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Beck_Steel: My theme hits and the bright lights shine at the entrance to the ramp and after a moment my silhouette appears , wearing a dark hoodie that hides my face . And dressed all in black , from my boots to my black trunks to my knee pads and even my elbow sleeves! I don’t bother with the fans except for the last young boy sitting at the corner to my left and take off my hoodie and give it to him and smirk “ watch that for me and take good care or it ok” the boy nods and I take a breath and step on the bottom steel step and then up to the ring apron , slipping my left leg over the middle rope I slip into the ring and go to the middle where I do a double bicep flex and flex every muscle in my body ! Then the announcer “ first we have a new comer hailing from Ridge, Michigan and standing 5’11”and weighting 205 lbs lets here it for Beck Steel !!!” The crowd cheers but only part of them as no one here knows me yet but soon they will know me…. Everyone will know me!

Georgia_Ellenwood:

The lights drop suddenly into a pulsing pink hue, and the opening beats of "Hello" by TWICE blast through the arena. A cheer rips through the crowd, louder and fuller now that they're familiar with what's coming. A spotlight swings to the top of the ramp—and there I am. I step out onto the stage in rhythm with the music, hips swaying with confidence, chin slightly lifted, a smirk teasing the corner of my lips. My long brown hair is tied in a high ponytail, glistening under the lights. I’m rocking a bright pink sports bra—flawlessly snug, custom Under Armour work—paired with black board shorts that hug my hips and ride low on my waist, showing off every inch of muscle and power I’ve worked for.

I raise my arms high and wave to both sides of the crowd, then bring my fingers to my lips and blow a quick kiss to the camera as I strut down the ramp. Each step is deliberate—light but powerful, like a woman who’s already claimed this ring a dozen times over and plans to do it again. Sliding up onto the apron, I turn my back to the ropes and glance over my shoulder toward Beck in the ring—his body tensed and flexed like he’s trying to prove something.

With a cheeky grin, I flip backwards into the ring and land perfectly on my feet, raising my arms to the crowd again. The announcer’s voice cuts through the cheers: “And his opponent! From Vancouver, British Columbia—standing 5 feet 7 inches tall and weighing in at 146 pounds—she is ‘Gorgeous’ Georgia Ellenwood!” The fans roar. I step forward, shoulders rolled back, chest proud, and eyes locked on Beck like I already know what’s coming. I raise my hand toward him—offering a respectful touch before the storm—but my voice is smooth, playful. “Welcome to the dance, handsome.”“Hope you’ve done your cardio.” I give him a wink, but beneath the charm, there’s steel in my gaze. Let him flex. Let him play strongman. I’ve taken down bigger. This ring isn’t about size. It’s about heart, will, and how many times you can rise up when they think they’ve put you down for good. And I don’t stay down.

 

Beck_Steel: I roll my eyes a little after hearing your little banter then grin “ oh good that means playtime can last and last and last till your body gives out , and trust me gorgeous your cute fit body will eventually give out once it’s hit with pure STEEL !” And I give your hand a very firm shake then back up and let all my muscles loosen and give them a shake and a bounce as I wait for the ring announcer to ring the bell and commence beating the hell out of this cute girl! Hands up fingers wiggle and ready to explode towards you in a test of strength if you dare “ hey how about a test of raw power to start things unless your worried I’ll hurt those toned arms of yours … so you game Georgia!” I ask as the bell rings

Georgia_Ellenwood: The bell rings. DING DING DING! I circle slowly, not taking my eyes off you for a second. Your muscles flex and ripple with every bounce like you’re carved out of granite, and yeah, there’s definitely a weight gap between us. But that’s never been something I shy away from—it’s something I lean into. I smirk as I lower my stance, eyes flashing with defiance. "You wanna test power?" I say with a chuckle, stepping closer, rolling my neck as I raise my hands, fingers wiggling in response to yours. "Alright, Beck. Let’s see if Steel bends." I step in and lock my fingers with yours—flesh and bone against raw power. Immediately, your strength surges through our locked arms, and my trainers dig into the mat to keep from being overwhelmed. My arms tremble for a second under the pressure, but I grit my teeth and lean forward, forehead almost brushing yours, breathing in a controlled manner

But then—I shift. Not backward. Not retreating.Instead, I suddenly twist my body to the left while yanking our arms with me, trying to break the symmetry and throw you slightly off-balance. If it works, I’ll plant my foot behind your ankle and trip you down hard to the canvas while still gripping your hands—turning your own momentum against you.And if I do get you down? I’ll twist my hips and roll over your chest, still holding your wrist while I swing a sharp elbow drop across your thick pecs, aiming to knock the wind out of you before you can muscle back up.But I don’t expect you to go down easy. I expect resistance. I expect pain. That’s what makes this fun.“Let’s see how long you last when Gorgeous gets gritty.”

