The cameras cut back to the arena, where the buzz has turned into a rolling roar. The ring is empty, the apron skirts fresh, and ten nameplates flash in rotation across the big screen above the stage.
John Phillips: "We’ve had chaos already tonight, but this… this is our first Survivor match of the evening. Ten women. Elimination rules. High stakes for the entire division."
Mark Bravo: "Oh yeah, this is the one I’ve been waiting for. Two squads, no place to hide, and somebody’s ticket to Black Horizon is getting punched before we’re done."
The arena lights dim to a rich violet. A heartbeat of silence…
Then the first haunting notes of “Forever & Ever” by Lacey Sturm ft. Lindsey Stirling hit the PA. A swirl of soft white and purple lights cascade across the stage as a burst of golden pyro erupts on either side of the entrance.
Out through the haze steps Marie Van Claudio.
She stands at the top of the ramp, framed in the glow, eyes sweeping across the packed D.C. crowd. No smirk, no coy games tonight—just a focused, veteran calm. She lifts one hand to her heart, then points straight toward the ring: business.
John Phillips: "And here comes Team MVC! Led by a woman whose fingerprints are all over the history of this division, Marie Van Claudio!"
Mark Bravo: "You’re looking at the woman who helped build this place and never really got to cash the check she wrote with her body. She’s got four ride-or-dies with her tonight, and they are not here for cardio."
The curtain parts again and Emily Hightower strides out to Marie’s right, UTA Women’s United States Championship slung over her shoulder like it belongs to her and no one else. The “Junkyard Bitch” cracks her neck, points out toward the ring, then slaps the faceplate of the belt twice, barking something we can’t hear over the noise.
To Marie’s left, Angela Hall steps into view, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, loose and coiled. She looks from one side of the arena to the other, soaking in the energy, then jabs a finger up toward the rafters as if calling down the storm.
Behind them, Susanita Ybanez emerges, small in stature but moving with the kind of swagger only earned in places far rougher than a TV arena. She slaps hands with a couple of fans in the front row along the ramp, pointing back to the camera and shouting in rapid Spanish, fire in her eyes.
And anchoring the formation, just a step behind the line, comes Valkyrie Knox. Shoulders broad, expression carved from stone, Nordic war paint sharp under the arena lights. She raises her war-horn taunt high in the air, unblinking, as the crowd lets out a fresh roar.
John Phillips: "That is a squad right there. Marie Van Claudio, Emily Hightower, Susanita Ybanez, Valkyrie Knox, and Angela Hall. Team MVC is in the building!"
Mark Bravo: "You’ve got legacy, you’ve got the U.S. Champion, you’ve got a street-made luchadora, a literal storm in human form, and an Icelandic war machine. That’s not a team, that’s a boss rush."
The five women start their walk to the ring in unison, Marie leading the way. Emily and Angela flank her on either side, Susanita just off Marie’s shoulder, Valkyrie looming behind them all like the last line of defense.
On the way down, Marie pauses at the edge of the ramp, looking back at her team. She says something to them over the music, one hand gesturing toward the ring and the stage. Whatever it is, it has weight—four heads nod in agreement.
John Phillips: "Remember what’s on the line here: if Team MVC wins, the last woman standing from that side earns a shot at Amy Harrison and the UTA Women’s Championship at Black Horizon."
Mark Bravo: "That is a golden ticket with gold on top. You survive tonight, you get to walk into Black Horizon with the champ trapped in a corner. If The Empire pulls it off, Amy gets to pick whoever she wants and how she wants to fight ‘em. No pressure, right?"
At ringside, Susanita hops up onto the apron first, turning to face the crowd. She throws her arms wide, yelling out to the fans in Spanish before slipping through the ropes with a quick, athletic twist. Angela slides in under the bottom rope, popping up to one knee and slapping the mat, testing the canvas as if it’s a starting block.
Emily climbs the steps, pausing on the apron to hoist the U.S. title high with both hands. A “HIGHTOWER!” chant starts in one corner of the arena, rolling through the building as she smirks and ducks into the ring.
Valkyrie takes the steps one at a time, deliberate, then steps over the middle rope with authority. She moves straight to one corner, raising her war-horn pose again, staring up into the lights like she’s calling down something ancient and ugly.
Marie is the last to enter, wiping her boots on the apron before stepping through the ropes. She takes a slow circle around the interior of the ring, looking out at the DC crowd, then back to her teammates. The music swells as the five women gather in the center, hands stacking in the middle for a brief, tight huddle.
John Phillips: "If you want to talk about motivation, Marie Van Claudio has plenty. For years people have asked if she’d ever get her flowers, ever get that one more run. Tonight, this team could be her road back to the top… or the night The Empire slams the door on all of them."
Mark Bravo: "And don’t forget, standing across from them is Amy Harrison and The Empire — an empress with her court, and you can bet your last dollar she’s gonna let her soldiers do the dirty work while she stays fresh."
“Forever & Ever” fades as the referee steps between the teams, directing Team MVC to their corner. The camera pans over the focused faces of Marie, Emily, Susanita, Valkyrie, and Angela, then swings back toward the stage.
The atmosphere tightens; everyone in the building knows what’s coming next.
The arena lights dip again, trading violet for a colder, harsher palette. The titantron glitches to life with a black-and-gold graphic: a jagged crown over the words “THE EMPIRE.” The crowd’s buzz turns instantly to venom.
John Phillips: "And here comes the opposition… The Empire, led by the UTA Women’s Champion, Amy Harrison."
Mark Bravo: "Five women who’ve spent months making everybody else’s life miserable. You wanna talk about control? They don’t just want the division, John. They want the whole damn company kneeling."
A sultry, aggressive rock riff hits — Amy Harrison’s theme — flooding the Entertainment & Sports Arena with a wall of sound. Strobe lights flash gold and blood-red across the stage as a thin curtain of smoke pours from the entranceway.
Through it steps Amy Harrison.
The UTA Women’s Championship is strapped tight around her waist, catching every flash of light. She’s all smirk and sway, hips rolling with predatory confidence. One hand runs along the main plate of the title, the other traces down her own side as she pauses at the top of the ramp, batting her lashes at the booing D.C. crowd like they’re cheering her.
John Phillips: "There she is. The champion. The architect behind The Empire."
Mark Bravo: "And the woman who would love to walk out of Survivor without breaking a sweat, then handpick her dance partner and her playground at Black Horizon."
The music punches into its chorus and the rest of The Empire floods out behind her in a tight formation.
Hardcore Sandy steps to Amy’s immediate right — towering, broad-shouldered, with that rough Vegas edge carved into every line of her face. No theatrics, no smile, just a slow roll of the shoulders and a look that says she’s been through wars that would send most people home crying.
On Amy’s left, Selena Vex clicks into position, laughing as she looks out at the sea of boos. She runs a hand through her hair, then flips off a particularly vocal fan in the front row, mouthing something unprintable as she points at the ring like it already belongs to her.
Rosa Delgado hangs half a step behind, eyes hooded, arms loose at her sides. She doesn’t play to the crowd — she studies the ring, the distance, the angle, like she’s already plotting which arm she’s going to dismantle first.
Beside her, Dahlia Cross tilts her head, violet hair spilling over one shoulder, lips curled into a small, poisonous smile. She flexes her fingers slowly, like she’s already feeling somebody’s joints twist in her grip, then traces an imaginary line across her throat as she stares down the aisle.
John Phillips: "Hardcore Sandy. Selena Vex. Rosa Delgado. Dahlia Cross. That is a vicious cabinet around a very dangerous champion."
Mark Bravo: "It’s the perfect system, John. Amy calls herself the empress, and she’s got four assassins to do her dirty work while she kicks her feet up and enjoys the view."
Amy finally starts down the ramp, the rest of The Empire falling in around her like a moving fortress. Sandy and Rosa walk a step ahead and to the sides — the front line. Selena and Dahlia flank just behind, closer to Amy’s shoulders. Amy herself saunters in the center of it all, touching the title and mouthing along with her own lyrics.
John Phillips: "Remember the stakes: if The Empire wins, Amy Harrison gets to choose her next challenger and the stipulations at Black Horizon. She doesn’t just keep the crown — she gets to redraw the map."
Mark Bravo: "And don’t forget what you said, John. Amy Harrison would love nothing more than to let her Empire do the heavy lifting tonight. If she can survive this match barely even tagging in? That’s her perfect outcome."
Halfway down the ramp, Selena breaks formation just long enough to strut toward the barricade, leaning over it to scream back at a fan waving a Marie Van Claudio sign. She snatches the sign from his hands, rips it clean in half, and tosses the pieces back at him with a mocking curtsy before rejoining the line.
Near ringside, Rosa pauses, looking up at Team MVC in their corner. No words. Just a long, assessing stare that lingers on Angela’s shoulders, on Emily’s arm, on Valkyrie’s neck. Picking targets.
Dahlia drifts toward the steps, running her fingers along the cold steel like it’s a lover, then slithers up them one at a time, smirking straight at Susanita as she does.
Hardcore Sandy stomps up the steps beside her, each footfall echoing. She steps onto the apron and hooks both arms over the top rope, tugging it hard and barking something at Team MVC that’s lost in the crowd noise, but the sentiment is clear: let’s fight.
Amy, naturally, is last to approach the ring. She saunters up the steel steps with deliberate care, pauses on the top one to turn her back to the ropes and face the hard camera. With a slow, practiced motion she unstraps the Women’s Championship, raises it high over her head, and lets the hate wash over her like it’s a warm shower.
John Phillips: "Listen to this building! They cannot stand The Empire, and they may hate Amy Harrison most of all."
Mark Bravo: "Which is wild, because if you ask Amy? She thinks they’re all just jealous they’re not in her kingdom paying rent."
Amy ducks between the ropes with a flourish, handing the title off to the referee only after making him reach for it twice. Selena slides in under the bottom rope and pops up to one knee, arms outstretched like she’s presenting the queen. Rosa steps through and immediately takes a corner, rolling her shoulders, testing the ropes. Dahlia slinks along the ropes, never taking her eyes off Team MVC, smiling that cruel little smile. Sandy enters last, stomping into the center and cracking her neck like a warning shot.
The five women of The Empire drift together in their corner, Amy at the back, one hand resting casually on the top rope while her four lieutenants stand in front of her like a wall.
John Phillips: "Look at that picture. Amy Harrison literally using her team as a shield, just like we expected. She’ll tag in if she has to, but she’s gonna do everything in her power to stay fresh and let the rest of The Empire carve up Team MVC."
Mark Bravo: "Hey, if you’ve got an army, you might as well use it. She’s not dumb, she’s just evil."
The music fades as the referee moves to the middle, gesturing to both corners and running through final instructions. Ten women stare daggers across the ring at one another, the air absolutely crackling.
John Phillips: "Team MVC. The Empire. First fall, first elimination, first turning point in what could define the entire women’s division heading into Black Horizon."
Mark Bravo: "Bell hasn’t even rung yet and I’m sweating. Let’s see who starts this war."
The official holds the Women’s Championship high for a moment, then passes it to ringside. When he turns back around, all ten women have filtered into the ring.
Team MVC and The Empire surge toward the center like colliding tides. Marie, Emily, Susanita, Valkyrie, and Angela on one side; Amy, Sandy, Selena, Rosa, and Dahlia on the other. The noise in the arena spikes as they close the distance, jawing and pointing, shoulders bumping.
John Phillips: "Oh boy… we knew this was going to be volatile, but look at this face-to-face!"
Mark Bravo: "Ref might wanna call in some backup, because we’re about two seconds away from a ten-woman pile-up."
The referee rushes in, arms outstretched, barking orders.
Referee: "Hey! Only two! ONE from each side! Get to your corners, let’s go!"
Valkyrie Knox steps right up to Hardcore Sandy, eyes like ice, the two powerhouses nearly nose-to-nose. Susanita and Selena are shouting over each other, fingers in faces. Rosa and Emily are shoulder-checking back and forth. On the outskirts, Dahlia Cross and Angela Hall lock eyes—no words, just open hatred.
John Phillips: "There is so much history and bad blood crammed into that circle. Dahlia Cross staring down Angela Hall—let’s not forget, it was Dahlia’s betrayal and sudden alliance with The Empire that cost Angela the Women’s Championship weeks ago!"
Mark Bravo: "She didn’t just cost her the belt, John. She ripped it out of her hands and gift-wrapped it for Amy Harrison. You’re looking at the woman who turned Angela’s dream night into a highlight reel for The Empire."
The referee wedges himself between the two teams, pushing at shoulders, shouting louder.
Referee: "BACK UP! Everybody but ONE back it up! Amy, Marie—pick a starter, now!"
Amy Harrison, who had drifted just slightly behind her line, raises both hands like she’s calming a crowd. The smirk on her face only infuriates the audience further.
Amy Harrison: "Alright, alright… relax. Let’s start this off right, yeah?"
She pats Dahlia’s shoulder, brushes past Rosa, and takes a slow, unhurried step back toward The Empire’s corner. She turns her back on Team MVC, climbing out to the apron with not a care in the world, leaning against the top rope like she’s supervising instead of fighting.
John Phillips: "There it is. Amy Harrison doing exactly what we expected—getting as far away from the opening blows as humanly possible."
Mark Bravo: "She’s playing chess, not checkers. Why take a punch when you’ve got four other women who’ll gladly take it for you?"
With Amy on the apron, The Empire huddle for a quick second. Sandy taps her fists together and nods toward the center, clearly ready to start it herself. Selena leans in, jabbing a thumb toward Angela Hall with a nasty grin. Rosa says a few quiet words to Dahlia, gesturing subtly toward Angela again. Dahlia just smiles, slow and venomous.
On the other side, Marie is pulling her team back toward their corner, trying to instill a little order. Emily is pacing, gripping the ropes like she wants to tear them off. Valkyrie stands just behind Marie, arms crossed, unflinching. Susanita leans toward Angela, gesturing between Dahlia and the center of the ring.
Emily Hightower: "You want her, Angie? Go get her."
Angela’s eyes never leave Dahlia’s. She nods once, sharp and decisive.
Angela Hall: "I’ve been waiting."
Marie clamps a hand on Angela’s shoulder—a grounding touch. They exchange a few words we can’t hear, but Marie’s look says everything: be smart, not just angry. Angela nods again, then steps forward into the breach.
John Phillips: "You can see it on Angela’s face—this has been building since Dahlia’s attack. Since the night The Empire stole that championship moment from her."
Mark Bravo: "This isn’t just about Black Horizon for her. This is about payback with interest."
Back in The Empire’s corner, Amy taps the top rope with her fingers.
