NFW Aftershock #19 - 02/13/2021!

Ryleigh Ruin v. Jerry Watts

Jerry Watts and Ryleigh Ruin had a little bit of history between one another, coming into this match. They were no strangers to each other after crossing paths in other promotions. This was nothing new; NFW was just a new field of battle for them. The two locked up in the center of the ring with Watts relying on his strength and technical prowess to gain the initial edge of the match. Watts hammered away with right hands and knee strikes. He followed up, manhandling Ryleigh a bit with suplexes of a varying sort, coming off the turnbuckle then with a diving elbow drop. Things seemed to be going his way until he decided to try and take things to the mat. As he brought Ruin down and started trying to throw bombs from above, Ryleigh was right in her element now and she wrapped him up in a Triangle Choke. Watts realized the dilemma he was in and managed to rotate across the mat and get his foot on the ropes for a break. Watts got back up and Ruin was goading him on to come at her now. He seemed a little pissed at how Ruin flat out flipped the script on him and he came in for a clothesline but Ruin caught his arm and used his momentum to throw him into a Judo Hip Toss. She kept hold of the wrist and locked on a Fujiwara Armbar, but again, Watts got to the ropes. This time, Ruin went to her kicks and started chopping the bigger man down. Jerry was reeling but striking was a game he could match so he started firing back against The Little Monster with shots of his own. He rocked Ryleigh, hitting the ropes to come in for that clothesline again but Ryleigh caught him in the midsection with a hook kick. Now Ryleigh was hitting the ropes and Jerry dipped forward for a backbody drop but Ruin seized the opening and caught him with her Fall Into Ruin for the pinfall victory!

K/DA’s “More” played as the referee raised her arm. Ryleigh gave Jerry room to get up while she moved to the camera and said that’s how a member of TRIOCS handles business, saying that The Kingdom and everyone else better be watching.

Result: Pinfall

With a single, ominous music note, the Behold The Kingdom banner fills the screen. It then starts to distort with cinematic cigarette burns before the screen fuzzes up with static. With a cinematic pop, the screen does that bit where it goes out and a line of light quickly shrinks into a tiny dot in the center before disappearing. A second later, the screen comes to life with a camera inside the privately owned gym and training area on the Kingdom’s property in Asheville, North Carolina. The gym lights are dimmed. It’s quiet. It’s completely barren except for the presence of one of the stables’ members sitting on the apron of their practice ring. Sweat glistens on the shapely yet effeminate arms as she casts her gaze down at the floor beneath her dangling feet. Strands of her dark brown hair hang from under the hood of her black, sleeveless hoodie. She’s obviously there in the middle of a workout, or perhaps having just finished one, as she’s sitting in her spandex gym shorts and sneakers. Something that sounds like Upon A Burning Body plays over the building’s speaker system as the woman drums her fingers against the ring apron as she sits there. On one side of her is a protein shaker cup, half full of water. On the other side of her, sits the Silver Mountain Championship.

Morgan Payne: ...Startin’ ta notice a pattern, here. Seems like every time I end up bein’ outta da buildin’ s’when people decide they wanna do dis.

She lifts one hand, opening and closing her fingers and thumb in the “motor mouth” motion.

Morgan Payne: Happens every time. Every time. S’like people think da Kingdom can be fucked wif but at da same time, they know I’m the one’ll come over yinz locker room, kick the door in and give a first hand demo in dat lesson. Yinz know who I’m talkin’ ‘baht. I ain’t gotta say they name. I won’t say they name. I ain’t wastin’ a breath. Don’t need to. Yinz know what I’m capable of. I don’t give a fuck. I’ll go ta da ICU again just ta prove my point. I’mma say dis on behalf of da entire Kingdom: I - we - don’t give a fuck where yinz muhfuckers trained or dat ya comin’ aht in sports cars and a fuckin’ elephant. Yanno what we call dat? Overcompensatin’. Sit dahn an’ shut da fuck up. Forward slash, end rant….

Morgan brushes under her nose with the back of the hand and picks up a protein shaker cup full of water. She pops the cap open and takes a long sip from it. She recaps the cup, sets it down on the ring apron beside her and looks back ahead, into the camera with a more hardened stare. She winces just a tad, it seems. Something with her eyes and she adjusts the hood of her hoodie to pull it over her head more, shadowing her eyes from the light. Pause and a strained sigh.

Morgan Payne: Now then. Let’s talk shit dat actually matters.