Beck_Steel: My eyes light up when you lace your thin fingers with mine and instantly I pour on the power and see your entire body shake for a moment like I have you already and the crowd rises to their feet but then your body becomes ridgit and your forehead about touches mine and I roar like a warrior but then you shift and I remember what can happen if I fall and instead of tripping and letting you get advantage I roll forward and with all my power jerk my hands free to avoid being chopped across the chest but just barely as your knife edge chop catches me just on my side and as I stand near the ropes I brush it off “ like a little fly landing on steel is nothing!” And I approach and this time I decide to introduce you to Sledge and Hammer ! And throw a right hook towards your body on your left side and send a left uppercut to those pretty lips “ now let the fight begin girl I’m ready now !”

Georgia_Ellenwood: The moment your roar tears through the air, I feel the ring vibrate beneath us—and the crowd loves it. You explode forward, rolling and tearing our hands apart with sheer force, just barely slipping out of the trap I tried to set. My chop misses the sweet spot but catches your side, and you brush it off like it’s nothing. "Tch—Steel’s got an ego and nerve endings, huh?" I mutter under my breath, resetting my stance fast. Then you're charging back in, and this time you're throwing bombs—Sledge and Hammer, like you said.

I see the right hook coming toward my ribs, and I drop my elbow down, trying to absorb some of the blow. Still, it thuds into my side and knocks the wind half out of me, sending me staggering half a step—but it’s that left uppercut that flashes dangerously up toward my lips. I twist just in time—not clean, but enough—so your knuckles skim across my cheek instead of crushing my mouth. The heat of the strike still stings as sweat flicks off my skin. And I don’t backpedal. I step into you. My head dips low and I ram my shoulder into your chest, trying to stop your momentum cold with a shoulder tackle aimed right below your collarbone. If I can disrupt your footing, I’ll spin off your right side, trying to wrap my arm around your waist mid-turn and snap you down into a fast, tight side headlock.

Not to hold. To punish. With your head under my arm and my hips braced, I’d drive three rapid knees up into your stomach—one, two, three—relentless, each one aiming to test that steel core of yours.“Let’s see how solid you really are, Beck,” I growl through clenched teeth, breath hot against your ear. “Because I don’t break—I cut, bend, and strike back.” And I brace for the counter—I know it’s coming. You’re bigger, you’re strong… but I’ve got timing, precision, and fire.

Beck_Steel: I don’t hit the mark like I would like to, as the first punch more thuds into your block but I can tell you feel the power and I saw just a gleamed of fear when you saw my fist coming for your mouth and I know if it had connected you would be spitting blood at the least ! But you avoid it , and you catch me before I can go completely by you and force my head under your arm in a sug controlling headlock and I try to unlock your hands when the first knee drives into my rock hard abs …. Uffffffff the sound rips through the arena and then a second ………. Ufffcccccccccc oh yeah give me more… I grunt then the third slams home and I let out a cough and grit my teeth together panting “ that all you got .. that’s a good snack but I want more!” I scream my abs still burning and throbbing but I block it out and twist to where I’m more on your side again and wrap both arms around your hips even with my head still locked at your side I lift up high almost on my shoulder or at that level then drop straight back in aside suplex to break the hold and batter that fit body of yours a bit ! And if successful with the side suplex I roll to the ropes to catch my damn breath.

Georgia_Ellenwood: The first knee cracked in clean. The second one made you grunt. But the third—the third had weight behind it. I felt it sink into your core. Heard that cough—saw your body pulse with strain. And I thought maybe—just maybe—I’d broken through. But then you grinned. And then came those words: “That all you got… that’s a good snack but I want more!” My eyes widened for a beat. You’re sucking in air, but you’re still talking smack through it. That’s when I feel your arms snake tight around my hips. I try to shift my weight, but you're already turning, your strength coiling like a loaded spring—and then I’m airborne. “Ghhhaaah—!!”

