Tonight on Deadliest Fiction, we have an all-out brawl between two legends of the ring! Get ready for the next battle as Cody Rhodes, son of the legendary Dusty Rhodes and the Undisputed WWE Champion, clashes with King, a street urchin turned luchador who took the mantle of his mentor to avenge his death! It'll be an all-out war as these two wrestling legends hit the mat, and we'll compare their skills all to determine the answer to the ultimate question...
WHO...IS...DEADLIEST???
Intro[]
Cody Rhodes[]
| “ | Wrestling has more than one royal family.
— Cody Rhodes
|
” |
The youngest son of a wrestling family, Cody Rhodes quickly followed into the family business, leaving behind a scholastic wrestling career to be more like his father Dusty and his half-brother, Dustin "Goldust" Rhodes. He trained extensively from a young age under a variety of well-respected figures, learning the fundamentals from the likes of Randy Orton, Al Snow, and Ricky Morton before making his debut in Ohio Valley Wrestling, winning several championships before moving on to World Wrestling Entertainment, better known as the WWE. He proved an immensely talented and charismatic mid-carder, feuding with his mentor Orton before going on to win the World Tag Team Championship alongside Hardcore Holly within five months of joining the company, then winning it again after betraying Holly in favor of Ted DiBiase Jr.
Alongside DiBiase and Orton, Cody would form the formidable Legacy stable, helping Orton win the WWE Championship and subsequently sabotaging the various challengers to his title reign, though they quickly fell apart after a botched effort got Orton disqualified from a title defense match. Now on his own, Cody became "Dashing" Cody Rhodes, obsessed with his good looks and inherent superiority over the rest of the roster, leading to a furious rivalry with Rey Mysterio after the luchador broke his nose in a match. Wearing a mask to hide his apparently hideous injury, Cody, alongside Dusty, attempted to unmask Rey, but was ultimately unable to despite an early victory. During this time, he would ascend to Intercontinental Champion, defending it both of his former allies before losing (then regaining it four weeks later) to Big Show, before following in his brother's footsteps by creating the "Stardust" persona.
His alliance with his brother netted him another Tag Team Championship, but left Cody feeling increasingly resentful and unsatisfied, turning on Dustin before launching into a feud with the actor Stephen Amell in which he was defeated, the beginning of a downfall that culminated in him quitting the company entirely shortly before the death of his father. Wrestling on the independent circuit as simply "Cody", Cody abandoned the Stardust persona and wrestled several notable figures in wrestling, such as Kurt Angle, Zack Sabre, and El Ligero, before playing a hand in the creation of All In, the highest selling independent wrestling show of all time. After a series of successful stints with Total Nonstop Action Wrestling, Ring of Honor, and New Japan Pro-Wrestling as a prominent member of the Bullet Club faction, Cody became a founding member of All Elite Wrestling, a new promotion designed as a direct competitor to his former organization, WWE.
Serving as an Executive VP of AEW, Cody would be a crucial figure for the formative days of AEW, directly mentoring much of it's young talent while doing battle with Chris Jericho and his Inner Circle. This rivalry ended with Cody losing an AEW World Championship match bid to Jericho, forfeiting any right to challenge for it again, and ultimately being betrayed by Maxwell Jacob Freidman, a young protege who became one of the company's most prominent heels. Stinging from the loss, Cody bounced back by winning AEW's TNT championship, defeating countless challengers and winning it a record three times before ultimately leaving AEW amidst personal issues.
Initially staying quiet, Cody made a surprise return to WWE, challenging and defeating Seth Rollins at Wrestlemania as the start of a bid to win the WWE Championship, a title his late father never got to hold. This brought him into conflict with Roman Reigns, the reigning champion, and the Bloodline, a heel stable consisting of members of the legendary Anoa'i family. Tearing his way through the roster of younger foes and old rivals, Cody finally confronted Roman and nearly defeated him, only to be sabotaged by the Bloodline at the last moment and subsequently pinned.
Refusing to give up, Cody earned the right to re-challenge Roman by winning the Royal Rumble, the first man to win two back-to-back Rumbles in twenty-five years, only to run afoul of the Rock, Roman's cousin, who used his position as an executive within the company to try and deny Cody his rematch in favor of a match between Roman and himself. Citing his right as a Rumble victor, Cody refused to back down, striking an alliance with Rollins and challenging Rock and Roman to a tag team match to determine the rules of a subsequent title match. At Wrestlemania 40, Cody and Rollins were narrowly defeated after a grueling match, giving Roman the right to use the Bloodline for assistance during their match. The final match between Cody and Roman was nearly victim to the same sabotage, only for a variety of allies, such as Rollins, John Cena, and even the infamous Undertaker, to come to his aid, holding off the Bloodline long enough for Cody to finally defeat Roman, winning the Championship and finishing the story his father had tried to tell so long ago.
King[]
| “ | Witness the might of the undisputed champion!
— King, translated
|
” |
A lowly street urchin raised in an orphanage by the original King, the boy that would one day take his mentor's title worked hard, following King I's advice to avoid becoming the violent thug he once had been. All the while, he observed King's training methods, doing his best to emulate him so that he could one day grow as strong as him. When he was 24 years old, the urchin discovered that his beloved mentor had been killed by the vile Ogre, and subsequently donned his mask, fighting in his place to care for the orphanage. Unfortunately, observation is no substitute for real training, and the new King struggled until he was approached by Armor King, who took him under his wing and forged him into someone worthy of following in the original King's footsteps and avenging his murder.
After the murder of Armor King in a bar fight, King enrolled in the 4th King of Iron Fist tournament to challenge his killer, Craig Marduk. King defeated Marduk, but ultimately spared him, feeling revenge would give him nothing. This led to the two forming an odd friendship, working together after Armor King apparently attacked Marduk. They discovered that this Armor King was in fact the brother of the original, who had come after him seeking revenge. A brutal fight between Armor King and Marduk left both men hospitalized and King, hoping to protect his loved ones in the midst of a war between the Mishima Zaibatsu and G-Corporation, entered the 7th King of Iron Fist tournament to pay for both the orphanage and their treatment. He convinced Marduk to forgive Armor King II, with the two settling their differences in a retirement match, while King himself battled Jack-7, a fearsome next-gen robot that could analyze any fighter's style, and defeated them by using a combination of Marduk and Armor King's style in place of his own.
As the war between the Zaibatsu and G-Corporation created more and more orphans, King once again entered the King of Iron Fist tournament, ultimately winning the Latin American block before the entire tournament is suspended following an attack by the United Nations. With the fate of the world on the line, King would work alongside Lars Alexandersson in a final defense against Yakushima from the G-Corporation, and subsequently enlist many of his allies in charity work in the aftermath of the battle.
Skills and Abilities[]
Cody Rhodes[]
| “ | I believe in hard work, but I believe in vindication as well. You have to have a few nightmares, I imagine, before you reach your dream.
— Cody Rhodes
|
” |
Skills and Abilities:
- Expert Wrestler: Cody is one of the most talented and prestigious competitors in the world of professional wrestling, holding over 19 titles (including four world titles) between 5 promotions, surpassing both his brother and father, and regularly wrestling (and often defeating) legendary figures within the industry such as the Rock, Rey Mysterio, Chris Jericho, Randy Orton, Brock Lesnar, Seth Rollins, Kenny Omega, and even Roman Reigns, the reigning three and a half year champion, outmatching him to the point that Reigns needed to cheat to ensure victory. He is one of only four wrestlers in WWE history to win back to back Royal Rumbles, battle royales featuring dozens of the company's best wrestlers, and is regularly noted by prominent wrestling critics to be a master of the basic fundamentals of wrestling. Cody's wrestling style is an effective jack of all trades build, using an even mixture of grappling, high-flying acrobatics, and brawling in matches, often emphasizing quick attacks and grapples to incapacitate opponents before hitting them with more elaborate moves while they're dazed or distracted.
