Inside the ring, the chaos continued. Takuma Sato, still covered in blood from the barbed wire, staggered to his feet as Tae-Hyun Lim slowly rose, rage fueling his every movement. Sato, ever the warrior, wiped the blood from his eyes, his face a mangled mess of cuts and bruises, but his spirit unbroken. He let out a defiant roar, the crowd rallying behind him as he charged at Lim, fists flying. Sato connected with a flurry of lightning-fast strikes, his martial arts training coming to the forefront. Each punch and kick landed with precision, forcing Lim to stagger backward. The crowd roared in approval as Sato unleashed a devastating spinning back kick, which sent Lim crashing into the corner turnbuckle.
Holly Hudson: Sato is taking it to Lim! Look at him go!
Chris Rodgers: The kid’s a machine! How is he still standing after everything he’s been through tonight?!
Sato, blood dripping from his face, didn’t let up. He charged into the corner, delivering a stiff running knee to Lim’s jaw. Lim slumped, his head snapping back from the impact. Sato climbed the turnbuckle, the crowd on their feet in anticipation of a high-flying move. But as Sato prepared to leap, Dong-Hyun Moon suddenly appeared, shaking off his daze, and grabbed Sato’s ankle, yanking him down from the ropes. Sato crashed hard onto the mat, and Moon wasted no time stomping viciously on Sato’s back and ribs, his heavy boots driving into Sato’s body with malicious intent. Each stomp sent waves of pain through Sato, who writhed on the mat in agony.
Chris Rodgers: Moon’s back in the mix, and he’s punishing Sato!
On the outside of the ring, Lightning Man had crawled to his feet, his face now half-exposed from the torn mask, swollen and covered in blood. He winced in pain as he dragged himself back toward the action, but Hyun-Sik Hwang was waiting for him. Hwang, who had been watching from a distance, charged at Lightning Man like a freight train, delivering a massive clothesline that sent the high-flyer spinning through the air and crashing into the steel steps with a sickening thud. Lightning Man’s body lay motionless, the impact leaving him dazed.
Holly Hudson: Lightning Man’s in trouble—he hasn’t been able to get back into this match!
Chris Rodgers: Look at the carnage in and around this ring, Hudson! This is what the North Koreans wanted and Zeagal and Mudcock let them have it! Somehow, some way this is all Zeagals fault! I know it! Rupert would never have agreed to this without his wicked tongue convincing him!
As Valora staggered near the edge of the stage, struggling to stay on her feet after Han’s vicious assault, the referee kept a close watch, understanding the dangers surrounding her. Every fiber of Valora’s being strained to keep standing, but Han, relentless in her pursuit, had no intention of letting her walk away. A cruel smirk crossed Han's face as she spotted the steel cable coiled near the edge of the stage, and with terrifying precision, she grabbed it.
Han quickly wrapped the cable around Valora's throat, yanking it tight and choking the life out of the warrior. Valora's hands flew to her neck, desperately clawing at the steel to break free, but her body was weak, her muscles failing under the unyielding pressure. Han gripped the cable tighter, dragging Valora toward the stage’s edge with a sense of malicious satisfaction.
Holly Hudson: This is insane! Han's going to kill Valora!
The referee shouted at Han, urging her to stop, but there was no hesitation in Han’s eyes. She swung Valora around and, with a powerful pull, flung her off the stage. Valora’s body flew through the air, her legs kicking helplessly before crashing into the lighting boxes and steel equipment below. The impact was horrendous—a deafening, bone-shattering crash that echoed through the arena. The crowd gasped in horror as Valora’s body crumpled on the floor, limbs twisted at impossible angles. Silence washed over the Tokyo Dome, as if the entire building was holding its breath.
Chris Rodgers: My God… she's broken. Valora’s legs… they’re shattered! This could be the end!
Holly Hudson (stunned): She might not ever walk again, Chris!
As Valora lay motionless in the rubble, her legs bent grotesquely beneath her, the referee immediately sprinted down to check on her condition. He crouched beside her, desperately looking for any sign of movement. Valora’s chest barely moved, her face pale beneath the streaks of blood. It was clear to the referee that this wasn’t just another bump—Valora was seriously injured, and there was no chance she could continue.
Referee: One! Two!
The medical team, already poised from Abbigail’s earlier injury, rushed down the ramp with a stretcher and emergency equipment. Their faces were grim, moving with controlled panic as they approached the fallen legend.
Referee: Three! Four!
The audience sat in stunned silence, many fans holding their hands over their mouths, tears streaming down some faces. Valora, the legendary Angel of Death, the Queen of Hardcore, lay broken and unmoving at the hands of Han, her fate uncertain.
Referee: Five! Six!
Medics quickly secured Valora’s neck with a brace, checking for spinal injuries. Another medic examined her legs, shaking his head as he signaled to the others—her legs were broken, shattered from the fall.
Referee: Seven! Eight!
Inside the ring, Sato and Lightning Man had paused, their eyes fixed on the horrific scene unfolding near the stage. Their chests heaved, blood dripping from their wounds, but for a brief moment, all they could feel was the sinking realization that their mentor, their ally, was done.
Scott Slade: Valora Salinas... might be done. This could be the last time we ever see her in a ring.
Referee: Nine! Ten!
The final count was made. The referee waved his arms to signal the end—Valora Salinas had been eliminated, knocked out by the brutal assault. The bell rang to signify her elimination, but there were no cheers, no excitement—just a heavy, oppressive silence in the Tokyo Dome. Valora was gone.
