Universal Wrestling Federation

 

Ace_Gacumo: The arena is buzzing like a storm of electricity, nearly every seat filled with rabid fans ready for chaos. The massive LED titantron flashes "FALLS COUNT ANYWHERE" in bold, glitching letters, and each flash casts eerie pulses of light over the crowd. The steel barricades around the ring are being leaned on by fans in merch— each of them cheering, chanting, anticipating for the carnage that would come ahead... The commentary team hypes the moment as camera pans across the sea of noise... “Ladies and gentlemen, this one is not for the faint of heart. Falls Count Anywhere—no disqualifications, no count-outs. These two can brawl in the ring, in the hallways, in the concession stands if they want!” “And let’s not forget who we’re talking about—Ace Gacumo. A technician and street brawler in one. And Leila Collins? She's young, fearless, and just crazy enough to drag this fight through hell.” A subtle bass-heavy theme plays in the background to build suspense as the titantron suddenly cuts to backstage… mtc

Ace_Gacumo: The camera transitions to a wide-angle shot of Ace Gacumo’s private locker room—spartan and dim, lit only by a single fluorescent panel overhead. The hum of the bulb blends with the muffled crowd roars outside.Ace stands in front of a mirror mounted above a steel sink, tilting his neck side to side with slow precision, letting each vertebrae crack like a knuckle. He’s dressed in his signature gear: green and black boxers, tight enough to show the coiled strength of his legs. Ankle straps are firmly secured for agility and shock absorption. His forearms flex as he tightens the Velcro of his sleek black fingerless gloves. Drops of water still cling to his chest and collarbone—he’s been warming up hard.He grabs a cold bottle of water from the mini fridge, cracks it open, and takes a slow sip. The camera lingers as he leans forward, resting his palms on the edge of the sink, staring at his reflection—focused, unreadable.He pops his neck again and starts shadowboxing—short, sharp jabs with tight footwork, then pivots into a back elbow that cuts the air. He’s already in the zone. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. A backstage agent peeks in. “Five minutes, Ace. Leila's going first, and then you’re up next.” Ace doesn’t look back. He sets the water down, wipes his face with the green towel, and rolls his shoulders. “Perfect. Let’s show her what a real fight looks like.” He walks past the camera and out of frame, leaving only the sound of his boots thudding against the concrete hallway as he heads toward the chaos waiting in the ring.

Leila_Collins: Backstage, just outside Gorilla Position—the camera feed cuts to a dimly lit hallway, lit with flickering overhead lights that hum like a warning siren. The sound of rapid footsteps echoes. A heavy CLANG as a steel chair slams against a crate in the background. The camera pans hard to the left—Leila Collins stands there. Drenched in sweat already, her gray sweatpants ride low on her hips, taped fists clenched tight. Her white sports bra is streaked with chalk and water, her toned frame rising and falling with each measured breath. The black sleeveless top covering the sports bra isn't doing the best job of hiding what's underneath... but that might be by design. Her hair’s untied with rogue strands cling to her flushed face like battle scars. She’s been warming up with reckless abandon.Her eyes—laser focused. There's no nervous energy. Just fire.She steps toward the camera with a smirk carved into her face like it was born there. 

Leila_Collins: "Ace Gacumo..." she begins, her voice calm, but crackling with tension like an exposed wire, "You wanna show me what a real fight looks like? Babe, I live in chaos. I train in it. I bleed in it. So when that bell rings and Falls Count Anywhere becomes more than just words on a screen, I’m not gonna be fighting in your world—you’re stepping into mine." Leila paces slowly, the camera tracking her. Her trainers thud heavily against the floor. Every word cuts with purpose. “You’ve got the gloves, the footwork, the discipline… cute. But let me ask you this—what happens when technique meets raw defiance? When footwork gets outpaced by someone who doesn’t give a damn about rhythm—just impact. Just pain. Just me.” She stops at the curtain. One hand on the steel beam. Her body vibrating with coiled energy. “I’m not afraid of you, Ace. I’m not afraid of your little locker room rituals, or your mirror-staring monologues. I didn’t come here to survive you. I came here to dismantle you—piece by piece, in every hallway, every stairwell, every corner of this goddamn arena if I have to. And when it’s over, they won’t remember your water bottle routine or your shadowboxing elbow...”

Leila_Collins: She leans in close to the camera—jaw tense, pupils wild with adrenaline. “They’ll remember the girl in sweatpants who knocked your soul out of your body and pinned you where your ego died.” The beat drops.Leila turns, throws her arms out wide, and steps through the curtain as the arena lights explode into her entrance. The crowd erupts, the titantron blares her name, and the chaos she promised begins to take shape.

Leila_Collins:

Ace_Gacumo: Leila’s theme music begins to play,  'Money in my Pocket' seemed a vibrant song, but I'm not here to vibe... As the lights pulsing to the beat as the crowd rises in anticipation, she steps onto the stage with her signature confidence, tossing a fist into the air, feeding off the electric energy of the arena… "And here she comes! Leila, battle-tested and ready for war tonight!... This is the one we've all been waiting for, Tony. The tension’s been simmering for weeks. You can feel it—" But then—CRASH!! A sickening thud echoes from backstage. The crowd gasps as a monitor on the stage suddenly flickers to black. The camera frantically cuts to the ramp… "Wait a minute—what the hell was that?! That sounded like something—or someone—just got wrecked backstage!" mtc

Ace_Gacumo: Suddenly, the curtain at the gorilla position violently parts— NONE OTHER BUT ME. No music. No lights. No warning. Just pure fury in motion. My fists clenched, my eyes locked like a predator who’s already decided how this night ends. This wasn’t about a match. This was about sending a message. "You said this would be one of the most vicious encounters you’ve ever seen.. But even you didn’t expect the monster in me to rip the leash this early.No bell. No introductions. Just pain."  I break into a full sprint, boots pounding steel, closing the distance in seconds. The crowd is still processing what’s happening when—BOOM! A brutal, emphatic SPEAR guts Leila in mid-step. With me trying to fold her around my shoulder, the air sucked from her lungs as I try to drive her down hard onto the metal ramp with every ounce of speed and rage I can muster. The entire ramp reverberates with the impact. I yelled at your face... "EXPECT A ROUGH NIGHT, LEILA!!!" 

Leila_Collins: Leila's body whiplashed off the steel ramp like a ragdoll hurled by a hurricane. The spear landed with bone-rattling finality—Ace’s shoulder crushing into her midsection, driving her down with ruthless velocity. The sound of her back slamming into metal echoed through the arena like a gunshot, and the crowd let out a collective gasp that bordered on horror. She wasn't moving. Not right away. https://images.app.goo.gl/PEyCo

Leila_Collins: Her fists twitched. Her chest heaved. She stared up at the lights—not dazed, not broken—but calculating. Her ribs felt like they were splintering. Her spine burned like it had been set on fire. But even through the pain, her eyes found his.Ace leaned down, screaming in her face. “EXPECT A ROUGH NIGHT, LEILA!” And then—she smiled.Blood smeared across her teeth as her lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl.“Good,” she hissed through clenched teeth.Before he could blink, her legs coiled around his waist like a snake. A trap, sprung from the jaws of hell. She wrenched his arm in, twisted her hips, and suddenly Ace was caught in a TRIANGLE CHOKE right there on the steel ramp. The crowd erupted as the tables turned in an instant. Leila wasn’t just surviving. She was dragging him into the chaos with her.Even as her back screamed and her lungs begged for air, she tightened the hold, refusing to die quietly.This wasn't just a match anymore.This was war.

Ace_Gacumo: The announcer bellowed, "OH MY GOD! WHAT THE HELL! SPEAR! A DAMN SPEAR ON THE RAMP! She never even made it to the ring! This is barbaric—Leila’s clutching her ribs—SOMEONE GET CONTROL OUT HERE!" Leila is laid out on the steel ramp, gasping, her ribs heaving from the spear—but she’s not out. Not even close. I stalk toward her like a wolf circling a wounded deer, every step slow and deliberate. The crowd’s still reeling, unsure whether to boo or just brace for what’s next. I grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her halfway to her feet—WHAM! Out of nowhere, Leila swings her legs up and around my neck, twisting her body down into a sudden triangle choke "WHAT THE HELL?! TRIANGLE CHOKE! SHE'S GOT HER LOCKED IN RIGHT THERE ON THE RAMP!" mtc

Ace_Gacumo: The steel ramp digs into my knees as I drop down, the sudden tightness wrapping around my neck like a vice. Her thigh crushes my windpipe, one arm yanked through the lock while she cinches her shin behind her own knee. My eyes widen. The pressure’s instant. The pain—burning. My hands claw at her legs, trying to pry them apart. No use. She’s got it in deep. My vision blurs around the edges. The oxygen’s disappearing little by little, I gritted my teeth, seething... "Rrrgghhh—damn it … damn this fucking witch"  My pulse pounds in my ears. I stagger to one knee, trying to posture up, trying to breathe. But Leila arches her hips higher, pulling me down, grinding that choke even deeper. The crowd is on their feet now—shock turning to wild cheers. Leila’s survival instinct has flipped the script in seconds. "This is the toughness we keep talking about—Leila is refusing to be a victim!" But then— mtc

Ace_Gacumo: My eyes snap open. The pain doesn’t fade— I embrace it. "You wanna trap me, bitch? You better be ready to pay for it!"  With a sudden roar, I stand up. Muscles straining. Her body still wrapped around my neck, but I power through the choke, lifting her clear off the ground. Añd then I turn—And then I run. Full speed. Steel meeting flesh—CRASH!! I slam Leila spine-first into the LED edge of the ramp with a VIOLENT SPINEBUSTER, maybe it'll break the hold instantly.