You spike me down hard with that side suplex, my back thudding against the canvas, the air punched from my lungs on impact. My body jolts up slightly, abs twitching, and I curl onto my side, one arm instinctively gripping my ribs. You might’ve cracked the rhythm, and I feel it. My chest heaves once—twice—pulling in ragged air. But as you roll to the ropes, chest rising and falling, sweat starting to drip down your body from the burn of those knees, you’ll hear my voice rasp from the mat—low, stubborn, and still smirking. “You hit hard, Beck…” I say, rising slowly to one knee, hand still on my side but gaze burning into yours. “But if I’m a snack, then baby… I hope you’re hungry.”

I push off my knee and charge—not recklessly, but with calculated speed—closing the gap between you and the ropes. I throw a fake knee to your gut, hoping to draw your guard down low, then attempt to twist into a brutal spinning back elbow aimed right at your temple. I don’t need to out-power you—I just need to keep cutting through you with precision, keeping you guessing. Let’s see how much “Steel” can handle when it starts to bend.

Beck_Steel: I thought for a moment I might have broken you , the way you clutched at your body I thought for sure a rib crack but then you lead with my own line and I smile but before I can move or even attempt to go after you again your already sprinting at me and lower my guard to absorb your possible spear attempt and never see it coming as I I look up it’s too late, the point of your elbow just snaps into my temple with a thud , like a pick axe hammering into a piece of steel or cement and my head violently turns from the impact as my 205 pound body falls over the middle rope , hits the ring apron and tumbles to the floor by the ring apron with a huge thud face down …. My head ringing and everything still fuzzy from that violent hit … I try to get up but collapse the first time and try a second time but collapse again as I lay there stunned … not out but hurting as I use this time and space between us to recover … groaning as I stay face down.

Georgia_Ellenwood: That sound. The thud of my elbow cracking into your skull—it echoes in my bones even more than the arena. You didn’t see it. Didn’t brace. You just dropped, heavy and helpless, draped over the ropes like your entire body forgot how to stand. “DOWN HE GOES!” I roar, adrenaline firing through my veins as I glance out at the crowd—some shocked, some loving it—and then down at you, sprawled by the apron, all that muscle and mass twitching but not rising.

I don’t wait. I slide under the bottom rope and drop to the floor, my trainers landing with a sharp stomp beside your head. The lights glint off my sweat-soaked body—pink bra clinging to my ribs, board shorts riding low on my hips, abs tight from effort but thrumming with energy. I bend down over you, crouched with one hand on your upper back and the other brushing my hair back from my face as I speak—voice calm, mocking, but laced with grit. “You talk big, Beck…” I whisper just over your ear, close enough that you feel my breath. “But right now? You look like Steel… that’s been forged into a puddle.”

Then, with a fierce growl, I grip your arm and shoulder, hauling you to your knees. Not standing—knees. That’s all I need. I sprint to the apron—then launch. I plant a foot on the edge of the ring and leap off, twisting mid-air and aiming to drive my knee down like a guillotine across the back of your neck, trying to slam you face-first into the arena floor with all my momentum behind it. I’m not here to edge out a win—I want to send a message with every blow. And if it connects? I’ll stand over you, panting, one foot pressed lightly on your lower back, arms raised, soaking in the moment as the crowd roars. “What happened, tough guy? Still hungry?” “Or has the Gorgeous one got you choking on your own pride?”

Beck_Steel: I’m getting my senses back but I want you to believe that I’m done that I’m just some weak helpless prey that you can beat on as you please but I’m not that prey I’m not that easy toy to beat on , though that elbow smacked the shit out of me I’ve recovered enough to get back in this fight and I watch you closely from my knees my head slightly turned so I can tell when to turn when to strike when to shock everyone in the arena !