Amy Harrison: "Go on then, Dahlia. You started it… finish it."
Dahlia’s smile doesn’t move, but her eyes flare. She slips under the top rope and glides toward the center of the ring like she’s heading to a surgical table instead of a fight.
Angela steps out from Team MVC’s corner at the same time. The referee finally gets the rest of the bodies moving back to their aprons, barking at Marie and Sandy to step through the ropes. One by one, the extra combatants file out—Valkyrie last on one side, Hardcore Sandy last on the other, each still glaring across the divide.
Within moments, the ring is cleared. Eight women on the aprons, hands wrapped around the tag ropes, and two in the center.
Angela Hall. Dahlia Cross.
They circle slowly, the crowd swelling into a roar as the realization sinks in.
John Phillips: "We asked who would start this war… and we’ve got our answer. Angela Hall and Dahlia Cross, face-to-face."
Mark Bravo: "The storm and the snake, John. Dahlia lit the fuse on this whole thing when she lined up with The Empire. Angela’s been dying to get her hands on her ever since. Bell hasn’t even rung and you can cut this tension with a chainsaw."
The referee checks both sides one last time, then steps between them and points to the timekeeper.
Referee: "Ring the bell!"
DING DING DING.
Angela surges a half-step forward, fists clenched, but she holds herself back, chest heaving with controlled fury. Dahlia just tilts her head and smiles, raising her hands slowly as if inviting the first shot, eyes glittering with cruel amusement.
John Phillips: "Our first women’s Survivor match is officially underway… and you can feel the hate in here."
Mark Bravo: "If Dahlia thought stealing Angela’s championship night was bad? She’s about to find out what happens when the storm finally breaks."
Angela and Dahlia close the distance, hands starting to rise for a collar-and-elbow…
But Dahlia cuts the angle first, slipping to the side with a smirk and flicking a low kick at Angela’s lead leg. Angela checks it, absorbing the sting, eyes narrowing.
John Phillips: "Dahlia trying to take that base away early—no surprise from one of the nastiest technicians in the game."
Mark Bravo: "If she chops Angela’s wheels out, there’s no storm. Just a drizzle."
They circle again. This time Angela doesn’t rush. She feints high, then shoots in low, snagging Dahlia’s wrist in a tight grip. In one smooth motion she twists into a standing wristlock, wrenching the arm and forcing Dahlia down to one knee.
Dahlia’s face contorts, but the smile never fully leaves as Angela torques the joint, stepping through to add leverage.
John Phillips: "Look at that control from Angela Hall—this isn’t just speed and high impact, this is technical precision. She’s isolating the arm, making Dahlia feel every bit of this."
Angela rolls the wrist, transitions into a hammerlock, and shoves Dahlia chest-first toward the ropes. The Empire’s corner shouts warnings as Angela keeps the arm pinned high between Dahlia’s shoulder blades.
Dahlia reaches for the ropes with her free hand—Angela yanks her back, spins under, and snaps her down with an arm-drag, rolling through to maintain the armbar on the canvas.
Mark Bravo: "Okay, I see you, Angela! Arm-drag into a grounded armbar, and look how tight she’s glued to that shoulder. Rosa Delgado’s not the only one who can turn a limb into a bullseye."
Dahlia grimaces, slamming her boot into the mat, trying to rotate her hips. Angela adjusts, posting a knee between Dahlia’s shoulder blades and leaning back, stretching the arm. The crowd rallies, clapping in rhythm.
John Phillips: "Angela Hall wrestling this like a woman who did her homework. She knows Dahlia loves to take people apart joint by joint, and she’s beating her to the punch—literally and figuratively."
Dahlia snakes her free arm around Angela’s ankle and gives a sharp tug, unbalancing her. Angela stumbles just enough for Dahlia to roll through, kip to a knee, and twist into a counter wristlock of her own.
But before Dahlia can cinch it, Angela drops, rolls forward, and kips back up to her feet, using the momentum to send Dahlia flipping with a smooth, deep Japanese arm-drag that sends the violet-haired technician skidding toward The Empire’s corner.
Dahlia pops up to one knee, eyes wide, clutching her arm. Angela is already in motion—she darts forward, then stops dead just short, hovering over Dahlia with a cold stare instead of a strike.
Angela Hall: "Remember this part?"
The reference is clear: the moment Dahlia ripped her title away. The crowd roars with approval.
John Phillips: "Angela just reminding Dahlia exactly why she’s out here tonight!"
Dahlia’s smile snaps back into place, brittle around the edges. She surges up and lunges in for a tie-up—but Angela slips behind instantly, cinching a waistlock. In one fluid motion, Angela drops her level and takes Dahlia straight down with a mat-return, riding her to the canvas and floating into a front facelock.
Dahlia tries to snake out, but Angela shifts her weight, grapevines a leg briefly to keep her grounded, then snaps her over into a tight side headlock, grinding the forearm against Dahlia’s jaw.
Mark Bravo: "You can see the track-and-field background there—Angela’s got that hips-and-leverage game on lock. She’s not just trying to hurt Dahlia, she’s trying to drain her, make her feel every ounce she stole from her weeks ago."
Dahlia, annoyed now, wedges a forearm under Angela’s chin and shoves, trying to create space. Angela responds by posting her free hand on the canvas and wrenching the headlock tighter, jaw clenched as she leans her weight down.
Slowly, Dahlia forces both women up to their feet, still trapped. She drives a sharp elbow into Angela’s ribs once, twice, three times. On the third, Angela winces, loosening enough for Dahlia to shove her off into the ropes.
Angela hits the ropes hard, rebounds—Dahlia drops low, Angela hurdles. Angela hits the opposite ropes, rebounds again—Dahlia pops up, swings a wild leg sweep—Angela vaults over it, lands in a forward roll, springs up and catches Dahlia on the turnaround with a crisp arm-drag back into the middle of the ring.
The crowd pops big as Dahlia hits the canvas again, this time immediately rolling out to a seated position in the corner, eyes wide and chest heaving. Angela stands tall in the center, breathing steadily, hands open and ready.
John Phillips: "Angela Hall is out-wrestling Dahlia Cross right now. Not just out-fighting her—out-wrestling her."
Mark Bravo: "That’s the scary part, John. We know Angela can hit you like a freight train, we know she can fly—but when she starts chaining holds and using that speed as a weapon in the grappling game? That’s a whole different problem for The Empire."
Dahlia wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, the smirk slipping for just a moment into a scowl. On the apron behind her, Amy leans over the top rope, shouting quick instructions, one manicured finger jabbing toward Angela.
Angela doesn’t wait. She surges forward, grabbing Dahlia by the wrist and yanking her out of the corner before the count can even begin. She whips Dahlia hard into the far ropes, planting in the center.
Dahlia rebounds—Angela steps in and snaps her down with a picture-perfect arm drag again, this time keeping hold of the limb and sliding straight into a grounded hammerlock, her knee digging between Dahlia’s shoulder blades as she stares over at Amy Harrison.
John Phillips: "Statement made. Angela Hall sending a message not just to Dahlia Cross, but to Amy Harrison and the entire Empire—she can dissect you piece by piece if that’s what it takes."
Mark Bravo: "And we’re just getting started. First fall hasn’t even been teased yet."
Angela keeps the hammerlock cinched, knee grinding between Dahlia’s shoulders. She leans down, teeth grit, twisting a little extra as the crowd roars her on.
John Phillips: "Angela Hall still in full control of Dahlia Cross, and I don’t think she’s forgotten for one second what happened the night she lost the Women’s Championship."
Mark Bravo: "If she cranks that arm any harder, Dahlia’s gonna have to tap just to keep it attached."
Dahlia grimaces, eyes squeezed shut for a heartbeat—then they snap open, sharp and calculating. She plants her free hand on the mat, pushes up just enough to alleviate pressure, and starts inching toward the ropes on her knees, dragging Angela’s weight with her.
Angela senses the shift and transitions, sliding one knee off Dahlia’s back and yanking her up to her feet while maintaining the hammerlock. She spins Dahlia around, hooks her by the chin with the free hand, and snaps her backward into a short hammerlock back suplex variation, dumping Dahlia onto the canvas with a thud.
Dahlia arches in pain, clutching her shoulder. Angela floats over for a quick lateral press.
ONE!
T— Dahlia kicks out, twisting her body and immediately rolling toward The Empire’s corner.
John Phillips: "Quick cover from Angela, but Dahlia Cross isn’t going out that early."
Mark Bravo: "Yeah, but you can already see that arm starting to bother her. That’s gonna mess with a lot of her favorite toys."
Angela doesn’t let her get far. She grabs Dahlia by the ankle and drags her back toward the center of the ring. Dahlia spins to her back at the last second, lashing out with a heel kick toward Angela’s knee.
Angela hops back, narrowly avoiding the kick, then dives forward with a basement dropkick to Dahlia’s ribs, folding her up.
The crowd pops as Dahlia rolls to her side, gasping. In Team MVC’s corner, Susanita is leaning over the rope, arm extended, shouting for the tag. Emily slaps the turnbuckle pad, trying to rally the fans even louder. Valkyrie just watches, eyes locked and unblinking.
Emily Hightower: "C’mon, Angie! Bring her over!"
Angela glances to her corner and nods, grabbing a fistful of Dahlia’s violet hair to haul her up—
—and that’s when Dahlia strikes.
With the referee’s view partially obscured, Dahlia snakes her good arm up and digs a thumb into Angela’s eye, sharp and fast. Angela recoils instantly, clutching her face as the crowd boos.
John Phillips: "Oh, come on!"
Mark Bravo: "There it is. There’s the Dahlia Cross we all know and despise."
The referee barks at Dahlia, warning her about the eye, but she’s already playing innocent, hands up, backing away.
Dahlia Cross: "I slipped, love, she ran into it!"
Angela stumbles, blinking furiously, and Dahlia seizes the opening. She dives low, scything Angela’s legs out from under her with a pinpoint leg sweep. Angela hits the mat hard, and Dahlia immediately pounces, driving a vicious knee into Angela’s shoulder.
Another. And another.
John Phillips: "Just like that, the tide turns. One dirty shot, and now Dahlia is going after the shoulder like a shark."
Mark Bravo: "If you’re waiting for Dahlia to wrestle clean, you’re gonna be waiting longer than Angela’s title rematch took."
Dahlia grabs Angela’s arm, swings her hips around, and drops her back with a snapping arm wringer. Angela cries out, cradling the arm, rolling toward the ropes. Dahlia stalks after her, stomping the limb against the canvas.
On the apron, Amy Harrison leans over the top rope, applauding slowly, a satisfied grin on her face.
Amy Harrison: "That’s it, petal! Break her down!"
Dahlia drags Angela toward The Empire’s corner and slams her arm against the middle turnbuckle. She threads Angela’s wrist around the second rope and pulls, using the cable like a garrote on the joint.
The referee starts the count.
Referee: "One! Two! Three! Four—"
Dahlia lets go just before five, raising her hands and stepping back with that mock-innocent expression again. Angela slumps to her knees, clutching the arm.
Selena Vex reaches down and slaps Dahlia’s shoulder.
Referee: "Tag!"
Selena bursts through the ropes with a running start and drives a sliding dropkick straight into Angela’s injured shoulder, sending her crashing back into the corner.
John Phillips: "Now Selena Vex tagging in, and The Empire is doing exactly what they do best—isolating and dissecting."
Mark Bravo: "Pick a limb, make it scream, then write your name all over it. That’s Empire strategy 101."
Selena stands over Angela and grinds the heel of her boot into the shoulder joint, pushing Angela back against the bottom turnbuckle. The referee counts again, and Selena backs off at four, arms out wide as she soaks in the boos.
Selena Vex: "You wanted a fair fight? You came to the wrong kingdom!"
She reaches down, yanks Angela up by the hair, and whips her across the ring. Angela hits the opposite turnbuckles hard, shoulder-first, and staggers out on rubber legs.
Selena charges, flipping her hair back dramatically, and crushes Angela with a running clothesline that nearly takes her head off. Angela crumples to the mat, and Selena drops into a lazy cover, pressing her forearm across Angela’s face.
ONE!
TWO— Angela kicks out, twisting her shoulder away, grimacing.
John Phillips: "Nearfall! Angela Hall refusing to let this be over so quickly, but you can see the damage piling up."
Selena scowls, then grabs Angela’s wrist and stomps on the arm again for good measure. She drags Angela toward The Empire’s corner, tagging in Rosa Delgado this time.
Referee: "Tag!"
Rosa steps in calm and methodical, her eyes locked on Angela’s damaged arm like a wolf eyeing a wounded leg.
Mark Bravo: "Oh, this is bad news. If you’re hurt and Rosa Delgado gets the tag? That’s like handing your medical chart to the Grim Reaper."
Rosa takes Angela’s wrist, pries it away from her body, and twists it into a standing armbar. No wasted motion. No showboating. She yanks Angela down into a short-arm shoulder breaker, dropping her hard to one knee.
Angela bites down on a scream, eyes squeezed shut. Rosa doesn’t let go—she transitions seamlessly into a hammerlock, then into a hammerlock back suplex, spiking Angela high on her shoulders and upper back.
Angela sprawls on the mat, clutching her arm. Rosa rolls over and traps the limb again, threading it between her legs, leaning back into a modified armbar that wrenches the joint at an ugly angle.
John Phillips: "Rosa Delgado just chaining submissions together, and every single one of them is focused on that shoulder and elbow!"
Mark Bravo: "You can feel that all the way up here. Angela’s in the worst place you can be in a Survivor match—stuck on the mat, far from her corner, and in Rosa’s crosshairs."
Team MVC lean in as far as they can, all four of Angela’s partners reaching, shouting, slapping the turnbuckle pad.
Marie Van Claudio: "Angela, move! Get to us!"
Angela grits her teeth, rolling her hips, trying to shift her weight. She manages to twist just enough to get her knees under her, then pushes backward, stacking Rosa onto her shoulders in a makeshift pin.
ONE!
TWO— Rosa breaks the hold and rolls free, popping back to her feet with a glare.
Angela uses the tiny window to roll toward her corner, cradling her arm, dragging herself inch by inch across the canvas.
John Phillips: "This could be Angela’s chance! She’s got daylight—"
Rosa lunges, grabs Angela’s boot, and yanks her back toward the center of the ring. The crowd groans in unison as Angela’s fingertips brush Susanita’s outstretched hand but fall just short.
Mark Bravo: "Denied at the last possible second! That’s veteran awareness from Rosa, and it just sucked the air out of this building."