Leila_Collins: CRASH!! The arena lit up in a cascade of sparks as Leila’s spine collided with the LED edge of the ramp, the brutal spinebuster landing with such force that the panel beneath her cracked under the impact. The jolt ran through her entire body—legs kicking up before falling limp, her mouth wide open in a silent scream as pain ricocheted through her ribs, back, and neck. Blood began trickling over the back of the arms of Leila, them looking more toned with the twitching caused by the literal shock Ace has provided, her face glimmering with hints of blood and sweat...

Leila_Collins: The crowd gasped—then roared.She lay motionless for a moment, one hand twitching, the other clutching at her side where the original spear had already done its damage. Her chest rose and fell in stuttering breaths. Her eyes fluttered open—not glazed over, not defeated, but locked in a stare of white-hot fury. “SHE’S STILL ALIVE AFTER THAT?!” the commentator shouted, a tremor in his voice. “SHE’S TAKEN A SPEAR, A SPINEBUSTER INTO THE RAMP—AND LOOK AT HER! SHE’S STILL TRYING TO MOVE!”

Leila_Collins: Leila’s fingers curled into the steel beneath her. She rolled slowly, teeth bared as she pushed up to her elbows. The agony was painted across her face, muscles spasming in protest, but her expression was defiant. Her breath came in shallow rasps, but she spat blood to the side and grinned.And then—she moved with purpose.In a sudden burst of motion, she rolled off the ramp and dropped down to the floor with a heavy thud, crawling beneath the edge of the ring skirt. Her movements were jagged, every motion a struggle—but there was intent behind them. The camera caught her face again as she emerged, clutching a steel chain in both hands. “Oh no—OH NO,” one of the commentators cried, “She’s found hardware! This is a no disqualification match, and Leila Collins is about to even the odds!”

Leila_Collins: Still on one knee, body trembling, she wrapped that chain around her right fist—once, twice, three times. Blood still smeared across her jaw. Sweat and fury in her eyes. Her body was failing her, but her mind? Sharp. Precise. Creative. She stood slowly, swaying, the chain clicking ominously as it tightened against her skin. The moment her opponent turned to locate her... Leila launched her chain-wrapped fist like a missile, driving it straight with the brutal intention of clipping the jaw with a DEVASTATING HOOK!!!

Ace_Gacumo: Her body bounces off the unforgiving surface like a ragdoll, the submission shattered in an instant by brute force. "GOOD LORD ALMIGHTY! SPINEBUSTER INTO THE RAMP! HE BROKE THE TRIANGLE BY DAMN NEAR SNAPPING LEILA IN HALF! Leila's body folded like an accordion—she might be out cold!" I drop to one knee beside her after the devastating spinebuster, my breath ragged, hand instinctively rubbing my neck where the triangle choke nearly cut off the lights. Sweat beads down my face as I glare at her—still writhing in pain on the ramp, one arm clutching her back. I slowly rise to my feet, exhaling hard as I crack my neck to the side and stare down at her hands—those hands that dared to choke me out. But I’m still standing. Breathing. Alive. And more dangerous than ever. And I decide, right then, they’ve got to pay. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: Leila didn't wait for her cue to lay down the ramp like some glamorous warrior. No. She slid down with urgency in her eyes—and chains in her hands. They clinked and coiled like serpents around her fingers, gleaming under the arena lights. But just as she raised the chains, I surprised her from under the ramp, having watched her crawl out from ramp—bam!—crashing into her with a brutal elbow from above that shook the steel ramp. The chains almost fell, barely hanging on from Leila's hands... I leaned down close to her, taunting, "You really thought you had me? That little choke was cute, Leila... But now I’m gonna grind every nerve on those arms until you forget how to hold a fork." Now I had to haul her up by the roots of her hair, dragging her along the steel ramp like a ragdoll, intending to punish her more. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: But Leila wasn't glass-jawed. Just as I leaned into her, pressing her spine against the barricade, she let out a defiant growl and began throwing rapid-fire punches to my abs—each one echoing with a meaty thud. "Those shots are landing! She’s pounding his core—those chained fists are bouncing off granite, but she's trying to find a crack!" One, two, three hard shots—then a fourth that slipped just under the ribs. My body jerked back slightly. My grip loosened. I would pulled myself forward and clocked her with SOME STRIKES TO HER JAW, trying to stun her, before I'm forced to stagger back into the rails myself, those chains hurt too... The crowd popped loud. A flicker of rebellion. A woman refusing to go down like the last victim. I wiped my lip, smirking—finally feeling the sting. Finally seeing the fight she'd brought to my doorstep. "Alright then… Let’s bleed for it.",  holding Leila's head before I mesh hers with the rails, FACE SMASH ON THE RAILS...

Leila_Collins: CRACK! Leila’s skull ricocheted off the barricade with a sickening clang, her hair snapping forward like a whip as the back of her head met cold steel. Her body slumped forward for a moment—knees wobbling, vision flashing white—but she didn’t fall. “OH MY GOD! HEADFIRST INTO THE RAILS! HOW MUCH MORE CAN SHE TAKE?!” the commentator screamed, the crowd on the verge of chaos. “BUT LEILA—LEILA’S STILL UPRIGHT!”

Leila_Collins: Barely. Her chest rose and fell in shudders. A smear of blood traced a lazy line down her cheek. One eye fluttered half-closed. The other locked onto Ace with fire. A different kind of fire now—not the cocky kind, not the fearless kind... the kind that knew she was dancing on the edge of unconsciousness and refused to let it take her.She let her body hang for a second, like dead weight against the rails.Then she moved. With violence.

Leila_Collins: Her head snapped up and slammed forward, smashing into her opponent’s nose with a BRUTAL HEADBUTT that drew another gasp from the crowd. "SHE’S NOT DONE YET!" Ace reeled back, momentarily stunned—And that’s when Leila struck.She lunged forward with everything she had, using the barricade for momentum. Her chain-wrapped fist arced upward in a SAVAGE UPPERCUT that connected flush with his chin. The crowd exploded as his head snapped back and he stumbled into the guardrail. CLANG. Then came the creativity.

Leila_Collins: Leila spun, wrapped part of the chain around his wrist, and yanked him forward. He tried to resist—but she leapt onto the barricade like a gymnast, boots balanced on steel, chain still in hand—And launched. In one fluid motion, she hit a DIVING KNEE, the chain whipping around with her for extra torque, driving the strike square into his chest. The impact was devastating—both bodies tumbling into the crowd area, chairs scattering, fans screaming. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! DIVING KNEE FROM THE BARRICADE WITH THAT CHAIN—SHE’S FIGHTING LIKE A DAMN STREET SOLDIER!”  They both hit hard. Leila landed on her side, shoulder buckling beneath her, teeth gritted in anguish—but she dragged herself up anyway. She didn’t give herself time to breathe. She crawled toward a fallen chair, grabbed it, stood on shaky legs—And raised it high over her head.No words. No smirk. Just war.

Ace_Gacumo: I grind her forehead against the cold metal railing. Slowly. Deliberately. Like a predator carving a warning into its kill. "Oh my god—she’s scraping her face across the steel! This is sadistic! This isn't about the match anymore—this is about humiliation. Destruction." Blood starts to appear—thin at first, then streaking—just as I slam her head once, twice, THREE HEAD SLAMS into the barricade. The arena is in a frenzy, equal parts horror and awe. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: BUT THEN- WHAM!!! Leila stunned me with a vicious headbutt—sharp, sudden, and jarring. My vision flickered for a second, but I refused to drop. I clenched my jaw, blood roaring in my ears, and fired one right back. Our foreheads cracked together like thunder. She reeled, gritting her teeth, her eyes wild with fury—but there was no retreat in her. Before I could steady myself, she leapt over the barricade like a woman possessed, chains swinging from her wrists, clinking with menace. Then—CRACK!—an uppercut from hell, steel-linked fists exploding into my chin. The force lifted me just enough to knock the air from my lungs, and we crashed to the concrete floor together, the world narrowing into a blur of pain and adrenaline. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: I groaned, clutching her chains, trying to control her momentum as we writhed on the floor like wounded animals. My ribs ached from the impact, and her weight pressed against me, both of us struggling to rise, to breathe, to win. Her face was a storm of pain and rage—sweat streaked her hair, blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. She hissed through clenched teeth, yanked herself free, and snatched up a nearby folding chair with a silent rage that tore from her throat like it had claws. CRACK! The steel dented against my back, a white-hot flash of agony shooting down my spine. I roared in anguish, my fists tightening around her chains. My knees buckled, but I stayed upright. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: She raised the chair again, screaming, teeth bared like a feral beast. NO, NO, NOPE... I yanked her chains toward me with every ounce of fury in my soul, dragging her in like a caught animal—and when she was close enough— BOOM! I went to blast her with a SICKENING LARIAT that shook the floor. Maybe she'll flipped midair, with the chair flying from her hands as she hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Leila_Collins: BOOM!! The lariat tore through her like a wrecking ball, her body flipping sideways in the air, the folding chair flying out of her hands and clattering somewhere into the seats. Leila Collins hit the concrete spine-first, her limbs splaying out on impact. The sound of her crash echoed off the walls like the crack of a bat on bone.The crowd stood in stunned silence for a beat, then erupted in sheer disbelief. "SWEET MOTHER OF GOD—A LARIAT THAT DAMN NEAR DECAPITATED HER! SHE FLEW THROUGH THE AIR LIKE A HUMAN PROJECTILE!" Leila’s body didn’t move right away. Blood pooled from her scalp, painting streaks down her forehead from the earlier grinding against the barricade. Her chest heaved in shallow, erratic pulses. One leg twitched. The fight was still in her—it always was—but now it was trapped under a mountain of pain. And yet... 