Holly Hudson (choking back emotion): I can't believe it. Valora… She's out. This... this could be the end of her career, Chris.
Chris Rodgers: It’s not just her career, Holly! Look at her legs—they’re completely shattered! This is beyond a career-ending injury. She might never walk again!
The medical team moved quickly, securing Valora onto the stretcher as carefully as possible. Her legs were strapped down, her body immobilized to prevent further damage, but the sight of her motionless body, blood staining her gear, was burned into everyone’s minds. Valora was wheeled toward the ramp, her body a broken shell of the warrior she once was, leaving behind a trail of blood. The crowd, once filled with energy and anticipation, was now quiet, their faces pale, unable to process the brutality they had just witnessed.
But just as the medical team began to move up the ramp, Han appeared once again, a vicious, satisfied grin on her face. Her eyes zeroed in on Valora’s stretcher like a predator closing in on a wounded animal. The medical staff, stunned by Han’s approach, were frozen in place, unsure of what to do.
Chris Rodgers: No! Come on, Han! She’s already out of the match! Don’t do this!
Before anyone could react, Han lunged forward, smashing Valora’s stretcher with a brutal double axe-handle, knocking it off its wheels and sending it crashing to the side. Valora’s body tumbled off, hitting the steel ramp with a sickening thud.
Holly Hudson: This is too much! Han’s trying to finish Valora for good!
Valora groaned in agony, her legs twisted and broken, blood flowing freely from her wounds. The medical team scrambled to get her back onto the stretcher, but Han wasn’t finished. She grabbed Valora by the hair, forcing her back to her knees. With a cruel smile, Han reared back and delivered a devastating knee strike directly to Valora’s face, knocking her out cold. As Valora’s limp body slumped to the floor, Han stood over her, fists clenched in victory, as the referee declared the KO. It was official—Valora Salinas had been eliminated.
Meanwhile, back in the ring, Lightning Man and Sato stared in shock. It was now 4-on-2, and the reality of their situation was starting to sink in. They were alone, their backs against the wall, and the merciless North Koreans were closing in.
As Han spit on Valora’s battered body, the crowd recoiled in disgust. She turned away from the wreckage, her expression cold and unbothered by the devastation she had just caused. Valora was left motionless beneath the twisted debris, her legs bent awkwardly, her face twisted in agony. Medical personnel rushed to her side, desperately working to stabilize her, but the damage had been done. Valora’s career, maybe even her life, hung in the balance.
Holly Hudson: This is... this is horrible! What kind of human being does something like this?
Chris Rodgers: A complete psychopath, that's what kind.
Han paused at the top of the ramp, glaring down at the medical team and Valora with one final, venomous look. She spat again, this time into the crowd’s hatred, and then stormed down the ramp back toward the cell, her bloodlust far from sated. As she sprinted, the crowd booed louder than ever, the animosity boiling over in waves. But Han fed off it—each boo only empowered her further.
Inside the cell, the atmosphere was no less tense. Lightning Man and Sato stood back-to-back in the center of the ring, their bodies bloodied, their breaths heavy, as they watched the remaining three members of The Emperor’s Avengers circle them like predators ready for the kill. The air was thick with anticipation, the stench of sweat, blood, and torn flesh palpable even through the screens.
Scott Slade: This is it, folks. It’s Four-on-two, and the odds aren’t looking good for Sato and Lightning Man. They’ve already lost Valora and Dresden... how long can they hold on?
Holly Hudson: They’ve been through hell, but these two are warriors. The real question is, how much more can they take?!
Chris Rodgers: It’s not about how much they can take, Holly—it’s about how much they can dish out before they’re torn apart!
Han got back into the cell and slid under the bottom rope, her eyes locking onto Sato. She joined Lim and Hwang, the three North Koreans closing in, tightening the noose. The crowd’s energy shifted; even the boos took on a frenetic pitch as they sensed the imminent clash.
For a brief moment, Sato stole a glance toward the ramp where Valora was being attended to. His heart clenched. She had sacrificed herself for the team, and now it was just him and Lightning Man. His chest heaved, his body bruised and bloodied, but his spirit remained unbroken. He tightened his fists, feeling the fire of his father’s teachings ignite deep within him. His hands moved instinctively into the ready position, the style of Jeet Kune Do ingrained in his muscles.
Scott Slade: Look at Sato... he’s not backing down. This man is made of something else!
The North Koreans rushed in simultaneously, launching a coordinated assault. But Sato’s focus was razor sharp. As Han lunged toward him with a wild strike, Sato countered, his movements fluid and precise. He ducked under her attack, delivering a lightning-quick palm strike to her ribcage that sent her staggering backward. Without missing a beat, he spun around and caught Dong-Hyun Moon with a vicious roundhouse kick to the side of the head.
The crowd erupted as Moon’s body twisted in mid-air from the impact, crashing to the mat in a heap. Sato wasn’t done. Channeling all his inner strength, he pulled back, his fist coiled with energy, and delivered a devastating Iron-Fisted Heart Punch directly to Moon’s chest as he was attempting to get back up. The effect was instantaneous. Moon’s eyes rolled back, his body convulsing as if struck by a bolt of lightning. Foam frothed at his mouth, and his legs kicked uncontrollably before his entire body went limp.
Holly Hudson (shocked): My God, Moon’s down! Moon is down, and he's convulsing! This could be it for him!
Chris Rodgers: Did you see that? The Heart Punch! That might’ve stopped his damn heart! We haven’t seen Sato has no used that in a very long time.