- Peak Human Physicality: Cody is often noted for his considerable physicality and sheer ferocious determination in the ring. On top of being strong enough to lift the 400 pound Big Show over his head and acrobatic enough to pull off moves like the Moonsault or Cutter, he once fought (and won) a 24-minute match with a completely torn right pectoral muscle, executed a perfect diving Moonsault from over twenty feet with no signs of injury, and alongside Seth Rollins, had the stamina to wrestle against The Rock and Roman Reigns in a 45 minute match that stretched from the ring to through the crowd to the outskirts of the arena that forced the Rock to use the People's Elbow, his signature move, to put Cody down long enough for a pin before going onto a title match the very next day.
- Talented Strategist: An avid student and quick learner of wrestling, Cody is noted for his business savvy and knack for mid-match strategy. He had the business acumen to, alongside Tony Khan and the Young Bucks, quickly turn AEW into a competitor capable of standing against the WWE in a matter of months, and he's used his improv talents to battle opponents with anything he could get his hands on, once defeating AJ Styles in an "I Quit" match by battering him with objects like a mic cord, a folding chair, and the nearly 250-pound ring steps until his foe surrendered.
King II[]
| “ | Wrestlers muscles are made of steel...impossible to penetrate.
— King II
|
” |
- Expert Luchador: Possibly the single-most skilled luchador in the world and undisputed world champion as of Tekken 8, King's fighting style is a blend of Lucha Libre and the "catch" variation of pro wrestling, designed heavily around holds and submissions, alongside incorporating moves from the styles of his various mentors, like Armor King and Marduk. His style is primarily defensive, emphasizing punishing opponents for bad moves and chaining together grapples for considerable damage. This talent has made King one of the most beloved combatants in the Iron Fist tournament the world over, and has enabled him to defeat the likes of Jack-7, a hyper-analytical fighting robot that memorized his entire moveset, and Craig Marduk, a towering Vale Tudo and pro wrestling, beating the latter so badly he had to be hospitalized.
- Peak Human Physicality: Years of training and combat have honed King's body to near-superhuman levels of strength and durability, and he's powered through several King of Iron Fist tournaments, tanking superhuman hits and attacks from among the very best of the roster. He was able to beat a Jack-bot, 7 foot tall, 380 pound robot, into submission with his bare hands, overpower and hospitalize the similarly towering Craig Marduk, and frequently took massive falls through the multi-leveled arenas of the tournament without coming out any worse for wear. His height and considerable strength does not affect his agility, and he's able to keep up with his fastest competitors with ease while incorporating a variety of jumps, dives, and leg drops into his moveset.
Tekken 8- Lil Majin (King) Vs Jesandy (King) - High Level Gameplay.
A match between Lil Majin and Jesandy, two of the best King players in the fighting game community
X-Factors[]
| Cody Rhodes | X-Factors | King II |
| 80 | Experience | 90 |
| 95 | Training | 90 |
| 80 | Intelligence | 70 |
Explanations[]
- While Cody and King have both have had long, storied careers in their fields, having both taken the mantle of wrestlers as young men and continuing to reign as icons of the sport to the modern day, King takes this one on account of the far more outlandish opponents he's been pitted against, from fighting robots to rival luchadores to even armed, highly-trained private security forces. While Cody's own two decades of experiences are considerable and there's more than a few supernatural or superhuman figures in the world of pro wrestling, he generally tended to fight against other wrestlers with more traditional, less fantastical gimmicks.
- Cody narrowly takes this thanks to both time and variety of training. While King's own training is considerable and he's noted to have long since surpassed any of his mentors, he didn't train under Armor King until he was already a young man, with his initial training being entirely from observing the original King in matches. Cody has been training in wrestling since he was 12 years old, and he was directly mentored by several legends of pro wrestling such as Al Snow or Randy Orton in both this training and his early career, giving him considerable insight and understanding of the ins and outs of the sport.
- While running an orphanage and managing time does require a decent level of intelligence and organization, King is never noted to be particularly smart or particularly stupid, with his combat prowess tending to make up for any potential gaps in intelligence that could befall him. Cody, meanwhile, has been a notably talented executive, referee, and booker throughout his career, most notably in the early days of AEW, and his improvisation both in (such as his willingness to use any weapons he can get his hands on in hardcore matches) and out (such as his manipulation of Sami Zayn to weaken the Bloodline prior to challenging Roman) of the ring has enabled him to quickly position himself as a top contender in whatever company he ends up signed with.
Notes[]
- Voting ends August 17th.
- The match will be set in Shang Tsung's Kombat Klub in a Battledome recreation of a traditional wrestling ring. The match will follow standard wrestling rules of victory by either 3-count pinfall or submission, though both King and Cody will be allowed to leave the ring without fear of disqualification.
- Scenario: Shang Tsung's Kombat Klub finds itself invaded by a roster of formidable fighters, each claiming to work for the mysterious "Ringmaster", who one by one defeat his assembled champions. Hoping to put an end to the usurpers winning streak, Tsung pushes for a match between King, his last remaining champion, and newcomer Cody Rhodes, the invader's apparent leader.
The Battle[]
Mister Sinister hummed to himself, scribbling notes on the side of a blueprint as he worked in his office. Gentle orchestral music, put on in an effort to drown out the raucous crowd that congregated just outside his sound-suppressing window, scored his work, a fitting contrast from the bloodsport outside. He scribbled a rough image of his latest idea, a night creature with a chainsaw emerging from its head while a series of elaborate pumps jutted from its back while two arrows pointing to it read “Lure Chainsaw Man away from Hunter’s Guild, potentially entice with suitable romantic partner” and “feral instinct + healing factor+ naïve worldview = Weapon X without the complications?” He had to admit to himself: even with all the social upheaval and increased pressure from a wounded, flailing establishment, business had been exceptional. With the inadvertent backing of city leadership, Tsung’s club had a near monopoly on non-User organized combat, Isaac had truly honed his craft, and most importantly, Doom was perpetually reliant on him, the sole provider of the genetic stabilizer that stopped his stolen User blood from ripping him apart.
Of course, once someone of Doom’s intellect reverse-engineered the serum, he would run into complications, but Sinister suspected he still had a bit of time before that.
He set the pen down, satisfied, and drummed his fingers on his desk, deep in thought. Even in the throes of success, his genius mind was not content to rest on his laurels. He had creatures to devise, enforcers to recruit, and he still needed to look into these budding political movements to determine where his influence was best wielded. A particularly rowdy cheer caught his attention, and he swiveled in his chair to take a look at the Battledome.
He’d earned a brief peek, even if the arranged fighting was hardly his cup of tea.
Down below, the crowd was a thunderous mix of applause, boos, and various chants, from a jovial “Yes you can, Mac!” to a mocking sing-song “Serpent’s gonna strike you!” as they witnessed history in the making.
It wasn’t every night that a championship bout was held in the Kombat Klub.