Leila_Collins: Her fingers curled. Slow. Trembling. Clawing at the concrete.Not for escape. For position. The crowd near her surged, parting just in time as Leila rolled onto her side and tumbled down the stairs between sections—thud, thud, thud, her body bumping off the concrete steps until she hit the landing below, shoulder-first. The pain wracked through her frame, but there was no quit in her. “LEILA COLLINS JUST TOOK THAT LARIAT AND THREW HERSELF DEEPER INTO THE CROWD—THIS WOMAN IS OUT OF HER DAMN MIND!”  Blood streaked her face, her eyes glassy but wide. Somewhere beneath the pain, the haze, the concrete burn—was a plan.

Leila_Collins: Her hand slapped against an abandoned tray of concession food. A half-eaten chili dog. A metal napkin dispenser. A plastic bucket of soda. She pushed herself upright, holding onto a seat for balance, and grabbed the entire tray. CRASH! Right into her opponent’s head as he charged down the steps after her. Nachos and plastic exploded through the air like shrapnel.He stumbled. Just long enough. That’s when Leila moved. She leapt off the third step and wrapped her arm around his neck, yanking his head down as she tucked—and drove him through a fan’s chair with a MODIFIED TORNADO DDT, the steel chair folding beneath the weight. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! DDT INTO THE CROWD! THIS IS A GODDAMN WARZONE!” Leila lay sprawled beside him, her lungs dragging air, her face a mess of blood and sweat and defiance. She looked over at him, her expression looking more like enjoyment than anything else...

Ace_Gacumo: We both lay there, panting. My arm throbbed. Her chains finally free from her grasp as they settled around her limp form. The air between us was heavy—sweat, blood, adrenaline, hate... and something more. Respect? Rage? It didn’t matter. I slowly pushed myself up on trembling legs, chest heaving, eyes locked on her. The crowd had scattered, creating a war zone of tipped chairs and spilled drinks. Leila stirred from the floor, coughing, clutching her ribs, blood smearing her chin. But her eyes… they still burned. With a defiant grunt, she clawed her way to the nearby three-step bleacher stand. She wasn’t just escaping. She had a plan, I see. My boots scraped against the concrete as I started after her—but I hesitated for half a second too long. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: That’s when I saw a tray, — loaded with chili dogs, nachos, and a tall cup of Coke trembling in her hands. Leila locked eyes with me. “No!” I shouted—but it was too late. CLANG! She yanked the tray from the stands and smashed it across my head with full force—paper plates and food flying everywhere. Hot chili and cheese splattered my face, the Coke soaking into my shirt and stinging the gash on my forehead. I staggered backward, dazed, vision swimming with a mix of sweat, soda, and red haze. The crowd gasped in shock and awe. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: Leila, fueled by pure adrenaline and chaos, climbed the bleacher steps with fury in her breath. She took a deep inhale at the top like it was her final leap of faith—then launched herself off. She spun through the air in a tight corkscrew, legs hooking around my head, aiming to drive me down with a vicious, modified tornado DDT—right into the steel chair below still lying on the concrete. YET I DIDN’T FALL. I planted my feet. A split-second of instinct. My hands shot to her waist in midair, catching her mid-rotation. I thought I saw her eyes widened. “No—!” BOOM! mtc

Ace_Gacumo: I slammed her down with a DEVASTATING MICHINOKU DRIVER II, straight onto the folded metal chair—its frame warping under the impact, a metallic CRUNCH echoing like a gunshot. The crowd erupted in horrified awe. “OH MY GOD!” the commentator's voice screamed from ringside. “That Michinoku Driver just killed her! On the chair! ON THE CONCRETE! SHE MIGHT BE BROKEN IN HALF!” I stayed kneeling over her motionless form, sweat dripping onto the mangled chair beneath us. My arms trembled, not from fear—but from the effort it took not to collapse myself. I would then drag Leila, letting her hang her long brown hair with my fingers, as I intend to whip her through the apron and into the ring. And we'll hear the bell ring shortly after...

Leila_Collins: https://images.app.goo.gl/wPGn4

Leila_Collins: CRUNCHHH!!! The sound didn’t even seem real. It echoed like metal collapsing under a wrecking ball—because that’s exactly what it was. Leila’s body folded under the Michinoku Driver II, driven head and spine-first into the unforgiving steel of the mangled folding chair. The impact shook the concrete beneath them, and the entire arena let out a sickening wave of screams. People in the front rows covered their mouths. Some looked away. Others stood frozen in place. “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!” the commentator shrieked, voice cracking. “THAT WAS SICK! HE DROVE HER THROUGH THAT CHAIR—SHE’S NOT MOVING!” And she wasn’t. 

Leila_Collins: Leila lay crumpled in a heap, a twisted contortion of limbs, steel, and blood. Her body twitched once. Her chest fluttered in short, pained jerks. Her fingers trembled beside the ruined chair, twitching like a short-circuiting wire. Her long blonde hair draped over the metal like a curtain of ruin, strands soaked in sweat, blood, and the remnants of spilled Coke. Her black top sticky and soaked in all the blood, sweat and coke Leila's skin would have been subject to, causing the top to cling onto her tighter than it already had. Her eyes though... didn’t close. Even in the haze. Even in the pain. They fluttered open. Just enough. Not wide. Not strong. But enough to see what was coming.

Leila_Collins: He knelt over her, breath heavy, arms shaking from the weight of what he'd just done. His fingers curled into her hair—not yanking, not wrenching—just claiming. A moment of grim recognition. Not dominance. Not victory. Grim necessity. He rose. And dragged her. Leila’s shoes scraped behind her. Her body limp. Her arms trailing like dead weight. Her hair hung like a shroud as he hauled her past the carnage they’d created—chairs toppled like fallen dominoes, food smeared across the floor like blood in a battlefield, and the broken, twisted frame of the chair they’d sacrificed her spine to. They reached ringside. He didn’t hesitate. With a swing of momentum and brute force, he launched Leila toward the apron. WHAM! Her back struck the edge of the ring. Hard. Her ribs hit second, folding her again mid-air. She crumpled to the floor beside the apron, breathless. But the fans at ringside? They were on their feet. “She’s not done,” one commentator breathed. “She’s not even human. If she was, she’d be gone by now.” Then the bell rang. Finally. Officially. This match had started.

Leila_Collins: And Leila Collins? Was dragging herself up by the apron skirt, one bloody hand at a time. Her hair veiled her face. Her legs shook. Her mouth bled. Her spine screamed. But she was still climbing into the ring. Because if she was going to go down tonight— It was going to be in the middle of that damn canvas, swinging.

Ace_Gacumo: The wreckage trailed behind us—crushed chairs, spilled food, dented steel, and silence where there had once been screaming. I dragged Leila by the chains wrapped around her wrists, her boots scraping uselessly along the floor. Her body was limp, but her spirit still flickered… just barely. I rolled her into the ring, the ropes trembling from the tension. The canvas looked clean—but that wouldn’t last. I stepped through the ropes like a predator entering the final stretch on the hunted gazelle. The referee, wide-eyed, almost frozen, stood in the corner. He looked down at Leila—broken, gasping, barely moving—then up at me. “Ring the damn bell,” I snarled. DING DING! DING!!! mtc

Ace_Gacumo: No hesitation now. I pounced, MOUNTING HER AND RAINING DOWN HAMMERFISTS—lefts, rights, brutal strikes crashing into her guard. Her arms came up weakly, trying to shield her face, but I could feel how much slower she was now—how much the concrete and steel had stolen from her. Thud. Thud. Crack. Each blow made her body jolt. Her blood smeared the canvas beneath us. Her eyes glazed for a second—then refocused, defiant. I stood up, dragging her on her two feet with me. “Get up, Leila,” I growled. “You wanted this." I then hooked my leg behind hers and wrenched her into an EXCURIATING ABDOMINAL STRETCH, twisting her torso with cruel precision. Her ribs screamed under my grip, her spine arched unnaturally. I pulled harder, digging my fingers into her side like claws. “Let her go!” someone in the crowd shouted. Another voice: “Tap, Leila, just tap!” But I wasn’t finished. I leaned in, whispering venom in her ear. “This isn’t punishment yet, Leila… just a painful lesson.” mtc

Ace_Gacumo: I twisted again, feeling her body twitch with every rotation of pressure—then suddenly swept her off her feet and rolled her into a DOMINANT LATERAL PRESS. My entire weight smothered her chest and shoulders, her legs limp beneath me. The referee dropped for the count. “One…!” But I broke the pin myself I stared down at her, eyes sharp, lips curled into a cold, focused smirk. “No shortcuts tonight, bitch.” I lied on top on her chest, bodies still warm despite our wounds, looming above her, sweat dripping from my brow, fists clenched. “I WANT YOU TO FEEL EVERYTHING,” I said, as the crowd buzzed in shocked anticipation. 