Rosa drags Angela up again, looking to reapply the punishment—but this time Angela fires off a desperate forearm with her good arm, catching Rosa on the jaw.
Another. And another.
Rosa staggers back a step. Angela roars, spins, and blasts her with a sudden Lightning Bolt Lariat using the healthy arm, dropping Rosa hard to the canvas. The impact sends Angela crashing down too, clutching her injured shoulder.
John Phillips: "Lightning Bolt Lariat out of nowhere! Angela Hall just created the opening she needed!"
Mark Bravo: "She paid for it, John, but if she can crawl a few more feet, this whole match could swing back the other way."
Both women lie on the mat, the referee starting his ten-count. The crowd claps in rhythm, stomping their feet, willing Angela toward her corner.
ONE… TWO… THREE…
Angela starts to move first, rolling onto her stomach and crawling toward Team MVC’s outstretched hands. On the other side, Rosa shakes the cobwebs out and reaches for her own corner, where Selena and Sandy are both calling for the tag while Amy remains on the apron, arms folded, watching.
FOUR… FIVE…
Angela stretches, fingertips scraping the canvas, the MVC corner screaming for her to make the tag…
FOUR… FIVE…
Rosa pushes up to her knees, blinking the lariat out of her eyes, and veers hard toward her corner. Angela drags herself the opposite way, arm stretched toward Marie, Susanita, Emily, and Valkyrie like a lifeline.
SIX…
Rosa dives the last couple of steps and slaps Hardcore Sandy’s outstretched hand.
Referee: "Tag!"
John Phillips: "Rosa gets there first—tag to Hardcore Sandy!"
Mark Bravo: "And business just picked up, John. Angela Hall is in a bad neighborhood right now."
Sandy swings one heavy leg over the top rope and steps into the ring like she owns it. The Vegas brawler doesn’t rush; she stalks. Angela is inches from salvation, hand straining out toward Marie’s fingers—
—when Sandy’s massive paw clamps around Angela’s ankle.
The crowd groans as Sandy yanks her backward with one jerk, dragging Angela away from Team MVC’s corner like she’s hauling a sandbag.
John Phillips: "No! Hardcore Sandy just ripped Angela away at the last second!"
Mark Bravo: "So close you could taste it, and then Sandy just slammed the door. That’s what a six-foot-one roadblock looks like."
Angela claws at the canvas, trying to dig in, but Sandy drags her all the way back to the Empire’s side of the ring. Once she’s got Angela in no-man’s land, she releases the foot… only to stomp down on Angela’s injured shoulder with a sickening thud.
Angela cries out, curling around the arm. Sandy doesn’t blink. She stomps again. And again. Each shot is heavy, deliberate, like she’s grinding a cigarette out on the mat.
John Phillips: "Hardcore Sandy just punting that already-damaged shoulder—she knows exactly where Rosa and Dahlia left off."
Mark Bravo: "You don’t last as long as Sandy has without knowing how to read the damage report. She’s not here to be fancy, she’s here to break things."
After a trio of stomps, Sandy pauses and slowly turns her head toward the opposite corner. Marie Van Claudio is reaching in as far as she can, eyes blazing, the other members of Team MVC shouting at the referee to do something.
Sandy takes two heavy steps toward them, planting herself halfway between Angela’s prone body and the MVC corner. She doesn’t say a word—she just stares.
First at Marie.
Then at Emily, who’s nearly halfway through the ropes already before the referee shoves her back.
Then up at Valkyrie, who stares back with cold, unblinking fury.
John Phillips: "Hardcore Sandy sending a message without saying a thing—she’s daring Team MVC to come in."
Mark Bravo: "And look who she’s eyeing the hardest—Marie and Valkyrie. That’s not posturing, that’s scouting."
Sandy slowly raises her hands, palms out, feigning innocence for the referee… then turns her back on the MVC corner with a dismissive shake of the head, like they’re not even worth her time.
She walks back to Angela, who is pushing up to all fours, teeth grit. Sandy grabs a fistful of Angela’s hair, jerks her upright, and muscles her into the nearest neutral corner. She buries a shoulder into Angela’s midsection once, twice, three times, each shot driving the air out of her lungs and folding her around that damaged arm.
Team MVC pound on the turnbuckle pad, the crowd rallying behind them as Sandy steps back, measuring Angela with a predator’s calm.
John Phillips: "Hardcore Sandy in full control, and Angela Hall in a world of trouble here in the early going."
Mark Bravo: "Empire wanted to cut the ring in half and make an example out of someone—looks like Angela drew the short straw tonight."
Hardcore Sandy backs up to the opposite corner, rolling her shoulders, eyes locked on Angela slumped in the buckles. The crowd swells with nervous energy as Sandy pumps one fist, then charges—
—going full-speed for a corner avalanche.
John Phillips: "Sandy looking to crush Angela Hall in that corner!"
At the last possible heartbeat, Angela twists her body sideways and drops, rolling under the bottom rope to the apron. Sandy collides chest-first with the turnbuckles, the ring shaking from the impact.
Mark Bravo: "Nobody home! Hardcore airball!"
Sandy staggers back out of the corner, clutching her ribs. Angela clings to the middle rope with her good arm, using it to pull herself up onto the apron. As Sandy turns, Angela springs up, slingshotting herself over the top rope—
—and drills Sandy in the side of the head with a springboard Gale Force Knee.
The impact sends Sandy dropping to one knee. Angela lands awkwardly, grabbing her bad shoulder, but forces herself forward with a wild yell. She hits the ropes, rebounds, and cracks Sandy with a second running knee to the temple, sending the Vegas brawler crashing to the mat.
John Phillips: "Angela Hall with two big shots in a row! How much does she have left in that arm?!"
Angela drops to all fours, gasping, the pain from her shoulder written all over her face. The crowd senses the turning point and erupts into a thunderous chant.
Crowd: "LET’S GO ANG-ELA! *clap clap clapclapclap*"
Both women are down. The referee checks them, then starts the count.
ONE… TWO…
Angela rolls toward her corner, dragging herself by her good arm, every inch a war. Sandy slowly pushes up to her hands and knees, shaking her head, crawling toward The Empire’s side of the ring.
John Phillips: "We’ve seen Angela Hall taking a beating like only The Empire can deliver, but this is her moment! She has to make a tag!"
THREE… FOUR…
Sandy lunges and slaps the nearest hand—Rosa Delgado’s—before flopping onto her back.
Referee: "Tag!"
Rosa steps through the ropes, but she’s a half-second too late to stop the inevitable. Angela throws herself forward, body fully extended—
—and slaps Valkyrie Knox’s outstretched hand.
Referee: "Tag!"
The roof nearly comes off the Entertainment & Sports Arena.
John Phillips: "Valkyrie Knox is legal!"
Mark Bravo: "Oh, NOW we’re about to find out how much Empire insurance Amy really bought!"
Valkyrie vaults over the top rope like it’s nothing, boots hitting the canvas with a heavy thud. Rosa rushes her immediately, going for a rolling elbow—
—and gets scooped straight off her feet.
Valkyrie catches her around the waist, muscles straining as she pops her hips and rattles off a brutal deadlift German suplex. Rosa lands high and hard, folding up on the back of her neck before rolling to the corner in a daze.
John Phillips: "Deadlift German suplex! Rosa Delgado just got launched!"
Selena Vex darts through the ropes without a tag, screaming, and charges. Valkyrie meets her in the center with a short-arm lariat that nearly flips Selena inside out. The official waves his arms, shouting for order, but the crowd is losing its mind.
Mark Bravo: "Short-arm lariat! That’s like running face-first into a tree!"
Dahlia Cross steps one leg through the ropes, thinking about joining the ambush, but the moment Valkyrie’s eyes land on her, Dahlia thinks better of it and lets the rope snap back into place, backing off with her hands raised and that forced little smile on her face.
Hardcore Sandy pulls herself up on the apron, only to eat a running big boot from Valkyrie that sends her spilling back down to the floor, arms pinwheeling.
John Phillips: "Valkyrie Knox is an avalanche right now! Anyone in Empire colors who steps into that ring is getting buried!"
For the first time, Amy Harrison’s smirk falters on the apron. She barks rapid-fire instructions at the remaining members of The Empire, one hand gripping the top rope a little tighter than before.
Across the ring, Team MVC is electric. Emily pounds the turnbuckle pad, Susanita is practically dancing on the apron, and Marie leans in, shouting, her voice cutting through the noise.
Marie Van Claudio: "Keep her in there, Val! Break them down!"
Rosa staggers back to her feet, clutching the back of her head. Valkyrie stalks her, cuts off the ring, and muscles Rosa up into position—
—hoisting her above her head in a full gorilla-press.
Rosa flails in mid-air, eyes wide, as Valkyrie turns slowly in place, displaying her to all four sides of the arena.
Mark Bravo: "Look at the power! Valkyrie’s got Rosa up like she weighs nothing!"
With a roar, Valkyrie steps forward and powerslams Rosa down into the canvas with authority, rattling the ring.
John Phillips: "Gorilla-press powerslam! This could be it right here!"
Valkyrie drops for the cover—
ONE!
TWO—
Dahlia Cross slides in and stomps Valkyrie in the back of the head to break the pin. The crowd erupts in a wave of boos.
John Phillips: "Dahlia Cross saving the match for The Empire!"
Mark Bravo: "And saving Rosa’s neck, literally and figuratively."
The referee rushes in, yelling at Dahlia to get out. Dahlia raises her hands, backing away slowly, but not before she sneaks one last kick into Valkyrie’s ribs on the way past.
On the apron, Amy slams her hand down on the turnbuckle pad, demanding a tag.
Amy Harrison: "Rosa! Over here, now!"
Rosa starts crawling toward her, dazed, arm reaching—
—but Valkyrie grabs Rosa’s ankle, halting her progress. The Icelandic powerhouse drags Rosa back into the danger zone and hauls her up, eyes flicking toward Amy.
Valkyrie shoves Rosa backward into The Empire’s corner on purpose and points straight at Amy, barking something we can’t quite hear, but the message is obvious.
John Phillips: "Valkyrie Knox just dared Amy Harrison to tag in!"
The crowd surges into a chant.
Crowd: "WE WANT AMY! *clap clap clapclapclap*"
Amy looks down at Rosa, then up at Valkyrie, then glances back over her shoulder at the rest of her team. For a heartbeat, it looks like she might actually do it—
—then she steps back off the apron, shaking her head with a smirk, waving Rosa toward Selena instead.
Mark Bravo: "And there it is. Classic Amy Harrison. Big on talk, low on walking into the buzzsaw."
Rosa, still half out of it, slaps Selena’s hand. Selena hops onto the top rope, springboarding in—but Valkyrie is already moving, charging the corner and smashing Rosa and the ropes with a massive corner body avalanche that sends Selena crashing awkwardly back onto the apron instead of flying clean.
Selena tumbles to the floor, clutching her midsection as Rosa collapses to her knees again.
John Phillips: "The Empire is completely on the back foot now! Valkyrie Knox has turned Survivor into a demolition project!"
The referee tries to restore order, gesturing for the legal competitors to stay in. Valkyrie stands tall in the center of the ring, chest heaving, eyes locked on The Empire’s corner, while Team MVC roars behind her.
The message is clear: the storm has passed, and the war-goddess has entered.
Valkyrie paces in the center of the ring, breathing hard but steady, The Empire scattered around her. Rosa crawls toward the corner, clutching her neck, while Selena and Sandy regroup on the apron. Amy Harrison stays just out of reach, one hand on the top rope, barking orders but never stepping through.
John Phillips: "Right now, Valkyrie Knox has blown this thing wide open for Team MVC!"
Mark Bravo: "If she keeps this up, Amy might have to actually lace up those boots she’s standing in."
Rosa uses the ropes to pull herself upright in The Empire’s corner. Dahlia Cross reaches over the rope, tapping Rosa on the shoulder.
Referee: "Tag!"
Dahlia slips in cool and calm, rubbing her arm where Angela twisted it earlier. She takes one look at Valkyrie, then at the battered Rosa, and makes a quick choice—she points at Valkyrie and mouths, "Later," then immediately backs into her corner and slaps Selena Vex’s chest.
Referee: "Tag!"
The crowd boos as Selena rolls her eyes theatrically but steps through the ropes anyway.
John Phillips: "Interesting. Dahlia Cross tags out the moment the war-goddess is staring her down."
Mark Bravo: "She’s smart, John. She knows Valkyrie’s a wrecking ball right now. Why take that hit when you’ve got someone like Selena who enjoys getting hit as long as she can cheat back?"
Selena saunters to center-ring, shaking out her arms, then flicks an invisible speck off Valkyrie’s chest with a smirk.
Selena Vex: "You done showing off, sweetheart?"
Valkyrie doesn’t answer. She just snarls, then explodes forward with a clubbing forearm that sends Selena staggering back into the ropes. Valkyrie follows with a barrage—short-arm lariat, corner body avalanche, another lariat—each blow thudding through the arena.
John Phillips: "Valkyrie Knox is mauling Selena Vex!"
Valkyrie whips Selena hard across the ring. Selena rebounds—
—and Dahlia, from the apron, reaches out and slaps Selena on the back as she runs past.
Referee: "Tag!"
Selena eats a huge running big boot from Valkyrie and spills out under the bottom rope, but Dahlia is already slipping through the ropes behind the referee’s back-and-forth wave, the tag having been made.
Valkyrie raises her fist for the crowd, but as she turns—
Dahlia shoots in low and clips Valkyrie’s knee with a brutal chop block.
John Phillips: "Dahlia Cross from behind! Chop block to the knee!"
Mark Bravo: "That’s one way to deal with a powerhouse—take out the pillars."
Valkyrie collapses to one knee with a roar of pain. Dahlia pounces, stomping the back of the knee, then twisting the ankle and calf in a nasty, torqueing motion. The referee dives in, checking on Valkyrie, shouting at Dahlia to watch the joint.
Team MVC erupts on the apron—Emily halfway into the ring, Marie shouting, Susanita gesturing frantically to the ref. Angela, still clutching her shoulder, leans in over the rope, eyes burning a hole through Dahlia.
Angela Hall: "Tag me in! TAG ME!"
Valkyrie snarls, shoving Dahlia away with both hands, then forces herself upright on a shaky base. Dahlia rushes her, peppering the knee with low kicks, but Valkyrie muscles through and shoves her back into the MVC corner with one massive shove.
Valkyrie glances to Marie. Marie nods toward Susanita, then Emily—both eager—but Angela slaps the turnbuckle pad once, hard, her voice cutting through the noise.
Angela Hall: "She’s mine!"