The reigning champion, battered and bloodied but still standing, ducked under a punch from a towering Roegadyn in a serpentine mask and countered with a flurry of blows, each hit meeting their mark and earning an irritated grunt from the challenger. With a snarl, the Roegadyn grabbed Mac by the shoulder and drove his thumb into the young man’s eye before tossing him into the corner of the arena, a simulated boxing ring chosen by the champion as the battleground of choice. With distance between them, the two fighters paced in a circle, the Serpent sneering at Mac as the young boxer simply glared back determinedly.
Abylbhar, better known to the public as The Serpent, winced, feeling a shooting pain in a rib that was at best bruised and at worst outright broken. For his size, the champ was tougher than he’d looked, and he was ashamed to admit that he’d managed to knock him on his ass more than once over the course of the match. But it didn’t matter. He’d fought too hard to lose the championship when it was within his meaty grasp, and if he had to break every bone in his body if it meant getting the win, he’d do it.
They paused their pacing, locking eyes, and the Serpent tensed, preparing to strike. With a roar, he charged forward, leaping up and punching downward just as Mac lunged at him, pulling his gloved fist back as it began to glow. The Serpent’s eyes widened in recognition just as the Star Punch collided with his jaw and his own attack caught Mac in the side of the head. Ears ringing and his mask beginning to crack, the Serpent stumbled away from a similarly dazed Mac, who slumped into the corner of the ring, breathing heavily. With legs like jelly, the Serpent, as though a dice roll somewhere landed in his favor, managed to stay on his feet, but he could feel the last of his strength fading fast. It was now or never.
Through blurred vision, he scanned the crowd, managing to lock eyes with the outline of another, much better dressed, Roegadyn sitting in the stands. He nodded to him, earning a similar nod and raised drink in response. The Serpent, seemingly satisfied, looked back to Mac, just starting to recover and lean away from the corner, and crouched low, tightly gripping the ropes on either side of him as he began to stomp his foot. The stomp was followed with another, then another, joined quickly by a chorus of stamps from an excited crowd. Sensing the attack coming, Mac braced himself, raising his gloves, only for a flurry of activity out of the corner of his eye to draw his attention. He turned and stared, baffled, as a copy of the Roegadyn, clad in a Hawaiian shirt, jeans, and with a considerable afro atop his head, appeared ringside and flipped him off with both hands before vanishing.
The distraction was brief, but it was all the Serpent needed as he bellowed a war cry and launched himself forward, spearing Mac in the chest and sending them crashing to the ground. As Mac groaned on the floor, the Serpent shot up, roaring and stomping his feet victoriously. The crowd, witness to the deception, bombarded him with a chorus of boos with cheers scattered throughout. The boos invigorated him as he turned to face them, putting his hands together in a “go to sleep” motion and mockingly resting his head on them before stopping down to grab Mac by the collar of his shirt and the waist of his shorts. With a grunt, he hoisted the much smaller man onto his shoulders, circling around to let the full crowd witness, then tossed him forward, letting Mac’s face fall onto a waiting knee. He grinned as he felt cartilage break and blood spurt onto his leg, letting Mac once again fall to the mat, motionless.
Before Mac could even attempt to recover, the Serpent laid atop him, lifting his leg over his shoulder and using his other arm to keep his shoulders on the ground, as a small, moustachioed man in a referee uniform quickly slid into the ring. The ref slapped his hand against the mat once with a jovial, “Ah-one-ah!”
Serpent applied more pressure to the limp Mac.
“Ah-two-ah!”
His second count was echoed by the crowd.
“Ah-three-ah!”
The ref stood to his feet, signaling that the fight was over, and the Serpent leapt up, roaring triumphantly as the crowd went wild. In an instant, he was joined by the well-dressed Roegadyn, alongside an Elezen in a scholarly outfit and a Hyur in more casual clothing, who helped raised his fists as he slumped against them for support. While the Serpent slung his arms over the shoulders of the others, the Elezen subtly waved his hands, smiling to himself as music began to blare across the arena.
The boxing ring began to shimmer before fading, revealing the gray and white walls of the miniature Battledome, while in a burst of green mist, Shang Tsung appeared, stepping over Mac’s still prone body as two attendants, both pale with a red dot in their foreheads, dragged him from the ring. The quarter turned to look at him warily, only to relax as he handed them a large, gold belt, with the fiery symbol of a dragon, eyes glowing red, in the center of it. The Serpent grinned, ripping it from his hands, and Tsung conjured a microphone into his hands as he turned to face the crowds. The music began to fade as he spoke.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I-“
He let out a surprised grunt as the well-dressed Roegadyn yanked the mic from him, shot him a shit-eating grin, and then stepped forward.
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, MY NAME IS GATOR, AND FOR THE LAST SEVEN MONTHS, IT HAS BEEN MY JOB, NO, MY PLEASURE TO BE THE ADVOCATE FOR YOUR NEW WELTERWEIGHT CHAMPION…”
He turned, presenting the Serpent as the warrior was finally able to stand on his own two feet again. As if on cue, the Serpent raised the belt to a mixed chorus of cheers and boos, the music peaking again.
“THEEEEEEEEEEEEE SERRRRPEEEEEENNNNTTT!”
The Serpent stood silently, basking in the crowd, before stepping forward and holding out his hand. Gator turned, set the mic in his enormous palm, and then bowed his head as he stepped back. The music faded as the champion finally spoke.
“Folks, I stand here tonight a champion. I have fought, and I scraped, and I have poured blood and sweat all over this goddamn arena. You can love me, ya can despise me, hell, ya can do a little of both, but I got some folks to thank tonight! At the risk of sounding pretty uncool, I’d like to start with these three dumb sons of bitches right here!” He turned to point to his three friends, who each clapped for him, then continued, pacing around the ring as he spoke. “To the only men I’d trust to have my back when I’m in the shit: Applebee’s did it!”
The crowd’s cheers became more confused as he pulled all three men into a hug, then broke away, his posture more serious.
“And while I’m here, I may as well give it for my master, lord of all waters, the lurker of the lightless depths, cleanser of all things: Leviathan!”
He was hit with an outpouring of boos, and was suddenly very glad his mask could hide his face as he smiled to himself. And the others had told him the gimmick was a bad idea. He sat down, cradling the belt in one arm.
“But I got another master to thank. One that built me up, told me that I had to job to do, and it was to wipe the floor with the trash that this promotion calls fighters. So, I’m taking this belt with me, and in a little bit, you folks are gonna see me defending it at a place where the real badasses fight, and I’m gonna do it…”
He stood up, turning to look at a confused, quietly enraged Tsung.
“…in the name of the Ringmaster!”
Before anyone could react, all four men stepped through a dimensional door that quickly closed behind him, leaving Shang Tsung and an equally confused crowd, who quickly began to murmur one word, over and over, wondering if it was part of the bit.
The Ringmaster.
Taking a sip of wine, Sinister thought the word over. He’d have to have Tsung look into it, but he would let his minions concern themselves with company politics. He had more important work to focus on.
“And you’re certain these losses are recoverable?”
Mister Sinister walked alongside Isaac as they surveyed the mutilated and torn apart bodies of several night creatures, some bludgeoned to death, some burned by holy fire, while the majority were slashed to ribbons. He paused at one, a lanky reptilian creature with steel fists that was missing most of its neck, and clicked his tongue in disdain at the former champion before continuing on. Isaac ran his fingers over another, a feminine bat creature with tranquilizing syringes protruding from its wrists and wings designed to fold cleanly over its body, mimicking the appearance of a human woman from a distance, and nodded quietly.