Leila_Collins: The canvas welcomed Leila like a grave. Blood marked her trail, streaks from her mouth, her scalp, and the weeping gashes across her back where the metal chair had bit deep. The crowd’s roar had dulled into stunned murmurs—the hush before something terrible. She was alive, barely. Breath trembled in her throat. Her chains still coiled loosely around her wrists, dragging behind her like the last echoes of a war drum. The bell rang. DING DING DING. The sound was almost cruel. Ace descended like gravity—mounting her in a blink, fists already swinging. THUD. THUD. CRACK. Each blow drove her head into the canvas, her arms sluggish in their defense, trying—failing—to shield her skull. Her hair stuck to her cheeks in crimson-matted clumps. Her mouth parted in a dry gasp. Blood painted the mat in splatters. The referee hovered nearby, paralyzed—caught between duty and horror.

Leila_Collins: "She’s not defending herself!" one voice in the crowd cried. "Somebody stop this!" another shouted. But then—Leila’s eyes snapped back into focus. Glassy, wild, burning. She growled—a low, feral sound—and forced her arms tighter to her skull, absorbing the shots with what little strength she had left. It wasn’t strategy. It was survival. But even that required a defiance most wrestlers lost ten minutes ago. Ace dragged her up. Her legs wobbled. Blood ran down her thighs, trickling from a cut above her hip. Her arms dangled until he grabbed hold—and locked her in the abdominal stretch. Her body screamed. Her ribs stretched with every brutal twist. Muscles already bruised pulled taut across exposed bone. Her teeth gnashed together. The veins in her neck bulged. Sweat poured off her like a faucet, mixing with the gore that streaked her torso. He dug in his fingers, and she screamed.

Leila_Collins: A raw, piercing, human scream. "LET HER GO!" "TAP, LEILA! PLEASE!" But her hand never twitched toward the mat. It hovered in the air—shaking, defiant. Ace whispered venom into her ear. A cruel lesson. She didn’t answer with words. She spat blood down her own chest. Her whole body buckled when he finally swept her and rolled her into the lateral press—his weight collapsing across her, smothering her like a death sentence. Her arms didn’t move. Her legs barely twitched. "One!" But the hand never hit two. He broke it himself. The crowd roared in anger. In disbelief. Leila coughed, her chest convulsing beneath him. Her eyes fluttered again. Her body was shuddering—but not from weakness alone. From adrenaline. From rage. He loomed over her like a shadow, dripping sweat, his hands curled into fists. He spoke with calm malice. "I want you to feel everything." And slowly—so slowly—it looked like death rising—Leila smiled. Crooked. Bloody. Defiant. Her voice barely more than a whisper, “Then don’t blink.” The crowd exploded. Because whatever she had left in her... She was about to unleash all of it.

Leila_Collins: Leila lay beneath him—barely breathing. The weight of his body pressed into her ribs like a concrete slab. Her lips parted, dragging air that burned like fire down her throat. Blood smeared across her teeth. Her arms were pinned, legs limp, chains sprawled across the mat like the remains of a shattered weapon. “I want you to feel everything,” he said. And she did. The pain. The humiliation. The fire licking up her spine. But she felt something else too. Hatred. Raw. Focused. Blinding. Her fingers flexed under him. Not enough to push. Not enough to fight. Just enough to remind him—she was still here. He stayed atop her, poised to strike again. That’s when Leila moved. It was subtle. Deliberate. Her knee twitched, then jerked upward, catching his side. He flinched—just enough. Her arm slid out from under his weight, grabbing the chain still wrapped loosely around her wrist. One breath. One heartbeat. SHE WHIPPED IT AROUND HIS THROAT. "SHE’S GOT THE CHAIN! SHE’S GOT IT AROUND HIS NECK!" He gasped. The hold wasn’t locked—but it was tight. Enough to pull. Enough to yank his head sideways— —right into a savage headbutt. CRACK! Forehead to forehead. Bone to bone. It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t pretty. But it hurt. Blood sprayed from her own brow—but he reeled. Leila bucked hard. Her hips jerked upward, just enough to create space. She rolled. Not to run—but to strike.

Ace_Gacumo: Leila, bruised and bloodied, summoned some of her sparkling surge of rage. As I leaned in to drag her up by the chains again, she lunged, wrapping those same overlapping links around my face, pulling tight with all her might. The steel bit into my cheeks, crushed against my nose and eyes. I grunted, stumbling back slightly, arms flailing, trying to grab at the chains as she wrenched them tighter. Her teeth clenched. Her voice cracked as she screamed behind me, “GO TO SLEEP!” I dropped to one knee, but something inside me snapped—a surge of pure will. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: I reached up, hands grabbing her waist. With a growl tearing from my throat, I stood—lifting her with raw power, chains still cutting across my face, sweat dripping from both of us like rain off steel. She tried to adjust—tried to shift her weight—but she made a critical mistake. She leaned in. And slammed her forehead into mine. CRACK!!!. She recoiled instantly. I DIDN’T BUDGE. My head barely tilted. My face—fairly bloodied, swelling from the chains—remained expressionless. Blank. Unforgiving. She blinked. Confused. Dizzy. I stared at her like stone. “Wrong move.” BOOM! mtc

Ace_Gacumo: I charged—her still in my arms—and SLAMMED her spine-first into the turnbuckle. The ring post shook violently on impact. THUD! The whole ring rattled. Leila arched in agony, her arms draped over the top ropes like a crucified fighter. I stepped back—and slammed a shoulder into her gut. WHUMP! Her body jolted, the air driven out of her lungs. Again. WHUMP! And again. WHUMP! THREE BRUTAL SHOULDER BLOCKS into her core, targeting what was already tender and twisted from the abdominal stretch. Her mouth hung open in a silent scream, body folding with every hit. The ref flinched, stepping forward—but then remembered: No disqualification. No mercy. No limits. I took a step back, letting the moment breathe. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: Then came the first slap—a WICKED BACKHAND across her chest that echoed through the arena. SMACK! Leila winced, eyes squeezing shut, body trembling. The second—a FOREHAND SLAP with full torque behind it. CRACK! The crowd gasped as sweat flew from her skin, her knees buckling slightly. Then I paused. And I reached forward—not for a strike, but for her top. With slow, theatrical precision, I GRABBED THE HEM OF HER BLACK TANK AND PEELED IT UP, exposing her battered abdomen and the tight, white sports bra beneath. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with each painful breath. I held the black top in my hand, brought it to my nose, and inhaled deeply—mocking her, owning her—before hurling it into the crowd. A sea of hands shot up, catching it like a prized trophy. Then I raised my palm high above her. THWACK! An OVERHEAD PALM STRIKE landed square on her now-exposed chest, loud and sharp. The crowd erupted in a chaotic mix of shock, awe, and primal roars.

Leila_Collins: Leila’s body convulsed with the impact. THWACK! The echo of that open palm strike ripped through the arena like a rifle shot. Her exposed chest flared red instantly beneath the cruel sting of the blow, skin rippling, sweat exploding from her body like mist. Her head lolled forward, her hair—darkened and clumped with blood—draping over her face like a curtain of ruin. Her knees trembled. Her ribs twitched with each pained breath. The toll was showing now.

Leila_Collins: The blood matting her forehead had begun to drip down across her cheekbones. Her lips parted in short, rasping gasps. Every inhale sounded like fire tearing through cracked lungs. Her arms, draped over the ropes like tattered flags, shook violently—not with defiance this time, but with the strain of simply staying upright. “LEILA COLLINS IS BARELY STANDING! I DON’T EVEN KNOW IF SHE KNOWS WHERE SHE IS!” one commentator screamed, unable to mask the horror in his voice. Her back, already purpled with bruises, arched again involuntarily. Her core had been ravaged—from the stretch, the shoulder blocks, the slams. Each movement now sent fresh lightning bolts of pain through her entire frame. Her abdomen twitched uncontrollably under the harsh lights. She was trying to tighten her core. Trying to ready herself for what might come next. But the body doesn't lie. And hers was failing.

Leila_Collins: The crowd, a sea of torn loyalties, rumbled. Some begged for it to stop. Others roared for her to rise. But Leila? She stayed hanging. Chest bare to the pain. Head down. Arms slack. But then—her fingers twitched again. A flicker. She lifted her head. Just an inch. Her eyes—bloodshot, swimming, half-lidded—found her opponent. There was no scream this time. No clever retort. No burst of bravado.Only a hoarse whisper, barely audible under the roar of the crowd: “You’re gonna have to kill me.” The words escaped with the last ounce of breath she could offer—fragile, fractured, and terrifyingly sincere. She wasn’t grandstanding. She wasn’t performing. She was just too stubborn to fall. Her arms began to pull against the ropes. Slowly. Trembling. Her legs shifted beneath her, unsure if they could hold weight, but trying nonetheless. Her entire body was screaming—and she moved anyway.