Marie meets Valkyrie’s eyes. For a second, there’s hesitation—Angela’s shoulder is a wreck—but Valkyrie sees the fire and slaps Angela’s outstretched hand.
Referee: "Tag!"
John Phillips: "And here we go again! Angela Hall back in this match, and she’s got Dahlia Cross dead in her sights!"
Angela vaults over the top rope despite the pain and charges straight at Dahlia. Dahlia swings a quick palm thrust toward the throat—
—Angela ducks under, hits the ropes, and comes back with a blistering running forearm from her good arm that spins Dahlia around.
She doesn’t stop. Another forearm. Then a spinning back elbow. Then a snap dropkick that sends Dahlia tumbling into The Empire’s corner.
Mark Bravo: "Look at Angela go! This is all that pent-up anger from losing the title and watching Dahlia jump ship!"
Selena reaches in to tag herself, but Dahlia grabs the tag rope with her good hand and yanks it away, refusing the escape. She shoves Selena back, snapping at her, eyes locked on Angela like she wants this fight.
Angela charges the corner—
Dahlia sidesteps, but Angela plants a foot on the middle turnbuckle and springboards backward, catching Dahlia with a flying back elbow that drops her to the mat. The crowd roars as Angela pops up, clutching her shoulder but forcing herself to keep moving.
John Phillips: "Even hurt, Angela Hall is wrestling like she’s got everything to prove!"
Angela grabs Dahlia by the hair, hauls her up, and whips her to the ropes. Dahlia rebounds—Angela scoops her into a quick tilt-a-whirl and plants her with a nasty Cyclone DDT, spiking Dahlia head-first into the canvas.
Angela hooks the leg.
ONE!
TWO—
Selena dives in and shoves Angela off at the last instant, breaking the pin. The crowd rains boos as the referee rushes to usher Selena back out.
Mark Bravo: "Selena saving Dahlia’s skin! Empire playing the numbers game again!"
Angela staggers up, frustrated, and shouts something at Selena as she’s herded out. That split-second distraction is all Dahlia needs.
From her knees, Dahlia reaches forward and jabs Angela’s already-damaged shoulder with a pinpoint thumb strike, right into the joint.
Angela screams, dropping to one knee, arm hanging limp.
John Phillips: "Oh, come on! Right into the shoulder again!"
Dahlia slithers up behind Angela, wraps her arms around the injured limb, and yanks her violently down into a modified Fujiwara-style armbar, but with her knee pressing directly into the shoulder socket. Angela thrashes, teeth bared, fighting the hold.
The referee drops down.
Referee: "You wanna give it up, Angela?"
Angela Hall: "NO!"
Dahlia smiles, sickly sweet, and leans back further, twisting the arm at a grotesque angle. Angela’s boot scrapes at the mat, searching for leverage, but the pain is screaming through her entire upper body.
John Phillips: "Angela Hall is trapped in the middle of the ring with that armbar, and that shoulder has been under assault since the opening minutes!"
Team MVC is losing their minds on the apron. Emily is halfway through the ropes again before the referee shouts at her. Susanita pounds the top turnbuckle. Marie grips the tag rope so hard her knuckles go white.
Marie Van Claudio: "Angela, don’t you tap! Don’t you dare!"
Angela claws toward the ropes with her free hand—but Dahlia rolls her body, dragging Angela back to the center, never letting go of the arm. She transitions seamlessly, snaking her legs around Angela’s trapped limb and cranking back into the full Violet Vice, hyperextending both the elbow and shoulder.
Angela’s face is a mask of agony. She raises her free hand, hovering between air and canvas as the crowd screams.
John Phillips: "She’s got her in the Violet Vice! Dahlia Cross has Angela Hall dead center of the ring!"
Mark Bravo: "If Angela doesn’t tap, that arm might not make it to Black Horizon, let alone the end of this match!"
Angela slams her fist into the mat—not in surrender, but in frustration, trying to push herself up. Her body betrays her. The arm buckles. The pain spikes again.
For a heartbeat, she and Marie lock eyes—years of grind, of near-misses, of chances stolen and given back.
Then Angela’s hand hits the mat three times, rapid and desperate.
Referee: "That’s it! That’s it! She tapped!"
DING DING DING.
Ring Announcer: "Angela Hall has been eliminated!"
The arena erupts in a mixture of shock and fury. Dahlia releases the hold slowly, almost tenderly, then nudges Angela’s arm with her boot, watching her roll away, clutching the limb.
John Phillips: "No! Angela Hall is the first one gone, and it’s The Empire drawing first blood!"
Mark Bravo: "You can’t blame her, John. Sometimes the body taps before the heart does. That shoulder was hanging by a thread, and Dahlia just cut it."
The referee helps Angela roll under the bottom rope, where officials and a ringside trainer immediately check on her. Team MVC gathers at the floor, Marie and Susanita kneeling beside Angela, Emily pacing like a caged animal, Valkyrie leaning on the ropes, furious and breathing hard.
Inside the ring, Dahlia rises slowly, that venomous smile spreading across her face. She turns to The Empire’s corner and gives a little curtsy, as if presenting a gift.
Amy Harrison applauds from the apron, smirk fully restored.
John Phillips: "We’re down to five-on-four in favor of The Empire, and the woman who might’ve had the biggest personal score to settle tonight just got taken out of the equation."
Mark Bravo: "And you know Amy Harrison loves every second of it. The numbers, the advantage, and the fact that Angela Hall’s road back to that championship just got a whole lot longer."
As Angela is helped up the ramp, clutching her arm, Marie Van Claudio slides back onto the apron and grabs the tag rope, jaw clenched, eyes locked on Dahlia and Amy both. The war is far from over—but Team MVC is already fighting from behind.
Dahlia lingers in the center of the ring, soaking in the heat from the crowd as Angela is helped up the ramp clutching her arm. The Empire is up five-on-four, and they know it.
John Phillips: "The Empire strikes first, and it’s a big one. Angela Hall is out, and Team MVC is suddenly down a soldier."
Mark Bravo: "If you’re Amy Harrison, that’s exactly how you drew it up. Damage the body, take out the heart, and then pick apart what’s left."
Back on the apron, Marie and Emily climb into their corner, faces tight with concern but eyes burning. Valkyrie stands on the second rope, bellowing something at Dahlia in Icelandic that doesn’t sound like a compliment.
Between them, Susanita Ybanez steps through the ropes, slapping Valkyrie’s shoulder as she passes to claim the legal spot for Team MVC.
Referee: "Susanita’s in!"
The crowd perks up as the Paraguayan firebrand bounces on the balls of her feet, rolling her shoulders loose. She points straight at Dahlia with both hands, then taps her own jaw and beckons her forward.
John Phillips: "And here comes Susanita Ybanez! First woman from South America to sign with UTA, and she is not backing down from this five-on-four situation."
Mark Bravo: "She grew up fighting uphill every day of her life, John. Being down a partner is just Tuesday to her."
Dahlia tilts her head, that cruel little smile creeping back. She saunters forward, raising her hands loosely for a lock-up. Susanita meets her in the center and they tie up—
—only for Dahlia to immediately yank Susanita into a tight side headlock, grinding her forearm across the smaller woman’s face.
Susanita stomps a boot, backs them both into the ropes, and shoots Dahlia off. Dahlia rebounds—
Susanita drops flat, Dahlia runs over. On the return, Susanita pops up and sends Dahlia flying with a deep arm drag, rolling through to her knees with a flourish.
Dahlia scrambles up, annoyed, charges again—another arm drag. The third time, she hesitates on the charge, so Susanita changes level, snatches the legs, and topples her into a quick jackknife cradle.
ONE!
TWO— Dahlia kicks out, eyes wide.
John Phillips: "Susanita almost stole one right there!"
Mark Bravo: "You can’t wrestle her like she’s just another face in the crowd. She’s lucha, she’s street, and she will turn your overconfidence into a receipt."
Dahlia scrambles to her feet, furious now, and swings a wild palm strike toward Susanita’s throat. Susanita ducks under, hits the ropes, and comes back with a flying corkscrew body press that wipes Dahlia out in the middle of the ring.
She rolls off, pops to her feet, and throws her arms wide to the crowd.
John Phillips: "Corkscrew splash from Susanita! She’s bringing that hybrid style to Survivor tonight!"
She doesn’t waste time. Susanita drags Dahlia up by the hair, shoots her into the corner opposite The Empire, and follows in with a sharp running back elbow. Dahlia slumps; Susanita backs up a step, checks her distance, and unloads a rapid-fire combo of kicks to the midsection, the crowd counting along.
Crowd: "UNO! DOS! TRES! CUATRO! CINCO!"
On the last kick, Dahlia drops to a seat in the corner. Susanita sprints across the ring, hits the opposite buckles, and comes screaming back in with a low running dropkick that nails Dahlia in the jaw.
Mark Bravo: "There’s the Lambaré attitude—for every dirty trick, Susanita’s got three ways to rearrange your face."
Across the ring, Amy slaps the top rope in frustration, shouting at Dahlia to get out of the corner. Hardcore Sandy reaches out for a tag, but Susanita yanks Dahlia away by the ankle before she can get close.
Susanita spins her through and plants her with a snap DDT in the center of the ring, bouncing Dahlia’s head off the canvas. She floats into a quick cover, hooking the inside leg deep.
ONE!
TWO— Selena Vex dives in again, raking Susanita’s back to break the pin as the crowd boos loudly.
John Phillips: "Selena Vex with another cheap save for The Empire!"
Mark Bravo: "Empire might be up in numbers, but they’re fighting this like they’re the ones in trouble, and that tells you a lot about how dangerous Susanita is."
The referee rushes Selena back to the apron, chewing her out. Selena just laughs, blowing a kiss in Susanita’s direction as she exits.
Susanita pushes to her feet, rubbing her back, and glares daggers at Selena… but she forces herself to turn her focus back to Dahlia, who is rolling toward the ropes.
Susanita grabs Dahlia by the wrist and yanks her back, then threads that arm through her legs and drops into a tight, low hammerlock, using all her weight to pin Dahlia’s shoulders to the mat while twisting the joint.
John Phillips: "Angela Hall might be gone, but look at Susanita picking up the baton—she’s going after the same arm that Angela punished earlier tonight."
Dahlia hisses in pain, pounding the mat with her free hand, teeth bared. She squirms, reaches up, and manages to snag a handful of Susanita’s hair, yanking hard.
Susanita yelps but doesn’t release the hold. Instead, she shifts her hips, swings around Dahlia’s body, and transitions beautifully into a seated Fujiwara-style armbar of her own, cranking back on the limb while planting her boots against Dahlia’s ribs.
Mark Bravo: "Turnabout is fair play! Dahlia made Angela tap with a Violet Vice, and now Susanita’s out here trying to tear her arm off the same way!"
Ringside, Angela—still halfway up the ramp with medical staff fussing over her—turns back to look at the ring, arm in a makeshift sling of ice and tape. She watches Susanita wrench Dahlia’s arm and nods once, lips pressed into a line of approval.
Inside the ropes, Dahlia scrambles for the bottom rope, stretching her fingertips, but Susanita leans back further, forcing her to drag both their bodies across the mat.
Referee: "You wanna give it up, Dahlia?"
Dahlia Cross: "Get off me!"
After a desperate scramble, Dahlia manages to hook a boot over the bottom rope. The referee immediately calls for the break and starts his count.
Referee: "One! Two! Three! Four—"
Susanita releases at four and a half, popping up with her hands raised, heat in her eyes. She backs away, but not before giving Dahlia a light, mocking tap on the cheek with her boot.
On the MVC apron, Emily and Marie clap and shout encouragement in Spanish back at her. Valkyrie slaps the turnbuckle once, nodding in approval.
John Phillips: "Team MVC may be down a member, but Susanita Ybanez just flipped this match right back on its head."
Mark Bravo: "If you’re counting MVC out this early, you haven’t been paying attention to their resumes. These women have all crawled out of worse holes than five-on-four."
Dahlia rolls to The Empire’s corner, clutching her arm, where Amy and Selena both lean in, talking rapidly at her. Hardcore Sandy slaps the top turnbuckle, wanting in again. Amy, though, holds out her hand, eyes never leaving Susanita.
Dahlia hesitates, glancing between Amy and the ring, then makes her choice—she tags in Selena Vex with a sharp slap and slips out under the bottom rope to regroup.
Referee: "Tag!"
Selena steps through the ropes with a wicked grin, shaking out her hair as she stalks toward Susanita, who’s already bouncing in place, ready for another sprint.
John Phillips: "Dahlia wants no more of that arm work for the moment, and now it’s Susanita Ybanez and Selena Vex squaring up. The numbers say Empire, but the momentum—right now—that’s all MVC."
Mark Bravo: "Next exchange could swing this whole match. Susanita’s gotta stay two steps ahead, because Selena’s the kind who’ll turn a stumble into a theft faster than you can blink."
Selena and Susanita circle, the roar of the Survivor crowd building again as the next chapter of this war begins.
Selena and Susanita circle, the energy in the building buzzing. Selena stretches an arm out lazily like she wants a test of strength. Susanita eyes it, then instead fires a sharp low kick at Selena’s thigh.
Selena jerks her leg back, more annoyed than hurt. She steps in again, this time rushing with a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Susanita ducks under, slips behind, and shoves Selena chest-first into the ropes.
On the rebound, Susanita rolls forward under Selena’s attempted clothesline, popping up behind her and cracking her between the shoulder blades with a stiff dropkick.
John Phillips: "Susanita Ybanez using that speed and precision—she’s not letting Selena get comfortable for even a second!"
Selena stumbles into the ropes, catching herself on the middle cable. She turns, fuming, and charges again. Susanita sidesteps, hooks her, and whips her into the opposite ropes instead.
Selena rebounds—Susanita drops low, then leaps into the air, catching Selena with a high arm drag that sends her skidding toward the Empire’s corner. Selena slams her fists into the mat in frustration.
Mark Bravo: "Every time Selena tries to hit the gas, Susanita just opens a new off-ramp under her."
Selena pulls herself up with the ropes, snarling. She feigns stepping through them to bail, causing the referee to move in. As he does, Selena suddenly spins and lunges, raking her nails across Susanita’s eyes when the official’s line of sight clips the post.
Susanita yelps, clutching her face as the crowd erupts in boos.
John Phillips: "There it is again—Selena Vex with the eye rake behind the referee’s back!"
Mark Bravo: "She calls that exploiting the patch notes. If the ref can’t see it, it’s not a bug, it’s a feature."
Selena grabs Susanita by the hair and spikes her down with a hair-pull mat slam that bounces the back of Susanita’s head off the canvas. She floats over, pressing a forearm into the face for the cover.
