Suddenly, the AAPW entrance ramp lit up in crimson and gold, and “Raging Appetite” by Wagakki Band blasted through the speakers.
Takeshi Suzuki: It’s him! It’s the Gluttonous Blade—Tsurugi Yama!
Beast Bogan: Another Sumo wrestler? Brothers, you’d think Tanaka would try a different strategy.
Chris Rodgers: Tanaka is insane! Last time I checked the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result! Has this man learned nothing?
Takeshi Suzuki: Just you wait Rodgers! This man is absolute wrecking machine! The only thing greater then his ring preseance is his appetite. Hell! I bet he could out eat LuLu Biggs!
Chris Rodgers: Hah! Oh yeah? You want make a side bet on that?
Takeshi Suzuki: Your on old man!
The crowd erupted as Tsurugi Yama emerged from the stage, his imposing figure silhouetted against the lights. The former Yokozuna wore a dark robe embroidered with sumo symbols, and his expression was one of pure fury.
Yasuhiro Fujimoto: Tsurugi Yama is here to save Fuji! The Shikona Legion is rallying!
At the same time, from the Ultimate Wrestling entrance, the ominous sounds of “Voennaya March” by the Russian Army Choir filled the arena. The towering form of Viktor Zlovred, the Siberian Warhammer, stepped into the spotlight.
Scott Slade: Oh boy… it’s Viktor Zlovred!
Chris Rodgers: Now things are about to get interesting! Zlovred’s here to finish what Mordokrov started!
Beast Bogan: You’ve got two giants comin’ down the ramps, brother! This ring is about to explode!
Scott Slade: That or collapse from the sheer weight in it!
The two titans made their way to the ring, their gazes locked on the chaos unfolding inside. Tsurugi Yama marched with purpose, his fists clenched, while Zlovred cracked his knuckles, his cold eyes fixed on the bloodied Fuji. The crowd erupted as Tsurugi Yama and Viktor Zlovred slid into the ring simultaneously, and the battle was on.
Beast Bogan: Here we go, brother! All hell is about to break loose!
The four-on-two beatdown intensified as Mordokrov’s Russians ruthlessly dismantled the Shikona Legion. Every movement from the Ultimate Wrestling team was deliberate, calculated, and coldly efficient. Mordokrov directed traffic with the precision of a general, his sharp commands in Russian echoing through the Tokyo Dome.
Scott Slade: This is a masterclass in destruction! Mordokrov isn’t just a brute—he’s orchestrating this assault like a battlefield commander!
Chris Rodgers: You’ve gotta love it, Slade. Ultimate Wrestling is dominating AAPW in their own house, and the Russians are leading the charge! This is how you send a message!
With Zlovred holding Tsurugi Yama in a tight full nelson, Olga Pavlova lumbered forward, her cold eyes locked on the trapped sumo. She delivered a massive palm strike to Yama’s exposed chest, the impact sounding like a gunshot and drawing gasps from the crowd.
Yasuhiro Fujimoto: No! That’s a blow meant to shatter bones! The Shikona Legion is being torn apart piece by piece!
Takeshi Suzuki: This is insane! How can Tanaka allow this to happen? The Shikona Legion are our warriors—they deserve better than this ambush!
Beast Bogan: Last time I checked brother, Tanaka wasn’t on the wrestler roster. All he can do pick the wrestler he thinks can help turn the tide and so far he seems to be picking wrong.
Meanwhile, Nygma had Fuji down in the corner, driving his boot into Fuji’s throat with relentless pressure. The AAPW fans booed loudly, waving their fists in the air, but Nygma only grinned wider, feeding off the chaos.
Beast Bogan: Brother, this ain’t wrestling—it’s a calculated demolition! Mordokrov and his crew are working like a well-oiled war machine, and Fuji and Yama are just caught in the gears.
Scott Slade: I can’t believe how effective this strategy is! Ultimate Wrestling has turned the Ronin Rumble into — a hostile takeover!
Mordokrov barked another order, and Pavlova and Zlovred hoisted Yama off his feet. The towering sumo kicked wildly, trying to break free, but the Russian duo showed no mercy. They carried him toward the ropes with ease, their combined strength overwhelming.
Chris Rodgers: Here we go! They’re about to toss out the so-called Yokozuna!
Takeshi Suzuki: Yama, fight back! Don’t let these thugs humiliate you!
At the ropes, Pavlova and Zlovred swung Yama back and forth like a pendulum before launching him over the top rope with terrifying force. Yama’s massive body crashed to the floor outside the ring with a sickening thud, shaking the concrete and scattering the ringside medics.