Scott Slade: There are rumors that Mudcock had banned him for using it, but in a match like this all is fair!
Moon lay motionless, his chest barely rising, his body jerking involuntarily. The crowd gasped in horror and excitement, the chaos unfolding too fast for anyone to fully comprehend. But Sato barely had time to catch his breath before Lim charged at him like a freight train, fury in his eyes. At the same moment, Lightning Man, using his lightning-fast agility, ducked under Hwang’s massive fist, landing a series of swift kicks to the giant’s midsection. Hwang swung wildly, trying to catch the elusive Lightning Man, but his strikes hit nothing but air.
Scott Slade: Lightning Man’s speed is keeping him in this fight! He’s using everything in his arsenal!
With a burst of energy, Lightning Man leapt onto the middle rope, springboarding off it to deliver a perfectly timed superkick to Lim’s chest. The force sent Lim staggering back into the barbed wire ropes. There was a sudden, sharp crack as the wire snapped under Lim’s massive weight, and he tumbled out of the ring, his body becoming entangled in the jagged barbs as he crashed to the floor. The crowd erupted into a frenzy, the sheer spectacle of Lim’s collapse sending shockwaves through the arena. The Japanese fans, who had been furiously booing the North Koreans all night, now rose to their feet, their cheers deafening.
Holly Hudson (in awe): Did you see that?! Lim’s caught in the barbed wire! He’s a tangled mess on the floor!
Chris Rodgers: Lightning Man just brought this place down! Listen to this crowd!
The roar of the Tokyo Dome was deafening, the once weary crowd now energized by the sudden turn of events. Lim writhed on the floor outside the ring, the barbed wire cutting into his flesh, his face contorted in agony. Blood streamed down his arms and legs, staining the steel cage beneath him. Inside the ring, Hwang, seeing Lim and Moon incapacitated, stood in stunned disbelief. For the first time in the match, the North Koreans were on the back foot. Sato and Lightning Man, battered and bloodied but unbroken, stood tall, their backs still to one another, ready for whatever came next.
Scott Slade: This is incredible! Sato and Lightning Man have just turned this match around!
Holly Hudson: But they’re not out of the woods yet—Hwang and Han are still standing, and they’re not going to give up that easily!
The cameras cut to Han, her eyes narrowing as she watched her stablemates fall. Her fury was palpable, her fists clenching with renewed hatred. She stepped forward, joining Hwang in the center of the ring as they prepared for the next wave.
Chris Rodgers: This is far from over, folks! The North Koreans aren’t done yet!
As Moon's body lay still on the mat, his chest barely rising, Referee Bob Sigro stood over him, checking for any signs of life. He raised his hand, beginning the count. The crowd held their breath, watching in stunned silence.
Bob Sigro: One... two... three!
Moon’s body remained motionless. Hwang stood nearby, his eyes locked on his partner, panic slowly creeping in as Sigro continued the count.
Bob Sigro: Four... five... six!
The medical team stood ready, sensing the gravity of the situation. Hwang, usually stoic and cold, was visibly shaken, pacing beside his fallen partner.
Holly Hudson: This doesn't look good, Chris! Moon’s not moving!
Chris Rodgers: He took that heart punch straight to the chest—he might not even be breathing!
Bob Sigro: Seven... eight...!
The crowd's silence was eerie, a stark contrast to the brutal chaos that had unfolded moments before. Hwang’s face contorted in disbelief as Sigro's hand rose again.
Bob Sigro: Nine...!
Still, no movement. The final count hovered in the air, the tension unbearable.
Bob Sigro: Ten!
The referee immediately signaled for Moon’s elimination, but no one cheered. The bell rang, hollow and muted, and the audience gasped collectively, stunned at the gravity of the moment. Referee Sigro jumped back, frantically motioning to the medical team.
Bob Sigro: Get in here, now!
Scott Slade: Oh my God, it’s over for Moon! He’s out cold, and they’re bringing the medics in fast!
The medical team rushed into the ring, defibrillator in hand, and immediately began working on Moon’s lifeless form. Hwang, usually a colossus of destruction, dropped to his knees beside his partner, his face a mix of fear and anger. He stared at Moon’s still body, emotion breaking through his icy facade.
Holly Hudson: Hwang can’t believe it... this is probably the first time I’ve ever seen him this emotional. He looks like he’s almost in tears.
Chris Rodgers: This is a man who has fought beside Moon for years—his tag team partner, his brother!
As the medical team applied chest compressions and prepared the defibrillator, Hwang stepped back, visibly shaken. The crowd watched in eerie silence as the medics worked to revive Moon.
Medic: Clear!
The jolt of electricity hit Moon’s chest, his body arching slightly as the shock pulsed through him. The tension inside the Tokyo Dome was thick as the seconds dragged on. And then, miraculously, Moon’s eyes fluttered open, his chest heaving with shallow breaths.
Scott Slade: He’s alive! Moon’s breathing!
The crowd erupted into applause, relief washing over the arena, but the tension remained high. The medics quickly strapped Moon onto the stretcher, securing his neck and preparing to rush him out of the cell. Hwang, his face still twisted with worry, stood frozen in place. And then, in a shocking turn of events, Hwang made his choice. He turned his back on the match, his gaze fixed on Moon. Without a word to Han or Lim, he followed the stretcher, abandoning the fight to ensure Moon’s safety.
Holly Hudson (in disbelief): Hwang’s leaving the match! He’s abandoning Han and Lim!