She reaches over to her other side and picks up the Silver Mountain Championship. She sets it in her lap and stares down at it for a moment.

Morgan Payne: I ain’t gonna lie, I expected some cray shit like Callaway stickin’ my boy Tren and Ringmaster in a match or a set of matches ta decide who got what. However, comma, hey we got an even bigger surprise. Ringmaster. My man.

She shakes her head with a grin of amusement and approval on her face. She’s intrigued by his decision on Collision to relinquish the opportunity for the World Title to Tren Descarrilado.

Morgan Payne: I dun’ get it. Most people would vye for the top prize. They’d scrape and claw against the other guy to get the spot you handed ta Tren. You stepped aside like the distinguished gentleman ya carry yaself as. Maybe ya think dis is da easier title ta come after. Mid tier n’at, whatever they wanna call it. Or, maybe not. Maybe...just maybe...you see dis title for what it was meant ta be, like I do. You like ta overcome obstacles and adapt ta shit and you know I’mma test you ta see what kinda bad muhfucker you really are. Yanno what?

She looks down at the belt again, then back up at the camera; lifts it up against her chest, plate facing out and slaps it a couple times. She lowers her head again, just enough to keep even the dim light directly out of her face.

Morgan Payne: S’right here, waitin’. Regs and policies aside, for what it’s worth, I personally, fully accept your challenge. Ahnno it’s gonna be one too. However, don’t be makin’ mistakes dude. Challenges like dis are a two sided blade. You ain’t no bitch ta sleep on and neither am I. You comin’ at me? I’mma make sure you bring ya big guns. Or shit….

Pause. She snickers just for a second, thinking back to what she was saying when this piece first started.

Morgan Payne: You might need a circus elephant, too, ta break through da defenses. What’s it gonna be?

Another pause and Morgan sets the title down in her lap again. She looks off to the side, thoughtfully. She pushes air out through her lips, tossing her strands of hair up out of her face before they fall back and she pushes them under her hood, shaking her head at the camera.

Morgan Payne: I ‘unno, yet. You’ll be da first ta know after I do, though. Mark me. Till then…? Well...make like dat double sided blade I mentioned….

She hops down from the apron and picks up the water cup again; pops the cap and sips from it before motioning to the camera with it. Morgan winks and clicks her tongue.

Morgan Payne: Stay sharp.

The Silver Mountain Champion caps the cup again and walks out of frame without another word. Slowly, then, the camera lifts up to focus on the large “Behold The Kingdom” banner, hanging high up on the wall in the background….

Lluvia Cane v. Dona Rotten

The match begins with Cane and Rotten immediately locking up. An impressive exchange of strikes follows before Dona floors Lluvia with a short armed lariat that gets her a close two count.

It looks like Dona has control the entire match, stifling any kind of offensive comeback the Cherokee Rose can muster until her arrogance leads to her missing a shoulder tackle in the corner as Lluvia slips free.

Lluvia battles back, but Dona looks to be taking back control when she hits her signature Chainsaw Kick before ascending the turnbuckle. She dives off, looking for Toxicosis, but Cane rolls out of the way, getting to her feet only to floor Rotten with Angelic Rebellion to pick up the victory.

Result: Pinfall

The camera comes to life to show Tren Descarrilado sitting on the hood of his fully restored 1979 Chevy El Camino. He's not dressed to wrestle today, wearing black jeans, motorcycle boots, and a leather jacket over his own Kingdom t-shirt. He's smoking a cigarette as he looks at the camera.

Tren Descarrilado: Ever since last Invasion, all I been hearing around here is "Wow Cass Baumer valiantly led her team to victory in WarGames. Collision is the A show. Yay Baumer!"

The words are spoken in a high pitched, excited tone, but the sarcasm behind them is obvious.

Tren Descarrilado: Fuck Cass Baumer. Let's look back at that match huh? Who nearly lost an eye to the Devil's Little Cum Dumpster? Who nearly got choked out by Anton's Flavor of the Month? Who was standing tall when that bell rung after I buried motherfucking Adrianna Salvatore in a sea of thumbtacks with a Bullet Train to Hell?

Tren appears to ponder this for a moment before he flicks the spent butt of his cigarette, face contorted in anger.

Tren Descarrilado: ME, MOTHERFUCKERS! Without me, Team Collision had no fucking chance in that WarGames match, and they fucking KNEW it. But I had to forcefully insert myself into that team. Didn't hear no arguments from our "glorious leader" Baumer. Didn't hear Calloway telling me it was her choice. Ya know why? Because they knew without me they were fucked.