Scott Slade: Oh my God! Tsurugi Yama just hit the floor like a cannonball!
Yasuhiro Fujimoto: This is a tragedy! One of our proudest warriors has been eliminated by brute force alone! This is a sad day for Japan, Sumo, and AAPW…
As Yama lay motionless on the outside, the Russians turned their attention back to Fuji. Mordokrov grabbed Fuji by the neck and dragged him to the center of the ring, locking him in a brutal Kremlin Crossface once again. Fuji groaned in agony, his body writhing under the pressure, but Mordokrov refused to let up.
Beast Bogan: Somebody needs to get out here and help Fuji, or he’s gonna be broken in half! There’s no way he can withstand this much punishment on his own!
Chris Rodgers: What are you talking about, Bogan? This is exactly what needs to happen! AAPW needs to be humbled, and Mordokrov’s the perfect man to do it!
The beating in the ring showed no signs of slowing down. Mikhail Mordokrov, Olga Pavlova, Viktor Zlovred, and Drake Nygma continued their merciless assault on Otakebi Fuji. The AAPW legend bloodied and barely able to stand, was on the verge of being broken. Nygma shoved Fuji into the corner, driving a boot into his throat while Mordokrov barked orders to his comrades in Russian.
Scott Slade: I don't know how much more Fuji can take. This is hard to watch and I hate AAPW!
Chris Rodgers: You call it hard to watch, Slade. I call it beautiful execution. These Russians aren't just fighters—they're conquerors. They're dismantling AAPW piece by piece, and there's not a damn thing anyone can do about it. Putin is a proud man right now.
Fuji slumped to the mat, clutching his ribs. The once-proud sumo warrior looked like a shadow of himself, broken under the relentless onslaught. The Japanese announcers were visibly shaken, their voices tinged with panic and despair.
Yasuhiro Fujimoto: This is unbearable. Otakebi Fuji is one of our greatest warriors… and he's being humiliated in front of our very eyes.
Takeshi Suzuki: Where are our reinforcements? Where is our cavalry? Tanaka-san must have a plan… He has to!
Meanwhile, Beast Bogan leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.
Beast Bogan: You know, brother, the problem for AAPW isn't just the ring beatdown. It's the numbers game. Every time the clock runs out, it's not just reinforcements for AAPW—it's another Ultimate Wrestling competitor coming out to keep the pressure on. AAPW is digging itself into a hole, and there's no ladder in sight.
Chris Rodgers: Exactly! They're out of their depth. Ultimate Wrestling came prepared for war, and AAPW is scrambling to keep up.
Scott Slade: AAPW can only turn this around by digging deep and clawing their way back into this match. Highly unlikely if you ask me.
The atmosphere in the AAPW locker room was tense. Wrestlers gathered around a large monitor, watching the carnage unfold in the ring. Haruki Tanaka paced back and forth, his frustration mounting with each passing second. His fists clenched tightly, and his jaw was set in a grim expression.
Haruki Tanaka: How the hell are they still standing? Mordokrov and Nygma have been in there since the beginning. They should be exhausted by now!
Kenjiro Tanaka, seated nearby, shook his head slowly.
Kenjiro Tanaka: Mudcock’s strategy is working. He’s throwing his heaviest hitters at us early, and we’re falling for it. Our sumo wrestlers don’t have the stamina to keep up.
Suddenly, a figure rose from the shadows. Takeshi Nomura, the Neon Ronin, stepped forward. His cybenetic gaze was cold and calculating as he approached Haruki.
Takeshi Nomura: Tanaka-san, may I speak?
Haruki stopped pacing and turned to face Nomura, his eyes narrowing.
Haruki Tanaka: Make it quick.
Nomura activated a small scanner embedded in his wrist. A holographic display projected above his hand, showing biometric readouts of the wrestlers in the ring.
Takeshi Nomura: Mordokrov is not a normal man. His endurance levels are off the charts. My analysis suggests he’s been genetically enhanced—most likely by the Russian government. His stamina and pain tolerance are far beyond human limits.
The room fell silent as Nomura continued.
Takeshi Nomura: As for Nygma… I can’t explain what he is. His vitals don’t match any known patterns. He doesn’t seem human, but I can’t identify what’s different about him. There’s something… wrong. Something unnatural.
Haruki rubbed his temples, trying to process the information.
Haruki Tanaka: So what are you saying? That we’re doomed?