ONE!
TWO— Susanita kicks out, twisting her hips and shoulder off the mat.
Selena pops up and immediately drives a series of stomps into Susanita’s ribs, punctuating each one with a sneer down at her opponent.
Selena Vex: "You’re out of your depth, sweetheart!"
She hauls Susanita up by the wrist, yanks her into a short-arm clothesline that nearly takes her head off, then drags her toward The Empire’s corner by the leg, using her as a message to the MVC side.
Hardcore Sandy slaps the turnbuckle, wanting back in, but Selena waves her off with a smirk and instead wraps Susanita’s arms around the middle rope, driving a boot into her midsection and choking her against the cable.
The referee starts the count.
Referee: "One! Two! Three! Four—"
Selena releases at four, hands high, backing away with exaggeration like she’s innocent. As the ref moves to check on Susanita, Selena darts back in and lands a cheap slap across Susanita’s face.
Susanita’s eyes flash. Even winded, even hurting, she snaps a forearm into Selena’s jaw out of pure instinct.
John Phillips: "Susanita firing back! She’s not gonna be disrespected like that!"
Selena reels, then charges—but Susanita ducks and snaps her down into a small package out of nowhere.
ONE!
TWO— Selena kicks out, exploding free at the last heartbeat.
Both women scramble to their feet. Selena swings a wild right; Susanita blocks and answers with a sharp European uppercut. Another. A third. Selena staggers backward into the MVC half of the ring as the crowd rallies.
Mark Bravo: "Susanita’s turning this into a street fight now—those are receipts from Lambaré right there."
Susanita grabs Selena’s wrist, whips her toward the MVC corner—then follows in, leaping into a high running knee that crushes Selena against the turnbuckles. Selena slumps, gasping.
On the apron, Emily slaps the top turnbuckle, Susanita glances back—and sees Valkyrie standing there, hand out, eyes locked on the chaos in The Empire’s corner.
John Phillips: "And look who’s ready to rejoin the fight—Valkyrie Knox wants back in!"
Susanita nods, hooks Selena in a snapmare and launches her out of the corner toward the center of the ring. Selena lands seated, jolted. Susanita hits the ropes, rebounds, and drills a running low dropkick into Selena’s spine, flattening her.
She pops up from the impact and turns immediately to her corner, hand raised.
Susanita Ybanez: "¡Vamos!"
Valkyrie slaps Susanita’s hand with a thunderous smack.
Referee: "Tag!"
The crowd explodes as Valkyrie steps through the ropes, casting a quick nod to Susanita, who slips back to the apron, winded but fired up.
John Phillips: "Valkyrie Knox is legal again, and Selena Vex could not have picked a worse time to be stuck in the middle of the ring."
Selena pushes herself to all fours, dazed. She looks up just in time to see Valkyrie’s shadow fall over her. The Icelandic powerhouse reaches down, grabs Selena by the back of her gear and a handful of hair, and hauls her straight up to her feet like she weighs nothing.
Valkyrie shoves Selena chest-first into the ropes, then yanks her backward into a crushing short-arm lariat that spins her inside out.
Mark Bravo: "Short-arm lariat! Selena just got folded up like a cheap lawn chair!"
Valkyrie doesn’t go for the cover. She drags Selena up again, ragdoll-light in her grip, and hooks her for a deadlift German suplex. With a roar, she pops the hips and sends Selena flying, the back of her head and shoulders crashing into the mat near The Empire’s corner.
John Phillips: "Deadlift German for good measure! Valkyrie Knox is not just trying to beat Selena Vex—she’s trying to send a message to all of The Empire."
On the apron, Amy Harrison barks orders, gesturing frantically for someone—anyone—to be ready to save the match if it comes to that. Dahlia flexes her aching arm, Sandy pounds the turnbuckle, ready to charge back in at the first opening.
Meanwhile, Valkyrie stands tall in the center of the ring, chest heaving, eyes burning as she stares down The Empire’s corner with Selena sprawled at her feet.
John Phillips: "Team MVC might be down a member, but with Valkyrie Knox back in there and Susanita Ybanez firing on all cylinders, the playing field inside those ropes feels a whole lot more even."
Mark Bravo: "As long as Valkyrie’s standing, nobody on The Empire side is safe. Let’s see if she decides to take Selena off the board next."
Valkyrie stands over Selena, the Empire’s schemer barely moving. The crowd is roaring, but behind her, a hand slaps the top turnbuckle pad in a steady rhythm.
Emily Hightower leans over the ropes, eyes blazing, U.S. Women’s Championship plates glinting from the timekeeper’s table.
Emily Hightower: "Tag me in! C’mon, Val—let me finish this!"
Valkyrie looks back, chest heaving, then nods once. She hauls Selena up by the hair, scoops her, and drops her across her knee with a nasty backbreaker for good measure. As Selena spills to the mat, Valkyrie strides to the corner and slaps Emily’s outstretched hand.
Referee: "Tag!"
John Phillips: "And here comes the Junkyard Bitch! Emily Hightower is legal!"
Mark Bravo: "If Selena thought Valkyrie was bad news, wait ’til she gets a taste of West Memphis hospitality."
Emily vaults over the top rope and beelines straight for Selena, who is trying to roll to the ropes to escape. Emily stomps down on Selena’s hand, pinning it to the canvas, then bends down and grabs a fistful of hair to yank her upright.
Emily Hightower: "You like cheap shots, huh? Try this on."
She pistons a short, brutal forearm into Selena’s jaw, then another, then whips her into the ropes. Selena rebounds on shaky legs—Emily steps in and BLASTS her with the Ode To My Father bull hammer elbow, echoing through the arena.
John Phillips: "Ode To My Father! Emily just shut Selena Vex’s lights off!"
Selena crumples to a knee, eyes glassy. Emily doesn’t hesitate. She yanks Selena into position, hooks her, and hoists her up into the air before driving her down with Total Loss, planting Selena in the center of the ring.
Mark Bravo: "TOTAL LOSS! Center of the ring! That’s junkyard justice right there!"
Emily folds Selena up tight, hooking both legs deep.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING.
Ring Announcer: "Selena Vex has been eliminated!"
The crowd erupts as Emily rolls off, pounding the mat once with a roar. On the floor, Selena spills under the bottom rope and lies half-conscious, one hand weakly reaching toward The Empire’s corner as officials move in.
John Phillips: "We’re all tied up again! Emily Hightower just evened this match at four-on-four!"
Mark Bravo: "Angela Hall goes out, Selena Vex goes out, and the Junkyard Bitch just put some teeth marks in The Empire’s numbers advantage."
On the apron, Amy Harrison’s smirk disappears for the second time tonight. She slams her palm on the turnbuckle pad, fury flickering across her features. Dahlia clutches her arm, glaring at Emily. Hardcore Sandy rolls her shoulders, itching to get back in.
Rosa Delgado, calm and composed, taps Amy on the shoulder.
Rosa Delgado: "My turn."
Amy eyes her for a beat, then nods and slaps Rosa’s hand.
Referee: "Tag!"
Rosa steps between the ropes, the San Antonio technician rolling her neck as she walks toward Emily, who stands dead center across from her, breathing hard but grinning.
John Phillips: "Oh, this is gonna be good. Emily Hightower and Rosa Delgado—two women who hit like freight trains and don’t mind leaving bruises to prove it."
Mark Bravo: "No flips, just fists—and maybe a shoulder socket or two."
They close in, face to face. Emily wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and lightly bumps her forehead against Rosa’s, daring her. Rosa stares back, unblinking.
Emily Hightower: "You wanted a fight, right? Let’s make it ugly."
Rosa Delgado: "That’s the only kind that counts."
The first shot comes from Emily—a stiff forearm that cracks Rosa across the jaw. The crowd pops. Rosa doesn’t go down. She fires back with a stiff forearm of her own, snapping Emily’s head to the side.
John Phillips: "Here we go—Rosa and Emily trading bombs in the middle of the ring!"
Forearm. Forearm. Forearm. Each one louder than the last. Emily snarls, grabbing Rosa by the collar and driving a knee into her midsection. Rosa doubles over for half a beat, then surges back up, smashing Emily with a sudden rolling elbow that rocks her.
Mark Bravo: "Rolling elbow from Rosa! That’s her bread and butter!"
Emily stumbles back into the ropes, but rebounds with a wild clothesline. Rosa ducks under, hits the far ropes, and comes back with a shotgun dropkick that nails Emily in the chest and sends her crashing into the buckles.
Rosa charges, but Emily explodes out of the corner with a running tackle, slamming Rosa down and raining down rough, scrapyard fists. The referee dives in, counting, forcing her to switch from closed to open hands.
John Phillips: "Emily turning this into a straight-up brawl, just like she likes it!"
Rosa covers up, then answers by hip bumping Emily off and rolling to her knees. Emily swings a boot at her; Rosa catches the leg, twists, and yanks Emily down into a nasty dragon screw, torqueing the knee.
Emily clutches her leg, hissing. Rosa doesn’t hesitate—she grabs the same leg and steps through, threatening the Magnolia Lock, but Emily boots her away with her free foot, sending Rosa stumbling back into the ropes.
Mark Bravo: "Rosa already thinking about that Magnolia Lock, but Emily’s not about to let herself get planted that easy."
They rise at almost the same time, chests heaving. Emily charges—Rosa shifts sideways and blasts her with a spinning backfist that echoes off Emily’s jaw.
Emily staggers, drops to one knee for a heartbeat… then laughs. Actually laughs, blood at the corner of her mouth.
Emily Hightower: "That all you got?"
Rosa’s lips twitch into the faintest of smirks.
Rosa Delgado: "Not even close."
Rosa steps in, hooking Emily’s arm and trying to cinch a hammerlock to begin her grind. Emily responds with a sharp headbutt to Rosa’s cheekbone, then shoves her off and blasts her in the ribs with a stiff body shot, following immediately with a snapping suplex that rattles both women on landing.
Emily rolls through, keeping her arms locked, and deadlifts Rosa up for a second suplex, then a third, a gritty series that has the crowd counting along.
Crowd: "ONE! TWO! THREE!"
John Phillips: "Emily Hightower chaining suplexes together, and Rosa Delgado might finally be in trouble!"
Emily hangs on for a moment, breathing hard, then releases and rolls to a knee, shaking the cobwebs from the backfist. Rosa lies on the mat, cradling her ribs but already trying to push up.
On the MVC apron, Valkyrie slaps the turnbuckle, Susanita is shouting in Spanish, Marie’s eyes dart between the ring and The Empire’s corner where Amy is barking instructions again, clearly wary of how this slugfest could end.
Mark Bravo: "We're one elimination apiece now, and you get the feeling whoever wins this mini-war between Rosa and Emily is gonna tilt this entire Survivor match on its axis."
Emily drags herself upright and stalks Rosa, who’s fighting to her knees. The U.S. Champion snorts, wipes the blood from her lip, and cocks her arm back for another Ode To My Father as Rosa tries to rise—
—and we’re left on the brink, the next blow poised to either crack this thing open for Team MVC or swing the door back toward The Empire.
Emily cocks her arm back, Rosa on one knee, swaying. The crowd knows what’s coming.
John Phillips: "Emily looking for Ode To My Father again!"
She charges in—Rosa tries to rise, but Emily cracks her with the bull hammer elbow flush on the side of the head. Rosa flips to her back, staring up at the lights, eyes glassy.
Mark Bravo: "She just knocked a week off Rosa’s calendar!"
Emily drops to her knees, hooks the far leg.
ONE!
TWO—
Rosa kicks out at the last second, shoulder jerking off the mat. Emily falls to all fours, hands on her hips, disbelief washing over her face.
John Phillips: "Rosa Delgado somehow survives, but Emily Hightower has taken control of this fight!"
Emily grabs Rosa by the hair and hauls her up, peppering her with short, sharp body shots—left, right, left to the ribs—then whips her into the corner. Rosa hits hard, slumping for half a heartbeat.
Emily charges, leaping into a running splash that crushes Rosa in the buckles. She follows with a flurry of shoulder thrusts, driving the air out of her, then hoists Rosa onto the second rope in a seated position.
Mark Bravo: "The Junkyard Bitch is feelin’ it now; Rosa is just trying to stay vertical."
Emily climbs up to the second rope, hooking Rosa for a superplex. The crowd rises with them, buzzing.
John Phillips: "If Emily hits this, Rosa could be all done—"
Before she can lift, a blur of motion hits the ring.
Hardcore Sandy storms through the ropes like a freight train, ignoring the legalities. She barrels into Emily’s lower back with a monstrous forearm, sending Emily tumbling off the buckles and flat onto the mat.
John Phillips: "Come on! Hardcore Sandy just blindsided Emily Hightower!"
Emily arches in pain, clutching her spine. The referee immediately dives in front of Sandy, shoving at her, yelling.
Referee: "Get out of the ring! You’re not legal! Back to your corner!"
Mark Bravo: "Sandy saw enough of her team getting mauled and said, ‘Nah, I’m tagging myself in the hard way.’"
Sandy roars in Emily’s direction, trying to push past the official. The ref plants himself in front of her, jabbing a finger toward The Empire’s corner, threatening disqualification if she doesn’t comply.
On the apron, Amy Harrison throws up her hands, shouting at Sandy to get out before she ruins everything. Dahlia is clapping slowly, amused. Sandy finally steps through the ropes, dropping back to the apron with a glare that could cut glass.
John Phillips: "The referee barely keeps a lid on this before it explodes, but the damage to Emily Hightower might already be done."
With the referee’s back turned, Rosa Delgado shifts her weight on the top rope, shaking the cobwebs loose. She looks down, sees Emily writhing on the mat, and her expression hardens into pure focus.
She carefully swings a leg over, climbing down from the ropes to the inside, never taking her eyes off Emily’s back.
As the official turns back toward the action, Rosa pounces. She drives a brutal knee into the small of Emily’s back, folding her up with a cry. Emily reaches instinctively for the ropes, but Rosa hooks her from behind in a tight waistlock and snaps her backward with a hammerlock back suplex, sending Emily high and crashing down on her already-damaged spine and shoulder.
Mark Bravo: "And Rosa goes right to work! Hardcore Sandy handed her an opening and Rosa is treating it like a gift card!"
Emily rolls onto her stomach, clutching her lower back. Rosa doesn’t let up. She grabs Emily’s left arm, plants a knee between her shoulder blades, and wrenches back with a vicious double arm stretch.
The referee drops down, checking for a submission.
Referee: "Emily, you wanna give it up?"
Emily Hightower: "No—NO!"