Ace_Gacumo: Leila clung to the turnbuckles, her arms draped weakly over the ropes, her breath shallow, her midsection rising and falling like a punctured drum. Her mouth was open, blood on her lip, eyes half-lidded—but the fire hadn’t gone out completely. She raised her head just enough to look me dead in the eyes. “You… have to kill me…” she hissed. I smirked. My hand lifted her chin gently, mockingly, brushing the sweat-matted hair from her face. I leaned in close, letting my words slip into her ear like venom. “NO,” I whispered. “I just have to break you so slow, so brutally, limb by limb, until you wish you had. I want your soul shattered, gradually, into a thousand pieces. I'm gonna pounce on you, until you can't take it anymore.” I saw her body twitched at those words—were this defiance this time? Was it pain?Resignation? Or fear she didn’t want to admit? mtc

Ace_Gacumo: I stepped back, eyes locked on her battered torso—her abs and back, the targets of my war since the ramp. It was time to continue the demolition. THUD! A BRUTAL KNEE STRIKE slammed into her gut. She buckled, gasping like a fish out of water. THUD! Another—deeper, sharper, folding her in half. Her legs nearly gave out, but I held her up with one hand under her chin. THUD!!! A final knee, vicious and surgical. Her body convulsed, her arms going slack. And then, I reached down and grabbed the chains—the very same ones she used to choke me, to try and control this match. Now, they were mine. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: I held them up to the crowd—slick with sweat and blood—and wrapped them around my fist, once, twice. letting the loose end drag ominously on the canvas. “This,” I said aloud, “isn't a weapon anymore. It's a really painful lesson.” CRACK!!! I LASHED THE CHAIN ACROSS HER BACK like a metal whip. The crowd winced in collective sympathy pain. I then WRAPPED THE CHAINS AROUND HER TORSO—tightly—cinching them across her ribs like a snake wrapping its prey. I wanna watch her as the steel dug into her torn flesh, just enough for what came next. I yanked the chain upward, looping it around her neck like a twisted collar and leash. “You like chains, right?” I snarled. “Then wear them like you belong in them.”. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: And that’s when I ran the ropes—the chain still held in one hand—then exploded forward with a CLOTHESLINE FROM HELL, the chain pulling taut as I snapped her down with me— CRASH! We both tumbled out of the ring, flying off the apron and landing hard into the ringside area, crashing into the front row near the barricade. The chain uncoiled as we landed, tangling around both our limbs. Fans scattered. Security barely had time to react. But I was already back on my feet, yanking the chain again, dragging her limp form like a broken trophy as I began to stalk toward the stairs leading to the locker room. My boots echoed on the steel steps. Her body might be dragged, crawled or maybe resist—but she was wrapped in her own weapon, crushed by her own mistakes. The lights above followed us like a spotlight. The war was far from over.

Leila_Collins: THUDDDD... Leila’s body hit the ringside floor like a corpse tossed from a building. Her back arched with the sickening jolt of the fall, chains still wrapped like a noose around her ribs and throat, her limbs tangled, contorted, motionless. For a moment—one haunting moment—she didn’t stir. Only the faint rise and fall of her blood-slicked chest proved she was still breathing.The crowd wasn’t roaring anymore. They were silent. Horrified. Hypnotized. A few screams, a few camera flashes—but mostly stunned disbelief as Leila Collins was dragged across the floor like a war casualty. Dragged by her own chains. The same weapon she had used to fight, to defy, to survive—now her prison.

Leila_Collins: Her head lolled to the side, hair streaked with sweat and blood, trailing behind her like a funeral shroud. Her body scraped across the padded floor, her skin raw in places, her tank top now long gone, the white of her sports bra stained with crimson. Her hands twitched against the mat—not resisting. Not yet. Just reacting. Instincts twitching through a nervous system overloaded with pain. The boots that hauled her forward—merciless. Each step heavy. Purposeful. Echoing with domination. The chain tugged again. Leila's body jerked forward, her shoulder slamming the corner of a stair. Her breath escaped in a gurgled gasp, spit and blood dribbling from her mouth. She was choking on the chain now—not fully, not completely—but enough to make every inhale a blade in the lungs. She tried to lift her head. It sagged. She tried again. And that’s when it happened. A sound. Low. Pained. Barely audible over the ambient chaos. “No…”

Leila_Collins: Her fingers clawed at the chain around her neck—weakly, feebly. She tried to pull it loose, but her arms had nothing left. Her fingernails scraped against the steel like dull knives, her shoulders shaking from effort. Her ribs heaved, straining against the constriction, her spine coiling in spasms. But she was moving. Dragged or not, broken or not—Leila was still trying to crawl. The crowd noticed. A murmur turned to a wave. “She’s… she’s still moving. She’s still alive.” You reached the steps—each one clanging under your boots like the toll of a bell. Behind you, Leila’s body limped up the incline, one dragged step at a time. The chain bit into her skin with every yank. Blood trailed behind her like a red carpet of resistance. And still—she clawed at the steps. One hand at a time. One breath at a time. Her eyes barely open. Her jaw clenched harder than a vice lock. This wasn’t survival anymore. This was defiance at the edge of death. And somewhere, deep inside her battered body—the storm was brewing again. Not loud. Not fast. But inevitable. A flame that seems almost impossible to blow away. The crowd began to rise. The war wasn’t over. But Leila Collins wasn't done bleeding for it.

Ace_Gacumo: The roar of the crowd had dulled into something else—awe, fear, reverence. The arena lights followed us as we ascended into the bleachers, past the stunned front row, past toppled chairs and bloodstains. I dragged Leila by her own chain, her body battered and sagging behind me like the aftermath of a war crime, but still… She moved. Barely. A twitch here. A curl of her fingers there. Breathing shallow, but not giving up. Not yet. And that was the problem. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: I looked down at her as we reached the flat landing just before the entrance to the backstage hallway—the door where matches ended and aftermath began. She was half-conscious, her body broken. But her eyes… her eyes still whispered “never.” I paused. There was a flicker of something inside me—not mercy. No. Just recognition. In another life, maybe she and I could’ve stood side by side as monsters no one could tame. But this wasn’t that life. In a fight between two different feral beasts, only one walks away with the leash. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: I looked to my left… and there it was: a FORGOTTEN STOP SIGN, dented and half-covered in arena grime, leaning against a wall like fate had placed it there just for me. I picked it up. The cold metal vibrated in my hands. The crowd realized what was coming and surged with primal noise. A chant broke out—some cheering me, others pleading for Leila’s soul. She tried to crawl forward—toward the hallway, toward safety—but I stood between her and the door. CAUSE THERE'S NO STOPPING ME... CLANG! mtc

Ace_Gacumo: The stop sign smashed against her back with a deafening, metallic crack. The sound echoed through the entire arena. I leaned down, flipping her over, pressing my forearm across her chest as I hooked her leg in a deep, humiliating pin. The chain still wrapped loosely around her neck, the stop sign thrown beside us like an empty threat already fulfilled. The ref—still panting from chasing us up the stands—slid in beside us. He hesitated, then raised his hand. “One…!” Leila’s fingers twitched. “Two…!” Her eyes fluttered open, barely able to focus. And as the ref’s hand hovered for the third slap…

Leila_Collins:

Leila_Collins: SHE KICKED OUT!!!! Barely. Violently. Beautifully... Her body twisted beneath the weight, not clean, not explosive—but enough. The ref’s hand hovered inches from the mat when Leila Collins jerked her shoulder free with a hoarse, animalistic cry, the motion sending the chain snapping loose around her neck, her ribs flaring in agony. "SHE KICKED OUT! SHE KICKED OUT! LEILA COLLINS IS STILL IN THIS!" The crowd detonated—a seismic reaction of disbelief and white-hot adrenaline as bodies surged to their feet, fists raised, hands clasped over mouths in raw awe. People screamed her name. Others just screamed.

Leila_Collins: Leila didn’t rise. Not fully. But she rolled to her side, gasping. Coughing. Blood running freely now from her nose and mouth, staining the grime-dark canvas under her head. Her eyes were wild. Glossy. Fading in and out of reality. But still—alive. Ace knelt beside her, stunned, chest heaving, that stop sign now lying twisted and dented just inches away. The match should’ve been over. She should’ve stayed down. She didn’t. And then—SHE SPAT. RIGHT INTO HIS FACE. A thick, red smear of blood and bile splattered across his cheek, dripping from his jaw, searing into the moment like gasoline on fire.

Leila_Collins: "You call that a finish?" she rasped, voice shredded, ruined—but laced with venom. "Then you better hit harder." The defiance in her eyes was radiant. Not theatrical. Not exaggerated. Personal. Final. Even as her body lay ruined—bruises blooming across her ribs, her limbs barely holding weight, the chain still tangled around her arm like a snake—she stared him down with the fury of someone too stubborn to die. The crowd didn’t know whether to cheer, cry, or scream. They just made noise. And for that single breath in time… Leila Collins—half-broken and chain-bound—looked untouchable.

