One of Tius’ wolves moves first, seeing both his leaders' deaths, not willing to continue on any longer. He darts off into the woods, disappearing from view on swift feet. The rest follow, bolting away from the scene and scattering from whence they came.

Lycana’s pack, the loyal, all stand dazed, not knowing what the next step was. It should be a time to celebrate but... The betrayal of Rolfe, the revelation of Reika and.... All eyes are on the lifeless form of the broken lycan they always looked to for answers, her cerulean hair splayed across the ground, the wind moving gentle strands across her body as if in some attempt at modesty.

Harsh breathing breaks the stillness as he drops to his knees beside her. A gentle hand reaches out, giving her shoulder a shake, seeking in vain to wake her. His fingers travel to the side of her neck, expelling a sharp sigh of relief upon finding a pulse. He slides his hands under her rising to his feet cradling Lycana’s slight figure in his muscular arms. Another steps before him, earning a snarl from Marf as he backs a step away.

“I can help her.” Damien says, concern threading through his voice as he moves in closer, extending his arms out as if to take Lycana from Marf, who stiffens and back away, protectively drawing her even closer to his chest. “Why would I trust you?!” his voice is little more than a growl, his eyes narrowing as he glares daggers. “Gee, I DID just fight alongside you! But that means nothing right?!” Damien exclaims, exasperation rising in his voice unchecked. “Look, the longer you don’t let me help, the more of a chance that you’re going to lose her.”

“And why the fuck do you care all of a sudden?”

“Honestly, I don’t. But she linked herself to me, and I’m not really keen on finding out what happens if she dies while that is still in place. Now, we are wasting time. Especially not knowing what the hell it is that he used on her.” Marf looks torn, but unconvinced at Damien’s intentions.

“It’s from a Gorgon.”

The quiet voice captures Damien’s attention as he turns to Reika, now sitting quietly, braiding her hair. “A Gorgon? They’re rare, that can’t be right. What else did he say?” Damien demands, shifting his body towards her, moving closer to the blonde humming to herself on the ground. “Is that like a snake? I don’t like snakes.”

She turns wide, innocent eyes onto the tall man. “Will Lycana be okay soon? She said we could make waffles together...”

“The hell....” Damien mumbles, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. What was this? She seemed rather... Confused to say the least. And Lycana cooking waffles? Had he been shipped off to some alternate universe? Maybe this was some sort of weird dreamscape he had been shoved off into. Or a test. This thing had just blown a man to bits and now... this? “What’s her deal.....?”

He barely finishes when Marf is there, hovering over Reika with Lycana still dangling from his arms. “Leave her be.” He turns to whisper softly to Reika, as Damien holds his hands up, eyes rolling as he turns away to survey the carnage of what was left of Rolfe. There wasn’t much. Some tattered clothing. A blob of viscera. An unidentifiable slab of meat or piece of an organ. Crimson droplets coating the blades of grass. Damien prodded something that looked suspiciously like an ear, before the light tinkling noise of glass captures his attention.

He nudges the might’ve-been-an-ear over with his toe and something shimmers in the mess. As he crouches down, he spies the broken particles of what used to be a glass bottle. He snags a bloodied piece of Rolfe’s clothing... beggars can't be choosers and he wasn’t going to be needing it anymore... and carefully picks up a large piece, with what looks to be droplets inside. He lifts it to his nose and give a hearty sniff, instantly recoiling. It was Gorgon venom. But the color was all wrong meaning... this had been an antidote of some sort.

And Lycana was in more trouble than he thought.

He drops the glass, standing up so fast the blood rushed to his head making him whoozy, as he lurches a moment before recapturing his balance. “We have to go, right now.” Damien says urgently, striding quickly over to Marf, putting a hand on his shoulder. Marf jerks away, his eyes narrowing. “You have to trust me. You don’t have a choice.” he cuts him off, before anything can even be said. “I know where we can go, something that will negate the poison. Look, I would like nothing more than to see Lycana die a slow miserable death, but I have a little bit invested right now, and that’s my own damn life. Now we need to leave!”

