The lights inside the Tokyo Dome dropped into a cold, oppressive blue as fog crept over the ramp like a ghost summoned from the past. A haunting throat chant echoed from the speakers, ancient and tribal, growing louder until it gave way to the thunderous rhythm of “Wolf Totem” by The Hu. The crowd reacted with a murmur of uncertainty, unease laced into their cheers.
Miyu Kojima: The following contest is for the Ultimate Wrestling Submission Championship! The only way to win is to make your opponent submit!
A spotlight split the dark, revealing the towering figure of Chuluun Bold standing at the top of the ramp—broad, stoic, and unsettlingly still. But as he stepped forward, it became clear: something about him was… off. He walked with confidence, but there was a stiffness beneath it. His eyes were shadowed beneath damp strands of black hair. And when he gave that trademark grin… the arena gasped at the sight of gleaming titanium fangs catching the light.
Scott Slade: There he is—the Submission Champion. The Great Khan. But he’s not the same man we saw rampaging through the roster just a few short weeks ago. After Ronin Rumble, after that brutal war with Saikō Sasori… Bold looks like a shadow of himself.
Chris Rodgers: You’re damn right, Slade. I’ve never seen anything like it. Saikō was slamming his face into the ring post… it was grusome. He shattered his fangs and didn’t stop smashing.
Bold stalked down the ramp, his frame massive beneath the arena lights. He ignored the crowd. Ignored the disdain. He climbed the steps, entered the ring with grim resolve, and slowly raised his arms—an unspoken promise that the beast wasn’t dead. Just… reforged. A close-up shot hit the screen—his new fangs gleaming beneath a hollow smile.
Yushiro Fujimoto: This is the “champion” you bring to Japan? A walking corpse patched together with metal teeth? He disgraced your main event and now you dress him up in steel to hide the shame?
Takeshi Suzuki: Hah! The so-called Great Khan was broken in our house. You think titanium makes him stronger? No. It makes him fake.
Chris Rodgers: Man! You two need two shut up! Those aren’t just fangs—they’re weapons. Someone rebuilt Bold like a damn machine. You can see it in his eyes—he’s still hurting, but he’s here to hurt back.
Scott Slade: But you can’t hide blood loss, trauma, or a set of new metal chompers. This might be his last stand if he’s not careful.
Suddenly, the speakers slammed into the distorted intro of “My Name Is…” by Once Monsters. The lights flared red and gold as Shingo “The Midnight Dragon” Hara exploded from the curtain, shadow-boxing and howling to the crowd.
Miyu Kojima: And his opponent… from Kailua-Kona, Hawaii… representing True Chaotic… SHINGO HARA!
The crowd gave a respectful but divided reaction. He wasn’t their hero—but he wasn’t theirs to boo either. Just another foreign dog, scrapping in a ring that wasn’t built for him.
Takeshi Suzuki: And now this punk. Another outsider, waving his little fists like he belongs here. Hah! No samurai, no honor, just street trash from America.
Yushiro Fujimoto: Bold is a beast without a leash. Hara is a fighter without a flag. This match is Ultimate Wrestling eating its own tail. Let them tear each other apart.
Scott Slade: That may be true—but Shingo Hara is no joke. He’s untested in singles competition, but the kid’s got fire. He’s been forged in chaos, and tonight, he’s got a shot to bring down a monster.
Hara hit the ring with relentless energy, his eyes locked on Bold, fists clenched, chest heaving with adrenaline. He didn’t flinch. Not at the size difference. Not at the glinting fangs. Not at the cold expression staring back at him.
The referee raised the Submission Championship high above his head.
Chris Rodgers: No pinfalls. No count-outs. One of these men is going to have to admit the other broke them. Tap out—or pass out.
Scott Slade: And when Chuluun Bold is in that ring? Passing out is the merciful option.
[DING! DING! DING!]
[DING! DING! DING!]
The bell rang, and both men exploded out of their corners—Chuluun Bold, the towering vampire juggernaut, and Shingo Hara, the chaotic underdog with fists forged in fire.
They circled cautiously at first—Bold slower, more deliberate. Hara bounced on the balls of his feet, testing range with quick feints and low kicks. Then he surged in.
Scott Slade: Hara wastes no time—he’s going for the legs!
Hara ducked under Bold’s first swipe and delivered two quick shin kicks to the big man’s thigh, followed by a stiff elbow strike to the ribs. Bold grunted but didn’t move—he absorbed it. Then suddenly, he snatched Hara by the throat and hurled him backwards into the turnbuckle with a one-handed choke toss that rattled the entire ring.
Chris Rodgers: Damn! Bold might be slowed down, but that power is still there!