Just when they think that knee is about to hit in the back of my neck I pivot while your in the air stand as best as I can and catch the knee with both hands or more like guide it and your body to the steel steps behind as I try to throw you into it and from the sure effort I bounce back into the ring apron and drop to my knees with a thud panting …. As that took everything I had to turn your own momentum against you “ steel always holds strong, it may bend but never break “ panting sweat just dripping off my body now as I narrowly escape being nearly koed

Georgia_Ellenwood: Airborne. Locked in. I see your neck. I feel gravity pulling me in. This knee is about to make highlight reels— But then you move. At the very last second, you twist. Your body turns with sudden, desperate clarity—and you catch me. Or more like redirect me, palms barely guiding my momentum—but just enough. Instead of caving in the back of your skull, my leg whips off-course and— CRAAACK!! My entire right side smashes into the steel steps, the unforgiving edge slamming into my hip and ribs. A gasp bursts from my lips as the sound echoes like a car crash. My body bounces off them awkwardly, my limbs flailing as I collapse onto the ringside floor in a crumpled heap, clutching my side, face twisted in pain, chest heaving.

"Fff—DAMN it!" I hiss through my teeth, eyes wide with shock. You played me. Lured me in like a predator faking prey. And that pisses me off. But right now I can’t even move—my ribs are screaming, my leg is stiff, and my breath is caught halfway in my throat. I hear you behind me—your voice shaky, guttural: “Steel always holds strong... it may bend but never break…” I grit my teeth, still on the floor, dragging myself backward on my elbows, leaving a streak of sweat against the black mats. My body glistens under the arena lights, every breath looking like it costs me miles.

But even through the pain, I shoot you a crooked smile from the ground. "Yeah?" I growl, breath ragged, "Well good thing I’m not here to break you... I’m here to melt you." And despite the pain, I roll onto my stomach—crawling slowly back toward you, like a storm dragging itself across the horizon. The crowd is on fire now, chanting and stomping. They're watching two warriors, neither giving an inch. If I reach you, if you stay down just long enough—I’ll swing my arm low, trying to hook your leg and yank you back down to the floor with me. Not clean, not flashy—desperate. I’ll climb on top and just start hammering forearms at your guard. This isn’t about technique anymore. It’s a fight now. And I’m not done. Not by a long shot.

Beck_Steel: This is turning out to be just all out war ! And I’m up and see you reach for my leg and grin and just kick your arm away and hope it makes you fall face down if only a moment and in the same motion or more so with a hop I leap up so my big massive body is outstretched over you and drop my back right across yours and if successful I stay there and grab your chin in a chin lock and attempt to grab your near leg and try breaking you in half all while I lay on your back and pushing my boots into the floor to add more pressure “ you ok down there girl , , hope you like today’s stretching exercise there made just to crack your damn spine !”

Georgia_Ellenwood: War. That’s exactly what this has become.

One moment I’m crawling back toward you with fire in my veins, and the next—WHAM! You kick my reaching arm away like swatting a fly, and my chest smacks the floor with a rough thud, momentarily stunned. I barely have time to grunt before I feel your massive shadow stretch over me—and then collapse. CRUUUUUUMP! Your 205-pound frame crashes down across my back, and my entire body bucks beneath you from the sudden shock. My jaw opens in a voiceless gasp, air rocketing out of my lungs like I just got crushed by a wrecking ball. My pink sports bra clings tighter now, soaked with sweat as my chest presses against the floor.

Then it gets worse. Your arms snake in—chin lock, yanking my head back sharply, and then your arm dives for my leg, yanking it upward while you drive your boots into the canvas and push with all your might. My spine curves in agony, bent over itself like a twisted bow as you stretch me with raw, merciless leverage. “AAAAAAUGHHH!!” I scream through gritted teeth, my nails clawing at the mat, hips thrashing, shoulders straining against your weight. My body shines under the lights—muscles tight, every fiber resisting being torn in half.

“You ok down there, girl? Hope you like today’s stretching exercise—made just to crack your damn spine!” Your taunt burns just as much as the hold. But I’m not done. Even through the pain, I twist my free arm underneath me and slam my elbow backward—once, twice, three times—trying to spike it into your ribs or hip, anything I can reach. Each shot is thrown with desperate energy, not to knock you off—just to loosen your grip. And if one lands well enough, if I feel your hold shift even a bit—I’ll plant my free leg and bridge hard, trying to turn onto my side and roll us just enough to escape the lock and maybe even drag both of us out under the bottom rope in a heap of tangled limbs and sweat.

“You wanna bend me?! Then you better finish the job, Beck!” I snarl through the agony. “Because if you don’t—I’m coming for your neck next.” And the crowd? They know now. This isn’t a match. It’s a fight to survive.