Damien was right about one thing, he didn’t have a choice. Marf looks down at the fading pallor of Lycana’s skin. He didn’t know a thing about any of this supernatural shit. He had to rely on this asshole, and he hated it. He just hoped he didn’t end up regretting it. “If something happens to her....” he lets the threat drop off maliciously. Reluctantly, he steps forward, ordering one of the wolves to take care of Reika and bring her back to Finneas and Zara. The two men take their cargo and disappear at a run.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

She was floating, not an unpleasant feeling. The air caresses her body with its warm embrace as she hovers, weightlessly. She could do this for ages, she thinks to herself as she glides through the darkness. The weightless feeling was nothing short of a pleasure, there were no aches, no pains, just a carefree abandon of all her worries. There was nothing here to be concerned about, she could do as she pleased. No obligations. Nothing needing her attention. No threats. No impending wars.

War.

The wolves.

The wolf war!

Good feeling gone.

Lycana groans as she comes to, a sharp rock digging into the soft curve of her rump as she slowly sits up, eyes opening to.... extreme dimness.

She blinks, letting her vision adjust as she looks about her surroundings. A whole lot of nothing it seemed. Except... was that motion? She peers closer, slowly picking her way to her feet and taking a few tentative steps closer. Water ripples off into the horizon, the faint outline of boats coming into focus as they bob gently, standing empty. Strange.... very strange. She slowly turns to the side, letting her gaze slip over a dais with a bowl on it, not too different from her own altar at home. A whole lot of nothing. Dimness. Shadows. Gloom. Ghostly hoard. Blackness....

Wait.

She blinks and they are all still standing there, looking lost, staring aimlessly into nothing. Eerie figures, opaque in nature, shining ever so slightly. “Hel...Hello?” Lycana calls quietly, feeling stupid. She feels even dumber when none reply. Not a single one even looks her way. She edges towards them, her hair standing on end, not knowing what was going on. It was bizarre, seeing them all. Different ages, and genders. From appearances all walks of life. Specters of human life. “Hello?” she tries again, wondering why. “I sound like an idiot...”

“Oh, you are a lot of things, but never an idiot.”

Lycana jumps, whirling around towards the voice. She presses a hand to her galloping heart as a large, looming shadow detaches itself, and steps forward into... well, not the light, but the less ill-lit area. Which does absolutely nothing, because he is shrouded from head to toe in a heavy black cloak, just a gaping abyss where his face should be. His voice emerges from the depths once more.

“Hello Tavora. It’s been a long time.”

A slow chill climbs Lycana’s spine as he lifts large, billowing sleeves up towards the hood, instinctively knowing she wasn’t going to like what happened next, when he was revealed. Who he was, Damien’s warning, hit her brain mere moments before the hood fell, and his identity came into view.

Eadon. The Lich.

Eyes glowed in a skeletal face, as a bony hand reaches out, finger extending to point at her. “I have waited ages for this moment.” All of a sudden, a sharp shard of bone extends out from the others, forming into a knife which he palms. Before her mind can even grasp what her eyes were seeing, the weapon is flying in her direction, her agile reflexes the only thing saving her life as the bone dagger rips through the billowing, toga like garment she was wearing. She doesn’t even have time to ruminate on that as she rolls to her feet, as a second dagger blasts its way into the dirt where her head has just been seconds earlier.

Panting she extends her arms out, calling forward her magic. She might not be as powerful as Arcana, but she still had a few tricks up her sleeve. A blue aura dances on her palm for a brief second before fizzling out, and she feels all traces drain from her.

Hearty laughter meets her confusion as she glares at the Lich.

“Your powers don’t work here. And never mind trying to call on that precious pup of yours. That won't get you anywhere either.” He laughs more when he spies the wave of confusion that crosses Lycana’s face, her having been just about to give that a shot. “And where is ‘here’?” she asks, trying to buy herself some time. Her mind races, scenarios and solutions jumbling over one another. He knew an awful lot about her given how he was speaking, and with the information Damien had given... She was in more trouble than she thought.

“Oh, forgive me! Welcome, to the In Between.” he beckons around him. His lips curve upwards into a sarcastic smile as he sees understanding dawn on her face. “That's right Tavora. You’ve made it to the pit stop before you end up wherever it is you’re headed; I think we both know for you that would be Hell. Yes, the plane where the souls of the deceased wait to be carted off down the river... Sorry it’s a bit dead in here. I killed the Charon and it’s gotten a bit dull.”