Chris Rodgers: This is unreal! Hwang just walked out! His bond with Moon is stronger than the revenge his stable wanted against Sato and Salinas!
As Hwang and the medical team hurried up the ramp, carrying Moon to safety, Han and Sato's fight intensified inside the ring. Their movements were a blur of martial arts mastery, trading blows in a fast-paced, adrenaline-fueled exchange that had the crowd roaring again.
Meanwhile, Lightning Man had leaped down off the apron, eyeing Lim, who was struggling to free himself from the broken barbed wire. With a ruthless gleam in his eye, Lightning Man grabbed a length of the wire and began wrapping it around Lim’s neck, the barbs digging into Lim’s flesh, choking him. Lim let out a guttural roar of pain, thrashing as the wire bit deeper into his throat.
Scott Slade: Lightning Man is wrapping that barbed wire around Lim’s neck! This is insane!
Holly Hudson: Look at the blood pouring from Lim’s neck! He’s being strangled!
Chris Rodgers: Lightning Man is using everything in his arsenal to take out this monster, and these fans love it!
Holly Hudson: This is sick Chris. It’s a mockery of our sport!
Chris Rodgers: Whatever Hudson! You weren’t stuck in North Korea like the rest of us. These people are animals! Just look at what they did to Dresden and Salinas!
Scott Slade: I never thought I’d say this… but I agree with Chris, Holly.
As Lim gasped for air, his body weakening under the relentless chokehold of the barbed wire, the Japanese fans exploded into cheers. The crowd, who had been booing the North Koreans relentlessly, now erupted in support of the heroic Lightning Man.
Scott Slade: The tide is turning! Lightning Man and Sato are fighting back with everything they’ve got!
As Lightning Man tightened the barbed wire around Lim’s throat, the crowd's deafening cheers fueled his resolve. Lim's face turned a disturbing shade of crimson, his eyes bulging as the jagged wire cut deeper into his flesh. Blood poured from the wounds on his neck, staining the floor beneath him. His massive body convulsed violently, thrashing in a desperate attempt to break free, but there was no escape from Lightning Man’s iron grip. The barbs dug in deeper with every second, cutting off Lim’s air as the towering North Korean powerhouse struggled to stay conscious.
Scott Slade: Look at Lim! He’s fading fast! Lightning Man’s choking the life out of him!
Holly Hudson: This is savage! Lim’s barely hanging on—there’s blood everywhere!
Chris Rodgers: Lim deserves every bit of this! These monsters tore through Valora and Dresden like animals—now it’s their turn to suffer! They wanted this, now they have to deal with it when there not the ones in control!
The Tokyo Dome trembled with the frenzy of the Japanese fans, their chants echoing throughout the arena. Lightning Man’s face, half-exposed beneath his shredded mask, was a mixture of agony and determination as he held on with everything he had left. He knew this had to be the end for Lim—the man had terrorized Ultimate Wrestling for far too long. Lim’s thrashing slowed, his massive arms falling limp as the blood loss and lack of oxygen began to take their toll. His eyes glazed over, his body sagging as he sank into unconsciousness. Lightning Man, breathing heavily, kept the barbed wire tight around Lim's throat, ensuring there was no coming back from this.
Scott Slade: Wait… wait… Lim’s not moving!
Holly Hudson: Oh my God, Lim’s out! He’s completely out!
Referee Bob Sigro rushed to the outside of the ring, his face pale as he looked at Lim’s motionless body entangled in the barbed wire. The crowd's roars reached an ear-splitting volume as Sigro raised Lim’s arm for the first time.
Bob Sigro: One!
The arm dropped limply to the floor.
Bob Sigro: Two!
The fans were on their feet, their anticipation building with every second. Lightning Man loosened his grip slightly, knowing the end was near.
Bob Sigro: Three!
The referee signaled for the bell, and the arena exploded with cheers. Lightning Man collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, his body spent from the brutal encounter. The official signaled Lim’s elimination as the medical team rushed in to free Lim from the barbed wire's deadly grasp.
Scott Slade: Lim is out! Lightning Man has done it—he’s eliminated the Pyongyang Powerhouse!
Holly Hudson: Listen to this crowd! They’re going absolutely insane!
Chris Rodgers: It’s about damn time someone put Lim down—he’s been a menace since day one!
As the medics carefully cut Lim loose from the barbed wire, the attention shifted back to the ring. Lightning Man, bloodied and battered, struggled to his feet, his eyes meeting Sato's. They were down to one final enemy: Eun-Young Han, the woman who had unleashed unspeakable brutality on Valora and Abbigail.
But Han wasn’t finished. She stood in the center of the ring, her chest heaving with fury, her eyes burning with venomous hatred. Her stablemates were gone—Lim and Moon both taken out—and Hwang had abandoned her to tend to Moon. Now, it was just her against Sato and Lightning Man. The crowd's energy shifted, tension crackling in the air as Han squared off with Sato and Lightning Man. She spat on the mat in defiance, her fists raised, daring them to come at her.
Chris Rodgers: Han’s still standing! She’s not backing down—she’s ready to take them both on!
Holly Hudson: After everything she’s done tonight, Sato and Lightning Man are going to make her pay.
Sato, blood running down his face, nodded to Lightning Man. They both knew this was it—the final stretch. The fans roared their names, their voices blending into one powerful chant.
Crowd: Sato! Lightning Man! Sato! Lightning Man!
The two men stood back-to-back, their bodies trembling with exhaustion, but their spirits unbroken. Together, they closed in on Han, who eyed them like a cornered predator.