Beck_Steel: I’m trying to literally break you in half and I pull on your chin and your leg and push on the mat maybe a little too much and the first elbow show slams home then the second and third but no one knows what’s wrong when the big guy suddenly lets go of the chin and the leg and slides off you gasping for air ….. and grabs at his back as it appears the pointed elbow strikes hit their more and maybe not hard but it maybe jarred my kidneys as I grab at my back and side area and crawl away from the ring …. My back now killing me from those pointed jolts to my kidney area …. F……. B……. I mumble as it seems Georgia has done some real damage

Georgia_Ellenwood: The second I feel your massive frame slide off me, my body drops flat against the floor like a soaked rag—every muscle still screaming, but a flicker of relief shoots through my spine. I suck in ragged breaths, sweat pouring down my face, chest rising and falling as I look over my shoulder and see you crawling away—grabbing at your back, your side, your ribs. That pained, half-whispered grunt from you says everything. “Gotcha,” I mutter under my breath, voice hoarse but fierce. “Big man’s got a soft spot after all.”

I grit my teeth and force myself to my feet, staggering like a storm survivor, one hand still clutching my lower back. But now I’m fueled. There’s blood in the water—and I am not letting this moment go. You're almost at the barricade when I lurch forward, closing the gap between us, and grab the back of your waistband with one hand and your shoulder with the other. "Where you going, Beck?" I growl, dragging you back with everything I’ve got. "You wanted war—so no breaks!" With a grunt, I swing my body sideways and try to whip you HARD into the steel steps, but this time—your lower back first. If you hit, it’s all sharp metal against that freshly jarred kidney zone.

And if I see you slump even partially over the steps? I step back, take a running start, and plant a boot against your back—a savage dropkick into the steel to drive the point home. Not elegant. Not polished. But devastating. If I connect, I’ll collapse to one knee nearby, catching my breath, eyes locked on you as I pant: “Steel bends. And if I can’t break you, Beck…” “I’ll dent you so deep they’ll see it every time you take a breath.” The crowd's roars turn feral now—half in awe, half in disbelief. Two bodies on the edge, both damaged, both digging into something deeper than muscle. The match is no longer about winning... It’s about proving who can’t be broken.

Beck_Steel: This match is getting crazy and I can’t get away fast enough to heal even a little bit and I’m grabbed and used like a toy sling shot and launched brutally into the steel steps as I’m laying on my hurt side and the steel drags a cut across my side and back not too deep but deep enough for blood to start covering the steps and floor as my battered body dangles over the edge like I’m a see saw and then I’m drop kicked into the steel post and steps and drop in a bloody heap behind the steps …. No longer trashing talking but trying to survive as some how I sit up growling grabbing the ring apron trying to stand to the surprise of the fans and you the most , “ steel can’t be broken!”

Georgia_Ellenwood: The sound of flesh slamming steel is sickening. Your body bounces off the steps, hits the post, and drops behind them like a lifeless sack—and for a moment? I think it’s over. Then I see the blood. Your blood. Smearing the steps. Soaking the floor. Painting the steel like the battlefield this match has become. And yet—somehow—you rise. Dragging yourself up by the ring apron, your hand leaving a streak of red across the canvas skirt. Your body trembling.

But your voice still cuts through the chaos: “Steel can’t be broken!” I stare at you—wide-eyed, panting, chest heaving under my pink sports bra, sweat running down every carved inch of my stomach and legs. My own ribs scream with every breath. But seeing you rise, bloodied and gasping, only makes my jaw tighten and my resolve ignite. “Then maybe it’s time we see what’s under all that steel.” “Time to peel it back, Beck.” I stagger to the edge of the ring—glancing over the environment like a soldier looking for the next weapon—and I drop to my knees near the barricade. My fingers grab the black mats covering the concrete floor and start to rip them back, revealing the hard, cold surface underneath. The crowd erupts into a frenzy—some chanting my name, some calling for mercy.

But there’s no mercy in this fight. With the concrete exposed, I march over to you, grab you by the jaw and hair, and force you to look at me—face-to-face, pain to pain, heart to heart. “Let’s see if Steel can bounce off this.” I try to hook your arms behind you, fighting against your bulk, and attempt to hoist you into a dragon suplex—aimed right at that bare concrete. The angle’s tight, the risk high, but if I can get you up and over, it’s a savage way to cripple your momentum. And if it lands? I’ll crawl beside you, both of us heaving for breath, both bleeding, both shaking— And whisper, "I told you. I'm not here to break you..." "...I’m here to end you... I know you plan on the same to me..." This isn’t a wrestling match anymore. It’s a goddamn war zone.