His quip falls flat as she feels the sour tinge of bile on the back of her tongue. But if she was dead then how... She looks down at herself, definitely in more solid form than the army of ghouls who still didn’t appear to be taking any notice of this encounter. What had happened? The last thing she remembered was Rolfe with the dagger, something about a poison and... “I’m... dead?” she whispers, sagging in defeat.

“Just about, but not quite yet. If you were totally dead, you’d be just an eidolon like them over there. That’s why I’m going to handle it before I lose my chance.” His grin turns sinister as she stiffens, taking a few steps backwards, not having many options with the river at her back. “But you were always the tenacious type, weren't you? Always getting into things you weren't supposed to...” his voice dips down into a rattling growl, bones grinding on one another as his skeletal hands ball into fists. “How the hell do you know me?!” Lycana casts around, looking for any possible chance of escape.

“I’m hurt you don’t recognize my voice Tavora... but I digress. I suppose in this guise you would be a little confused. Perhaps this, will jar your memory....?” the Lich flickers, his projection changing to that of a tall, well-built young man. She lets her eyes skim over him, frowning in confusion. He was attractive, with a close-trimmed beard, lightly waving brown hair. Her heart stutters as she spies the ruin where one eye would be, the other so thickly fringed with lashes, it should be a crime to waste them on a man... Meanwhile the eye itself was a pale silver and....

“No.....................” she meant it as a scream, but all her breath was robbed from her lungs at the realization, as she is slammed backwards in time.

“Stay here, and don’t go anywhere!”

“Why Ophelia?”

“Shhh. Just do it Tavora.”

Darkness wrapped its arms around her as the closet door was shut, a mere sliver of light peeking under the bottom. There had been so much screaming, she had slipped out of bed and padded into the hall to see what was going on. And then it had gotten quiet. Her older sister had found her there, drowsily looking around, grabbing her and dragging her down the stairs to a linen closet. Sleepy, she hadn't resisted. She hugs her arms around her knees, wondering when Ophelia would come back and get her so she could go back to bed.

Loud yells.

It was Ophelia, but what was she saying? Maybe she was calling her. She slips from the closet and scampers towards the stairs. Ophelia was screaming now, a terrifying sound that sent ice racing through her veins. Was she hurt?

She races up the stairs, determined to help. She pauses. The screams, abruptly cut off, were coming from her sister's room. She scurries down the hallway, catching sight of herself in the mirror as she flies by. Wide, frightening eyes in a pale face still chubby with childhood. She hits the pink door and dashes inside.

Only to immediately trip over something on the floor in the darkness.

She crashes to the floor, skidding in something warm, thick, and sticky. Oh man, her parent would be very mad. The floors were some kind of special wood, and expensive. They would be mad Ophelia spilled something on them. She flounders about, struggling to find her way back to a standing position when feet stop in front of her, splattered with something dark. Her hand finds something smooth in the much, and automatically wraps around it. She looks up, wondering why he wasn’t helping her up, when the lights suddenly blaze on. She squints towards the door, seeing the tiny figure standing in the frame.

“Ophelia!”

He screams, backing away and running. She could hear his feet pounding away. The other vaults over the thing on the ground and pursues, his heavier step fading away into nothing. She stares, realizing that she is looking at the teal-colored pajamas of her sister. Only, there was a lot of red all over them. Her mom would be mad if it stained.

The thought inanely went through her head as she scoots through the sea of crimson, leaning over the crumpled heap of Ophelia. What she sees brings her dinner straight up the back of her throat as her stomach rebels. Blood blossoms around stab wounds, eyes wide and vacant, her neck ripped open in a gruesome smile nearly to her windpipe. She heaves, retching until there is nothing left inside her. She swipes at the snot running down her face as she kicks backwards in the slimy mess, smearing blood all over her face as she does. She whimpers, eyes wide as the sound of her heart pounding fills her ears.

It was so loud she didn’t hear the footsteps running into the room. But she did hear the screams. All the screams, and all the yelling at her. She looks down as they pry the object out of her hand, belatedly realizing it was a knife. She wanted to tell them how she got it. She wanted to tell them what happened, but every time she tried, her voice was stolen by the picture of her sisters slit throat filling her head.

They kept asking her why. Why what? She was confused. Why were they all yelling at her? Why didn’t they help Ophelia? Flashing lights fill the windows, and strange men come in the house. The take ahold of her arm gently, and lead her out of the room.