Scott Slade: Here we go! It’s two-on-one, and Han is about to face the wrath of Sato and Lightning Man!
Han lunged forward, throwing wild strikes at Sato. He dodged her first punch with ease, countering with a sharp Jeet Kune Do palm strike to her ribs. The impact sent Han staggering, but she spun around with a vicious roundhouse kick aimed at Lightning Man. He ducked beneath the blow, using his agility to roll under her and spring up behind her. Lightning Man moved with lightning speed, delivering a rapid series of kicks to Han’s legs, destabilizing her. She stumbled, but she wasn’t finished. With a primal scream, she rushed at Sato again, her fists flying in a desperate attempt to land a blow. But Sato’s reflexes were too sharp. He ducked and weaved, his movements fluid and precise, each strike deflected with ease.
Then, with perfect synchronization, Sato landed a devastating spinning elbow to Han’s jaw just as Lightning Man leaped from the ropes, delivering a flying knee to her spinet. The impact was brutal—Han’s body folded, crumpling to the mat as the air was driven from her lungs.
Chris Rodgers: What a combination! Sato and Lightning Man are working like a well-oiled machine!
Han writhed on the mat, gasping for breath, but Sato wasn’t finished. He grabbed her by the hair, pulling her to her feet with a grim determination in his eyes. With one swift motion, he delivered the Iron-Fisted Heart Punch, driving his fist deep into Han’s chest. Her body convulsed from the blow, her eyes wide with shock as she collapsed to her knees. But Lightning Man wasn’t done either. With a burst of agility, he scaled the turnbuckle, the crowd roaring in anticipation. He stood at the top, balancing perfectly, before launching himself into the air. The fans held their breath as he soared through the sky, delivering a devastating Lightning Bolt dropkick to Han’s head.
Han’s body snapped backward, hitting the mat with a sickening thud. She was motionless, her chest barely rising as the crowd erupted in sheer pandemonium.
Scott Slade: That’s it! That has to be it! Han is out cold!
Sato dropped to the mat, hooking Han’s leg as Referee Bob Sigro slid in for the count.
Bob Sigro: One…! Two…! Three!
The bell rang, and the Tokyo Dome erupted into an ear-shattering frenzy. The crowd surged to their feet, their chants deafening as Sato and Lightning Man stood victorious in the center of the ring.
Holly Hudson: They’ve done it! Against all odds, Sato and Lightning Man have survived this nightmare and come out on top!
Chris Rodgers: This isn’t just a win, Holly—this is justice! This is for everything those North Koreans have done since they arrived in Ultimate Wrestling!!
Sato, his body trembling from exhaustion, raised his fist in victory as Lightning Man joined him. Bloodied, battered, but victorious, the two warriors stood tall as the crowd chanted their names.
Crowd: Sato! Lightning Man! Sato! Lightning Man!
The energy in the arena was electric, the fans pouring their hearts into every chant as their heroes celebrated in the ring. Sato and Lightning Man met in the center, exchanging a look of respect and camaraderie. Together, they raised their arms, standing tall as the ultimate victors of this brutal war.
As the camera panned across the sea of cheering fans, some with tears in their eyes, others waving banners of support, it captured the emotion of the moment—a moment of triumph, a moment of redemption.
Scott Slade: What a night! What a match! Sato and Lightning Man have given everything they had, and tonight, they walk out of this hell victorious!
Holly Hudson: This is a match we’ll never forget, Scott. These men went through hell and came out the other side. Ultimate Wrestling has never seen a battle like this.
As the lights flickered and the music of victory blared throughout the Tokyo Dome, Sato and Lightning Man stood tall, their fists raised high as the crowd continued to chant their names. The nightmare was over, and they had emerged as legends.
But as the medics wheeled out the motionless bodies of Han, Moon, and Lim, the blood-stained mat was a stark reminder of the brutality they had endured. Victory had come at a high price, and Ultimate Wrestling would never be the same again.
Chris Rodgers: These men are legends, Holly. Tonight, they proved why.
The final image showed Sato and Lightning Man, standing united, as the screen faded to black—heroes in a night of madness.
Inside the cold, dimly lit holding cell of a Tokyo police precinct, tensions were rising. The clank of metal echoed as one wrestler, Haruka Tanaka, better known as "The Ronin Rose," paced back and forth, her hands clenched into fists. She was furious, her calm demeanor cracking under the pressure of their uncertain fate. On the opposite side of the cell, Otakebi Fuji, "The Shikona Beast," stared out from beneath his thick brow, sitting with his back against the wall, arms crossed like a dormant volcano waiting to erupt.
In a corner of the cell, Ryota Arakawa, "The Iron Musha," sat on the floor in a meditative position, his face calm but intense, the weight of their capture and the dishonor it brought looming over him. Shinku Ryujin and Tatsu Hime, "The Dragon Princess," stood not far from him, both looking visibly anxious. Their usual air of mysticism felt misplaced in the sterile confines of the cell, and their frustration was growing palpable.
Meanwhile, across the room, members of The Syndicate, Daichi Sasaki and his second-in-command, Isao Kurosawa, exchanged low murmurs with each other. Their expressions were tight, but not in panic; they were calculating, assessing the situation like chess players. The rest of their group, Yasuo Okada and Shinji Kobayashi, were quieter, their gazes constantly shifting from the cell door to their imprisoned comrades, each clearly restless but unwilling to show fear.
