, you fell just short of victory. What makes you confident that tonight will be different, that you’ll claim your first championship?
For a long moment, Jeffrey remained silent, his cold stare unblinking. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a faint, chilling smile as he leaned in just enough to make Nakamura instinctively take half a step back. Jeffrey’s voice, low and deliberate, sent a shiver up Nakamura's spine.
Jeffrey James Roberts: How aware are you, Hiroshi, of the fact that the only thing standing between me... and making a masterpiece out of your face... are these men and this thin little piece of metal?
Nakamura’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes darting nervously to the bodyguards who stood motionless. His pulse raced as Jeffrey’s gaze locked onto him like a predator toying with its prey. The interviewer started to answer, but words failed him as he realized Jeffrey was now only inches away, his cold breath grazing Nakamura's cheek.
Jeffrey James Roberts: Don't answer. You won’t like the answer. But your real question? What makes me confident? I don’t operate on confidence. I don’t plan to win. I plan to react. Maybe tonight will be a thrilling contest. Maybe I’ll peel the skin off Drake Nygma’s face and use it as a canvas for my art. Who knows?
He let that hang in the air for a beat. Nakamura’s knees felt weak, and his mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came out. One of the bodyguards took a step closer, the chain clinking ominously as if to remind everyone of Jeffrey’s restrained potential.
Jeffrey James Roberts: Things have changed since I’ve been locked away. New rules. New ways. But some things, Hiroshi... some things never change. So if you have questions—
He paused, his eyes narrowing.
Jeffrey James Roberts: —you’ll find your answers tonight. Just... watch closely. You won’t want to miss what happens next.
Nakamura started to respond, but before he could, a rough hand gripped the back of his collar and pulled him away. One of the larger bodyguards yanked him out of the circle, as if removing a toy from a predator. Without another word, the group formed up around Jeffrey and began to march toward the curtain. As they passed through, Jeffrey turned his head one last time, his lips curling into a cruel, toothy grin before he disappeared behind the curtain.
To Be Continued In Part - 5