“Indeed. Should you provide me with more fallen fighters or Latverian dissidents, I believe I can recover these losses within a few weeks. Of course-“
He frowned as he stared at the bloody chunks of one creature.
“-I would recommend against further efforts at capturing this “Chainsaw Man” you’re so fascinated by. This group came close, but the intervention of the Hunter’s Guild turned it into an unfortunate slaughter.”
Sinister rolled his eyes, his subordinate’s concern for what amounted to specialized cannon fodder an everlasting annoyance of his.
“I will consider it. For now, see what you can salvage and get me a report by morning.”
He turned on his heel and walked to the elevator, punching in the special combination that brought it straight to his office. With a sigh, he sat in his chair, swinging his legs over the arms as he closed his eyes for a moment. He’d been certain the operation would be a success, but he hadn’t accounted for any friends intervening. It was frustrating, but simply required approaching from a new angle. He’d find it.
More of those damnable cheers rang out from the crowd, jolting him from his quiet contemplation, and he quickly swung his legs down and stood up, glancing out his office window to see the Battledome closed off in a proper simulation unlike last week’s more open exhibition. He looked to one of the many screens scattered around the arena, which depicted a bald, tattooed women, her skin covered in a glowing blue hue, standing amidst the flaming ruins of a medieval castle. She stalked the rubble, gun trained on every shadow, only for a towering red-skinned, horned women to leap from around a corner with a roar, slicing her shotgun clean in half with a battleaxe before driving her elbow into the bald woman’s face.
As the bald woman staggered back, the red-skinned woman raised her axe for a killing blow, only for her opponent to quickly raise her hand, balled into a fist, and telekinetically yank the axe from her foe’s grasp and embed it into the ground. With a fiery roar, the red-skinned woman swung her fist, only to grunt as the bald woman telekinetically caught it mere inches from her face. Hand shaking, she stood more confidently, forcing her opponent to the ground, then lifted her into the air, letting her dangle awkwardly for a moment before bringing both hands together and slamming her onto the blade of the axe, the force of impact cleaving her in two. Satisfied, she fell to her knees, stopping to catch her breath as the battledome simulation faded.
Jack spit blood, listening to the roar of the crowd, and turned her head as she saw Shang Tsung enter, a microphone in one hand and the championship belt in the other. She slowly stood to her feet, scowling, as he addressed the crowd. “Ladies and gen-“
She biotically yanked the microphone from his hand with a snarled, “Give me the fucking mic!” before similarly grabbing the belt, pushing past an annoyed Tsung as she turned to the crowd.
“Listen the fuck up! For the past three years, I’ve been busting my ass with this shithole, tearing apart every waste of space they thought could take my championship from me, all the while I barely get shit for it! And guess what, not a goddamn one of them could hold a fucking candle to me, so I’m fucking bored!”
She glared at Tsung, who gritted his teeth as he stared back, and continued her rant.
“So, you can consider this my official resignation, cuz me and *my* belt are leaving this fucking place for somebody that’ll give me the credit I deserve for carrying this place on my back! Because this belt-“
She held it up to Tsung’s face.
“-is mine! And this crowd-“
She pointed the mic to them, letting the crowd cheer.
“-is mine! So, as far as I’m concerned, I’ve got every goddamned right to take ‘em with me!”
She turned back to the crowd.
“So, if you wanna see me kick some more ass, you’ll have to see what the Ringmaster has got up his sleeve! Thank you, fuck you, bye.”
Without another word, she dropped the mic, slinging the belt over her shoulder, and pushed past Tsung, who watched her warily, then glanced nervously to the upper windows, where he could see the silhouette of his employer watching.
Shang Tsung watched from the Battledome side entrance, scanning the reaction of the crowd as they witnessed a clash of titans. In the Battledome, currently projecting a recreation of an alien colosseum, a towering, bearded man, soaked in blood and covered in wounds, tossed aside a broken axe before bringing his foot down in a thunderous stomp that shook the arena and formed a crack in the ground. As his foe, a white-furred humanoid resembling a lion and wielding a massive maul, charged forward, he stomped again, causing the ground to shoot up in jagged formations, sending the lion flying away. The crowd cheered as the match escalated further and further, but it did little to assuage the anxious sorcerer.
He could see seats that had always been filled empty, the latest in a consistent downward slide of attendance since the defection of not one, but two, champions. Drink and food sales were down, while recruitment efforts from the once reliable wells of the city’s homeless and lower-class population were turning up less combatants than they usually did. He had been tasked with determining what, exactly, was causing this downward shift in enthusiasm, but his efforts had been unsuccessful.
All he could truly determine was this was not simply a changing trend.
This was an act of sabotage.
He turned back to the Battledome, where Godfrey, the latest in a long line of contenders, grabbed Battle Beast, the Klub’s longest reigning champion, by one of the ponytails hanging from his chin and pulled him into a sharp knee, dislocating his jaw. With a snarl, Battle Beast dug his claws into the ground, skidding to a halt and then launching himself forward, slamming into Godfrey’s chest. The two slammed together in a furious clash, Battle Beast savagely slashing away at Godfrey’s chest as the challenger gritted his teeth through the pain. He reached out, grabbing the champion by the wrist, and roared as he squeezed with all his might, not stopping until he felt the snapping of bone, then reared his head back and drove it into Battle Beast’s face.
The two broke apart, Battle Beast trying to ignore the jagged bones sticking from his wrists as they circled one another. Battle Beast lunged again, driving one of the wrist bones into Godfrey’s pec only for him to soldier through the pain and grab him by the throat. With a pained grunt, he tossed Battle Beast into the air, then leapt after him, grabbing the spiraling champion by the waist before wrapping his legs around his arms, locking him into place as they fell together. His opponent struggled futilely, but Godfrey held on as they made impact against the ground, kicking up a massive cloud of dust as they cratered into the earth.
As the dust cleared, both warriors lay on the ground, breathing heavily, and Godfrey stirred first, struggling to climb to his feet before limping over to the prone Battle Beast, who slashed weakly at him. He batted the claw away, then wrapped two meaty hands around Beast’s head, slowly twisting as the champion continued to struggle. Battle Beast stood to his feet, lifting Godfrey up higher as he held his iron grip, and slashed and bit at his arms. With a final, defiant roar, Godfrey twisted just enough, hearing the snap echo across the empty arena and then felt Beast go limp in his arms. He collapsed atop the corpse, resting his head on his chest, and simply collected himself. As the illusion began to shimmer away, bringing him back to the Kombat Klub, he looked to the dead eyes of Battle Beast and gave an approving nod.
“Well fought, champion.”
The applause of the crowd gave him the strength to stand to his feet, limping to the remains of his axe and picking it up as Shang Tsung entered the chamber. Two technicians slung Godfrey’s new championship belt over his shoulders while the sorcerer bowed his head, raising the mic to speak, only for his smile to vanish as Godfrey outstretched his hand. He glanced between the new champion, staring at him expectedly, the crowd, clearly expecting a speech, and the silhouette of his employer in the window, who stayed for a moment, then turned and walked away. With a sigh, he dropped the mic into Godfrey’s hand and took a step back, watching as a dozen technicians struggled to lift the body of Battle Beast from the arena.
Adjusting the enormous belt around his waist, Godfrey turned to address the crowd as though they were the loyal soldiers that once surrounded him. He spoke firmly, authoritative yet benevolent, as he began.
“People of this arena, know that this championship came at no easy price. I came in search of a fight to bring the light back to my eyes, and for a few brief moments-“
He looked back as they finally managed to drag Battle Beast from the arena.