Suddenly, Haruka Tanaka cut through the low murmur of conversations, her voice sharp with frustration.
Haruka Tanaka: This is insane! We’re locked up, and who knows what the Yakuza will do? What if they leave us in here?!
Her eyes narrowed at Daichi Sasaki, her frustration clearly aimed at him.
Haruka Tanaka: How can you sit there so calm?
Daichi, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed, looked up, unfazed by her outburst.
Daichi Sasaki: Because panicking won't change anything, Tanaka. Trust me, we’re not going to be here long.
Haruka shot back immediately, her voice rising with disbelief.
Haruka Tanaka:Easy for you to say! You and your Syndicate have the Yakuza in your pocket. They’ll bail you out if things go south. What about the rest of us? We don’t all have the same protection!
A tense silence filled the air as her words sank in. Some of the other wrestlers shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting between Haruka and Daichi. Even Otakebi Fuji, who had remained silent, now sat up, his brow furrowing as he took in the weight of the accusation.
Isao Kurosawa, ever loyal to Daichi, stepped forward with a smirk, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Isao Kurosawa: Oh please, Tanaka. You’re just upset because you didn’t have the foresight to align yourself with the right people. Maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with your precious 'honor,' you’d be in a better position.
Haruka bristled, stepping forward aggressively, her fists clenched.
Haruka Tanaka: Don’t you dare lecture me about honor! I’d rather rot in here than sell out like you!
Before the situation could escalate further, Ryota Arakawa rose to his feet, his imposing figure towering over both Haruka and Isao. His voice was calm but carried an undeniable authority.
Ryota Arakawa: Enough. Fighting amongst ourselves won’t help us. We need to stay focused. If we lose control in here, we’ve already lost.
Daichi stood up straight, locking eyes with Ryota. For a moment, the two stared at each other in a silent understanding. They may have been on opposite sides of the moral spectrum, but both men knew that their survival hinged on keeping the group together.
Daichi Sasaki: The Iron Musha is right. The Yakuza won’t leave us in here. They need us. We’re part of something bigger, something that goes beyond just one match or one faction.
Tatsu Hime, normally calm but now clearly rattled, spoke up from the side, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
Tatsu Hime: But what if they don’t care? What if this is all just a game to them? We’re expendable, aren’t we?
From the corner, Yasuo Okada chuckled nervously, drawing everyone’s attention.
Yasuo Okada: Come on, Hime, you think the Yakuza’s going to risk all of this just to let us rot in jail? No way. We’re worth too much to them. Relax.
Yuriko Tanaka, The Scarlet Blade, suddenly burst out from her side of the cell, her voice cold and venomous.
Yuriko Tanaka: You think we’re safe just because we’ve played by their rules so far? The Yakuza only care about power, and the second we’re not useful to them, we’re dead weight.
Her words hit like a cold dagger, making everyone in the cell stiffen. Yuriko’s connection to the Yakuza ran deep, and everyone knew it. Her cynicism wasn’t born from fear but from experience.
Daichi stepped forward again, his voice steady and calm.
Daichi Sasaki: We are useful. That's the point. We’re warriors, and the Yakuza sees the value in that. They’re not going to leave us to rot because, in their eyes, we still have a job to do.
Sensing the unease spreading through the room, Isao added, his voice confident but laced with a touch of reassurance.
Isao Kurosawa: And if any of you need proof of that, just wait. You’ll see soon enough. This isn’t over.
As the cell quieted down again, the tension remained, but it was no longer explosive. The wrestlers, faces and heels alike, were caught between doubt and the hope that Daichi and The Syndicate were right. They had all faced battles in the ring, but the battle of waiting—of helplessness—was new territory for most.
The night dragged on, the cell dimly lit by a flickering fluorescent light overhead. Slowly but surely, conversations began to resume, quieter now, tinged with uncertainty but also with a sliver of hope. If The Syndicate was right, the Yakuza would come through, and this would all be just another test of their resolve.
But as the hours passed, one thing became clear: The real fight wasn’t just about getting out—it was about keeping themselves together, holding onto the trust and bonds they had built, even when everything around them threatened to tear them apart. Before the conversation could escalate further, the metallic clang of the cell door echoed across the room. A guard stepped in, clipboard in hand. The eyes of every wrestler locked onto him.
Guard: Listen up. You’re all being released.
A stunned silence filled the room, followed by a wave of relief.
Yasuo Okada, eyes wide, let out a breathy laugh.
Yasuo Okada: What? Seriously? We’re out of here?
The guard nodded, but his next words quickly brought the gravity back to the room.
Guard: Ultimate Wrestling dropped the charges. You’re free to go... except for your boss, Tanaka. Rupert Mudcock is pressing charges directly against him.
Yuriko Tanaka's face remained stone-cold, but her clenched fists revealed the fury beneath her calm exterior.
Yuriko Tanaka: Of course he is. Typical honorless gaijin pig.
The guard continued, his voice monotone and procedural.
Guard: Mudcock has also filed a lawsuit against All Asia Pro Wrestling, but that’s a separate matter. You’re free to go.
The cell door creaked open, and one by one, they stepped out into the narrow corridor. The weight of the situation hung over them like a dark cloud, the reality of what lay ahead settling in. As they walked down the sterile hallway, the flickering lights only served to highlight the uncertainty. None of them spoke until they stepped into the open courtyard, greeted by the cool night air.