Hara clutched his spine for a second, but shook it off, exploding forward again—this time going low and launching himself into a dropkick to Bold’s knee, finally staggering the monster.
The crowd stirred, sensing blood.
Yushiro Fujimoto: That was smart. Bring the monster to his knees! Break the foundation!
Hara followed up with a Shining Wizard, cracking his knee across Bold’s jaw and sending him reeling into the ropes—but Bold didn’t fall. He roared, blood mist spraying from his mouth, and charged forward with a brutal Mongolian Chop, slamming down on Hara’s collarbones like a war drum.
Takeshi Suzuki: Hah! That’s how you break fools—crush their spine into dust!
Hara crumbled, but Bold didn’t let him drop. He lifted him into a military press, the crowd gasping as he walked toward the ropes, then threw Hara over the top—only for the younger wrestler to twist mid-air and land on the apron.
Scott Slade: Unreal athleticism! Hara’s still in this!
As Bold turned, Hara grabbed the top rope, leapt, and springboarded into a spinning heel kick, clipping Bold across the temple and finally staggering him to one knee.
Hara sprinted off the ropes and came in hot—T-Bone Suplex!
The crowd gasped as the Midnight Dragon lifted Bold just enough to throw him onto his back, the big man crashing down with a seismic thud.
Chris Rodgers: He hit it! He hit the damn suplex on the 295-pounder!
Yushiro Fujimoto: Hmph. Lucky leverage. That won’t make him tap.
Hara crawled onto Bold’s back, looking to cinch in the Snap Ring—his version of the Rings of Saturn—but Bold thrashed, snarling, biting at the air as if pure rage fueled his escape. He elbowed back hard, striking Hara in the face before rolling to his knees and lunging forward like a beast uncaged.
He rammed Hara into the corner with a spine-jarring tackle, then spun and launched him across the ring with a spinebuster so hard the ring frame groaned.
Scott Slade: That shook the Dome! Bold’s rage is boiling over now!
Breathing heavy, Bold grabbed Hara’s arm and hoisted him up with terrifying ease into a Gorilla Press Slam, holding him overhead for several seconds before slamming him down with force that echoed in every row of the stadium.
Chris Rodgers: That’s almost 7 feet of deadlift strength—still functioning, even in his weakened state!
Bold dropped down beside Hara, fangs bared, and started driving vicious elbows into his shoulders, then grabbed for the Claw, that brutal submission he’s used to make men scream.
But Hara fought back, raking his forearm across Bold’s eyes and twisting free. He threw an elbow—then another—then leapt and cracked Bold across the jaw with a jumping knee strike.
The crowd rose to their feet, tension peaking.
Scott Slade: This match is far from over—and right now, it’s a war of wills.
Yushiro Fujimoto: Let them destroy each other. That’s all Ultimate Wrestling’s good for—chaos without purpose.
Both men lay in the ring, breathing hard, battered, and bruised. Each one had tasted the other’s strength. But neither had come close to submission… yet.
The contest resumed with both men locking up in the center of the ring, each straining for leverage. Hara dipped under Bold’s grasp and pivoted behind, cinching in a waistlock before launching the vampire powerhouse with a thunderous German suplex. The Tokyo Dome crowd groaned as Bold’s massive frame bounced off the mat and slumped to one knee.
Scott Slade: That’s a hell of a throw from Hara, and look—look at Bold, he’s not getting up like he usually does.
Chris Rodgers: You're right, Slade. I’ve never seen The Great Khan move this sluggishly before. Usually, he’d pop up from something like that and be in his opponent’s face before they could blink.
Bold rose, but it was slower, his breathing heavier. His crimson eyes flickered with frustration as he stalked toward Hara, swinging wildly with a clubbing forearm. Hara ducked, countered with a stiff shoot kick to Bold’s left leg, then chopped him across the chest with a blistering knife-edge strike.
Yushiro Fujimoto: This is the man who held both the Submission and Franchise Titles? He looks like a sack of rice trying to dance in the wind.
Takeshi Suzuki: He was a monster once—but tonight? He’s just a man running on fumes. A disgrace to monsters, if you ask me.
Bold roared and surged forward with a shoulder block, knocking Hara down, but again he staggered. His legs wobbled slightly beneath him as he leaned into the ropes, exhaling through gritted metallic fangs. When he turned back, his movement lacked its usual precision—his lurch forward felt more mechanical, less animal.
Hara capitalized with a low dropkick to the knee, bringing Bold crashing down once more. He immediately transitioned into a grounded headlock, grinding the hold in while trying to feel out the big man’s limits.
Scott Slade: Bold just doesn’t look right. The speed, the fluidity—gone. He’s usually feral, unpredictable. Tonight, it’s like he’s trying to move through wet cement.