Rosa leans back further, bowing Emily’s spine at an ugly angle. Emily’s boots kick at the canvas, teeth gritted, pain etched across her face.
John Phillips: "Rosa Delgado is dissecting Emily Hightower’s back now, and that’s after Hardcore Sandy blindsided her!"
On the apron, Marie and Susanita are shouting at the ref, pointing to Sandy, but the official can only deal with what’s in front of him. Valkyrie pounds the turnbuckle with a booming fist.
Valkyrie Knox: "Fight out of it, Hightower! Don’t break!"
Emily digs her elbows into the mat, inching her way forward despite the hold. Rosa releases the stretch just long enough to spin around and trap Emily’s leg, dragging her back toward the center.
She plants Emily face-down, hooks her left leg, and twists into a nasty single-leg crab variation angled across the back and hip.
Mark Bravo: "That’s ugly. Rosa’s not just trying to win; she’s trying to make sure Emily’s not walking right for a week."
Emily pushes up on her fists, screaming, sweat dripping off her face. She claws at the mat, trying to get leverage. Rosa sits deeper, expression cool, unhurried, like she’s tightening a vise.
Emily throws an arm forward—once, twice—and finally manages to hook the bottom rope with her fingertips.
Referee: "Break! She’s on the ropes, break it, Rosa!"
Rosa holds on to the four count, then lets go at the last heartbeat, hands raised. Emily slumps half under the ropes, one arm hanging over the apron, gasping.
John Phillips: "Emily Hightower survives the submission attempt, but her back is a target now, and The Empire knows it."
Rosa grabs Emily by the waist of her gear and drags her back to center, then drops a sharp elbow right between the shoulder blades. Another. Then she rolls Emily onto her back and snaps a quick lateral press, hooking the far leg.
ONE!
TWO— Emily kicks out, jerking a shoulder up, but the effort leaves her clutching her spine again.
Mark Bravo: "That was close, and every kickout is costing Emily more pain than most people’s entire matches."
Rosa stays glued, grabbing Emily by the wrist and yanking her into a seated position. She threads Emily’s arm around her leg and clamps on a tight chinlock from behind, wrenching back to compress the neck and back even more.
Emily’s face twists, but she gets a knee under her, then another, slowly forcing both women up. The crowd claps in rhythm behind her, chanting.
Crowd: "EM-I-LY! EM-I-LY!"
Emily drives an elbow into Rosa’s midsection. Rosa holds on. Another elbow. Rosa’s grip loosens. A third elbow to the ribs finally breaks the hold, and Emily hits the ropes on instinct.
She rebounds, but her back seizes mid-stride. The hesitation is all Rosa needs—she steps in and nails Emily with a sudden Dragon Screw, whipping her back down to the mat by the leg and spine.
John Phillips: "Dragon screw! Rosa drags her right back down—Emily Hightower cannot get any sustained momentum here with that back shredded!"
As Emily writhes on the mat, clutching her lower spine and knee, Rosa stands over her, breathing measured and steady, the picture of a blue-collar technician doing what she does best—breaking an opponent down piece by piece.
On the apron, Team MVC looks on with a mix of fury and concern, knowing that the Junkyard Bitch is in deep trouble after Sandy’s assault and Rosa’s surgical follow-up.
Rosa stands over Emily, her breathing steady, eyes cool. She reaches down, grabs a handful of gear and hair, and drags Emily upright again.
John Phillips: "Rosa Delgado has not given Emily Hightower a single second to breathe since Hardcore Sandy’s blindside. She’s picked a target and she’s cutting the ring in half."
Rosa shoves Emily chest-first into The Empire’s corner and follows in with a sharp back elbow between the shoulder blades. Emily jolts, sagging against the buckles. Amy Harrison pats Rosa on the shoulder, asking for the tag, but Rosa shakes her off, that stubborn San Antonio grit shining through.
Rosa Delgado: "I’ve got this."
She hooks Emily’s arms around the top rope, spreading them wide, and drives a stiff chop into Emily’s chest that echoes through the arena.
Crowd: "WOO!"
Another chop. Another echo. Emily’s chest is already turning red, each shot folding her a little more.
Mark Bravo: "Those aren’t your fancy, pose-for-the-hard-cam chops. That’s years of sparring and long shifts behind every shot."
Rosa snaps a short European uppercut that snaps Emily’s head back, then snatches her by the wrist and whips her hard across the ring. Emily hits the opposite buckles with a thud, stumbling out on rubber legs.
Rosa charges and connects flush with a running rolling elbow to the jaw, dropping Emily to her knees before she collapses flat to the mat.
John Phillips: "Rolling elbow again! Rosas’s starting to string those combinations together!"
Rosa drops to a lateral press, hooking the far leg deep.
ONE!
TWO—
Emily jerks a shoulder up, face twisted in pain, grabbing her lower back immediately.
Mark Bravo: "Every kickout is another mile on that odometer. Emily Hightower is running on fumes and spite."
Rosa doesn’t argue the count. She slides smoothly into position, grabs Emily’s left arm again, and threads it around her legs, sitting back into a tight seated arm-and-neck crank that forces Emily into an uncomfortable C-shape, back screaming.
The referee drops beside them.
Referee: "You wanna give it up, Emily?"
Emily Hightower: "No! Get off me!"
Rosa cranks back harder, eyes down, not wasting words. Emily’s boots drum the mat, searching for traction. She tries to twist, but Rosa adjusts, using her own body as an anchor to keep Emily stuck in the middle of the ring.
John Phillips: "Rosa Delgado is like a vice. Once she gets a limb, she doesn’t just let go—she starts taking options away."
Emily forces a knee under herself, then another, grimacing. She powers up inch by inch, Rosa still hanging on her like extra weight. Emily fires a desperate back elbow into Rosa’s ribs. Then another. The third finally loosens the grip enough for Emily to roll forward, sending Rosa tumbling over her shoulder.
Both women lie on their backs for a moment, staring at the lights.
Mark Bravo: "That cost Emily a whole lot of pain, but at least she’s not stuck in Rosa’s grinder right now."
Rosa is first to move, pushing up to one knee, then to her feet. Emily rolls to her side, reaching instinctively toward her corner—but she’s still a long way away.
Rosa stomps down on her lower back again, cutting that thought off. Emily cries out, clutching her spine. Rosa grabs her by the ankle and drags her back toward The Empire’s corner, then tags in Hardcore Sandy with a sharp slap.
Referee: "Tag!"
The crowd rumbles as Sandy steps through the ropes, that Las Vegas scowl etched deep.
John Phillips: "And now here comes Hardcore Sandy with Emily Hightower already picked apart."
Sandy doesn’t play around. She drops one massive elbow into the small of Emily’s back. Then another. Then a third, each one heavier than the last. Emily spasms with every impact, fingers clawing at the canvas.
Mark Bravo: "That’s like dropping cinder blocks on a cracked foundation. Something’s gonna give."
Sandy hauls Emily up in a bearhug, arms wrapped low around the ribs and spine, squeezing the life out of her. Emily’s feet dangle for a moment before she kicks, trying to wriggle free.
Referee: "You wanna quit, Emily?"
Emily Hightower: "N-no!"
Sandy shakes her like a ragdoll and then runs her spine-first into the nearest turnbuckle, sandwiching her between brick-wall body and unforgiving steel. Emily slumps forward onto Sandy’s shoulder; Sandy calmly turns and hits another corner with the same punishing impact.
John Phillips: "Sandy’s using Emily like a battering ram—turnbuckle to turnbuckle, all of it into that lower back!"
Finally, Sandy lets her drop, Emily collapsing to her knees and then face-first to the mat. Sandy plants a boot between her shoulder blades and grinds down, pushing Emily’s chest into the canvas.
Team MVC is nearly coming unglued on the apron. Susanita has both hands out, yelling encouragement in a torrent of Spanish. Marie is pacing, one hand in her hair, the other slapping the tag rope. Valkyrie’s jaw is clenched tight, knuckles white on the top rope.
Valkyrie Knox: "Get to us, Hightower! Crawl!"
Sandy releases the boot and bends down, dragging Emily up by the hair yet again. She hooks her under the arms from behind and launches her with a massive release German suplex. Emily flips and lands hard on her stomach and chest, bouncing once before going limp.
Mark Bravo: "Good lord! Emily Hightower might be held together with duct tape after this."
Sandy rolls her over and casually drapes a forearm across her face for the cover.
ONE!
TWO—
Emily jerks a shoulder up again, almost on reflex, roaring through gritted teeth. The crowd erupts in surprised cheers.
John Phillips: "She kicks out again! I don’t know how smart it is, but it sure as hell is tough!"
Sandy glares at the referee for half a second, then shrugs it off. She grabs Emily by the jaw and snarls something inaudible, then shoves her back to the mat and storms toward the MVC corner, jawing at them.
Hardcore Sandy: "This your champion? This your big shot?"
Marie leans over the ropes, shouting back. Susanita climbs halfway into the ring before the referee intercepts her.
Referee: "Back on the apron! Let’s go!"
The distraction gives Emily the smallest window. She rolls to her side, forcing herself up onto one knee, then both, one hand glued to her lower back.
Sandy turns around and charges, looking for another freight-train strike. At the last second, Emily drops, yanking the top rope down as she falls. Sandy’s own momentum carries her up and over, crashing to the floor outside.
Mark Bravo: "Big woman overboard! Emily just gave herself a tiny crack of daylight!"
Emily slumps against the bottom rope, breath ragged. The referee starts the count on Sandy outside.
ONE… TWO…
On the floor, Sandy pushes herself up, shaking off the fall. Amy yells at her to get back in. Dahlia paces, rubbing her arm.
Inside, Emily flips over and starts crawling in the opposite direction—toward her corner. Every inch looks like hell. Her hand presses to the small of her back, but she doesn’t stop.
John Phillips: "Come on, kid—this is your chance. You’ve gotta make that tag."
Valkyrie reaches out, fingers spread, shouting. Marie leans in as far as she can, eyes wide. But it’s Susanita at the front of the line, arm stretched the farthest, tag rope taut in her other hand.
Susanita Ybanez: "¡Vamos, Emily! ¡Aquí, aquí!"
THREE… FOUR…
Sandy slides back into the ring under the bottom rope, breaking the count. She sees Emily halfway across and bolts after her—
—but Emily lunges, everything she has left in that battered frame going into one desperate dive.
Her hand slaps Susanita’s.
Referee: "Tag!"
The arena blows up.
John Phillips: "Susanita Ybanez is legal!"
Susanita rockets over the top rope, using the springboard of the cable to launch herself. Sandy barely gets upright before Susanita crashes into her with a flying forearm, staggering the bigger woman.
Emily rolls under the bottom rope to the floor, collapsing near the barricade where officials and the timekeeper’s crew check on her immediately, ice packs and concern at the ready.
Mark Bravo: "Emily Hightower may be done for the night whether she’s eliminated or not, but she did the one thing her team needed—she survived long enough to get Susanita Ybanez back in this fight."
In the ring, Susanita pops to her feet, face blazing with righteous fury, eyes locked on Sandy as she lines up the next shot, ready to turn Empire’s theft into a street-bred receipt.
Sandy staggers from the flying forearm, but Susanita is already in motion again. She hits the ropes, rebounds, and smashes her with a running dropkick to the knee that buckles the big woman down to one side.
John Phillips: "Susanita Ybanez coming in like a lightning bolt! She’s not giving Hardcore Sandy a second to plant her feet!"
Sandy drops to one knee. Susanita sprints to the far ropes, rebounds, and nails a low-angle running knee strike to the side of Sandy’s head, snapping her upright and then sideways to the mat.
Mark Bravo: "That’ll make the lights flicker! Sandy just saw three of her and tried to punch the middle one!"
Riding the surge, Susanita pops to her feet and throws both arms wide to the crowd, yelling.
Susanita Ybanez: "¡VAMOS!"
The arena responds, the volume spiking. Susanita doesn’t waste it. She drags Sandy up by the wrist and whips her into the corner—Team MVC’s corner.
Sandy hits the buckles hard. Valkyrie and Marie both lean in, shouting, but Susanita’s already in motion. She charges and hits a stinging running forearm to the jaw, then hops up to the second rope and rains down rapid-fire punches to Sandy’s face.
Crowd: "ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE—"
Sandy shoves her off before ten, but Susanita lands on her feet. She pivots, leaps, and snaps Sandy’s head down with a quick snap DDT out of the corner, driving her face-first into the canvas.
John Phillips: "Snap DDT! Susanita might have the monster on her back!"
She scrambles into a lateral press, hooking the far leg.
ONE!
TWO—
Sandy launches her off with a powerful kickout, sending Susanita rolling toward the ropes.
Mark Bravo: "That’s the problem with big, mean legends—you can hit ’em clean, but you gotta hit ’em deep or they’re getting up mad."
Susanita pulls herself up with the ropes, chest heaving. Sandy pushes to all fours, shaking her head, then snarls and shoves to her feet like something hit by a car and decided to hit back.
Susanita charges again. She ducks a wild lariat, hits the ropes, and rebounds—only for Sandy to catch her on the return with a massive sidewalk slam, using Susanita’s own speed against her and smashing her into the mat.
John Phillips: "Sidewalk slam! Hardcore Sandy just planted Susanita like a fence post!"
Susanita arches in pain, clutching her lower back. Sandy stays down for a second, then rolls over and climbs on top, raining down clubbing forearms across the chest and shoulders. The referee dives in and starts counting.
Referee: "One! Two! Three! Four!"
Sandy breaks at four, hands raised for half a beat—then drops a knee across Susanita’s ribs for good measure.
Team MVC yells at the ref; he can only warn her again. Sandy drags Susanita up, whips her into The Empire’s corner, and charges in with a running clothesline that nearly breaks Susanita in half against the buckles.
As Susanita slumps, Rosa sneaks in a cheap shot through the ropes, rattling her jaw with a short hook before stepping back onto the apron as if nothing happened.
John Phillips: "There’s that numbers game again—Rosa Delgado getting her shots in while the referee’s tied up!"
Susanita tries to fight out, swinging a weak forearm that glances off Sandy’s side. Sandy grabs her wrist, twisting the arm behind her back in a hammerlock while pinning her chest-first to the buckles. She leans in, forearm grinding the back of Susanita’s head into the pad.
Hardcore Sandy: "You wanted to run hot? Let’s see how you do on empty, kid."
Sandy yanks Susanita out of the corner, still in the hammerlock, then drives her down with a nasty hammerlock slam, all Susanita’s weight landing on the trapped shoulder and arm.
