AN: Sorry for the late updates, got busy in life. Got friend-zoned.
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Tracey Prince's entrance music blared through the arena, instantly met with a wave of boos from the crowd.
The former Women's Champion strode purposefully toward the ring, microphone in hand, her face a mask of fury.
Since losing the championship to Maya Hart, things had spiraled downhill for her. She hadn't been able to reclaim the title, failed to intimidate the new champion, and even after deliberately breaking Evelyn Sharma's arm weeks ago, she was still nowhere near championship gold.
Without acknowledging the jeers, she climbed into the ring. Once the noise died down, Tracey lifted the microphone.
"Maya Hart!"
The crowd erupted in cheers at the mere mention of the champion's name, causing Tracey's expression to darken.
"I'm done with you hiding behind that title. Get out here and face me like a true champion!"
The fans held their breath in anticipation.
But nothing happened.
Tracey smirked, "What's the matter? Too scared?"
Suddenly, a different entrance theme cut through the tension.
The crowd gasped in surprise as Torrie Wilson confidently walked onto the stage, microphone in hand.
Noah, at the commentary table, sounded taken aback. "Well... that's definitely not Maya Hart."
Irvin Crews nodded in agreement. "And judging by Tracey's expression, this isn't the person she was hoping to see."
Torrie made her way down the ramp, a faint smile on her face as the audience applauded her presence. She climbed into the ring, stopping a few feet away from Tracey.
"You were looking for Maya?"
Torrie shrugged, "Too bad."
Tracey rolled her eyes. "And who exactly do you think you are?"
"The woman here to tell you what nobody else has." Tracey crossed her arms, intrigued.
"I'm all ears."
Torrie didn't hold back. "You really think you're worthy of taking on Maya?"
The crowd erupted in applause, "You've spent weeks just complaining about titles and rematches."
She stepped closer. "You know what I see? I see someone who can't handle the fact that she's not the top dog anymore. You keep losing to her, after all."
Tracey's jaw clenched tightly.
Torrie grinned. "And honestly..."
"...you're just acting like a spoiled brat."
The arena burst into cheers and laughter.
Tracey's face flushed with rage.
"You..."
Before she could finish her thought, the referee rushed down the entrance ramp.
Noah leaned in, "I don't think we're going to hear much more talking tonight."
Irvin chuckled, "And I doubt Tracey wants to chat anymore either."
The referee reached the ring, quickly conversing with both women before signaling to the timekeeper.
The bell rang.
Tracey charged forward right away, aiming to catch Torrie off guard before she could find her rhythm. She unleashed a flurry of forearm strikes that pushed Torrie back toward the ropes, but Torrie weathered the storm and countered with a sharp kick to Tracey's midsection.
As Tracey bent over in pain, Torrie seized her wrist and executed an Irish whip, meeting her with a perfectly timed dropkick that sent the former champion tumbling into the corner.
The crowd roared as Torrie kept the momentum going. She charged into the corner with a running clothesline, then followed up with a bulldog that slammed Tracey face-first into the mat.
Noah shouted, "Torrie Wilson has completely caught Tracey off guard!"
Irvin nodded in agreement. "Tracey thought she was stepping into a war of words. Instead, she's found herself in a brawl."
Tracey rolled out of the ring to catch her breath, but Torrie was relentless. She slid under the bottom rope and immediately pursued her, landing another forearm before smashing Tracey's head against the ringside barricade.
The audience cheered for every strike.
Tracey, feeling her frustration boil over, finally snapped and drove a knee right into Torrie's stomach.
With a fierce grip, she yanked Torrie by the hair and tossed her back into the ring, then took a moment to catch her breath. Remembering how she had effectively taken down Evelyn Sharma by focusing on one limb, Tracey zeroed in on Torrie's left arm.
She twisted it with a brutal force before slamming it into the mat and following up with a series of punishing stomps.
Noah winced. "That looks painfully familiar."
Irvin's tone turned serious.
"We all remember what happened to Evelyn Sharma. Tracey is using the same game plan."
Torrie cried out in agony but managed to wriggle free just before Tracey could lock in a submission hold. In a surprising turn, she executed a quick roll-up that nearly caught Tracey off guard, earning a loud reaction from the crowd as they counted to two.