Chris Rodgers: He’s slower, stiffer. Maybe he didn’t recover from the Ronin Rumble main event. You saw the punishment he took from Sasori. His body might still be in pieces from that match.
Bold shoved Hara off and got to his feet with a snarl, delivering a hard Mongolian chop that echoed through the dome. Hara reeled from it but stayed standing. Bold grabbed him for a gorilla press slam—but his arms shook as he lifted. He managed to hoist Hara up and drop him down—but staggered afterward, dropping to a knee, breathing hard, sweat pouring down his face.
Chris Rodgers: Did you see that?! He almost dropped Hara during the lift! That’s unheard of for Bold! He’s got a damn gorilla press on his move list, Slade! That’s his bread and butter!
Scott Slade: Something’s off. Something’s very off. Either the Great Khan is still injured, or… he’s not the same creature we saw dominate week after week.
Bold crawled toward the ropes and used them to haul himself back up. His face was locked in a snarl, but it was laced with desperation now. Whatever power had driven him before was fading fast—and Hara could sense it.
Hara darted in, striking the knee again with a precise kick. Bold grunted and fell against the turnbuckle. Hara climbed to the second rope and rained down punches as the fans counted along. Bold absorbed them with a grimace, then shoved Hara off, but again, took a moment too long to follow up.
Yushiro Fujimoto: This beast is breaking down before our eyes! The mighty Khan is just another washed-up import who peaked too soon.
Takeshi Suzuki: I’ll give Shingo credit—he’s playing it smart. Let the bloodsucker wear himself out, then pick him apart like spoiled sashimi.
As Bold leaned in the corner, jaw clenched, his eyes darted to the crowd, searching—perhaps for strength, perhaps for something more. But there was no Yokai blood, no shadows to hide in. Just the roar of a crowd expecting greatness… and the cruel weight of expectation pulling him under.
Shingo Hara circled his prey with purpose now, eyes narrowing as he watched Chuluun Bold stagger out of the corner. The Mongolian giant swung with another wild haymaker, but Hara ducked underneath and answered with a snapping reverse heel kick that clipped Bold clean across the jaw, staggering the larger man backward.
Scott Slade: Bold just can’t keep up. He’s swinging from desperation now, not instinct.
Chris Rodgers: I’ve never seen him burn this much energy this early. Hara’s not just fighting a monster—he’s outlasting one.
With the momentum shifting, Hara launched into a flurry of offense—a pair of shoot kicks to the thigh, followed by a spinning back elbow that rocked Bold hard against the ropes. The Franchise Champion sagged forward, clutching the top rope for balance. Hara hit the ropes—building speed—and crashed into Bold’s ribs with a basement dropkick that sent the vampire tumbling through the ropes and out to the floor.
The Tokyo Dome crowd gasped, sensing the tide had turned.
Takeshi Suzuki: There! That’s how you handle a monster—chop him down until he can’t stand!
Yushiro Fujimoto: The mighty Khan has no answer. He’s too slow, too winded. He’s trying to fight like a god with a mortal’s body.
Hara didn’t wait. He rolled to the outside, grabbed Bold by the head, and slammed his face into the steel ring steps—not once, but twice—targeting the same area he’d bloodied during the Ronin Rumble. Bold grunted, his new metallic fangs flashing in the lights as blood ran fresh down his chin.
But then… he roared.
From his knees, Bold surged upward with a sudden burst of power, hoisting Hara by the waist and ramming him spine-first into the ring apron. The crowd gasped at the brutality. Bold followed up by tossing Hara back into the ring with surprising force, then collapsed against the apron, gasping.
Scott Slade: There it is! That fire! That rage! Even running on fumes, Chuluun Bold is still one of the most dangerous men alive!
Chris Rodgers: But he can’t capitalize, Slade! Look at him—he’s using the apron like a crutch. He’s spent. This version of Bold can’t keep this pace for long.
Crawling under the ropes, Bold made it back in just as Hara was pushing to his feet. Bold clobbered him with a thunderous short-arm lariat that flipped the Hawaiian clean inside out. The impact shook the ring and sent a jolt through the crowd.
Bold stumbled to one knee again, though—his chest heaving. Every offensive burst was costing him more than it used to. The crimson haze in his eyes looked dulled now, dulled by hunger, fatigue… or something deeper.
He pulled Hara up for a spinebuster—but Hara raked the eyes mid-lift and slipped behind, nailing a cobra clutch suplex that sent Bold crashing down on the back of his neck. The dome thundered with reaction.
Chris Rodgers: That suplex shook the damn building! And Bold—Bold’s not moving, Slade!