They must be here to take Ophelia to the hospital. She wanted to thank them. She wanted to tell them that her sister needed help fast. She wanted to ask if she was dead. But she couldn’t be, right? This only happened in the movies her parents had forbidden them to watch, but she snuck them in the dark of night with Ophelia anyway. Who was going to watch horror movies with her? She walks along the hallway, heading for the stairs, hearing hushed voices around her as they go.

“She seemed like such a quiet, shy little thing.”

“So young. What could have happened?”

“I bet she had her father’s hair trigger temper... It’s the only explanation.”

“What did you do?!”

The last was screamed at her, the face of her aunt appearing directly before her before being yanked away. They thought she did something? I didn’t do anything! She wanted to scream it, but she doesn’t say a word.

She is led by her parents' room, and she turns her head. She sees them on the floor, coated in crimson. The vibrant hue was splashed all over the floor, the walls and the snowy white comforter. And then she was being hustled down the stairs just a little bit faster. Her head whirled as she moves through the living room and out the front door.

It wasn’t me.

Mom. Dad.

It wasn’t me.

The brilliant red and blue strobes animate the scene as she walks, the grass feeling cool on her bare feet. All eyes were on her and she wanted to both shrink inside of herself and scream her denial to the world. She does neither... simply following along in a docile manner as she makes her way across her front lawn. The door to the police car is opened by an officer standing at the ready, and she scoots inside, slipping across the seat as they slam it shut, locking her inside. She looks out the window at her home, surrounded by milling people. She sees her little brother, his face pressed into the leg of her uncle standing on the driveway.

It wasn’t me.

She sees her stepbrother standing there, close to the vehicle, eyes locked on her. He sees where her gaze has landed and he smiles. She stares into his silvery eyes as the car lurches into motion....

IT WASNT ME!

She didn’t know if the words were ringing out in her memory, or if she actually screamed them out loud, her jaw agape in horror as she stares at the Lich... Eadon... at...

“Surprise, dear sister.”

“No!”

“Yes!” he laughs, slowly morphing back into the form of Lich King, the flesh parting and peeling back to reveal the skeleton figure once more. “And now Tavora, now I will do what I wanted to, all those years ago. And after you... I have a date with dear Archie.”

“NO!” she shrieks again, hearing the name of her littlest brother. An anger thrums through her, and without thinking she rushes at him, hellbent on keeping what family she had safe. She watches, unable to stop her headlong flight as she sees his bones becoming misshapen, pieces splintering off to become weapons once more. She hits the deck, willingly eating dirt as one whips over her head. She rolls frantically, hearing rather than seeing the other whistling towards her. It slams into her thigh with a thunk, sending searing pain shooting up her leg. She half crawls towards a boulder, her nails digging deep into the earth as adrenaline surges. She had to run. How could she think she could fight without her powers? She had to run!

She dives behind the rock as another piece of bone slams into it, shattering on impact. She pants, gritting her teeth, as his chuckles fill the room. She pulls the weapon from her thigh. “Come out come out Tavora, I’m done playing with you now. I promise I won't miss as much. If you’re a good girl I might even make it quick!”

She hears his footsteps as he idly strolls towards her hiding spot. She looks around, desperately seeking something. There is no exit that she can see, maybe on another wall? She risks a peek around the rock, seeing him a hell of a lot closer than she had expected. The skull grins. “Surprise!” Lycana screams, shoving herself up and into flight, tearing around the outer edge of the room, ignoring the agony in her leg, finding barrier after barrier to her escape.

No way out. No way out. No way out.

The thought pounds through her head as she dodges and weaves, keeping her gap with the Lich, who seems awfully willing to keep a slow pace behind her, content with just making sure she remained in his sight at all times. Harsh reality dawns. There was no exit. She was just prolonging the inevitable and he was enjoying every single moment of watching his prey’s panic. “Why are you running dearest sister of mine? You know you want to fight! It is what you live for nowadays, isn't it? Willingly walking down to that wrestling ring in the...XWF is it? Yes yes... I know all. I see all Tavora. I walked freely around you, and you had no idea.....”

He puts his arms behind his back, still watching her. “Do you think of me when you do it Tavora? Do you picture my face with every punch you throw? Is that why you put your body through the torture? Trying to erase the pain? Erase the memories?” he laughs harshly. “You never would have you know, and now... now you meet your end at my hands!”