The near fall visibly shook Tracey.
In a rush, she charged recklessly at Torrie, but Torrie sidestepped at the last moment, sending Tracey crashing shoulder-first into the turnbuckle.
The crowd could feel the shift in momentum.
Torrie seized the opportunity, unleashing a flurry of clotheslines before flooring Tracey with a spinning neckbreaker. She quickly hooked the leg.
One...
Two...
Tracey barely managed to kick out.
Justin applauded the former champion's grit.
"Simp..." Tony muttered under his breath.
Torrie didn't waste a moment arguing with the referee. Instead, she yanked Tracey back to her feet and delivered another sharp kick to the midsection before lifting her for a powerslam that rattled the ring.
Noah shouted, "Tracey is in serious trouble!"
Irvin nodded in agreement. "Torrie has completely flipped this match on its head."
The crowd erupted as Torrie signaled for the finish.
She hoisted Tracey up again and landed another hard strike that sent her staggering toward the ropes. Torrie charged in, ready to end it, but at the last second, Tracey dropped to the mat and rolled out beneath the bottom rope.
The crowd erupted in boos.
Noah shook his head as Tracey continued her retreat up the entrance ramp.
"Tracey Prince is leaving!"
Irvin sighed.
"She knows she's beaten tonight. Rather than risk losing, she's choosing to walk away."
The referee called for the bell.
Tracey didn't even look back.
She simply smirked at Torrie from halfway up the ramp before disappearing backstage amid a deafening chorus of boos.
Inside the ring, Torrie raised her arms to the delight of the crowd, having forced the former Women's Champion to retreat rather than continue the fight. Even without a pinfall, the message was unmistakable.
Tracey Prince had been embarrassed.
--
The former Tag Team Champion, Jett, strutted down the entrance ramp, greeted by a thunderous wave of boos that echoed throughout the arena.
Just a few weeks ago, he was adored as one-half of IRW's most beloved tag team. Now, every step he took toward the ring was met with harsh jeers from the very fans who once chanted his name in unison.
But Jett didn't let it faze him; he was well aware of how the crowd felt about him.
After a bitter loss of the Tag Team Championships, he had ruthlessly turned on his partner, walking away without a second thought. To the fans, he was nothing more than a selfish traitor who had shattered the Apex Predators.
As he climbed through the ropes, Jett accepted a microphone from the ringside attendant, patiently waiting for the crowd's hostility to simmer down to a manageable roar.
"I know what every single one of you is thinking," Jett started.
The boos only grew louder.
"You think I betrayed the Apex Predators."
More jeers filled the arena.
"You think I stabbed my partner in the back." Jett flashed an arrogant smirk. "You're all wrong."
The crowd quickly drowned him out, chanting for his former ally: "Axel! Axel! Axel!"
Jett's expression darkened in an instant. "You fools still don't get it! I didn't betray the Apex Predators—I was the one carrying us! For months, I dragged that team while Axel held me back. Every missed chance, every lost match, every failure, especially losing the title... it was all on him!"
Jett spun around, pointing aggressively at the stage. "So come on out here, Axel! Let's settle this right now!"
In an instant, Axel's theme music, popular rock'n'roll, blasted through the arena speakers.
The crowd erupted in thunderous cheers as Axel strode onto the stage without hesitation.
A cold intensity filled his eyes as he locked onto his former partner. He slid into the ring, never breaking eye contact, and snatched a microphone.
The two men stood just inches apart, the tension in the air thick enough to choke the life out of the arena.
Finally, Axel shattered the silence. "You really think you can convince yourself of your own lies, don't you?"
Jett let out a harsh laugh. "Lies? You're the reason we lost those titles!"
Axel's jaw clenched. "We lost those titles the moment you stopped being my partner."
The crowd erupted in cheers, but Jett merely shook his head. "No. You were always the weak link."
"The weak link?" Axel scoffed, stepping closer. "The only traitor in this ring is you. You quit on this team. You quit on me."
Jett moved in, their noses almost touching. "I should've done it months ago."
That was the last straw.
Axel dropped the microphone and unleashed a powerful right hook.
The arena exploded with excitement.
