Invictus opens with a shot of Dennis and Madison watching VCW crew set up their Invictus afterparty decorations. Dennis folded his arms, sighing.

Dennis: A bit premature, even for us.

Madison: There is nothing premature about you, my Alpha.

Dennis grinned, but shook his head. 

Dennis: When you put it that way, I suppose an early celebration is in order. We will finally put this Ahmed and Quinn nonsense to bed, once and for all.

PACIFIC CHAMPIONSHIP 

Blake Adams vs Haku*

G1 #1 CONTENDER

BAINE  v  ABEL

The arena plunges into black. Blood-red lights swirl. A low, guttural growl echoes through the speakers. Then, a figure steps into the light—painted in ritual symbols, eyes burning like Hell’s gate. It’s him. It’s DEMON ABEL.

[Demon Abel, voice cold and calm like a preacher at a funeral]:
“Before the first bell rang…
Before the first soul ever screamed…
There was me.”

[He slowly lifts his head, eyes wild, speaking almost poetically]:
“They called me a monster. A curse. The first to spill blood…
And I’ve been spilling it ever since.”

[Turns toward the camera, sinister grin stretching across his painted face]:
“You thought you were fighting a man?
You thought this was sport?
No. This is sacrifice. This is reckoning.
I am the one who crawled out of the ashes of innocence—reborn in fury, baptized in vengeance.”

[He snarls, the calm breaking into rage]:
“You… you stepped into MY ring thinking it was a match.
But this isn’t a match.
It’s a ritual.
And your blood is the offering.”

[Points straight into the camera]:
“When that bell tolls…
You don’t face a wrestler.
You face The First Sin.
You face Demon Abel.
And I promise you…”

[Eyes wide, voice drops to a growl]:
“…There’s no resurrection for the damned.”

He drops the mic. Lights cut out. A blood-curdling scream echoes through the arena.

AMIR  v  DIXON

Camera fades in on static… the VCW logo flickers… then silence. A deep, distorted voice speaks in fragments, almost like a transmission intercepted mid-signal. A dim-lit figure stands behind a veil of smoke and darkness. The voice begins…

“Change… always comes in silence… then strikes like thunder.”

The first wave has arrived.
Not a tremor. Not a whisper.
A reckoning.

Briggs stood tall…
But he stood in the way.
And when the tides shift—only the ELITE float.

This isn’t about fairness.
This isn’t about opportunity.
This is about design.
Order. Precision. Control.

The G-1 Championship…
Was never meant for a man like Briggs.
The greatest championship lineage was held by ELITE stars like BAINE…
That title requires chaos…
Raw, unchecked destruction…
Charismatic force
A force of carnage so cold it burns.

And so the first act of magnitude begins.
The belt… has been reclaimed.
Not won. Not earned.
Taken.

By one who fears no god…
Who answers to no man…
Who wrecks every sanctuary VCW has built.

His name?
HAKU.
The pure menace.
The elite executioner.
A monster, not born—engineered.

He doesn’t speak for the people.
He doesn’t shake hands.
He leaves footprints in ash.

Briggs was a test.
A fake champion who didn’t measure to the elite status of the GOLDEN THRONE.
And like the rest… he failed.
Because in this new era…
Only the elite survive.

The static returns. The last thing visible: the G-1 title, dripping in shadows… then a flash of red eyes in the dark…

My first act as spoken… BRIGGS YOUR FIRED!!!!!!

I give you the new G-1 CHAMPION… the most destructive force in E..O…. (long pause)… V C W history KING VICTOR HAKU!!!!

*Music Hits* – Crowd boos immensely.

ARES  v  SCOTT DIAMOND

MAIN EVENT

MIXED TAG 

WRESTLELITE X FALLOUT!

AHMED  & QUINN  vs  BLACKCOX*

“The Fall of Brotherhood”

Darkness. A single, swinging lightbulb illuminates a steel chair. No one sits in it. In the distance, faint echoes of battles past—chants, steel crashing, faded promos from legends of VCW. The voice returns—calm, cold, layered with reverb, as if it’s speaking from the void between time and power.

“In every dynasty… there comes a fracture.”

The Rush Championship…
Forged in fire.
Carried through blood.
A symbol for true warriors,
Those who ran into the storm—not from it.

There was a time when honor meant something.
When names like Maddox, Rivera, and Cole etched legacy into gold.

But then came the pretender.

Kent Lassiter.
Once a brother in arms…
Now a serpent in the garden.
He didn’t just turn his back on the Rush lineage…
He spit on it.
Clothed in golden lies, whispering loyalty while loading daggers behind smiles.

The Golden Age you cherished?
It never existed.
Just gilded trust… waiting to rot.

So now… the shadows have taken hold.
And in the silence of betrayal, judgment was passed.

Stripped.
Not beaten. Not dethroned.
Erased.

And in his place rises a man who knows nothing of mercy.
No brotherhood. No alliances. No forgiveness.

KURT STORM.
The embodiment of ruthless aggression.
The new VCW RUSH Champion.

He didn’t ask for the crown.
He tore it from the ashes.
The ring isn’t a sanctuary anymore—
It’s a proving ground, and Storm is the final trial.

Lassiter’s fall is just the beginning.
Because when trust dies…
Only the merciless remain.

The lightbulb stops swinging. A gust of wind blows it out. The screen goes black. Then—just for a moment—KURT STORM appears with the Rush Championship, blood on his knuckles, thunder rumbling in the distance.

Camera fades out to the parking lot and we see Kent Lasster laying in a pool of his own blood, with a cinder block smashed over his head as his body lays limp, and the camera fades back and out with Kurt Storm, Victor Haku, Dennis Black and the Golden Age standing on stage as the camera veers to the back where a MOUNTAIN SIZED dark shadow stands behind them in the darkness rubbing his hands together as if a master plan has come forward…