Ace_Gacumo: The crowd’s gasp was almost silent in shock. SHE KICKED OUT DEFIANTLY. MOCKINGLY. "YOU CALL THAT A FINISH?" she rasped, "THEN YOU BETTER HIT HARDER." My eyes widened. My breath caught. The ref backed away in disbelief. Fans near the top of the bleachers were on their feet, hands to their heads, some screaming. Others just stood frozen. I stayed still. Then my expression twisted—from shock, to rage, to something deeper. Something personal. I dropped down over her again, MY HANDS GRABBING HER THROAT, squeezing tight—thumbs pressing into her windpipe, my face inches from hers. “WHY…” I roared, “ARE YOU STILL RESISTING?!” mtc

Ace_Gacumo: Her eyes opened slowly—red and foggy, but burning bright like something not human. Her lips didn’t move. But a smirk stretched across her bloodied face. A grin. Defiant. Daring. And those eyes… Like fire behind broken glass. I snarled, squeezing harder—but she just kept grinning. No fear. No answers. That’s when I snapped. I stood, breathing like a bull, and grabbed her by the chain, yanking her upright—but her body was limp, heavy, like dragging a corpse. Still, I lifted her with brute strength, hoisting her over my shoulders into a FIREMAN'S CARRY. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: I stormed past the last of the seats. Into the tunnel. Down the hallway. The walls flickered with overhead lights, each step slamming against the tile floor as blood dripped from both of us in a trail behind. “You want a fight anywhere?” I growled. “You’re on!!!” I kicked open the locker room door with a BANG—the few backstage staff scattered in panic, the ref hesitating before following us in. And then— CRASH! I spun around wanting to SLAM HER THROUGH THE OFFICE TABLE Inside the room. Where the wood shattered beneath her weight, debris flying, splinters exploding like a warzone.

Leila_Collins: CRASH!!! The table exploded beneath her like glass under a hammer—splinters of wood raining down, chair legs snapping sideways, metal hinges screaming. Leila’s body smashed through it like dead weight, arms flailing, chains coiling around her torso as she hit the floor in a cloud of dust and debris. Her spine arched in a silent jolt of agony. Her body spasmed once… then fell still. The backstage staff stared in paralyzed silence from behind storage crates and overturned chairs. The referee stood in the doorway, wide-eyed, unsure if this was a match anymore or a live execution.

Leila_Collins: You loomed above her—panting, bleeding, chest heaving like a war drum—ready to end it once and for all. But the moment you stepped closer... She moved. Not up. Not fast. Just her hand. Sliding. Grasping. Fingers wrapped around something under the shattered desk. A jagged shard of wood—long, splintered, sharp at one end like a makeshift stake. She held it low, against her body, hiding it in the tangle of chains still half-wrapped around her ribs. Her body twitched, bent in pain—a performance of collapse.She let out a moan, almost pitiful. The moment you bent to grab her again— THWACK! SHE STABBED THE WOODEN SHARD INTO YOUR THIGH. Not deep enough to maim. But deep enough to shock. Deep enough to cut muscle. Deep enough to take control.

Leila_Collins: Your scream ripped through the locker room—echoing off steel lockers and cinder block. The crowd watching from the monitors backstage erupted in chaos. Leila used the moment—all she had left—to lurch upward and TACKLE YOU BACKWARD into the row of lockers. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! Bodies crashed against steel doors. One flung open, another dented. She didn’t have power left—but she had purpose.She climbed your body like scaffolding, grabbing your neck, yanking your head down—and DDTed you straight into the debris of the shattered table. Your skull hit the wood with a dull, wet crunch, and for the first time—you stayed down.Leila rolled to the side, coughing, her abdomen twitching uncontrollably from the toll. Blood smeared across her cheek. Her arms shook as she crawled over—slow, deliberate, like a wounded animal still trying to bite. And then… SHE MOUNTED YOU.

Leila_Collins: The crowd backstage screamed into the air. Security began shouting at each other. The ref begged for reason. Too late. She raised her CHAIN-WRAPPED FIST— And brought it down. Once. Twice. Three times. Each shot ripped through the silence like a gunshot, the steel links digging into your brow, your cheek, your lip. Blood exploded. Her arm was trembling—but she kept swinging. “YOU WANTED A FIGHT,” she screamed hoarsely, nearly blind from pain. “HERE’S YOUR FUCKING FIGHT!” Her voice was shredded. Her soul was screaming. And now, so were the walls.

Ace_Gacumo: My knuckles were cracked and bleeding with trickles of blood. My breath came in ragged bursts. Every inch of my body burned, but I didn’t care. Leila should’ve stayed down. She should’ve stayed broken. But that goddamn smirk—it still lingered on her face. Faint. Defiant. Daring me to try again. I couldn’t take it anymore. With a primal growl, I hauled her onto my shoulders—her body limp, her blood soaking into my skin. I took one step. Then another. My legs trembled, but I refused to let them give. I was going to end this. I was going to break her. But I never saw it coming. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: A sharp cry. A flick of her wrist. And then—pain. Blinding, white-hot pain. She’d grabbed a splintered shard of wood, and stabbed it into my thigh. “AAAAARRGGHHHH—!” I collapsed to one knee, my grip loosening as my leg gave out. My scream echoed off the cold, gray walls of the locker room. I looked down, the shard still sticking out, blood trickling down my thigh in thin rivers. And then she rammed into me, into these metal locker doors. Her shoulder crashed into my spine, knocking me forward. Before I could find balance, she hit me again—rage and adrenaline guiding her broken frame. The steel lockers groaned and bent under the impact. I gritted my teeth, pain firing through my back. Another hit. Another crash. I couldn’t breathe—I couldn’t think. Then she twisted me around with trembling strength, and— A FUCKING DDT! My skull slammed into the splinters of the shattered table we’d left behind. I lay there, dazed, breathless, my body no longer obeying me. And still… she kept fighting. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: She straddled my chest, her hair wild, sweat and blood streaking down her cheeks. Her eyes—fierce, hollow, alive—met mine. And then the chains came down. CLANG!!! Her fists slammed into my face, again and again. I blocked one. Ate the next two. I gasped, spat blood. Tried to throw some punches. Even bitch slapped her face. She She roared and struck back harder. It wasn’t a wrestling match anymore. It was something purer. Ugly. Honest. Desperate. I grabbed the chain, pulling it to keep her from landing the next hit. She yanked back, her teeth gritted. The chain snapped tight between us like a lifeline—and a noose. We were both shaking. Broken. Running on fumes. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: Our eyes locked, and for one terrifying second… I saw her pain. Her need to fight. Not for victory—but to prove she still had a voice. WE'VE TRADED EVERY PUNCHES, KICKS. EVEN TUGGED HER HAIR, TRYING TO CONTROL HER. Some of them hitting her, while much more were hitting me.. Eventually I falter, her adrenaline was clicking better on her now. I would gradually clinch on her, then shoved her off. Rolled to my stomach. Crawled. My hands trembled against the cold floor. I pulled myself toward the door, blood smeared in my wake. I could feel my body shutting down. Every motion was a scream. Every breath a battle. And behind me—I heard her stir. Dragging herself too. She wasn’t done. Neither was I. But someone… someone would break tonight.

Leila_Collins: The door slammed open. A blinding beam of industrial floodlights spilled across the two bodies dragging themselves into the parking garage. Concrete replaced tile, streaked now with blood and grit. The air changed—colder, sharp with the stench of gasoline and burned rubber. The world beyond the arena wasn’t quieter—it was heavier, more real. This wasn’t the stage. This was the endgame. Ace crawled forward, one leg trailing, arms trembling under the weight of his own body. Every breath sounded like it hurt to exist. His fingers smeared bloody trails across the floor, teeth clenched, eyes half-shut. Behind him—Leila followed.

Leila_Collins: Her elbow collapsed under her once, her chin hit concrete with a dull crack—but she kept going. Her ribs barely expanded anymore, her breathing shallow and ragged. One eye was almost swollen shut, a split above her brow pulsing blood with every heartbeat. And still… she dragged herself. Like a ghost that refused to vanish. Like defiance carved into human shape. They reached the parking lot proper—rows of rental vans, trucks, sponsor cars glinting under fluorescent lights. Every surface was cold, unforgiving. And Leila, battered beyond recognition, grabbed the bumper of a red Dodge and used it to pull herself upright. Her body trembled like a dying engine—but her eyes burned.

Leila_Collins: She looked at Ace—half risen on all fours—and snapped the chain taut in her hands, her blood-slick grip catching the metal just right. Her knees nearly gave. She didn’t let them. "You're not done bleeding yet," she rasped, voice nearly gone. Then she charged. Not fast. Not clean. Not pretty. But enough. CLANG!!! SHE SHOULDER-TACKLED HIM INTO THE HOOD of the nearest car. His back bounced off the metal, his head snapping back against the windshield with a shattering CRACK. Glass spiderwebbed behind him as he slumped forward——but she grabbed his head and slammed it again. THUD. THUD. THUD. Blood painted the glass. His arms flailed, caught her hair, yanked it. SHE KNEED HIM. HARD. Right in the side. Again. Again. He roared and twisted, grabbing her by the waist, and drove her into the side of a parked truck, her spine cracking off the door with a hollow boom. She gasped, eyes wide, pain exploding through her like shrapnel. Still—she grinned. And headbutted him again. They collapsed together—half on the hood, half to the ground. The world was spinning now, indistinct noise and chaos and breath and blood. They tried to rise—hands gripping bumpers, mirrors, each other. She punched him in the side. He raked her back across the truck grille. Both screamed. Both refused to stop.