Susanita screams, clutching at the limb as she rolls toward the center of the ring.
Mark Bravo: "That’ll wreck your rotator, your elbow, and that last bit of hope you had in the tank."
Sandy doesn’t go for the pin yet. She drags Susanita up one more time, hooks her head under one arm and lifts, pausing in a vertical suplex position to let the blood rush and the crowd see.
Then she drops straight down with a thunderous brainbuster, spiking Susanita high on the back of her head and neck.
John Phillips: "Oh my God! Brainbuster from Hardcore Sandy!"
Susanita crumples, body going slack. The crowd groans in unison.
Sandy rolls over, plants a forearm across Susanita’s face, and hooks the near leg.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE.
DING DING DING.
Ring Announcer: "Susanita Ybanez has been eliminated!"
The reaction is a mix of heartbreak and fury. Sandy pushes off of Susanita, breathing heavy, eyes wild. On the apron, Valkyrie and Marie both surge forward, but the referee intercepts them, forcing them to stay put.
John Phillips: "That’s a huge blow to Team MVC—Susanita Ybanez is out after a vicious combination from Hardcore Sandy and a little ‘help’ from The Empire’s corner."
Mark Bravo: "Emily’s broken in half on the floor, Susanita just got dumped on her head, and now we’re looking at a four-on-three advantage back in The Empire’s favor. This is exactly the kind of grind Amy Harrison wanted."
Officials slide into the ring to help Susanita roll under the ropes. She holds the back of her neck and shoulder, eyes squeezed shut, as they guide her toward the ramp. On the floor nearby, Emily is still being checked over, the U.S. Women’s Title resting beside her like a reminder of what she’s fighting for.
In the ring, Sandy gets to her feet, raising her arms with no frills, just a satisfied sneer. She turns to MVC’s corner and gestures across her throat, mouthing something that doesn’t need microphones to be understood.
John Phillips: "We’re down to Marie Van Claudio, Valkyrie Knox, and a battered Emily Hightower against the full remaining force of The Empire—Amy Harrison, Rosa Delgado, Dahlia Cross, and Hardcore Sandy."
Mark Bravo: "If Team MVC’s gonna survive this Survivor match, they’re gonna have to do it the hard way. But those three? Hard ways are kind of their specialty."
Hardcore Sandy stands tall in the center of the ring, chest heaving, the echoes of Susanita’s elimination still hanging in the air. Across the way, the remaining members of Team MVC regroup on the apron—Valkyrie Knox burning with rage, Emily Hightower clutching her back and shoulder, and between them…
Marie Van Claudio steps through the ropes.
John Phillips: "And here comes the First Lady of the UTA herself—Marie Van Claudio is finally entering this Survivor match."
Mark Bravo: "Business just picked up in the nation’s capital, John. These people know what Marie means to this company."
The crowd rises as Marie walks slowly toward the center, eyes locked on Sandy. There’s no fear in her stare, just a heavy, complicated history. Sandy steps out from The Empire’s corner, her own gaze guarded, jaw set.
For a long moment, they just stand there. Hall of Famer and the woman who put her there. No moves. No trash talk. Just weight.
John Phillips: "You can feel that from here. It was Marie Van Claudio who inducted Hardcore Sandy into the WrestleUTA Hall of Fame… and now they stand on opposite sides of this war."
Mark Bravo: "Respect doesn’t mean mercy, though. Not on Survivor night."
From The Empire’s apron, Amy Harrison leans over the top rope, shouting.
Amy Harrison: "What are you waiting for, Sandy? Finish her! Put her down!"
Sandy’s eyes flick to Amy for half a second, then back to Marie. Her fists clench, but she doesn’t move. The crowd senses the tension and buzzes louder.
Marie steps in close, almost chest-to-chest with Sandy. She looks up slightly—Sandy has the height—but there’s no backstep to her posture.
Marie Van Claudio: "Is this what you signed up for, Sandy? Being Amy’s attack dog?"
Sandy’s jaw works, but she doesn’t answer. Amy slaps the turnbuckle pad in fury.
Amy Harrison: "SANDY! Stop staring and BREAK her!"
Marie takes a breath. Then, without warning, she hauls off and slaps Sandy across the face.
The sound echoes. The arena gasps.
John Phillips: "Whoa! Marie Van Claudio just slapped Hardcore Sandy across the face!"
Sandy doesn’t swing. She doesn’t even flinch backward. Her head turns with the impact, then comes back slowly, eyes narrowing, breathing a little heavier.
Marie stares up at her, lips tight, eyes wet but burning.
Marie Van Claudio: "If you’re gonna do it… do it as you. Not as her puppet."
She slaps her again—harder this time. Sandy’s head snaps to the side a second time. The crowd roars, half in shock, half in dread.
Mark Bravo: "Marie might be playing with nitroglycerin right now."
Sandy slowly brings a hand to her cheek, feeling the sting. Her eyes close for a heartbeat.
When they open, whatever war was going on behind them is over.
Hardcore Sandy explodes forward with a devastating clothesline, absolutely steamrolling Marie and flipping her inside out. Marie lands hard on the back of her head and shoulders, folding up before sprawling flat.
John Phillips: "GOOD LORD! Hardcore Sandy just took Marie Van Claudio’s head off!"
Mark Bravo: "That’s years of frustration, loyalty, and maybe a little guilt all thrown into one lariat!"
Sandy stands over Marie, chest heaving, staring down at the woman on the mat. For a second, she doesn’t move—just looks, breathing like a dragon trying not to burn the village down.
From the apron, Amy sees enough.
Amy Harrison: "Tag out. Now. We’re not wasting you on nostalgia."
Sandy’s eyes flick to Amy again, flaring, but this time she doesn’t argue. She reaches down, grabs Marie by the wrist, and drags her limp body a few feet toward The Empire’s corner.
Then she lets go, turns, and strides to the ropes, slapping Dahlia Cross’s outstretched hand without a word.
Referee: "Tag!"
Dahlia slips through the ropes like a shark smelling blood, massaging her arm but smirking as she stalks toward Marie, who’s barely moving.
John Phillips: "Hardcore Sandy answers Amy’s call but chooses to step out instead of finishing Marie herself. And now the viper of The Empire, Dahlia Cross, is tagged in with the First Lady of the UTA laid out at her feet."
Mark Bravo: "Whatever’s going on in Sandy’s head, one thing’s clear—Dahlia Cross doesn’t have that same conflict. She’ll happily take Marie apart piece by piece."
Dahlia crouches beside Marie, that wicked smile spreading as she hooks a hand under Marie’s chin, turning her face toward Amy like a trophy, the next cruel chapter of this Survivor war about to begin.
Dahlia Cross kneels beside Marie, fingers curled under her chin, tilting the First Lady’s face toward the hard cam like she’s presenting a broken doll.
Dahlia Cross: "Look at her, Amy. Is this the woman who was supposed to save your division?"
She releases Marie’s chin and immediately drives a sharp palm strike into her jaw, snapping her head sideways. Marie drops back to the mat, clutching her face.
John Phillips: "Dahlia Cross wasting no time, and there is zero hesitation in her. Whatever was going through Hardcore Sandy’s head, Dahlia doesn’t share it."
Dahlia grabs Marie by the wrist and smoothly threads it around her leg, rolling her to her stomach and planting a knee between Marie’s shoulder blades. She leans back, wrenching on the arm with surgical cruelty.
Mark Bravo: "There’s that joint manipulation. Dahlia doesn’t just throw hands, she rewrites how your joints work."
Marie grimaces, reaching for the ropes, but Dahlia keeps her centered, twisting the wrist and elbow at ugly angles. The referee drops down beside them.
Referee: "You wanna give it up, Marie?"
Marie Van Claudio: "No!"
Dahlia releases just long enough to stomp the back of Marie’s shoulder, then transitions smoothly into a seated armbar variation, trapping Marie’s wrist under her own armpit and cranking back on the elbow.
Marie’s boots drum the canvas, teeth clenched, eyes squeezed shut in pain.
John Phillips: "The Empire already took Angela Hall and Susanita Ybanez out of this match, and now Dahlia is trying to take Marie’s arm home as a souvenir."
On the MVC apron, Valkyrie leans halfway through the ropes, shouting in Icelandic. Emily clings to the tag rope with one arm, her other still wrapped around her back, but she’s yelling all the same, trying to will Marie through the pain.
Dahlia finally releases the armbar, only to drag Marie up by that same aching arm. She whips her into the Empire’s corner; Marie collides chest-first with the buckles and stumbles back out.
Dahlia hits the ropes and darts in behind her, sweeping Marie’s legs out with a low leg sweep that sends her crashing face-first to the mat.
Mark Bravo: "Classic Dahlia—take the base, then start plucking the limbs."
Marie tries to push up. Dahlia steps in front of her and drives a palm thrust straight into her throat, sending her sprawling back, coughing and clutching at her neck.
John Phillips: "Palm thrust to the throat—Dahlia using every nasty trick in the book tonight."
Dahlia stalks her prey, backing Marie into a corner with a series of sharp kicks to the ribs and midsection. Once Marie is trapped against the buckles, Dahlia plants a boot across her throat and leans all her weight in, choking her ruthlessly.
Referee: "One! Two! Three! Four—"
Dahlia drops the choke at four, hands up like she’s innocent. Marie sinks to a seated position in the corner, gasping for air.
Dahlia takes two casual steps back, then sprints in and drives a knee into Marie’s jaw, the corner knee choke connecting flush as she grinds her shin against Marie’s face against the middle turnbuckle.
Mark Bravo: "Dahlia Cross is enjoying this way too much."
The referee pries her off again, issuing another stern warning. Dahlia just smiles sweetly at him, then turns back to Marie, reaching down to grab a handful of hair.
She yanks Marie to her feet and snaps her down with a tight single-leg dropkick that catches MVC right in the side of the head. Marie crashes to the mat, rolling to her back, eyes glassy.
John Phillips: "It has been all Dahlia Cross since she tagged in. Marie Van Claudio hasn’t been able to get out of the gate."
Dahlia drops into a lazy cover, pressing a forearm across Marie’s face, smearing it in while hooking the near leg.
ONE!
TWO—
Marie kicks out, shoulder jerking up. Dahlia’s expression doesn’t change much—if anything, the refusal amuses her.
Dahlia Cross: "Stubborn. Cute."
She grabs Marie’s wrist again and pulls her up, only to yank her straight into the top rope throat-first with a hotshot. Marie snaps back, clutching at her neck, and staggers right into Dahlia’s waiting arms.
Dahlia hooks her in a front facelock, then twists and drops, spiking Marie with a quick, snapping neckbreaker. Marie sprawls, rolling onto her side, gasping.
Mark Bravo: "Neck, shoulder, throat—Dahlia’s building a blueprint for how to dismantle a legend in real time."
On your screen, The Empire looks pleased. Amy leans on the top rope, smirking. Rosa nods once, approving of the methodical breakdown. Sandy, arms folded, just watches, unreadable.
Dahlia rises and saunters toward the MVC corner, turning her back briefly on Marie as she leans over the ropes and waves mockingly at Valkyrie and Emily.
Dahlia Cross: "You two might wanna go ahead and throw in the towel. This one’s about done."
Valkyrie snarls, reaching for her, but the referee blocks her from entering. Emily, still hurting, yells over the official’s shoulder.
Emily Hightower: "Turn around and say it to her face!"
Dahlia chuckles and turns back toward the center of the ring—
—just as Marie, running on pure instinct and history, surges up from her knees and slaps her across the face.
Crowd: "OOOOOOH!"
John Phillips: "Marie Van Claudio still has some fight left!"
Dahlia’s head whips to the side. She blinks, clearly not expecting that. She turns back to Marie, expression sharpening—
—and Marie slaps her again, even harder.
Dahlia stumbles back a half-step, hand going to her jaw. The crowd roars to life, sensing the shift.
Marie forces herself up to her feet, favoring her neck and shoulder, but standing tall. Dahlia rushes in with a wild palm strike, anger finally cracking the calm—but Marie ducks under and, on instinct, snaps Dahlia down with a quick schoolboy roll-up.
ONE!
TWO— Dahlia kicks out hard, sending Marie sprawling, but the veteran lands on her knees instead of flat.
Dahlia pops up and swings a clothesline. Marie ducks again, hits the ropes, and comes back with a clothesline of her own that drops Dahlia to the mat.
Mark Bravo: "There it is! Marie’s starting to fire back!"
Dahlia scrambles up—Marie hits a second clothesline. Dahlia goes down again. She gets up slower this time, and Marie snatches her with a snap Russian legsweep, planting her to the canvas.
The crowd is back in full voice now as Marie rolls to a knee, one hand on her neck, the other balled into a fist.
John Phillips: "Listen to this crowd! The First Lady of the UTA digging deep, trying to turn this match around for Team MVC!"
Dahlia crawls to the corner on instinct, trying to put some distance between them. Marie stalks after her, stomping her in the midsection once, twice, then grabbing the top rope with one hand while driving a series of short, sharp kicks into Dahlia’s side.
Dahlia slumps, and Marie pulls her out by the wrist, whipping her into the opposite ropes. Dahlia rebounds—Marie steps in and snaps her over with a snap DDT, spiking her head into the canvas.
Both women stay down for a moment, the momentum finally shifting but the damage to Marie clearly taking a toll.
Mark Bravo: "Marie Van Claudio just bought herself a lifeline, but she’s spent a lot of gas getting here."
Marie rolls onto her stomach and starts crawling, one hand pressed to her neck, the other reaching instinctively toward her corner where Valkyrie has her arm outstretched and Emily, hurting but defiant, slaps the turnbuckle to rally the crowd.
Dahlia, dazed, pushes to her hands and knees, blinking away the cobwebs, trying to orient herself before Marie can make that crucial tag.
John Phillips: "Dahlia Cross made one mistake—she got cocky—and now Marie Van Claudio has a chance to get Team MVC back into this thing."
Marie crawls, every inch a battle, fingers outstretched. Dahlia shakes the cobwebs loose behind her, pushing to her knees with a snarl.
John Phillips: "This is the moment—Marie has to make that tag!"
Dahlia lunges forward, reaching toward The Empire’s corner where Rosa has her hand out. At the same time, Marie dives, stretching with everything she has left.
Her hand slaps Valkyrie’s.
Referee: "Tag!"
The arena erupts as Valkyrie Knox vaults over the top rope and hits the mat with purpose.
Mark Bravo: "And the Valkyrie has landed!"
Dahlia’s fingertips are inches from Rosa’s when Valkyrie closes the distance like a freight train. She grabs Dahlia around the waist from behind and rips her away from her corner, deadlifting her off her feet.