The violent Mexican lights another cigarette, heel tapping on the bumper, the man looking keyed up and ready for a fight.

Tren Descarrilado: Then on Collision, someone finally gives me the recognition I fucking deserved. Ringmaster marched his goofy ass out to that ring and passed up the chance at the World Heavyweight Championship to me, because he knew I did the heavy fucking lifting in that cage. He's the only motherfucker who was in that match that has a fucking brain in his skull.

Tren stands up, cracking his neck before taking a drag off his cigarette.

Tren Descarrilado: When my time comes, one of three people could be Champion. Damon Cross. A man I call Crow. Someone who's earned my respect through combat inside that ring. Sativa Nevaeh. A woman who's set records with that title, and held it numerous times. Or it could be Cass Baumer. A woman with a blank check to cash anytime she wants to take her shot for the belt.

Tren takes off his jacket, laying it across the hood of his car. He flicks away a second spent cigarette.

Tren Descarrilado: Don't matter who it is. When I step into that ring for my chance at the World Heavyweight Championship, I'm walking out with that belt. Don't matter if it's friend or foe I'm fighting against because this is business motherfucker, and at the end of the day, I gotta look out for number one. Me.

Tren flashes a smile, but it's a sinister look, and theirs a hint of insanity in his eyes.

Tren Descarrilado: All three of you motherfuckers are standing on the tracks. All it'll take is one Bullet Train to Hell, then you'll be staring up at the lights, and I'll be holding that world title up high. Damon? Cass? Sativa? When you step into that ring with me, I will make sure that any one of you…

Tren roars, ripping off his shirt with ease before his wild eyes meet the camera again.

Tren Descarrilado: Behold the motherfucking Kingdom, and the motherfucking Man Who Feels No Pain. Bet.

Tren slips on his jacket and climbs back into his truck as the camera fades to black.

Milisandre Crowthorne v. Maki

Before this match can get started, Matt Shields comes strolling out with a cooler in one hand and a folding chair in the other. Both Maki and Milisandre look at him, his burned face still covered by that disturbing mask. He sits down right at the bottom of the ramp, grabs a Kirin Ichiban from his cooler, and puts a metal straw in so he can drink. He motions for them to begin, both women roll their eyes a bit, then turn back to each other. Maki fires off a hard chop and Mil fires back with one of her own, a short chop battle commences and Milisandre learns not to play the striking game with Maki. Maki follows a chop with a stiff elbow strike, then a massive spinning backfist that nets her a 2 count. Maki looks ready to end it with a Makihouse kick, but Milisandre ducks it and then catches Maki with a German suplex. A leaping clothesline and a big running high knee later, and Mil scores herself a 2 count. On the outside Shields gives a little clap as Milisandre pulls Maki up and then tosses her with an exploder suplex. Another cover and another 2 count. Maki is pulled up once more, but this time she delivers a chop to the throat of Milisandre and follows with a Superkick Party, hitting The Great Dreamer in the knee, the stomach, and then with a little of that sweet chin music. Before Maki can cover, however, Milisandre rolls out of the ring. Milisandre is slowly getting to her feet so Maki hits the ropes and comes flying to the outside with a suicide dive. Maki pulls Milisandre up, rolls her back into the ring, then looks over at Shields and slides inside with a smile. Maki goes to pull Milisandre back up, but this time she gets a punch to the throat and a massive STO. Milisandre takes a few seconds to get her breath back as both women had been throwing everything at each other tonight. Milisandra surprises Maki with a Thesz press, then rains down several punches on her opponent. Milisandre rolls off, hits the ropes, and connects with a crossbody on Maki that scores her a very close 2 count. Maki is slower getting to her feet this time and that gives Mlisandre the opening she needs to catch Maki in the Grasp of Cthulhu.

Milisandre has Maki square in the middle of the ring as she perfectly applies the dangerous submission. Milisandre begins to transition into the Grip of Cthulhu when the lights go completely black. When they come back on, Milisandre is face to face with Asmodeus. The demon sprays a green blinding mist in the face of Milisandre and the lights go out once again. When they return, so has Maki. Maki levels Milisandre with The Makihouse kick and makes the cover as Shields sarcastically claps for her, getting up to leave as the ref begins the count, counting three and awarding the pinfall win to Maki.

Result: Pinfall