Leila_Collins: Leila finally found a burst. One last ember. She grabbed his arm—pivoted—and IRISH WHIPPED HIM INTO A VAN DOOR. BOOM!!! He hit hard, the metal buckling beneath him. He stumbled out—and she ran. Full tilt. And DROP-KICKED HIM THROUGH THE WINDOW. GLASS. EXPLODED. He fell halfway into the van, body limp over the seat. She collapsed to her knees. Face down. Breathing. Barely. Silence. Then—her hand curled into a fist. Slowly. Shaking. And she reached out to pull herself upright again. Because even after everything… Leila Collins wasn’t finished. Not until he stayed down. Not until her voice—her war cry—was the last thing left in the parking lot.

Ace_Gacumo: The double doors to the arena burst open. I dragged myself out first—limping, bleeding, skin torn open across my shoulder and thigh. My hand clutched the locker room wall, then the metal railing, then nothing. I dropped to all fours onto the parking lot asphalt, still wet from the earlier rain. Neon lights flickered off the hoods of luxury cars and delivery vans lined around the perimeter like silent spectators. Behind me, I heard it. Her chains. That slow, dragging rattle. Leila emerged—her body hunched, her eyes sunken, but her face twisted in something close to madness. She held the chain tight in both hands, blood running down her temple, a twisted grin splitting her lips. “You’re not done bleeding yet,” she hissed. And then she charged. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: Her shoulder crashed into my ribs like a wrecking ball, slamming me onto the hood of the nearest car. The metal crumpled beneath the impact. I grunted, gasping as she grabbed my head with both hands and SLAMMED it into the passenger window once… twice… the glass spider-webbed, but didn’t shatter. Then a knee to my gut—deep and cruel. I folded, air escaping me in a dry wheeze. And then—again—she headbutted me. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: CRACK! Her forehead bounced off mine. She stumbled back slightly, clutching her skull. I DIDN’T EVEN FLINCH. My head slowly lifted. Blank eyes. No emotion. She blinked. She desperately tried Irish whipping me, but too late... I surged forward, grabbed her by the wrist mid-chain, twisted— And with all the torque in my hips— WHIPPED her ass instead toward the waiting van behind us. Only—She didn’t stop at the panel. BANG! Her back SLAMMED into the van door with a brutal thud, steel bending from the sheer force. And before she could even slide down, I was already running. Full speed. A blur of fury. I jumped. BOOM! My boot collided with her chest, kicking her THROUGH the window. THE FUCKING. GLASS. EXPLODED. A shower of shards flew in every direction as her body crashed halfway through the broken door, her spine hitting the passenger seat inside. Her legs dangled out. Her upper body sprawled limp across the interior like a rag doll, bleeding over the upholstery. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: I collapsed to my knees. My lungs were on fire. My arms heavy as stone. My knuckles cracked, my body screaming. But I wasn’t done. Not yet. From the corner of my eye—I saw it. One of the security guards, frozen in place, holding a TASERED BATON. I staggered up, limping, snatched it out of his hand before he could speak. BWEEEEEP. The baton charged up, crackling in my hand, electric teeth flashing blue in the dark. I marched toward the van. And grabbed Leila by her chain-wrapped, bloodied torso. Yanked her out—dragging her body from the wreckage like a prize won in war. She didn’t resist. Couldn’t. I looked down at her. At the woman who wouldn’t break. And for the first time… I hesitated. But just for a breath. ZZZZZZAAAAP!

Leila_Collins: ZZZZZAAAAP!!! The baton lit the night with a flash of cruel electricity—a savage hiss of voltage meeting flesh. But Leila wasn’t there. She’d slipped. Not much. Just enough. A twist of her shoulder, a desperate lurch of instinct—her chain caught the baton mid-arc and redirected it into the car’s frame. BZZZZZT-CRACK!!! A blast of sparks erupted from the hood as electricity jumped through the wet metal. The car’s horn blared—stuck in a dying scream. Ace was thrown back, his arm spasming, knees buckling from the jolt that surged through his core. And Leila? She rose. Like death in slow motion.

Leila_Collins: Blood spilled freely now from her scalp and down her cheek, her eyes swollen near shut, one shoulder hanging out of socket—but her legs still moved. She grabbed the shattered car door for leverage, hauled herself up, and staggered toward the loading trailer nearby. A towering black hauler parked under flickering floodlights, its tailgate down like the mouth of a beast waiting to consume more bodies. Ace turned, barely on his feet—and lunged. But Leila saw it. She ducked at the last second—Ace’s momentum uncontrollable now. He stumbled, skidded—CRACK!!! HIS HEAD SLAMMED INTO THE TRAILER WALL.

Leila_Collins: A sickening dull thud, the full weight of his run driving him face-first into cold steel. The sound echoed across the parking lot. He dropped instantly, arms splayed, the taser baton skittering across the asphalt into a puddle. The crowd watching from the loading dock monitors screamed. Trainers, officials, and agents stood frozen. No one dared intervene. This wasn’t sanctioned anymore. This was sacrifice. Leila clutched her ribs, the pain so intense she nearly vomited—but she didn’t stop. She climbed. One hand on the trailer bumper. Then another. Her knees dragged. Her boot slipped—but she caught herself. The ascent wasn’t dramatic. It was hell. Every motion screamed against her bones. Her back felt cracked in three places. Her shoulder refused to lift above her hip. Her lungs burned like they were full of glass. But she climbed.

Leila_Collins: Until she reached the top of the trailer, hunched over like a wounded animal, wind whipping her hair across her bloodstained face. The arena lights painted her like a figure from a legend—not a woman anymore, but a myth in the making. Below her, Ace groaned. Still moving. Of course. She stared down at him.Not with hate. Not even with rage. With awe. "You should be dead," she whispered through broken lips. "But so should I."

Ace_Gacumo: The taser baton hummed in my hand, glowing faintly as it crackled with electric fury. Leila hung limp in my grip, her breath shallow, body streaked with blood and sweat, her head drooped. I pulled her closer. This was it. I raised the baton high—But she moved. A sudden, twitching jolt of instinct—just enough. My swing missed by inches, the electric crackle splitting air instead of skin. Then— BAM!!! Leila slammed her shoulder into my chest, knocking me backward. I stumbled, losing my balance, dropping the baton. It skittered away into the dark. I tried to regroup, but before I could catch my footing, she ran toward the nearby trailer hitched to a semi-truck. She climbed—one knee, then the other, using the trailer’s handles to hoist her broken body upward. She didn’t look back. And neither did I. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: I dragged myself forward—wincing with every motion—my boots scraping against the asphalt. Blood trailed behind me like a shadow. The crowd, watching from the arena screens and upper decks, was silent. No chants. No cheers. No gasps. Just stunned breathlessness. This wasn’t wrestling anymore. This was war. I held on to my tasered baton as I grabbed the ladder rung on the side of the trailer. My hands slipped at first—wet with blood—but I bit down hard, ignored the pain, and climbed. Each step was a scream in my bones. When I reached the top, I saw her. Leila. Standing. Waiting. Wounded, swaying, barely breathing—but ready. The parking lot lights reflected off the trailer’s rooftop, the metal glowing faint silver beneath our feet. The air felt colder up here. Still. Sacred. She didn’t say a word. Neither did I. We just stood there, two broken titans, scarred from head to toe. Everything we had left was in our eyes. Rage. Respect. Desperation. Resolve. No ropes. No referee. Just sky above us… and steel beneath. ONE LAST FIGHT. ONE LAST BREATH. ONE LAST FALL. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: Leila didn’t wait. She exploded toward me, her fists flying like a hailstorm. CRACK! Her knuckles smashed into my cheekbone. I reeled—but struck back with a hook to her jaw. She staggered, but roared and threw another. We traded. No blocks. No dodges. Just raw, hate-fueled strikes. Lefts. Rights. Slaps. Kicks. Palms to the chest. Elbows to the mouth. Blood sprayed from both of us, misting under the parking lot lights like crimson rain. The rooftop of the trailer trembled beneath our fury. Then—She shoved me. Hard. My boot skidded to the very edge—one inch more and I’d have fallen. I stared down: below, the blinding main headlights of the show set, and right beside them—a wooden crate stacked just high enough to break my fall… maybe. The crowd in the arena screamed from their seats, watching on the giant screen. I looked back. Leila was charging. This was it. She just needed one more push. But— My hand found it. The taser baton. I didn’t hesitate. The crackling baton slammed into her exposed bloodied abdomen. ZZZZZTTT!!!

Leila_Collins: ZZZZZAAAAAP!!! The jolt ripped through Leila’s midsection like lightning—her scream was instant, high and sharp, cut off as her body seized. Her legs buckled, her knees knocking against the rooftop of the trailer as her whole frame arched unnaturally, spasming against the steel underfoot. Her midsection tensed all at once, the muscle fibres popping through the blood staining her body. Her arms flailed once. Then fell. The chain around her wrist uncoiled from her grip and clinked softly against the metal surface. Her chest convulsed as if her heart couldn’t decide whether to fight or surrender. Her eyes, wide with shock, fluttered—then dulled. The fire behind them flickered to dying embers.

Leila_Collins: She dropped to her knees, then forward, catching herself on trembling hands. Smoke lifted faintly from the taser’s impact point just beneath her ribs. Her skin was raw. Her body—wrecked. The war, it seemed, had finally caught her. The audience inside the arena gasped in unison, as if they’d all just witnessed the breath leave someone’s soul. Leila tried to rise—she really did. One hand planted, then the other. Her foot slid forward. Her legs quivered, lifting her halfway into a crouch. And for a second—a brutal, brave second—it looked like she might try again. But her body gave out. She collapsed against your chest. Her cheek pressed into your sternum, blood smearing across your skin. Her arms dangled at her sides. One breath. Then another. Then stillness. Not unconscious. Not gone. But empty. Spent.