“-I have found it. But now, I find myself in search of new conquests. New struggles to overcome. New foes to vanquish with my overwhelming might. I am uncertain as to whether I can find that here, but another has promised me that.”
Those standing close to Shang Tsung would have noticed that he appeared to turn an entirely new shade of pale, but most were to caught up in the euphoria of another new champion to notice. Godfrey continued speaking.
“And that one’s name is the Ringmaster. So, I ask that you follow me, in search of greater combat, in search of-“
He stopped, a small smile spreading across his lips, as a new figure, clad in a red, white, and blue jacket and with their hood drawn, entered the ring, pushing past a shocked Shang Tsung. To the crowd’s surprise and confusion, Godfrey bowed his head in a small show of respect, then offered the figure the mic. They quickly took it, then lowered their hood to reveal Cody Rhodes, his bright blue eyes scanning the crowd. After a few moments of silence, he began to speak. “My name…is Cody Rhodes. Some of you know me. Some of you don’t. I’ve had a bout or two here, but if I’ll be honest-“ He smirked, casting a glance towards a fuming Shang Tsung. As Cody turned back to the crowd, Tsung angrily snapped his fingers towards a technician and quietly ordered, “Bring me a microphone immediately.”
“-this club isn’t really my kind of thing. Sure, I love a good fight, and I definitely love a good crowd.”
He smiled slightly as a few people cheered in response.
“But my problem is that I think you guys deserve better than what they’re giving you. Where’s the showmanship? Where’s the theatricality? The kind of resources that would make a McMahon blush, and this is what they give you? This isn’t the kind of business I grew up watching, grew up loving, the kind of business that my family’s been with for decades.”
He looked to Godfrey, who simply nodded to him to keep speaking.
“That’s why Godfrey, and the Serpent, and Jack, have all had enough, and that’s why they’ve all decided to come and work with me, to give you folks something better than what they’re giving you.”
He turned again to find himself face to face with Shang Tsung, who glared daggers at him, stewing in silence for a few moments before finally lifting his mic and quipping, “So, I take it you are this…”Ringmaster” I have heard so much about?”
For his part, Cody simply smirked and shrugged. Tsung scowled, then continued.
“Very well. Tell me then, what, exactly, do you think this crowd is deserving of that I cannot give them?”
Cody chuckled, then quipped back, “Well, a better Men’s Lightweight Champion, for one.”
As a mix of laughs and tense “ooohs” came from the crowd, Shang Tsung laughed.
“And you believe yourself worthy of challenging the mighty King? Several men, far more formidable than you, have tried. Even if I did believe you deserved a chance to challenge him, which you don’t, it’s not my ruling to make. That is for the champion, and the champion alone, to decide.”
He knew he was lying, of course. The champions, as much as some hated to admit, answered to him, and impressive enough challengers earned their shots through him. But he wouldn’t give this smug mortal the satisfaction of merely strolling in and taking it. Cody seemed unbothered by it, nodding as he processed the information.
“Alright, well, if it’s up to the champ,” Cody pointed above him, drawing eyes to the bar and dining area, where, to the crowd’s surprise, King overlooked the ring, mask hiding any possible expression, “Then let’s ask the champ. So, King, what’ll it be? You gonna let this guy do the talking for you, hide behind him like you hide your face, or are we gonna have a match?“
Several in the crowd winced, and some in the bar area directly behind King moved in case he got a running start to jump to the Battledome, but King didn’t react. That is, until he gave a single thumbs-up, then stepped away from the railing as the crowd cheered. Cody nodded, pleased, then looked back to Tsung, who couldn’t hide displeasure. With one final smug grin, he said, “Well, looks like the champ made his decision. I’ll see you next week.”
He handed the microphone back to Shang Tsung, then simply pushed past him to leave the arena, followed closely by Godfrey, whose towering presence dissuaded any of the nearby technicians from making a move against the one who had insulted their “employer” so brazenly. Shang Tsung paid no mind to the roar of the crowd or the excited footsteps of spectators going to place early bets, because he could see that Sinister had stepped back in front of the window. While he couldn’t see him through the tint of the windows, he could feel eyes burrowing into him.
Very rarely did he find himself picking sides amongst his fighters, but tonight, strangely, he found himself rooting for King.
One week later…
Clad in his signature red, white, and blue tights with the red and black full-snap jacket over them, Cody Rhodes gave an anxious glance as he watched as his match was set into stand-by. He could hear the cheers of the waiting audience, even through the thick concrete walls of the waiting area. Another would-be combatant, a grinning man with sunglasses, offered him a drink, but Cody simply shook his head. With a shrug, the man tossed the drink back, then went to wait in his own corner. In his jacket pocket, he felt his phone vibrate and quickly checked it. The text was from a blocked number and simply read:
I’ll handle the music. Just trust the plan.
As he put it away, he glanced up to see his match glow green. With a deep breath, he stood from his chair, checked his coat in the mirror, then headed for the exit. He nodded in the direction of a few mumbled “Good luck”s from the other waiting fighters, closed his eyes, then stepped through the door. And as soon as he heard the audience, followed shortly by that ever-familiar guitar riff, he felt like he was home again.
Waiting patiently in the middle of the pit, already pre-transformed into a wrestling ring per the champion’s specifications, Tsung scanned the crowd. It was a very packed house, the best they had been booked in for weeks, but it brought him little satisfaction. It wasn’t because of his work, or his champions, but this pest, this “Ringmaster” who had been so determined to see him humiliated. He prayed for a decisive King victory to put an end to it, once and for all. He turned again to look at Cody Rhodes, pumping up the crowd as he entered the pit, stopping and raising his arms to encourage their enthusiastic “WHOOOAAA-OHHHH” in time with his music.
He paused, tilting his head as he looked up at the corners of the pit. He didn’t remember requesting music for this match. He glanced back at Cody, who took his corner of the pit before quickly nodding in the direction of the crowd, and if Tsung didn’t know any better, he could’ve sworn the nod felt specific. But in a moment, Cody was refocused on the match ahead, taking off his jacket and handing it to a waiting technician before taking a crouched position as he waited for the champion.
The lights faded, hushing the crowd, before a single spotlight shined on the other entrance to the pit. Music that Tsung didn’t recall requesting began to play, causing him to frown slightly. He’d have to speak with the help about these creative freedoms they’d become so liberal with. But his smile reappeared as soon as he saw the silhouette of King in the doorway, earning a massive cheer from the crowd as the champion stepped forward while his music hit its stride. With a purple and blue feathered cape over his shoulders and the championship belt across his waist, King stepped into the pit, raising his arms and basking in the adoration of the crowd. He flexed, showcasing his considerable muscles, before stepping into his corner and letting the cape fall from his shoulders and into the waiting hands of a technician.
Tsung stepped towards him, holding his hands out for the belt, then presented it to the crowd before walking to Rhodes, glaring at him with a withering expression that Cody returned, and presenting it personally. Cody looked down, admiring his own reflection in the belt, then nodded, satisfied. Tsung handed it off to the waiting referee, then turned to face the crowd once more.
“Ladies and gentlemen! I am here to present to you, our main event of this evening, a championship match! In this corner, with a record of two wins and no losses, our challenger, the American Nightmare, Cody Rhodes!”
The crowd let loose a mixture of applause with a boo here and there while Cody jumped in place as a warm-up. His easygoing smile made no betrayal of his emotions as he simply stared ahead at King, who stared right back
“And in this corner, with a record of sixteen wins, one draw, and no losses, our reigning Lightweight Champion: KING!”