And there, waiting for them like a shadow looming over the night, was Yamamoto. He stood tall, flanked by two of his enforcers, his sharp black suit gleaming under the dim lights. His presence was like a storm, quiet but threatening, commanding every bit of attention. His smile, though friendly, carried the weight of unspoken expectations.
Yamamoto: Ah, my warriors. Released, as I knew you would be.
His voice was smooth, calculated, carrying an air of cold authority. The group immediately halted, and Daichi Sasaki bowed deeply, followed by Isao Kurosawa and the other members of The Syndicate.
Daichi Sasaki: Yamamoto-sama, we are grateful for your intervention.
Yamamoto waved his hand, dismissing the need for gratitude.
Yamamoto: There’s no need for thanks, Sasaki. You have already proven yourselves loyal. And loyalty, in our world, is priceless.
He cast a look over the others—Yuriko Tanaka, who held his gaze without flinching, and Otakebi Fuji, whose massive frame stood resolute. His eyes lingered on Yuriko for a moment longer, and his smile widened.
Yamamoto: Your father, on the other hand, remains... detained. Mudcock is pressing charges, as you heard. But no matter. I will handle his bail.
The implication in his tone was clear—Tanaka would be freed, but it came at a cost. One they all understood.
Yuriko Tanaka: And Mudcock’s lawsuit?
Yamamoto’s grin darkened, and he gave a slight chuckle.
Yamamoto: Exactly where we want him. Rupert Mudcock will be too busy fighting lawsuits to focus on anything else. This... distraction will benefit us all.
He stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back, surveying them with the eyes of a master strategist.
Yamamoto: But none of this matters if you do not perform well in the upcoming Ronin Rumble.
The mention of the Rumble caused a stir among the group. The weight of the match—its importance not only for their careers but for their standing in both AAPW and the Yakuza—was enormous.
Yamamoto: This is your chance to show the world, and our enemies, what true warriors look like. I expect nothing less than domination.
He paused, his gaze locking on each wrestler in turn, his smile fading as his words became more pointed.
Yamamoto: You all have a role to play in the Rumble. Some of you will need to eliminate threats early. Some of you will be the last ones standing. But mark my words…
He turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing.
Yamamoto: There is no room for failure.
The gravity of the statement sank in, a chilling reminder of who they were dealing with. Failure was not an option—not with Yamamoto and the Yakuza watching.
Ryota Arakawa, always calm in moments of pressure, took a step forward, his deep voice steady as he spoke.
Ryota Arakawa: We understand. We will dominate the Ronin Rumble.
Yamamoto’s smile returned, his satisfaction evident.
Yamamoto: Good. Very good. You’ve already proven yourselves before. Tonight, I expect no less.
He turned on his heel, heading toward the sleek black car that waited for him. His enforcers followed without a word, the door to the car swinging open as he slipped inside.
Before the car door closed, he gave one last look at them, his voice drifting through the night air.
Yamamoto: The world is watching... and so am I.
The car sped off, disappearing into the darkness, leaving the group standing in the cold, silent night. The courtyard felt smaller, the world around them heavier with the weight of expectations.
Daichi Sasaki was the first to break the silence, his voice filled with determination.
Daichi Sasaki: This is our time. We fight not just for ourselves, but for the Syndicate, for the Yakuza. We will win the Rumble, and we will crush anyone who stands in our way.
Haruka Tanaka, after a moment, nodded firmly.
Haruka Tanaka: For us. For our future.
The group, unified in purpose, began to walk toward the horizon, the weight of Yamamoto’s words lingering in their minds. The Ronin Rumble awaited—a chance for glory, for dominance, and for survival.
Failure was not an option.
The sterile scent of disinfectant burned Valora’s nostrils as she slowly awoke. The sharp beeping of the heart monitor pulsed in time with the throbbing in her skull. Everything hurt—her legs, her back, her pride. The fog of anesthesia still clung to her senses, making it difficult to focus. She tried to move, but her body refused to obey. That’s when she felt it—the cold, unforgiving metal around her wrist.
Her eyes snapped open, but instead of seeing her fellow warriors or the aftermath of a hard-fought victory, her gaze met the soft glow of hospital lights and the sterile walls of the room. And there, seated at her bedside like a grim reaper waiting for his claim, was Rupert Mudcock.
He smirked at her under the glass helmet of his high tech PPE suit he had on to protect him from the Blovid-13 Virus. The sight of him made her stomach churn—part nausea from the drugs, part disgust at the man who had tormented her for years.
Valora Salinas: (her voice raspy, a shadow of its former strength) What... why...?
Her words were a struggle, each syllable thick with pain, both physical and emotional. She tried to sit up, only for her body to remind her of the price she’d paid. Her legs—immobilized in casts—were suspended like mockeries of what they once were. Rupert’s smirk widened as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction.
Rupert Mudcock: (low, taunting) Looks like the mighty Queen of Hardcore finally met her match.
The words hit her like a slap, but it was the cold clink of the handcuff around her wrist that sent ice through her veins. Valora tugged at it, panic rising in her chest as reality began to sink in. She was trapped—physically, mentally, and now, legally.
Valora Salinas: (her voice trembling with fury and fear) What the hell is this? Why am I cuffed?
Rupert Mudcock: Because you're a flight risk, Valora. And frankly... you’ve got nowhere to run.
Valora’s heart pounded, her thoughts swirling. Flight risk? No, this couldn’t be happening. Not after everything she’d survived. She tried to pull her hand free, but the sharp pain in her wrist and the tightness of the cuff grounded her in the harsh reality. She wasn’t just in a hospital—she was in a prison.