He was right. All that anger, all the pain, the memories... It drove her. It was why she.... There was no time. He was trying to distract her. THINK Lycana.

He does a simple gesture as she stares, cowering against the wall as far away as she can possibly be. Nothing happens, nothing comes from him. No supernatural powers. Nothing. Confused, she blinks.

Then motion catches her eye.

The ghouls. They had all turned to look at her.

The fine hairs on her body stand on end as she realizes their gazes are all locked onto her. As one, they start coming towards her, and army of the dead ready to do the Lich’s bidding. “Oh shit... shit....” Lycana gasps as she flees, trying to keep her eyes on everything at once, but Eadon has disappeared. She skids around a corner, her eyes locked on the raised dais, wondering if she just got up there somehow...

“Boo!” he appears, his hand catching ahold of her long trailing hair, yanking back, a sharp stinging pain in her scalp. She battles, twisting wildly as he slowly draws her towards him, savoring his moment. No. She wasn’t about to give up. She pulls as hard as she can, a scream torn from her throat as the pain becomes searing. But she's free... leaving a chunk of blue locks in his grip. He growls, throwing it to the ground as he watches her run away once more. The noise soon transfers into a chuckle. She was feisty... simply adding some entertainment value to her end. He should have known she wouldn’t go down easy.

Lycana dodges the grasping hands, hitting the dais swiftly, blood droplets leaving a trail in her wake, clambering up to find.... Nothing. Just a bowl full of clear liquid that she assumed was water. She spins around. Nowhere to run now, nowhere to hide. And the ghouls were all there, fanned out below her, blocking the way back. They parted to allow him to come through, as he takes his time strolling towards her.

“Well now, this has been fun and all, but I simply can’t risk you dying on the mortal plane and ruining my night.” he grins at her, and she does the only thing she can think of.

She grabs the bowl and flings in directly into his face.

It shatters as it crashes into the skull, knocking it back a few degrees. Water splashes everywhere, hissing loudly as steam rises where every drop hits him. He claws wildly at his sockets as she stares on in horrified fascination. Maybe... just maybe... He lowers his hands with a bellow of rage.

Maybe not.

She backs as far as she can go as he rises up in front of her. “You will pay for that little one... I’ll slice each one of your digits off. Carve your flesh piece by piece. I’ll....” his voice trails off as he sees her looking to the side. “No...”

Lycana stares at the river, far below her. Looking at the rippling body as it moves off into the distance. Into the horizon. To escape.

“No Tavora... You would be sucked under by the creatures that swim in the Styx. You would return to walk the Earth as a reaver.”

She gives him a glance of disbelief. He would say anything... He couldn’t go in the water. It harmed him. It was her only chance, and odds were, he was lying. She takes a deep breath, eyes locked.

“You don’t want to do this! My death is preferable!” Real convincing. Eadon tries again, knowing if he threw a dagger she would fall anyway. “You could kill your friends and family Tavora!” his voice rises in pitch as he notes her steely determination. “Don't do this! Tavora! NO!”

Yes.

Lycana takes a running start....

…. and then she leaps.

____________________________________________________________________________________

“The moon was on fire Sunday.

And I was in the thick of it watching it burn.

Figuratively speaking of course, although with the money management spent on false rocket rides for both talent and fans, and creating their smoke and mirrors, they could have gotten us a much better pay per view venue than a damnable warehouse in whatever shambling town that was. Probably Moon, Oklahoma with their sense of humor.

Anyway...

So many moments of that night to reflect on. Title holders retained, new champions were crowned, blood was spilled, events that sent shockwaves through all who watched.

Enemy dynamics shifted. Secrets were exposed. True selves were shown. Truces were put into place from people nobody would expect it from. Giants were slayed, and upsets were made. The unexpected rose to their challenges.

Marf and I walked away without the thing we wanted most, leaving the Bastards with the gold. But what we also left them with, was battered flesh and multiple injuries. How are you feeling boys? I hope you are enjoying that deep ol’ sigh of relief, knowing that you made it by us... because it's only this time. There will be a next time, you both know it. We know it. Make no mistake about it, the outcome of that next little dance will be vastly different.