Beck_Steel: This match is so entense so dangerous so life changing now , what more can injure during this match , well let’s find out, those precious seconds or minutes it takes you to expose the concrete gives me time to catch my breath and even gain a little energy and just as you try to lift me up and I’m almost up when I kick my feet and start hammering punches into your thighs to make you sit me back down and once my feet hit the floor on instinct alone I wrap my right arm around your neck and drop back into a brutal ddt head first on the concrete but the back of my head hits the floor too as I groan out in pain and just lay there in a puddly of blood that oozes from my head your head and my back , as the crowd screams “ we want more we want more

 

Georgia_Ellenwood: The moment my hands lock around your arms, lifting you, I think this is it—the suplex that ends your reign of defiance. But then— Boom. Boom. BOOM. Your fists pound into my thighs, over and over—pistons of desperation—and my knees buckle. My hold weakens. I can’t keep your bulk upright. And then—before I can even recover—WHIPLASH. Your arm snaps around my neck, and with the last of your rage-fueled strength, you drop back hard, dragging me down with you. CRRAAAAAACK!!

My skull spikes into the exposed concrete, sickeningly raw, the sound sharper than anything so far. The pain isn’t just physical—it’s like my soul flickers out for a second. My body jolts, then slumps across yours, twitching as blood starts to pour from a nasty gash just above my eyebrow, staining my face and chest in crimson streaks. But then—you’re not moving either. Your head slammed just as hard. The back of your skull bounced off that concrete and now we’re both motionless, tangled in each other’s limbs, blood pooling beneath us. The canvas? Forgotten. The rules? Long gone. And the crowd?

"WE WANT MORE! WE WANT MORE!" The chant is deafening, wild. They're not watching a match anymore. They're witnessing a battle carved in pain, where pride is measured in bruises and survival is a choice. I twitch. My fingers curl slightly. My chest lifts, trembles—I’m still here. One eye opens, blood dripping into it. I look over at you, just a few inches away, both of us wrecked, ruined, and somehow still alive. I whisper, barely audible, “You still breathing, Beck?” “Good… I’m not done until you stop moving…” And with my body barely cooperating, I try to roll an arm across your chest, not for a pin—no ref would count this mess—but to get on top of you, to mount again, to continue the assault, even if I’m seeing double and choking on my own blood. This isn’t about winning anymore. It’s about who can outlast the storm.

Beck_Steel: I’ve taken more over all damage and lost more blood but somehow I wake as your arm smacks my chest as you climb on top of me I let out a growl of defiance and try with all I have to push you off me with my right hand pushing on your ribs and my feet plant and I buck wildly as I scream a guttural roar “ NO” and sit up , revealing the cut on the back of my head and my side and try to get back to my feet but I have to crawl to the steel steps and it’s painful and slow as my kidney area is still so freaking tender the smallest move hurts

“I'm putting you through the announcer table if its the last thing i ever do ….. i swear it!” I say spitting blood

Georgia_Ellenwood: Your roar sends a shockwave through the floor between us. I’m barely draped across you, more instinct than offense, and then you explode beneath me like a furnace catching fire. “NO!!” Your bloodied hand slams into my ribs, and your legs buck me off with a desperation that’s not just survival—it’s vengeance. I hit the floor beside you with a grunt, sliding on sweat-slick concrete, coughing as pain jolts through my back. I roll to my side just in time to see you dragging yourself, slow and agonizing, toward the steel steps. Your body is torn up. The cut along your side still bleeding, the back of your head leaving crimson fingerprints on every surface you crawl over.

And then I hear you—spitting blood through your teeth. “I’m putting you through the announcer table if it’s the last thing I ever do… I swear it!” The crowd loses their minds. They feel the stakes now. This is past ego. Past pain. This is legacy—a line drawn in blood and concrete. I groan, dragging myself to the barricade, using it to haul my battered frame up to one knee. My pink sports bra is soaked through, black board shorts stained from the war we’ve waged, but I still grin through the blood caked at the corner of my mouth. “You’ll need a miracle, Beck…” I rasp, swaying on my knees. “Because the only way I go through that table— —is if I’m taking your spine with me.”