Scott Slade: Shingo Hara is dissecting him now. Precision. Patience. It’s everything Bold isn’t right now.
Hara rose and stood over Bold’s prone form, sweat dripping from his brow, his jaw clenched with resolve. He didn’t gloat. He didn’t pose. He simply stalked the downed vampire, waiting for him to rise again—knowing the next exchange could tilt the match decisively in his favor.
Yushiro Fujimoto: Let them destroy each other. There’s nothing to admire here. Just two men clawing for relevance in a war they already lost.
Takeshi Suzuki: Still… I’d be lying if I said watching Bold bleed didn’t bring a smile to my face.
The camera lingered on Bold, now struggling to his hands and knees, fresh blood trailing from his nose and mouth, eyes unfocused—but burning with something savage beneath the surface.
The beast wasn’t done yet. But he was drowning—and Shingo Hara smelled blood. The Tokyo Dome was pulsing with electricity—each fan on edge, watching as two warriors crawled toward their breaking point. Shingo Hara’s chest heaved with every breath, his taped ribs rising and falling in short, erratic bursts. Across the ring, Chuluun Bold stood hunched over, face slack, eyes glazed. His body—once a juggernaut of mythic brutality—now moved like it was filled with wet cement. His skin had turned an eerie, bluish gray under the arena lights, his massive chest soaked with sweat, his breath coming in ragged pulls.
Scott Slade: He’s still standing. Somehow. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen Bold like this, Chris. He looks... hollow.
Chris Rodgers: He’s not just tired, Slade. He’s collapsing from the inside. It’s like whatever was fueling him before—the thing that made him a monster—just isn’t there anymore.
Yushiro Fujimoto: A disgrace. Look at this so-called champion. Pale. Weak. Barely able to hold his arms up. THIS is your fearsome Khan?
Takeshi Suzuki: Bold has always been a fraud. Propped up by spectacle and superstition. And now? Now we see the man behind the monster—and he’s nothing!
Bold’s legs trembled as he lurched forward, swinging wildly with a half-hearted lariat. Hara ducked it, pivoted, and launched a back elbow into Bold’s kidney. The big man staggered, fell to one knee—but still didn’t go down.
Roaring, Hara hooked both arms and summoned everything he had left into a T-Bone Suplex, slamming Bold with a sickening crash into the canvas. The ring shuddered under the impact, but Bold didn’t bounce—he just lay there, limbs sprawled, chest spasming.
Scott Slade: He’s not responding… this is bad. Bold isn’t recovering. He’s not even twitching.
Shingo crawled across the ring, pulling himself upright by the ropes, blood dripping from a split eyebrow. His gaze locked onto the downed monster, but there was no fear in it—just purpose. The same quiet rage that fueled every poor kid who fought to prove they mattered.
With a grunt, Hara stalked forward and dropped into position behind Bold’s prone body. The crowd gasped as he seized Bold’s left arm… then the right… threading them between his legs.
Chris Rodgers: Oh no… he’s going for it again!
Scott Slade: The Snap Ring! He’s going to lock it in!
With a scream of exertion, Hara wrenched back, locking in his signature Rings of Saturn variant—shoulders torqued, spine bent into a crescent of agony. Bold’s eyes flew open, but no roar came—just a wet, gasping wheeze. His back arched unnaturally, his feet kicked once, twice, then went still.
Yushiro Fujimoto: Ha! Now we see it. The monster dies with a whimper!
Takeshi Suzuki: TAP! TAP! TAP!
The referee dropped beside them, shouting for a response—but Bold wasn’t even lucid. His mouth hung open, the new titanium fangs glinting under the lights, his lips cracked and stained crimson. His hands clawed at the mat, sluggish and uncoordinated.
Shingo Hara gritted his teeth and roared again, pulling tighter.
Bold’s right hand trembled… then, with a final breathless growl of defeat…
TAP. TAP. TAP.
[DING! DING! DING!]
Miyu Kojima: Ladies and gentlemen… your winner… and NEWWWWWW Submission Specialist Champion… SHINGO “THE MIDNIGHT DRAGON” HARA!!
The Tokyo Dome erupted in stunned disbelief. The crowd didn’t immediately cheer—it took a moment for the realization to sink in.
Chuluun Bold had tapped out.
Scott Slade: It’s over… it’s actually over. Shingo Hara has submitted Chuluun Bold. He did what no one—NO ONE—thought was possible.
Chris Rodgers: That’s not just a victory, Slade. That’s a seismic shift. Bold was untouchable. He was on a rampage since returning from the hospital. And now… he’s done.
Shingo released the hold, slumping backward onto the mat, completely spent. The ref moved in, handin