Nomura shook his head.
Takeshi Nomura: No. But sending in sumo wrestlers with low stamina is a mistake. We need individuals who can fight for long periods and endure punishment if were going make a comeback. People like me and my Reavers.
Haruki studied Nomura for a long moment, his expression softening.
Haruki Tanaka: You’re volunteering?
Takeshi Nomura: Someone has to dig us out of this hole. I’m the best option you have.
A slow smile spread across Haruki’s face.
Haruki Tanaka: Thank you, Nomura. Go. Show them what the Neon Ronin is capable of.
Nomura nodded, turning toward the entrance tunnel. The other wrestlers parted to let him through, their expressions a mix of hope and apprehension.
Back in the ring, Fuji was still taking a brutal beating. Mordokrov locked him in a modified crossface, grinding his knuckles into Fuji’s temple. Nygma, Zlovred, and Pavlova watched with amusement, their dominance in the match undisputed.
Suddenly, the countdown clock reappeared on the screen.
Crowd: TEN! NINE! EIGHT!
Beast Bogan: Here we go again, brother. Another round of chaos is about to hit the ring.
Chris Rodgers: Let’s see who it is. I’m betting it’s more firepower for Ultimate Wrestling.
The buzzer sounded, and the Ultimate Wrestling entrance lit up. The pounding beats of "Sgori" by Stvore blasted through the speakers as Dasha Ivanova strode out, her expression cold and determined.
Crowd: SEVEN! SIX! FIVE!
From the Ultimate Wrestling stage, Dasha Ivanova emerged first, her piercing gaze locked on the ring. Her composure was stoic, her movements precise as she strode toward the chaos. The cold blue light from the stage reflected off her raven dark hair, making her look like a ghost walking toward her fate.
Scott Slade: Here comes Dash Ivanova!
Simultaneously, Takeshi Nomura, "The Neon Ronin," stepped onto the AAPW ramp. His Shibuya-inspired entrance robe shimmered under the lights, neon circuitry patterns running through the fabric like a living thing. His steps were purposeful, his eyes scanning the ring with machine-like precision. Nomura reached the ring first, sliding under the bottom rope with smooth, calculated movements.
His cybernetic enhancements gave him a fluidity that seemed almost unnatural. As he rose to his feet, his gaze locked onto Olga Pavlova, who leaned against the ropes, catching her breath after dominating much of the match. Without hesitation, Nomura exploded into action, charging across the ring with a burst of speed that defied human limits.
Chris Rodgers: Look out! Pavlova doesn’t see him coming!
Nomura’s clothesline struck with the force of a freight train. The impact was brutal, sending the 425-pound Siberian Behemoth tumbling over the top rope. Her body twisted in midair, crashing to the concrete floor with a sickening thud that made the audience gasp in shock.
Takeshi Suzuki: He did it! Nomura just eliminated Pavlova in seconds!
Yasuhiro Fujimoto: That’s the power of the Neon Ronin! He’s here to turn the tide for AAPW!
Pavlova writhed on the floor outside the ring, clutching her ribs as medics rushed to check on her. Nomura straightened his robe, his expression calm, showing no emotion as he turned his attention back to the remaining wrestlers in the ring. Drake Nygma’s eyes narrowed as he locked onto Nomura. His lips curled into a sinister grin as he stalked toward the cybernetic warrior.
Scott Slade: Uh-oh… Nygma’s got his eyes on Nomura now.
Without warning, Nygma lunged, throwing wild punches. Nomura dodged each one with uncanny precision, his movements fluid and effortless. He ducked under a swinging right hand and countered with a spinning back fist that caught Nygma across the jaw. Nygma stumbled but quickly regained his footing. He wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, his grin widening.
Beast Bogan: Look at the speed and accuracy of Nomura. brothers! It’s like he knows what Nygma’s gonna do before he does it!
Meanwhile, in a shocking twist, Mordokrov and Zlovred suddenly turned their attention to Dasha Ivanova. The two Russians moved with cold, calculated intent, their expressions devoid of emotion as they closed in on their target.
Scott Slade: What’s going on? Why are Mordokrov and Zlovred attacking one of their own countrymen?
Chris Rodgers: I have no idea, Slade! This wasn’t part of the plan! We all supposed be working as a damn team God Damn it!
Ivanova realized the danger too late. Mordokrov caught her with a brutal knee to the ribs, doubling her over, while Zlovred delivered a vicious forearm strike to her back. They worked in tandem, overwhelming her with their combined strength.