I push off the barricade and charge you, nothing flashy—just raw momentum and grit. No weapons allowed, nothing to swing, so I just lower my shoulder and throw my whole weight toward your ribs, trying to spear you back into the ring apron before you can reach the table. If it lands, I’ll grab a fistful of your trunks and try to hoist you up just enough to shove you back-first onto the edge of the apron—the same spot where those kidneys are still screaming—and if I see your face contort in pain? I’ll lean in close, forehead pressed against yours, our blood mixing as I whisper: “You’re not the only one who swore something tonight.” “I swore I’d walk away from this… and I’m keeping that promise even if it means dragging you down with me.” No weapons. No rules broken. Just two wrecked warriors, bodies failing, hearts roaring louder than the crowd. And we’re not done yet.

Beck_Steel: It’s taking to much of what little energy and strength I have to even reach the steps , let alone to sit there with my back against the ring apron but just as I lean back my abs are completely mangled and back makes a brutal cracking sound as you nearly impale me into the ring apron and I crumble a battered mess just moaning softly then my 205 lb body is stood back up and my hurt spine lays against it ….. my limbs dangle lifeless although I’m conscious just in so much pain I can’t even make a sound

No more little smart remarks no more bragging or intent on what I want to do just pained groans and moans nothing more

Georgia_Ellenwood: That sound— The sound your back makes when I ram you into the edge of the apron—that sick, brittle crack—it makes the entire front row wince. Your massive frame crumbles, your limbs limp, your mouth open but silent—a silence louder than any scream. And for the first time tonight, there’s no bravado, no retort. Just moans—raw, human, broken. I stagger back, clutching my ribs, my chest heaving, my mouth open as I drink in the stunned silence before the crowd begins to stir again. Their noise swells behind me like a wave—some cheering, some screaming, but all of them locked in this moment.

Georgia_Ellenwood: I grab your wrist. One. Step. Two. Step. You’re almost dead weight—but I drag you. I drag your blood-slicked, sweat-soaked body around the corner of the ring, toward the announcer’s table, step by step, my legs trembling under me. The cut over my eye is still leaking, mixing with the sweat running down my neck, streaking across my pink sports bra and soaking into my waistband. I reach the table and with the last surge of strength I’ve got in the tank, I slam my forearm down—sweeping the monitors, the headsets, everything off it with a single brutal motion. The crowd explodes, knowing something massive is coming.

Then I grunt and heave—trying to roll your 205-pound frame up onto the table. Your body flops onto it, back arched slightly, arms dangling off the sides. You’re alive. Barely. But I can feel your ribs still moving. I stagger back and drop to my knees, staring up at the lights. One breath. Two. Three. Then I look to the ring. I could go to the top rope. I could climb and throw everything into one final act of madness. A moonsault from the top, right onto your bloodied, broken frame. Or I could taunt. Let the crowd eat this up. Let them chant my name—“GEORGIA! GEORGIA!” Let them feel it coming. Let them need it. I slowly raise my arms above my head, fists clenched, blood running down my arms.

Then I turn toward the table and look out at the crowd, eyes wild, sweat dripping off every inch of me. “What do you want, huh?!” I scream, hoarse and fierce. “DO YOU WANT ME TO END HIM?!?” The crowd roars. I glance at the ring, my legs barely steady. Climb… or punish. So close to the end... for both of us. I look back down at you on the table, your chest barely rising. “Let’s make history, Beck,” I whisper, backing toward the apron… …and grabbing the middle rope. Because if I go up, I’m not coming down soft.

Beck_Steel: This war is so close to conclusion and I can’t hardly move , let alone breathe ! My back feels like it’s cracks or just badly bruised , many broken ribs and a bruised kidney and possibly lasirated as I try to move but I can’t even lift my head as I’ve lost too much blood and hear you taunt me and the crowd but now I’m just your toy and can only stare up at the lights completely helpless and broken as I lay there tormented by you!

Georgia_Ellenwood: I hear nothing but the roar of the crowd. The chaos fades. It’s just me… the lights… and you. Laid out on the announce table, body unmoving, eyes glazed but open—watching. Watching but not reacting. Your blood’s staining the wood beneath you, chest barely rising, ribs mangled and purple. You’re broken. Bent. Every part of you screams to stay down. But I know better. I’ve fought warriors before. And warriors don’t die easy. Still, this is it.