The crowd erupted as King posed for them, flexing a bicep then slapping it as a show of strength before raising a single pointed finger to the sky.
“This match will be decided as per the rules set by the champion. It is set for one pinfall or submission, and I do hope that you enjoy. Now, I have one, final order for our fighters: FIGHT!”
The bell rang and Tsung quickly swapped places with the referee, who did his best to keep his distance as King and Cody both took fighting stances and advanced towards each other. The two circled for several seconds, tuning out the noises and eyes on them to focus entirely on the fight. Cody moved first, lunging for King and grabbing him by the shoulders, the two locking up for the moment before the luchador put one hand on his shoulder and the other on his waist, pivoted on his heel, then tossed him towards the ropes. Cody stumbled, nearly losing his footing, then ducked as King dashed forward, spinning on his heel and throwing out a sharp elbow that he just barely ducked under. As he turned back to face him, Cody took a boxer’s stance and landed a right hook to his jaw. It felt like punching solid oak, but his opponent gave way slightly as Cody followed up with one, and then another. He tried to land a final uppercut, only for King to sidestep it, then place a hand on the back of his head and bash it against his waiting knee.
Cody, holding his nose, attempted to fall back, only for King to quickly move behind him, put a hand on his shoulder, and swing him around, sending him back into the ropes. With a grunt, Cody kicked off of them, pivoting in mid-air to land a dropkick to King’s chest that finally made him stagger. He hit the mat, rolling to his feet and following up with another punch, but King recovered fast, catching his fist, grabbing him by the throat, and chokeslamming him into the mat. As his foe groaned on the mat, King quickly headed for a corner, scaled the ropes, and flexed one arm, slapping his bicep as the audience cheered, before leaping for the ropes, elbow aimed for where Cody’s gut should’ve been.
Just as King would’ve made impact, Cody rolled to the side, letting King hit the mat, clutching his elbow in pain. He quickly leapt to his feet before sprinting to the ropes, using them to launch him forward and drive a knee into the still hunched-over King’s face. The champion nearly collapsed while Cody continued forward, pivoting and bouncing from the ropes for another dropkick. His eyes widened as he kicked air, recognizing the bait just as King fell to his back, grabbed his legs, and swung down, driving Cody’s back into his raised knees. King kicked the limp Cody off of him, then rolled him onto his back before pinning him, putting his full weight on Cody’s chest while pointing one of his legs to the air. The referee quickly slid to his stomach next to him, beginning a count, but before his hand could even hit the mat for one, Cody kicked out, twisting to his side and raising a hand to the air.
The referee fell back, giving King room to sit up and glare down at his challenger, who gave a pained grin in response. With a growl, King stood up, spread Cody’s legs, and then tucked his boots under his armpits, then began to spin, the momentum slowly lifting a flailing Cody off the ground while the crowd let out a “WHOA!” with every rotation. As the force of the spin seemed to lift him to King’s midriff, the champion released him, letting him flying across the ring, slam into the ropes, then hit the mat with an awkward thud. As King approached, Cody laid limp, closed eyes twitching. King loomed over him, then crouched down to grab him by his boots, only for Cody to spring up and grab him by the ankles, sling his feet over his shoulders, and roll forward, pinning him to the mat. As King struggled against the surprise pin, Cody frantically nodded for the ref, who quickly hit the mat and started a count.
“Ah-one-ah!”
King snarled, twisting and turning as he tried to break Cody’s grasp from an uncomfortable position.
“Ah-two-ah!”
Cody began to ponder if a simple possum pin was all it was going to take just as King roared and twisted to the side, smacking his forehead against the ropes and loosening his grip just enough to kick free. As King sat up, taking a moment to recover from the disorienting pin, Cody laid on his back and rolled out of the ring, hitting the floor and quickly scrambling under the apron. If this simulation was anything like the rings he’s spent most of his life in, he suspected he’d find something that could even the odds. Recovered and not content to let his foe escape, King leapt over the ropes, hitting the ground feet-first, and stomped over to Cody, grabbing him by the leg and dragging him out from under the mat. Just as Cody’s head appeared, he swung around, grinning as a steel chair collided with King’s forehead with a satisfying clang.
King, clutching his head, staggered away, and Cody leapt up and turned, smirking at the crowd’s boos, before slamming the chair into King’s back and head again and again. With a grunt, he tossed the chair over the ropes, then grabbed King by the head and shoulder, shoved him into the side of the ring, then hoisted him back into it before scaling the ropes and jumping in after him. King turned, raising his hands defensively as Cody did the same, and the two circled the ring, Cody cautiously creeping towards the chair only for King to position himself between the two. Balling his right hand into a fist, Cody charged forward, seemingly throwing a punch, and then ducked under King’s attempt to grapple him, quickly spinning on his heel to stand side-by-side with him before hooking his leg around him, slinging an arm over his shoulder, and throwing himself backward, sending them both crashing to the floor. King’s head slammed against the seat of the chair with enough force to dent the seat, and as he laid in a daze, Cody rolled to his knees and shoved the chair out from under King’s head before sitting on his stomach, lifting his leg while leaning back, and waving for the referee to hurry with a count.
“Ah-one-ah!”
The crowd began to boo at the apparent dirty play. Cody hated to admit it, but it made part of him miss his heel days.
“Ah-tw-“
King reached up, grabbed Cody’s arms, then sat up, using the force to pull him forward and slam his head into the mat. With a re-energized roar, he tossed Cody off of him and stood to his feet. He took a moment, circling his downed foe like a predator stalking it’s kill, before climbing onto Cody’s back, balling a fist through his hair, then lifting him to face the crowd. He raised a fist and slammed it into the back of Cody’s head, driving his face into the mat.
“ONE!” roared the crowd.
He lifted Cody’s head again and punched, doubling the power behind it.
“TWO!”
He raised Cody’s head a final time and raised a hand, letting the crowd build in anticipation as he closed the hand into a fist, then punched again, Cody’s bruised face bouncing off the mat before lying still.
“THREE!”
He stood up from the prone body of his foe, rolled him onto his back, then re-applied the pin, making sure to push his elbow into Cody’s face to really force his shoulders to the mat. The ref, now knowing to stay close by, quickly laid by King.
“Ah-one-ah!”
King leaned further back, feeling no resistance underneath him.
“Ah-two-ah!”
He closed his eyes, letting the adoration of the crowd strengthen him, only to feel a sudden burst of activity underneath him as Cody once again managed to lift his shoulder, raising an outstretched hand as high as it could go, as the ref’s hand was mere inches from the mat. King climbed off of Cody, who slowly crawled to his knees and glared up at him, and surveyed the foe that he realized he had underestimated. He reached down, grabbing him by the hair again, and pulled him to his feet, shoving him against the ropes. Cody leaned on them for support, then ducked as King jumped forward with a knee strike. With a growl, King quickly pivoted and dashed again, this time catching Cody off-guard as he grabbed him by the waist, flipped him over, then walked to the center, Cody clinging to his midriff as he dangled over the mat.
As King raised him up, Cody kicked forward, letting his weight force them both backward as he awkwardly managed to land on his feet, catching King in a facelock. As King struggled, slowly breaking the grip, Cody spun downward, sending them both slamming into the ground. The two wrestlers laid on the mat, collecting themselves, and Cody turned to look at King, cursing to himself as he saw the luchador already starting to sit up. He’d known this guy was tough, but “no-selling a Cross Rhodes was on a different level than what he’d been prepared for. He rolled out of grabbing range, then stood up, walking to the ropes to leave the ring again. He’d wanted to win this clean, but if the audience wanted a heel so bad, he’d give them one.