Leila_Collins: The crowd on the upper decks fell silent again. Even the commentators didn’t speak. This wasn’t shock anymore—it was reverence. A warrior finally running out of war. You stood over her, the taser still humming in your hand, blood trailing down your neck and jaw. Your face was unreadable—rage, maybe. Or sadness. Or something heavier. And then… You lifted her. Your arms wrapped under her shoulders and legs—like a grim reaper collecting what remained of a legend. You turned to the edge of the trailer. Below, the main headlights of the stage blazed up, casting you both in an eerie, silver halo. Her head lolled backward. Her arms hung limp. Her body—offered to the fall. The crate was there. But so was the concrete. And only one of you would land clean. You stepped forward. One last breath. One last fall.

Ace_Gacumo: Her entire body jerked—back arched, jaw clenched in a frozen scream—as the electricity coursed through her torn core. Her knees buckled, her eyes wide with sudden panic. I stepped in, wrapping my arms under hers, locking her in. Lifting her— Up. Onto my shoulders. The crowd rose to their feet. My legs shook, but I stood firm. The whole world felt like it stopped turning. I whispered low—so close, only she could hear it. “Ready for the ride?” Then I ran FULL SPEED. LAUNCHED off the edge of the trailer— And SLAMMED ourselves down with the ADONIS DROP, a running powerslam finisher CRASH!!! Leila’s back collided with the truck’s headlights, shattering them in a flash of glass and sparks. My body bounced off the wooden crate, ribs seemingly cracking on impact—but I didn’t care. I held on. We landed like thunder—two broken gods crashing down from the heavens. The parking lot lit up with camera flashes. Fans screamed in shock. Commentators were shouting over each other. “OH MY GOD! ADONIS DROP OFF THE TRAILER! OFF THE TRAILER! THROUGH THE HEADLIGHTS! THROUGH THE DAMN HEADLIGHTS!” “HE SAID SHE WAS GOING FOR A RIDE—AND HE TOOK HER TO HELL!” Silence followed. Then a rising storm of noise. I laid there, chest heaving. She didn’t move. The ride was over. But the memory? That would live forever. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: My chest burned hard. Each breath was a battle. Every rib screamed. I could barely feel my arms. But I rolled over. Leila… still lay tangled in the wreckage of the shattered headlights. Her blood smeared across the chrome, her limbs limp, her chest rising in shallow, uneven breaths. She wasn’t moving. I dragged myself to her—arms trembling—and lifted her head by the chin. Her skin was cold, damp with blood and sweat. I stared down at her. Just wanna see the battered beauty from up close. FOR SOMEONE WHO HAD MANY THINGS TO SAY BEFORE, SHE HAD NOTHING TO SAY RIGHT NOW. “Done,” I muttered hoarsely, almost to myself. Then I let my lips do the talking, kissing you lightly on your lips, maybe a little love from me, or just  a devil's kiss? Before I let you thudding softly onto the broken wooden crate as I stretched her out, preparing to pin her. But just as I dropped to my knees— Her fingers twitched. Her eyes fluttered— And then locked onto mine. Wide. Wild. Burning. That same glare she gave me before the match… when she spat her taunts, swore she’d never yield. The fire hadn’t gone. Even with her body broken, she looked at me like I was her mortal enemy—the wall she would tear down with her last breath. I froze. Then something inside me snapped. I remembered everything. Every insult. Every slap. Every defiant breath she took while I broke her inch by inch. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: I grabbed the chains—hers, the ones she used from the ramp to the trailer. I wound them tight in my fists. AND WRAPPED THEM AROUND HER NECK. She gasped—hands clawing up weakly. I dropped down beside her, slamming my thighs around her waist in a TIGHT BODY SCISSORS, locking her in place. My legs crushed her bruised core, every breath harder for her to take. She fought. Even now. Even then. Our faces were inches apart—forehead to forehead. I STARED INTO HER SOUL. I wanna see her glare back, eyes wide with pure resistance. Just like those was telling me— "I’m still not done." I wanna see how she would see her to realize every bit that we have done to each other. I wanna see those eyes, making sure that her worthy rival would be the very last one she sees before she shut up her eyes. completely.

Leila_Collins: Leila’s body convulsed once more, jolting against the wreckage beneath her—the splintered crate, the shattered glass, the still-sparking headlights. Her mouth opened in a raw, voiceless cry as the chain tightened around her neck, cold steel biting into her skin, digging into every bruise, every torn nerve fiber. Her blood mixed with yours now—smeared across both your arms, your hands, her throat. Her chest rose and fell in desperate, frantic gasps, lungs clawing for oxygen that no longer came freely.

Leila_Collins: And then—you locked it in. Body scissors. Your legs crushed around her ribs like vices, the same ribs you’d punished since the match began—slammed into ramps, bent against ringposts, collapsed under fists and knees and wood and steel. Leila's body twitched, her back arched, hips jerking reflexively as you wrenched her backward. A strangled wheeze left her lips. Her hands clawed weakly at the chain, her fingers slipping against the blood-slick links. Her nails scraped your wrists with fading desperation. Your thighs cinched tighter. Her core buckled. You dropped your head—forehead to hers. The world shrank.

Leila_Collins: The parking lot vanished. The arena noise blurred into static. The lights, the fans, the chaos—none of it mattered now. There was only you. And her. Your eyes met. And there it was. Leila’s stare. Raw. Wild. Eternal. Her face was battered, lips bloodied, her temple split, face covered in crimson—but the blue eyes? Still burned. It wasn’t rage. Not entirely. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t even hate.It was defiance. Absolute.Even as her hands trembled, even as her throat convulsed beneath the choke, even as the fight seeped out of her limbs like the last hour of sunlight—she stared back. Into your soul.And said everything with her eyes. “I’m still here.”“I’m still not yours.”“If you want me gone, you’ll have to kill the part of me that refuses to lose.” You stared back, breathing heavy, face twisted in agony, awe, maybe something deeper. You’d taken her to hell. And still—she glared through the chains. Through the pain. Through the end.

Leila_Collins: Her hands slowed.One dropped to the side, fingertips brushing the broken chrome.Her mouth opened—but no sound came.Only breath. One. Then another. Then slower. Shallower.Still looking at you.Still. Defiant.The fire dimmed—but never died.Even as her eyes blinked slow. Even as her lips parted, then stayed parted. Even as her breath became silence. She never looked away. You were the last thing she saw. Her enemy. Her equal. Her war. And she wouldn’t let you forget it. Not ever.

Ace_Gacumo: I saw Leila's hands slowed. Her breathing stuttered. And finally… Those fire-lit eyes began to flicker. Her lips parted, mouthing something I couldn’t hear. Then slowly... They closed. Not in peace—but in defiant surrender. Her body slumped. Limbs fell. The chains loosened slightly in my hands, but I held them, staring at her face—still twisted in that same proud fury, now quieted. I was still clenching the chains—tight, like they were the only thing keeping me tethered to the moment. My thighs still wrapped around Leila’s lifeless midsection. My breath was ragged, my hands trembling, heart pounding out of rhythm, still half-lost in the blood haze. Her eyes stayed shut. Her body didn’t move. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: Only when the referee rushed in—grabbing at my shoulder, yelling at me to stop—did I release her. My arms dropped. The chains rattled to the floor like fallen verdicts. I slumped back, chest heaving, my body caked in grime, sweat, blood—some hers, some mine. The arena’s speakers boomed with the ring announcer’s voice, sharp and clear: “Ladies and gentlemen… here is your winner... by technical knockout… ACE!!! GAAAAAAACUMOOOOO!!!” BOOM. The opening chords of “Cariño Brutal” by Slapshock erupted into the air—aggressive riffs echoing through the stunned venue like war drums. 

Ace_Gacumo: The crowd? Divided. Some screamed in catharsis, in awe of the devastation they’d witnessed. Others stood silent, arms folded, jaws dropped, unsure whether to cheer or mourn. But all of them watched. Eyes locked on the sight in the parking lot. Ace Gacumo, hunched and broken, yet victorious—just beside the crumpled body of Leila. The commentary exploded, “...Twenty-seven minutes. Twenty-seven minutes of absolute war. Of hate. Of pain. This wasn’t a match—it was survival.” “Leila gave every drop of her soul in this one… but Ace—he broke her. No pins, no submissions—he shut her down. That was primal.” I dragged myself forward—my hand pressing to the cold, cracked concrete. My body gave in, and I collapsed right beside Leila’s unmoving frame. mtc

Ace_Gacumo: For a moment, I didn’t move. Just the sound of my theme song. Just the sound of the crowd. Then slowly… I raised my right fist into the air—high, trembling, blood-streaked. A symbol of my warpath. Then I stood. Not tall, but defiant. I placed one boot on her chest—stomped down with purpose. Not to hurt—but to mark the end. A final, savage photo burned into the memories of everyone watching. One last exclamation. An ace standing over a fallen warrior. A testament that no matter how long the fight lasted… no matter how strong her spirit burned… I WAS THE ONE STILL STANDING.