Valora Salinas: (her voice breaking) You bastard... you did this... why am I cuffed?!
Rupert chuckled softly, leaning forward just enough to invade her space, his presence suffocating.
Rupert Mudcock: (calm, cutting) Because you failed, Valora. You didn’t keep your end of the bargain. And now... (he waves his hand dismissively toward her broken body) now, you're just a liability on the balance sheet.
Valora’s breath hitched, her eyes widening as the full weight of his words sank in. Her body—once her greatest weapon—was now a cage. Her legs, once invincible, now hung limp and useless. The Queen of Hardcore, reduced to this. A cold sweat broke out on her skin as her chest tightened in panic.
Valora Salinas: (whispering, desperate) No... no, you can’t do this. You need me... you always needed me.
But Rupert’s smile only grew wider, more sinister.
Rupert Mudcock: Need you? Once, maybe. You were good for business, I’ll give you that. You sold tickets, boosted ratings... but now?" (he gestures to her legs, then her wrist) Now you’re just dead weight. Crippled. Finished.
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Valora’s pulse raced, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she fought to keep control. But the reality was overwhelming. She was trapped, broken, and at the mercy of the one man she despised more than anyone.
Valora Salinas: (pleading, panicking) You can’t do this... you can’t just throw me away!
Rupert stood up slowly, as he sauntered closer to her bed. He leaned in, his shielded face inches from hers, his eyes cold as steel.
Rupert Mudcock: (voice dripping with venom) I already have. You’re nothing to me now, Valora. Just another broken toy that I’m tossing out.
Valora’s vision blurred with tears—not from pain, but from the overwhelming realization of her helplessness. She pulled at the handcuff again, her body trembling as panic set in. She had faced death before, she had survived battles that would’ve killed anyone else—but this? This was different. This was her final undoing.
Valora Salinas: (her voice cracking, raw with emotion) You son of a bitch... I’ll kill you... I swear, I’ll kill you!
But Rupert just chuckled, a dark, menacing sound that sent a shiver down her spine.
Rupert Mudcock: I don’t think so, Valora. In fact, I think it’s the end of the road for you. No more comebacks. No more fighting. Just a slow, quiet trip to Guantánamo Bay, where you’ll rot for the rest of your miserable life.
Valora’s world shattered in that moment. The room spun, her thoughts a whirlwind of terror and disbelief. She yanked at the cuff so hard it bit into her wrist, drawing blood, but the metal held firm. There was no escape.
Valora Salinas: (screaming, voice hoarse and frantic) No! No, you can’t! You can’t send me there!
Rupert’s smile faded, replaced by a cold, calculated look as he straightened his jacket.
Rupert Mudcock: Oh, I can. And I will. The only reason you didn’t end up there sooner was because I paid off the Japanese government to keep you here. But now... (his eyes gleamed with satisfaction) ...now that you’re useless to me, I’m done paying. And when the money stops, well... the handcuffs get tighter, Valora.
She felt the walls closing in around her, the cold metal of the handcuff searing into her skin as she struggled against it. Her breath came in ragged, desperate gasps, her body shaking as reality crashed down on her.
Rupert Mudcock: (with a sadistic smirk) You should’ve listened to Kronin. He was smart—he knew when to quit. The German government sent a plane for him and his sister. But you... no, you had to keep playing the Hardcore Queen. Age doesn’t mean a damn thing to you, right?
Valora’s heart pounded in her chest, the weight of his words suffocating her. She had always believed she could keep going—that she was different, that she was invincible. But now, her body lay broken, and the cold truth was staring her in the face.
Valora Salinas: (whispering, her voice broken) I’m not finished…
Rupert snorted in derision, tossing the remnants of his cigar into a nearby ashtray. He turned to leave, his footsteps echoing in the sterile room. At the doorway, he paused, glancing back one last time.
Rupert Mudcock: (final, mocking) Oh, yes you are, Valora. You’re finished. For good. Send my regards to President McStrump, I’m sure he’ll be paying you a visit in person once your finally behind bars.
And with that, he walked out, the door clicking shut behind him. Valora lay in the bed, her body wracked with sobs, her mind spinning as the cold reality settled in. She was trapped. And there was no one left to save her.
Oh no Valora, that's a terrible fate. Mudcock just gets even more horrible as time passes
Nah, Rupert is a great business man! He knows when to cut his losses! Valora is washed up! Good riddance!
No doubt. Mudcock is pure evil.
Holy shit. Didn't expect that ending. Valora is screwed!
She's been like the main hero character for the first 2 seasons. Hopefully, she heals up in prison and finds a way to get out of Guantanamo Bay.
Well, it looks like her run in Season 3 is done. Tough to get out of that spot, and after the beating she took? The way Rupert Mudcock was talking, it sounded like she might never walk again, much less wrestle.
I'm shocked. I loved Valora. She was such a feminist and Latino icon in the Ultimate Wrestling universe—kind of like a female Muhammad Ali. Standing up for what's right against the man and the machine.
She will be missed if this is the end. Also, poor Abbigail we don't even know what her status is!
The main event for this episode was crazy! 4 vs 4 Hell in the Cell match with barbed wire ropes?! You could feel the hate between the two sides, too. I love the art that was used to bring the story to life; the Ultimate Wrestling ring looked just like I had imagined.
It was sad to see what happened to Abbigail and Valora, but in the end, the Emperor's Avengers got what they deserved. Sato and Lightning man seem like a good match... maybe a possible tag team forming here?
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