The former partners exchanged brutal, wild punches in the center of the ring, throwing out any semblance of technical wrestling in favor of raw, unfiltered rage.
Jett retaliated with a fierce strike of his own, then grabbed Axel by the shoulders and drove a sharp knee right into his gut.
Axel staggered back but quickly countered with a crushing forearm that sent shockwaves through Jett. He followed up with another hit, sent Jett flying into the ropes, and caught him on the rebound with a massive back body drop.
Jett hit the canvas hard, instinctively rolling toward the apron to escape the relentless assault.
He hoisted himself up using the ropes, but Axel was already on the attack again.
Without a moment's pause, Axel launched himself into a powerful clothesline, sending both men crashing over the top rope and hitting the floor below.
Jett landed in a heap, wincing as he clutched the back of his neck in pain. Meanwhile, Axel leaned over the top rope, shooting a fierce glare at his former friend.
At ringside, Tony was on his feet, fist pumping in excitement. "That's what he gets! After all the trouble Jett caused, he had it coming."
Justin nodded, a grin on his face. "I've been waiting for Axel to take him down since he stepped onto the ramp."
But Luke looked a bit uneasy. "Jett's definitely in the wrong, but if they're going to go at each other like this, it should be in a proper match."
"Are you really still backing Jett?" Tony asked, taken aback.
Luke let out a sigh. "I'm all for a fair fight. If they keep this up, one of them is going to end up in the hospital unless someone gets them in a ring."
Just as the tension was about to boil over again, a swarm of security guards and IRW officials rushed down the ramp.
A handful of referees jumped in between the two former champions, trying to hold them back as they continued to hurl insults over the officials' shoulders.
"Traitor!"
"Weakling!"
"You never carried anything!"
"You held me back!"
Eventually, the crew managed to drag a furious Jett up the ramp, leaving Axel in the ring to bask in the fans' roaring support.
--
After a commercial break, the arena lights dimmed, and the extravagant entrance theme of Randal Savage, Pomp and Circumstance, echoed through the building.
Savage made his entrance in a stunning, glittery robe and oversized indoor sunglasses, radiating an air of arrogant confidence with every stride. He twirled dramatically on the stage, soaking in the mixed reactions of cheers and loud boos.
From the commentary table, Noah chuckled. "Whether you love him or hate him, there's no one more self-assured in professional wrestling than Randal Savage."
Irvin shook his head. "That's not confidence, Ross—that's delusion. Victor Cross already made him look foolish last time."
In the crowd, Luke crossed his arms. "I don't get it. Why is Savage acting like he's already won? Victor beat him fair and square."
Justin squinted. "Because he's got a trick up his sleeve."
Inside the ring, Savage grabbed a microphone and smirked. "Victor Cross! You've been strutting around here like a king just because you snagged one lucky win against me. Why don't you come out here and try to back it up again?"
Victor Cross's music hit like a thunderclap, igniting the arena into a frenzy. Victor strode down the ramp, microphone in hand, and stepped through the ropes to confront Savage directly.
"You've got a pretty short memory, Savage," Victor said coolly. "Because the last time we faced off in this ring... I took you down."
The crowd erupted in cheers.
"So tell me—did you forget already?"
Savage let out a slow, sinister laugh. "Oh, I remember. And that's exactly why I'm grinning." He slowly removed his sunglasses and locked eyes with Victor. "You see... this time, I didn't come alone."
The crowd fell into a hush as Savage pointed toward the entrance curtain.
"Meet my new insurance policy."
A massive shadow loomed behind the curtain.
Gasps rippled through the arena as a gigantic figure stepped into the spotlight. Each thunderous footfall felt like a seismic shift, transforming the atmosphere from excitement to sheer terror.
Noah gasped, his voice trembling. "My God..."
"That's... that's Andre!" Irvin exclaimed in disbelief.
The crowd stood stunned. Just days prior, Andre had made a monumental debut at Promotion Wars, standing tall as the undisputed hero who helped IRW secure a decisive victory.
Now, he was stepping over the top rope to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Randal Savage.
Victor's calm demeanor vanished, replaced by sheer shock. He looked from Savage's gloating smile to the towering giant beside him, utterly unable to process the betrayal.