His planning was cut short as a firm hand grabbed his shoulder, pulling him close, and a bicep wrapped around his neck. Flailing, he gasped for breath as King pulled him into a coquina clutch, King’s hand moving from his shoulder to tightly gripping his head. The champion dragged him away from the rope, Cody’s hands trying to desperately to grab them and force a break, then wrapped his legs around his waist and brought him to the ground. The cheering grew tense, the betting audience watching cautiously as Cody continued to struggle and squirm in the iron grasp of King. His breathing slowed, his desperate attempts to break free became sloppier and weaker, and he began to slowly grow limp.
Cody’s vision blurred, and he could barely hear King’s breathing in his ear as he tightened the hold. He kept struggling, glancing over at the closely watching ref through hazy eyes. He began to go limp, and a tense hush went over the crowd as the ref leaned closer, then grabbed one of his arms, lifting it and letting it fall to the mat. He held up a finger, then lifted the wrist and let it fall again. Crowd chatter picked up as he held up two fingers, then turned back, lifting the hand and letting it fall for a third time.
The ref stood and turned away, the mood becoming celebratory (save for the select few reluctantly handing over money) as he signaled for the bell-keeper, a taller, similarly mustachioed figure in a green-striped shirt, to end the match. The bell-keeper quickly drew a hammer from his belt, turned to the bell, raised his hammer…
…and let out a pained yelp as a strong hand grabbed his wrist. He looked back, seeing a bald, tattooed woman snarling at him as she wrenched the hammer from his grasp. He began to sweat nervously, signaling for help from the pale-skinned security staff, each with a red gem in the middle of their foreheads, only for a towering green-skinned man in a serpent mask to emerge seemingly from nowhere and tackle them into the wall of the Battledome. As the ref came to the ropes to assist his brother, Jack angrily pointed back at the two competitors and yelled, “Hey, dumbass! Look at his fucking fingers!”
The ref turned to see Cody, eyes wide open, frantically wiggling the fingers of his outstretched hand as he fought the grapple with renewed vigor, and quickly turned and gestured for the match to keep going. The crowd’s exciting buzzing had gone to a deafening roar, while gamblers began to squabble amongst themselves and a few eagle-eyed viewers would notice an enraged Shang Tsung arguing with a defiant ref before storming off, barking at security for their apparent failure. The two outsiders who had relit the fire on the match, however, were nowhere to be seen, having vanished as soon as they had appeared.
Cody moved like a man possessed, leaning forward and forcing himself to his feet, King’s arm wrapped around his neck all the while. Fully standing, he jerked right, then left, failing to shake from the clutch, before desperately fumbling behind him, hands finally making contact and grabbing onto the ears of King’s mask. With a grunt, he fell on his rear, slamming King’s chin into the back of his head, the impact finally forcing King to let go as he stumbled away holding his chin. He sucked in desperate gasps of air, coughing furiously, as King shook off the blow.
If he was gonna win this, it was now or never.
He put his hands up and slouched slightly, circling King as the recovered champion followed him with his eyes. He pushed forward, feigning to the right before kicking King in the gut from the left. As he doubled over, Cody fell to his back, coming face to face with him, then punched up, snapping King’s head back with the force of the punch. As King stumbled away, Cody sprung to his feet, dashed to a corner, and waited, gesturing for his opponent to come at him. King obliged, lunging forward with arms outstretched, and Cody sucked in a deep breath before leapfrogging over him and landing on his feet. He turned, bouncing from foot to foot to stay in motion, and gestured for King to try again. King leapt forward, arms once again outstretched, and Cody grinned as he ducked the grab, wrapped one arm around King’s shoulder and the other around his waist, and used the combined weight and momentum of the two to slam him into the ground.
Cody, holding his side, stood shakily to his feet, cheering and raising a defiant fist to the crowd that was overwhelmingly cheering for him. He pounded a fist to his chest, soldiering through the pain from every blow he’d taken.
Now or never.
King began to climb to his feet, and Cody pivoted on his heel, playing riskily as he turned his back to the King, then ran for the ropes. Climbing to the second rope, he sprung off of them, looked back, and grabbed the surprised King’s head in a facelock. They both crashed to the ground, Cody driving King’s head into the mat before rolling over in one clean motion. The cheers reached a peak as he pinned King, practically throwing himself on top before he lifted the champion’s leg and pushed his shoulders down. The ref, caught in the feverish excitement, fell beside Cody.
“Ah-one-ah!”
Cody pushed King into the mat, praying desperately for him to stay down, while Shang Tsung fumed quietly from the sidelines, scanning the outskirts of the Battledome for any more signs of interference.
“Ah-two-ah!”
The ref’s hand made impact with the mat just as King shot up, shoving an exhausted Cody off of him. The noises of the onlookers seemed to fade away as the two competitors locked eyes, Cody’s relentless glare matching King’s burning ferocity. Cody broke first, yelling in frustration and pounding his fist on the mat before wearily standing to his feet. He defiantly gestured for King to take at him, but the champion ignored him in favor of looking to the crowd. With a scowl, Cody threw a punch, but without even looking, King caught the fist and whipped him towards the corner. Cody, caught off-guard, managed to catch himself, springing off of the ropes for another cutter, but King was ready this time.
As Cody launched himself back, King stayed low, catching him out of the air, hoisting him up, then circling around, presenting him to the crowd before bringing him down hard, slamming his back into his knee. Cody cried out in pain as King let him hit the mat, but the champ was not finished. He reached down, grabbed Cody by the hair, and yanked him to his feet. Cody threw an elbow, connecting with King’s jaw but not staggering him enough to loosen his grip, then threw another, and another, chipping away at him before King spun and tossed him into another corner.
Cody was given no time to recover before King drove an elbow into his face, nearly lifting him off his feet. Dazed, he could offer little defense against King, who locked him in a headlock then began to climb the ropes, a struggling Cody trapped in the lock as he was pushed to the top. Standing with his back to the mat, King loosened his grip, nearly falling as Cody wrenched himself free and socked him across the jaw, but he ducked the second strike and quickly grabbed him again. With a grunt, he pushed Cody’s neck against his shoulder, grabbed his legs to hold them in place, and lifted him up. Trapped and recognizing a Muscle Buster, Cody tried in vain to break free as King climbed to the top rope, his eyes widening as King turned away from the mat and instead to the outside.
Making sure to keep his struggling prey pinned, King pointed to the heavens, then jumped. The two soared through the air and hit the ground, King slamming into it back first while Cody’s head made impact, before collapsing into a heap. Neither man moved, and the ref began to give a concerned look to any technicians waiting nearby before reluctantly beginning a count. He made it to an anxious, “Ah-seven-ah!” before King finally stirred, slowly sitting up and trying to shake off the pain. Feeling the shooting pain in his back, he ignored it in favor of forcing himself up. He lifted a still not moving Cody, whose forehead had begun bleeding profusely, by the hair again and began to drag him to his feet, but Cody’s eyes, as if he’d been waiting, snapped open right before he landed a haymaker to King’s crotch.
The low blow earned a roar of pain from King and boos of disapproval from the crowd, but Cody simply flipped them off before grabbing King by the head and whipping him into the steel steps. He charged, hoping to land another punch, but King sidestepped him, grabbed him by the back of the head, and slammed his head off the steps. Cody leaned against the steps for support, trying to wiped the blood from his eyes, and King grabbed him by the throat, then tossed him back onto the mat, awkwardly rolling him under the ropes in an effort to push him back into the ring.