In case you wanted to backtrack and try to brush it under the rug, Bourbs said it himself. It was a hellacious match, and he got his ass whooped. So did TK. And so did we. Now think on this... I know you were watching my prior match. I know you saw what happened. I know you saw the state I was in when I arrived at the ring for our dance.

I know you felt the pain that I brought.

I know you were shocked that I had the power left in the tank to do all I did.

Now picture the Dissentients coming for you when we are both at one hundred percent. It should scare you. It should make you think of how good you had it, just to walk out with your asses whooped.

I will never use my condition as a crutch. I knew it going in and I still brought all that I had, but it wasn’t enough. I accept that. You Bastards are good, if I'm to give credit where it is due. I’m not the sort to make excuses. I don’t have to be at one hundred percent to go into a fight. I won't piss my pants and cry if I’m ‘only’ ninety percent. Hell, sixty, forty, twenty percent and I’m still there because I won’t back away from a challenge, regardless of the odds, even if they are stacked against me.

You might have been expecting an easier win since I was ‘softened’ up.

You thought wrong.

Be aware, that it won't happen again. I plan to be fresh as a damn daisy for our next date, and I refuse to let my partner down. He and I, we both can taste those damn Tag championships and neither of us will rest until we get them away from you. Even its from your cold, dead, fingertips... We are more than happy to make that happen. We dig the violence in case you’ve been struck by blindless the last few months and didn’t notice. We don’t care what stips are placed on the match. TLC, glass tables, Xtreme, cages... you name it, you got it.

I just wanted to put that little piece of information into your heads, let it sit and fester. Let the seed take root and grow, contaminating all your brain cells.... or, in TK’s case, his lone one... the slow realization that you thought what was a hellacious match, was not even the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the Dissentients. That next time, it will be even worse... I hope you are looking forward to it as much as we are.

I’ve said it before, and I will say it again. Marf and I may have been running the singles scene, but the fact we took that Turmoil just shows how much more dangerous we are together. We make a powerful team, and we always have each other's backs. No matter what obstacles are there.

Including two steel cages.

Right Alias?

You know, Marf probably wouldn’t have shown up but for the fact... well, you made it a CHALLENGE buddy. You put both of those there to try and prevent him from having any sort of impact on what happened between us. How’d that work out for you? All in all, you kind of did this to yourself.

He knows that I am more than capable of handling what I need to on my own, and vice versa.

But hey, it all worked out for you in the end, am I right? Can I put a little swagger in my step and take the credit for giving you the extra push? I’ll take it anyway. Because I now sit here as the one who knocked Alias off his pedestal.

I know, it was shocking to me too.

I went into the match not with the intentions of winning, though I said I would grab the chance and I did. I came wanting nothing more than to dive straight into an absolute war. And you know, I can't even call it that. What that was Alias, was the darkest pits of Hell.

It was beautiful.

You were an animal, all traces of humanity gone, replaced with a bloodthirsty savage that I had never encountered the likes of before. What we did to one another, is likely to go down in history as one of the more violent matches seen, and that my darling, tickles me even more than walking away with your title belt. It’s a lovely adornment for my waist though, a special reminder if you will, of the night we had. My question from before our dance still stands... what happens now? You failed in your mission Alias. You have been trumpeting the cry of Eat the Left Hand, then Eat Lycana... Are you still hungry for me?

Or did the taste of defeat fill you up?

You wanted to put me down and the opposite happened. Something you refused to believe would ever occur... not that I blame you. I’m sure there was a large portion of the roster who thought the exact same thing. The ones who scoff at the thought that Lycana could ever make something of herself. I hope they are choking on it right about now... just as it must be galling you that of all people to strip the Xtreme championship from you... it was me. Not because you lost the belt, no, but because of that last part.

It was me.

I can imagine that our story doesn’t end here. Ash Quinn branded your hand and you chased her down. I lit your whole body on fire and walked away with a smile on my face. I knew what I was doing. I understood what the consequences of my actions might be, and I still did it. I know you are not one to let that slide. We are not done, you and I, not by a long shot. Our story has paused, branched off into two separate trails once more, but down the line... they will intersect again, and nothing will be able to contain the explosion.

Leap of Faith was a show for the ages, and now as the dust from it starts to settle, we all are taking a step back to assess everything, and to figure out where we are going from here. For me, I now stand as the XWF Xtreme champion. Marf and I, we now both have pretty belts to lug around, roaming as guardians of the 24/7 hallway.