I step through the ropes, pulling myself up slowly—aching—my ribs burning with every pull. My foot finds the second rope, then the top rope. I stand tall, arms outstretched, chest exposed to the sky, the lights gleaming off my soaked pink sports bra, body trembling but defiant. The crowd is deafening now. “GEORGIA! GEORGIA! GEORGIA!” I look down at you. Still not moving. Still staring up at me. “This is it, Beck…” I whisper to myself. Then I leap— A graceful, aching spiral—moonsault. My body twists through the air in a perfect arc. The pain in my back and ribs vanishes in the adrenaline. I fly. Will I crash land, or crash and burn?

Beck_Steel: You fly through the sky like an eagle twisting around to slam down on its prey with its talons but this isn’t a bird it’s the Gorgeous Georgia Ellenwood! And you smash so hard right across my chest and AB’s and completely flatten me , knocking all the air out of me and on impact knocking me completely out and causing the table to explode and collapse as my battered body hits the floor and broken table … splatters of blood kick up and drop as the crowd looks on at the complete carnage ! And one wrestler completely destroyed the other who only knows

Georgia_Ellenwood: BOOOOOOM!!! The table shatters beneath us. My back slams down across your chest and abs like a wrecking ball, air detonating from your lungs as the wood explodes beneath us both in a cloud of splinters, blood, and disbelief. Your body folds in on itself, twitching once—then goes completely still. The sound is horrifying. The crowd’s scream turns to stunned silence for a moment—then erupts. “HOLY SHT! HOLY SHT!” I roll off you, body barely functioning, my lungs refusing to pull enough air, my side slick with both our blood. My mouth hangs open as I stare up at the rafters, chest rising in short bursts, vision blurring from blood leaking into my eye.

Every inch of me is on fire. My ribs scream. My hip feels like it’s detached. My leg twitches uselessly. But you’re not moving. I have to finish this. I grit my teeth—"MOVE!"—my voice cracks, half-sob, half-war cry. I crawl, dragging my battered body inch by inch, until my trembling hands grip your wrist. My arms are jelly, but I plant my heels on the arena floor, lean back with every last shred of fight, and start dragging your broken 205-pound body toward the ring. Inches. Feet. Agony. The ring apron feels like it’s a mile away, but I get us there. I scream again, not in fear, not in pain—in defiance. With every ounce of rage, I roll you under the bottom rope and follow, collapsing on top of you with my chest across yours. I reach down—hook your leg, barely. The ref slides into place. The count begins.

“ONE…!” My body heaves with every breath.

“TWO…!” The crowd is on their feet, screaming, leaning forward, ready for the moment....

Beck_Steel: My body finally breaks from the brutal impact and even though my name and all is steel it turns out I’m not made out of it, I’m just flesh and bone which will break! And now I’m rolled into the ring I think …. I’m not even sure now as you lay across me and lift my leg… I can feel it but I just can’t move and finally the refs hand slaps the mat 3 but I never move stilll out cold and the ref calls for the bell

Georgia_Ellenwood: “THREE!!!” DING DING DING!!!

The sound of the bell cuts through the chaos like lightning in a storm—and the crowd erupts, their voices crashing over the arena in a wave of disbelief, adrenaline, and awe. It’s over. My body slumps across yours, the leg still hooked, my chest rising in shallow, exhausted gasps. The ref raises my arm—but I can’t even feel it. I can barely see. My face is a crimson mask, my ribs feel shattered, and every muscle in my body is screaming for mercy. I stay there, just… lying on you. Breathing. Listening to the silence from your side. You’re still. Beck Steel—the man who said he couldn’t be broken, who bled, roared, and fought like a monster—has been left in a silent heap beneath me. Unmoving. Unconscious. Flesh and bone.

I won. But there’s no celebration. No raised arms or victory poses. Not yet. I crawl off you, barely able to lift myself. My body shakes as I kneel next to your side, eyes scanning your chest for movement. Still breathing. Still there. I look around the ring—at the blood, the wreckage, the splintered table outside. At the fans, some with their hands over their mouths, some chanting my name, some just standing in stunned silence. “I told you, Beck…” I whisper, barely audible even to myself. “…I don’t break you. I melt you.” And I slump back onto the mat, next to you, two broken warriors laid out side by side—one just conscious enough to remember how it ended.