With Cody secured back in the ring, King leapt to the side of it, tested the strength of the rope, then jumped to the top, managing to quickly find his balance before leaping down and finally connecting with an elbow drop. It hit Cody so hard that his legs involuntarily kicked up before thumping into the mat, King catching one to lift it up as he went for the cover, but as the ref began the count beside them, he managed to reach out, just barely grabbing the rope as they hit two. Seeing his hand on the rope, the ref stopped the count and signaled for King to break it up, and the champ shot a glare to Cody, who gave a him a bloody grin as they broke apart.
The exhaustion began to set in even for the champion, who reluctantly allowed Cody to stand to his feet. Cody gestured for him to keep going, but King waited a moment, putting an ear to the crowd, who broke out in chants of “KING” and “We want Co-dy!” in response. Seemingly satisfied, King nodded to Cody, and though the mask hid any discernable emotion, Cody swore it was almost one of respect. He had little time to process this before, almost out of nowhere, King sprinted forward, grabbed Cody in a facelock, turned, and jumped up before slamming Cody’s head into his shoulder, the sheer impact knocking Cody into the air and sending him crashing to the ground.
As his opponent was sprawled out, King laid on his back, catching his breath, then dragged himself to Cody’s prone body and laid across it. With neither man moving, the ref quickly hit the mat.
“Ah-one-ah!”
The crowd’s cheers hit a new high, but neither King nor Cody moved, save for Cody’s chest rising and falling with his breath.
“Ah-two-ah!”
Shang Tsung looked anxiously to Sinister’s office, where his boss’s silhouette watched closely.
“Ah-three-ah!”
As the bell rang, the crowd took to their feet, and gamblers once again handed over their money, Shang Tsung quickly took to the ring, belt slung over his shoulder, and pushed past the referee, who quickly left to check on his brother. He did his best to ignore that, once again, King’s music was playing when he’d never arranged for music. He would sort that out later, when he didn’t have a victory to celebrate. Neither King nor Cody rose as he stood by them, and he quickly gestured for technicians to help King to his feet. Pulled to his feet, the reigning champion took one last look at Cody Rhodes, blood pouring from his forehead and body bruised and battered, then stepped towards Shang Tsung, holding a hand out for the belt, which Tsung happily gave him.
As the music cut out, Tsung turned back to the audience, raised the mic, and declared, “Ladies and gentlemen, I present your winner, and still the reigning, undisputed Lightweight Champion, KI-!”
He was cut off as King slammed the belt into his face, sending him sprawling across the mat and earning a shocked gasp from the crowd. The technicians turned, looking in shock at Tsung before looking at the champ with a mixture of outrage and hesitation. One put a hand on the taser on his belt, only to stop as Jack, joined by the Serpent and Godfrey, climbed into the ring and stood behind King. They exchanged anxious glances, then quickly turned and left, leaving their boss at the mercy of the newly formed stable.
With the distraction gone, King crouched down, grabbed Cody by the wrist, and pulled him to his feet, letting him rest on his shoulder as he held up a fist for the crowd, who cheered after a brief hesitation. Tsung paid this little mind, as he was more occupied on the sneakers that filled his blurry vision. Each of the competitors, either wearing their belts or slinging them over their shoulders, looked to the wearer of the sneakers in deference, and Tsung’s confusion was replaced with annoyance as the wearer turned and crouched to his level, finally giving him a good look at his face.
Beast grinned at Tsung and faux-sheepishly asked, “Hey, hate to bother you but do you mind if I just-“
He reached down and plucked the mic from his hand.
“-thanks, man.”
Paying no more mind to Tsung, Beast turned to the crowd, gesturing for them to quiet down as the others formed a line behind him, Jack glaring at technicians and security standing ringside. He smirked to himself before finally addressing everyone.
“Now, you people…you know who I am. But you don’t…know why…I’m here.”
He began to pace slightly as he spoke.
“I’m here…because I guess you could say I’m trying out a new name. Many of you know me as Chairman Beast, some of you call BeastMan14 if you’re formal, and my friends like to call me Beast, but today, you folks can call me…”
He chuckled to himself.
“…the Ringmaster.”
Amidst a few shocked gasps, he nodded, letting the reaction sink in, before gesturing to Cody.
“Now, I let Cody take that heat because I wanted to save the surprise for after the match, and I just wanna say that he has busted his ass tonight to prove the point I wanna make. I became the Ringmaster and recruited all of these incredible warriors for a simple reason: I think you people deserve a better product than what he’s-“
He pointed to a glowering Shang Tsung, who had finally started to stand up.
“-giving you. Where’s the excitement? Where’s the creativity? Most importantly, where’s the goddamn respect these fighters deserve!”
He smiled at seeing a few thoughtful nods from the crowd.
“These guys are out here giving you matches like the one you just saw every night for FREE! They don’t even get a goddamn housing improvement out of it half the time because management doesn’t bother to report it to the city. Unorganized, unsanctioned, and unsatisfying is what I call it, and as a four-time Battle of the Year winner, it offends my sensibilities. And that’s why I have two announcements for you folks tonight.”
He held up a finger.
“One, I am here to announce that Cody and I will be taking the very same Battledome tech so arrogantly *stolen* by this Kombat Klub and using it form the Rhodes Family Championships, a combat club where fighters can train, put on matches, and most importantly, for those that are homeless or low-income, have a place to rest and finally get off these streets!”
At this, he earned a wild round of applause and looked back to a still quite dazed Cody, who nodded to him in approval.
“I will be doing the bankrolling, Cody will be doing the recruitment, booking, and promotion, it’ll be like the peanut butter and chocolate of organizing. But, on the topic of recruiting, I would like to announce our first major recruit…”
He stepped aside for King, who raised his belt to the air and let the crowd cheer for a few moments before handing it off to Beast. Beast appraised the belt, seemingly impressed by the craftmanship, then turned to the crowd and said, “I like it, but let’s give it a redesign that’s a little more…tasteful.”
He snapped his fingers, seemingly conjuring a spray paint can in thin air, then whistled to himself as he sprayed an all-caps “RFC” across the belt, then held it aloft. As if on cue, Jack, the Serpent, and Godfrey each held up their belts, similarly marked with the same initials, and a giddy Beast practically roared, “Oh, and I got one more announcement: we’re taking the fucking belts with us! So, if you’re a warrior who wants some proper respect or just someone who wants to see some real, high-quality matches, head on down to the RFC, ‘cause it’s got what you’re looking for, and we’re ready to go to war to prove it!”
The crowd erupted in cheers as the group turned and left the ring, Beast stopping to write “RFC” in the air before dropping the mic by Tsung and joining them. As four of his championship belts walked out the door, all Shang Tsung could focus on was the feeling that the silhouette in the window was looking right at him. His temple throbbed as he felt Sinister reach out to him.
If it is a war they want, then I believe it’s best we give it to them. Now, if you’ll join me in my office, we can…discuss your failures further.
Expert's Opinion[]
This match ultimately boiled down to whether Cody Rhodes's technical skill and wits could overcome King's overwhelming physicality, and while Cody fought admirably, he just couldn't make up for the sheer power being thrown his way. King, not exactly unskilled himself and with a body honed in combat with crazier foes, was able to overwhelm his foe's considerable durability and put him down for the count.