Is it something I had always dreamed of obtaining? No.

But you can be damn sure that I will defend it to my dying breath.

As I look forward to Centrubion’s Throwback Anarchy, it seems that I have leapt right out of the frying pan and into the fire, in terms of opponents.

Hello Mr. Page.

I will be the first one to admit that it threw me a little off kilter when you picked me as your opponent for this event. One might look at the pairing and think you were hoping for an easy win, a night off so to speak. One where you didn’t have to work too hard to reap the benefits. Perhaps that actually is the case, but what I have learned from watching you, Chris Page, is to never anticipate anything. Expect it to be different. And I have watched you, like a hawk, especially as of late. I watch those I think I can learn from. Taking in what you do, and the way you do it. The things that you have great talent at, and the things that can trip you up. Yes, I’ve been quietly observing you as you are well aware. I spoke of you lightly before I met Main in that Battle Royal. I know your eyes were on everything to do with that. You saw me.

And because my name has been in your mouth as well.

Both in negative and positive connotations.

I know you might think I am no match for you, being a former Universal champion with tons of experience... coming in to meet the relative newcomer with more losses to her name than anything. It’s fine if you do. When one is underestimated, one can take advantage of the fact and pull off some pretty damn amazing feats, wouldn’t you say?

Perhaps even putting away the Chronic One himself.

What was it that R.L. Edgar said? ‘Even the sun shines on a wolf’s ass sometimes.’

He sure does have a way with words, doesn’t he? When he’s not tripping on them.

I’m sure there are plenty who think I lucked out in the match against Alias, Chris... and that maybe lightning will strike twice for me. Or maybe people saw your fall to that very same man and are thinking your cage has been rattled. That you are now thrown off your game enough that little Lycana can sneak in and take the win, pushing you further off the tracks. That Chris Page has started his downwards spiral into nothingness, to fade into oblivion and nobody would hear from him again.

They would be fools.

I am not a fool Page.

I am taking you just as seriously as if you were stepping in front of me with that Universal belt still strapped around you.

I won’t sit around and start extoling all of your virtues and accomplishments, we all know you do enough of that yourself. I’m aware of them. I know them all to be true.

And I’m still coming with wide open arms.

From where I'm standing, I look at this as both a test as well as something to be enjoyed. Another learning experience regardless of the outcome. This why I get up from every match and jump head first right into another, not caring if my opponent is top tier, middle tier, or residing somewhere in the darkest parts of the basement nobody wants to admit exist.

You can point out all my flaws, all my losses, all the reasons I fell to people. What I have done wrong. I’m well acquainted with my short comings... You might think you would be telling me something new, but you cannot come with a single thing that I haven't already berated myself over and then gone out and tried to figure out how to fix.

I don’t let my weaknesses define the way I approach my matches. I don’t let them hold me back. I always go out to give my all. I’m not scared to face a single person on this roster, yourself included.

I saw how others came for you, and I saw how they all failed. I saw promos that did nothing but bash you and try to wave away everything you have done. I’m not going to do that. I’m also not going to sit and purr out a bunch of sweet nothings, hoping that you might take it easy on me if I stick my nose so far up your ass one might mistake me for one of the rest of the BOBs in a blue wig. I don’t need, nor want to stroke your ego.

What you are going to get from me Page, is dead on honesty.

I expect the same in return.

Over the course of the next week we will parry back and forth. I can truly say, I do not know what to expect going into this other than a full-on clash of two people, who give it all every time they step into the ring. Two people, who refuse to back down from a challenge. One who loves the limelight, the other who prefers to lurk in the shadows. One who loves the camera, the other who sees the showboating as nothing more than words. In the end, we will both hit Anarchy with the same goal in mind.

To pin the others shoulders to the mat.

I won't pretend like it's going to be easy, but I want you to keep this at the very forefront of your mind when dealing with me Mr. Page.

I have skipped into conflicts.

I have strolled into war.

I have danced in the flames of hell.

I will be frolicking right into our battle, eyes wide open, ready for every last bit of hurt, every piece of trash, every jibe, every punch, every fucking move... ready to emerge out the other side with a victory.

And it will be my fucking pleasure.”