Yasuhiro Fujimoto: This is national betrayal! Hahaha I love it! Never trust a Russian!
Takeshi Suzuki: These men have no honor! They’re disgraceful!
Ivanova fought back, throwing stiff punches and elbows, but the sheer power of Mordokrov and Zlovred was too much. They drove her into the corner, delivering relentless stomps and strikes.
Beast Bogan: Brother, something tells me this is personal. There’s more to this story than we know.
Rupert Mudcock paced the plush confines of his war room, his face twisted in a mix of anger and confusion. The live feed from the Tokyo Dome played on a massive screen, showing Mordokrov and Zlovred mercilessly assaulting Ivanova.
Rupert Mudcock: What the hell are they doing? Why are Mordokrov and Zlovred attacking Ivanova? They’re supposed to be working together! I was clear on this!
Seated on a leather couch, Devin Zeagal nursed a whiskey glass in one hand and rubbed his bandaged ribs with the other. His face was bruised and swollen from his earlier match against Kenjiro Tanaka, but his eyes were sharp and calculating as he watched the screen.
Rupert Mudcock: Zeagal! Explain this to me. What’s going on out there?
Zeagal took a slow sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down with deliberate care.
Devin Zeagal: Maybe it’s political.
Mudcock’s eyes narrowed, his frustration mounting.
Rupert Mudcock: What do you mean, poltical?
Zeagal leaned back, exhaling through his nose as if weighing how much to reveal.
Devin Zeagal: Ivanova and Drago… they weren’t exactly in line with the Kremlin’s policies, were they? Publicly denouncing the annexation of Ukraine? Calling out Putin’s declaration as Tsar? That kind of thing doesn’t go unnoticed.
Mudcock’s face darkened, his mind racing back to the recent murder of Boris Drago.
Rupert Mudcock: So you’re saying this isn’t about wrestling?
Zeagal gave a faint smirk, though it was laced with bitterness.
Devin Zeagal: Never really is… is it? Boris Drago’s already dead. The official story was it was the Yakuza… but we both know better. Ivanova’s next on their list. They’re not here to win a match—they’re here to finish a job.
Mudcock slammed his fist on the table, making the glassware jump.
Rupert Mudcock: And you knew this? You hired them on knowing they were here to murder Drago and Ivanova?
Zeagal shrugged.
Devin Zeagal: Suspected. But I didn’t think they’d try to do it in the middle of the damn Rumble.
Mudcock paced again, running his hands through his hair clearly panicking and extremely angry.
Rupert Mudcock: This is bad. If they kill her on live TV—if this gets out—we’re all screwed. The PR disaster alone…
Zeagal’s smirk faded. He sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees.
Devin Zeagal: Relax. They’re not gonna kill her tonight. They just want to humiliate her. Make her look weak. Show there people that they’re fools. It’s psychological warfare and maniuplation of the Russian people. Not everyone is a fan of Putin… things like this keep people in line.
Mudcock stopped pacing and glared at Zeagal.
Rupert Mudcock: And if she doesn’t survive?
Zeagal stood, wincing as he clutched his bruised ribs.
Devin Zeagal: Then she joins Drago in the history books. Either way, the Kremlin wins.
Mudcock watched as Zeagal adjusted his coat and prepared to leave.
Rupert Mudcock: Devin… you brought these people into my company. If this blows up, you’re going down with me! I won’t be pawn in Putin grand chess game! This is a sport damn it! Not a God damn espionage war!
Zeagal turned at the door, his gaze cold.
Devin Zeagal: Don’t worry, Rupert. Things have a way of working out… remember I’m Devin Zeagal and I know what I’m doing.
With that, Zeagal walked out, leaving Mudcock alone in the war room, staring at the screen with a mixture of anger and unease.
Rupert Mudcock:That’s what you said about handling that bastard Kenjiro… Damn it all to hell!
The Ronin Rumble had devolved into absolute chaos, and the Tokyo Dome was a cauldron of noise and electricity. Takeshi Nomura and Drake Nygma stood locked in a brutal exchange of blows at the center of the ring. Every strike they traded was thunderous, shaking the very foundation of the squared circle. Nomura’s cybernetic enhancements gave him a speed and precision that bordered on inhuman, while Nygma’s raw power and unrelenting aggression made him a near-unstoppable force.
Nomura ducked under a wild haymaker from Nygma, his eyes glowing faintly white with an almost eerie focus. With a burst of speed, he unleashed