by in
[Camera pans to a dimly lit hall, torches flickering along stone walls. A deep growl of thunder echoes as RURIK steps into the frame — cloaked in furs, his eyes burning like the fires of Muspelheim.]
RURIK:
Rune O’Rourke… you dare call yourself a Viking?
You stand there, swinging your little axe, growling your little words, pretending to be one of us — but your soul? Your spirit? It’s hollow. You’re a cosplay warrior playing dress-up in the shadow of gods.
You speak of conquest, of Valhalla… boy, you wouldn’t last a minute at the gates. You’ll never go to Asgard. You’ll never dine with Odin. You’ll never replace The Mountain… and you sure as hell will never fill the void of Fenrir.
You’re an imitation carved from cheap steel, Rune. A knockoff forged in lukewarm fires.
And I’ve sat back long enough — watching, listening, waiting — from the halls of Valhalla itself, hearing your name echo in disgrace.
But make no mistake — if RURIK must rise from his throne, if I must come down from Valhalla itself… I will do what the gods demand. I will return, not as a warrior… but as the reckoning.
So take this as your only warning, “imposter Viking.”
You keep walking around calling yourself one of us — and I will come back. I will drag your sorry hide through the mud and end this farce once and for all.
Because if I set foot in that ring again, it won’t be for glory… it’ll be to retire the son of a bitch who thought he could steal my name.
(Rurik glares into the camera, his voice dropping to a growl)
The warning has been spoken.
And the next time you see me, Rune… you’ll wish the gods never heard your name.
[Camera fades to black as thunder cracks, echoing the fury of the North.]
*ROSITA Grabs a mic after the match*
ROSITA:
You know… I keep hearin’ that name rollin’ around like it means somethin’. Riley Knox. “The best in the world,” huh? You parade from company to company, city to city, shoutin’ it from every rooftop that’ll give you a microphone.
But me? I don’t need to travel the globe to prove who the hell I am. I am the standard. I am the mountain top. The rest of you? You’re just tourists—snappin’ your little pictures, hopin’ you can climb up here and survive the altitude.
See Riley, while you’ve been collectin’ stamps on your passport, I’ve been collectin’ souls. I’ve broken the unbreakable, bled with the ruthless, and ruled over the women’s division like it was built for me—because it was.
You say you’re the best in the world? That’s cute. But to be the woman, you gotta beat the woman. And I’m standin’ right here, in VCW, in the big leagues—where the big dawgs bite and the weak get buried.
So here’s your moment, sweetheart. Step up or shut up. Step into my ring. Push me to my limits—I dare you. Do somethin’ extreme, bitch. Make me feel somethin’. Because until you do, you’re just another voice in the sand, drownin’ in the waves of my legacy.
Rosita leans in close, fire in her eyes.
You don’t prove you’re the best by runnin’ your mouth—you prove it when you stand across from me… and survive.
She drops the mic. The lights cut to black as the crowd erupts.
[The lights flicker. A single lantern glows in the darkness. The faint hum of static crackles as JACK WYATT’s voice seeps through — low, haunting, dripping with conviction and madness.]
JACK WYATT:
Heh heh heh… You feel it, don’t you?
The air’s thick tonight. The walls whisper. The spirits… they stir again.
But fear not, children… fear not. Because your shepherd still walks among you.
You see, I’ve been on a crusade… a divine mission… to rid VCW of its evil spirits.
And I’ve already exorcised the demons that dared cross my path.
Sinister.
Venom Rosita.
They were once lost souls, consumed by wickedness and hunger — but I cleansed them. I gave them purpose. I made them faithful. My children.
And now… THEY will carry forth the plan.
Because no mere mortal man — no being of flesh and bone — can exorcise the travesty of torture and brutality that is the Rygaard.
We are the plague. We are the truth that crawls beneath your skin when the lights go out.
He tilts his head, whispering to the unseen voices around him.
Bruce Scarlet… Mean Gene… Demon Cain… Nemesis… Abe… Frank Walker…
You think you’re evil?
You think you’re enforcers of brutality?
He laughs, softly at first, then louder, unhinged.
Let me tell you a secret…
YOU CREATED ME!
You… all of you… created Venom Rosita.
You birthed Sinister.
You carved us out of your hate, your envy, your ignorance.
Every cruel word, every violent act — it gave us life.
We are your shadows. Your reflections. Your split, corrupted souls staring back at you.
And now this place… this VCW… it stands without purpose, without cause.
But me?
I see the grand design.
I see the chessboard.
Baine. Kurt Storm. Kent Lassiter. Bryan Walker. David Jackson.
You’re all just knights and rooks on my field — pieces to a puzzle you’ll never solve.
Casualties of a war you can’t even see coming.
Because my path is unrelenting.
My mission? Pure.
I will exonerate those who claim purity… by burning them in their own false light.
He raises the lantern close, his grin spreading wide.
Bruce Scarlet… my minion Sinister is coming for you… Puddin’.
And my venom, my sweet Rosita, will drag you down into oblivion.
Nemesis… Cain…
I have something so secret, so sacred, waiting for you…
he leans forward, whispering, trembling with excitement
Yes… yes I do.
And Frank Walker… oh Frank…
My eyes… are set upon you.
I see the black flame inside you.
I feel the hunger, the rage, the beautiful chaos.
So join me…
JOIN ME IN THIS CRUSADE.
Walk with me through the shadows.
Embrace the darkness.
Become part of the Rygaard of Darkness.
Because, Frank… my visceral child… together, we will tear the veil asunder.
And when the smoke clears…
There will be nothing left…
but us.
[He blows out the lantern — instant black. A distorted whisper echoes through the silence:]
“Follow… the Rygaard…”