Dahlia flails, trying to grab at Rosa’s hand, but it’s too late. Valkyrie pops her hips and launches Dahlia backward with a crushing German suplex, dropping her high on the back of her neck and shoulders.
John Phillips: "Deadlift German! Valkyrie Knox just ripped Dahlia Cross out of the air!"
Dahlia skids across the canvas and lies sprawled, eyes wide, gasping. Rosa and Amy reach through the ropes, shouting for her to move, to roll, to do something.
Valkyrie pushes to her feet in one fluid motion, that stoic, storm-dark expression locked in place. She stalks Dahlia, grabs her by the hair, and hauls her up just enough to muscle her into the corner.
She buries a shoulder into Dahlia’s midsection—once, twice, three times—each impact driving air and resistance out of the English technician.
Mark Bravo: "Dahlia spent five minutes twisting people into knots. Valkyrie’s answer is ‘what if I just run you through a wall instead?’"
Valkyrie straightens up and, with a single heave, ragdolls Dahlia out of the corner, sending her tumbling face-first to the mat. Dahlia tries to scramble up on instinct.
Valkyrie hits the ropes, rebounds, and crushes her with a running big boot that nearly decapitates her. Dahlia’s body flips and crumples into a heap.
John Phillips: "Big boot! Dahlia Cross just got uprooted!"
Valkyrie doesn’t go for the pin. She stands over Dahlia for a second, chest rising and falling, then throws her head back and raises her arms in a fierce, war-horn pose as the crowd roars.
Mark Bravo: "That’s not showboating—that’s a warning shot to the rest of The Empire."
She turns back to Dahlia, grabs her by the gear, and lifts her straight up into a gorilla press. Dahlia’s legs kick uselessly in the air as Valkyrie walks a slow, deliberate circle, showing off her power to every side of the arena.
John Phillips: "Look at the power of Valkyrie Knox! She’s got Dahlia Cross hoisted like she’s nothing!"
With a grunt, Valkyrie slams Dahlia down into a crushing gorilla-press powerslam, the ring shuddering on impact.
Dahlia doesn’t even bounce. She just collapses, limp.
Valkyrie gets to one knee beside her, looking down at the wreckage, then looks up—eyes locked on The Empire’s corner. Amy barks at Rosa and Sandy to be ready to move, but neither gets the chance.
Valkyrie grabs Dahlia by the hair one more time, dragging her to the center of the ring. She tucks Dahlia’s head between her thighs, hooks both arms, and with a roar, hoists her high into an elevated position.
John Phillips: "Uh oh—this might be it! Valkyrie’s looking for the Ragnarok Bomb!"
Valkyrie steps forward, sits out, and DRIVES Dahlia down with the Ragnarok Bomb, spiking her into the canvas with a high-angle sit-out powerbomb that folds Dahlia in half.
Mark Bravo: "RAGNAROK BOMB! That’s all she wrote!"
Valkyrie keeps her shoulders pinned, folding Dahlia up tight, calves over Dahlia’s arms as she leans all her weight forward.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING.
Ring Announcer: "Dahlia Cross has been eliminated!"
The building erupts as Valkyrie releases the pin and shoves Dahlia’s limp body aside with a flick of her boot. Rosa immediately tries to climb in, but the referee bars her path, forcing her back to the apron.
John Phillips: "What a statement by Valkyrie Knox—Dahlia Cross just got absolutely flattened! And just like that, we’re even again at three-on-three!"
Mark Bravo: "Angela Hall and Susanita are out for Team MVC, Selena and Dahlia are gone for The Empire, and now you’ve got Marie, Emily, and Valkyrie standing across from Amy Harrison, Hardcore Sandy, and Rosa Delgado. Tell me that doesn’t feel like a powder keg ready to blow."
Valkyrie rises to her feet, staring down The Empire’s corner, chest heaving, lips curled in a faint, dangerous snarl as Amy and her crew regroup and rethink the math.
Dahlia’s body is rolled to the floor by officials while The Empire regroups in their corner. Amy barks orders, but Rosa Delgado has already stepped forward, hand out, eyes locked on Valkyrie.
Amy Harrison: "Fine. Go fix it."
Amy slaps Rosa’s hand.
Referee: "Tag!"
Rosa steps through the ropes, rolling her neck, that composed stubbornness written all over her face. Across the ring, Valkyrie Knox squares her shoulders, ready to meet her.
John Phillips: "And here we go again—Rosa Delgado and Valkyrie Knox, two very different brands of power about to collide."
They circle, the crowd buzzing. Rosa feints low for the leg; Valkyrie doesn’t bite, keeping her base wide. Rosa steps in for a collar-and-elbow—Valkyrie meets her and immediately starts muscling her backward.
Rosa digs her heels in, twisting, trying to slip to a side headlock, but Valkyrie shoves her off and sends her into the ropes. Rosa rebounds and goes low, aiming for a dragon screw—
—but Valkyrie yanks her leg free at the last second and clubs Rosa across the back with a forearm that drops her to one knee.
Mark Bravo: "Rosa’s trying to work that leverage game, but Valkyrie’s just too strong right now."
Valkyrie grabs Rosa around the waist from behind and hoists her clean off the mat, hitting a tight back suplex that slams Rosa down. Rosa arches her back, wincing, but rolls quickly to a seated position.
Valkyrie hits the ropes and comes back with a brutal running big boot right to Rosa’s face, sending her crashing to the canvas.
John Phillips: "Big boot again! Valkyrie just about took Rosa’s head off!"
Valkyrie drops into a quick cover.
ONE!
TWO—
Rosa kicks out, shoving Valkyrie off with more grit than power. Valkyrie rises, unbothered. She drags Rosa up by the arm and whips her into the corner. Rosa hits hard, but as Valkyrie charges in for a corner avalanche, Rosa dives out of the way.
Valkyrie eats turnbuckle chest-first, staggering backward. Rosa seizes the opening, slipping behind and driving a stiff kick into the back of Valkyrie’s left knee, finally forcing her down to one leg.
Mark Bravo: "That’s the opening Rosa needed—attack the base, soften the tree."
Rosa follows up with a sharp Dragon Screw, twisting Valkyrie to the mat and torquing the leg. Valkyrie snarls, clutching at her knee, but pushes to sitting almost immediately.
Rosa lunges in for the leg again—Valkyrie fires a short, vicious elbow right into her ribs. Rosa grunts, grip loosening. A second elbow drives her back to her feet, winded.
John Phillips: "Rosa got her shot in, but Valkyrie Knox is not staying grounded for long."
Valkyrie powers up, shaking out the leg. Rosa swings a quick spinning backfist—Valkyrie ducks under it and answers with a thunderous short-arm lariat that sends Rosa flipping to the canvas.
The crowd roars as Valkyrie steps over Rosa, breathing hard. On the apron, a voice cuts through the noise.
Emily Hightower: "Tag me!"
Emily is back on the apron, one arm wrapped around the tag rope, the other still clutching her lower back—but her eyes are on fire.
Mark Bravo: "Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me. Emily Hightower wants back in there after what Sandy and Rosa did to her spine?"
Valkyrie glances at Emily, then down at Rosa, who’s stirring. She hesitates for half a heartbeat—then nods once and hauls Rosa toward the MVC corner by the wrist.
She reaches out and tags Emily’s hand.
Referee: "Tag!"
The building pops as Emily climbs through the ropes, jaw set.
John Phillips: "The Junkyard Bitch is back in this match, bad back and all."
Valkyrie stays just long enough to yank Rosa up and feed her into Emily’s waiting arms. Emily unloads with a barrage of body shots—left, right, left to the ribs—before slamming a forearm into Rosa’s jaw that spins her around.
Emily grabs Rosa in a front facelock and snaps her down with a tight suplex. She holds on, rolling hips for a second and third, rattling Rosa and herself with every impact.
Crowd: "ONE! TWO! THREE!"
Mark Bravo: "That’s pure spite keeping Emily’s grip locked. Every suplex hurts her own back as much as Rosa."
Emily drapes an arm over Rosa for a quick cover.
ONE!
TWO—
Rosa kicks out, shoulder lurching off the mat. Emily rolls off, hissing as her back seizes. She grabs the middle rope, dragging herself to her feet, then stalks back toward Rosa.
She yanks Rosa up and whips her into the ropes. Rosa rebounds—Emily leaps and connects with a wild flying forearm that sends Rosa sprawling again. Emily hits the mat and arches in pain, hand gluing to her spine, but she grits through it and forces herself up.
John Phillips: "That back is screaming, but Emily Hightower refuses to slow down."
Emily points at Rosa, then at the ropes, signaling for something bigger. She heads to the corner, climbing to the top turnbuckle gingerly, pausing once as the pain flares. The crowd rallies behind her, clapping and shouting.
Rosa, dazed but not done, rolls toward the far corner instead of staying put in Emily’s landing zone. Emily catches it too late, crouched on the top rope as Rosa pulls herself up by the opposite buckles.
Mark Bravo: "Rosa’s ring sense saves her there. Emily can’t risk the big dive with Rosa halfway to another zip code."
Emily drops back to the mat, the impact jarring her back again. She winces, then storms across the ring, grabbing Rosa by the wrist and spinning her out into a short-arm lariat—
—Rosa ducks under and counters, snapping Emily’s arm down across her own shoulder, jamming the shoulder joint and jolting the already-battered spine.
Emily staggers, letting out a guttural sound. Rosa tries to follow up with a dragon screw—but Emily kicks her away with her free leg and staggers back into the MVC corner.
Valkyrie is right there, hand outstretched.
Valkyrie Knox: "Enough. Tag."
Emily breathes hard, eyes flashing between Rosa and Valkyrie, then nods once and slaps Valkyrie’s hand.
Referee: "Tag!"
John Phillips: "Smart move from Emily. She got her licks in, she proved she’s still in this fight, and now the heavy artillery is back."
Valkyrie steps through the ropes as Emily ducks out to the apron, leaning heavily on the tag rope, one hand pressed to her lower back but a fierce little smile still on her face. Across from them, Rosa braces herself, knowing round two with the Valkyrie starts all over again.
Valkyrie steps back into the fray, rolling her shoulders, that cold storm brewing behind her eyes. Rosa shakes out her arms, jaw set. The two meet center-ring and lock up again, this time Rosa trying to go low for the arm—
—but Valkyrie shoves her away with raw power, sending Rosa staggering back a few steps.
John Phillips: "Rosa’s trying to drag this into deep water on her terms, but Valkyrie Knox keeps dragging her right back into the blast zone."
Rosa comes in again, this time throwing a quick spinning backfist. Valkyrie eats it on the shoulder, grimacing, then answers with a brutal knee to the midsection that doubles Rosa over. She hooks Rosa around the waist and hoists her up into a quick, snapping side suplex, dumping her to the canvas.
Mark Bravo: "That’s like getting dropped by a forklift, John."
Rosa rolls to her side, clutching her back. Valkyrie doesn’t give her long. She drags Rosa up, whips her hard into the ropes. Rosa rebounds—Valkyrie charges for a corner body avalanche, but Rosa sidesteps at the last second, shoving Valkyrie chest-first into The Empire’s buckles instead.
Valkyrie hits hard but spins out, refusing to slump. Rosa tries to capitalize with a running dropkick, but Valkyrie snatches her out of the air and muscles her up, spinning into a short Valknut Driver-style slam that spikes Rosa into the mat at a high angle.
John Phillips: "What a counter! Valkyrie turned that dropkick into a drive-by demolition!"
Rosa crumples, rolling onto her stomach. Valkyrie rises over her, breathing heavy, then glances back toward her own corner where Marie and Emily shout encouragement.
She turns… and that moment’s glance is just enough.
When she refocuses, Rosa has already rolled clear and scrambled toward The Empire’s side. Valkyrie storms after her, grabbing at an ankle—but in doing so, she drifts too close to the wrong corner.
Mark Bravo: "Careful, Valkyrie… that’s not the side you wanna be trading real estate with."
Hardcore Sandy, standing tall on the apron, watches Valkyrie’s back approach like an incoming target. The referee’s attention is on Rosa’s scrambling, not on the periphery.
As Valkyrie leans down to yank Rosa up—
—Sandy suddenly lashes out with a huge forearm smash to the side of Valkyrie’s head, all weight and bad intentions behind it. The impact echoes, and Valkyrie staggers sideways, eyes suddenly glassy.
John Phillips: "Oh, come on! Hardcore Sandy just blasted Valkyrie from the apron!"
Mark Bravo: "That’s the difference between a fair fight and The Empire’s rulebook, John. They’ve got a sixth sense for cheap shots."
The crowd erupts in boos. Marie and Emily shout at the referee, pointing furiously at Sandy, but the official only caught the aftermath—Valkyrie reeling and Rosa suddenly surging up to her feet.
Rosa doesn’t waste a heartbeat. She seizes Valkyrie’s left arm in a tight grip, jerks her forward into a brutal rolling elbow that cracks across the jaw and temple, compounding the damage from Sandy’s shot.
John Phillips: "Rolling elbow! Rosa Delgado just caught Valkyrie flush!"
Valkyrie sways, legs rubberized but refusing to buckle. Rosa steps in again, this time hooking Valkyrie in a double underhook, straining to muscle the bigger woman up. For a second, Valkyrie resists—
—then her knees dip, the delayed effect of the double impact finally catching up.
Mark Bravo: "The lights are on but I don’t think anybody’s home right now."
With a roar that’s more effort than anger, Rosa hoists Valkyrie up, turns toward center-ring, and slams her down with the Steel Magnolia, folding her nearly in half on impact.
John Phillips: "Steel Magnolia! Rosa hit all of that!"
Rosa collapses into the cover, hooking both legs as tight as she can, her body draped across Valkyrie’s chest.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING.
Ring Announcer: "Valkyrie Knox has been eliminated!"
The arena reacts in a stunned roar—some boos, some shocked silence. On the apron, Marie’s face falls, hand going to her hair. Emily pounds the top rope in frustration, back screaming but anger drowning it out for a moment.
John Phillips: "Just like that, after a cheap shot from Hardcore Sandy and a perfectly timed Steel Magnolia, Valkyrie Knox is out of this match!"
Mark Bravo: "That’s how fast the math changes in a Survivor match. Team MVC is down to Marie Van Claudio and a battered Emily Hightower, and they’re staring across at Amy Harrison, Hardcore Sandy, and Rosa Delgado."
Rosa rolls off, lying on her back for a second, chest heaving, a grim little smile creeping across her face. Sandy drops down off the apron, expression unrepentant, while Amy Harrison claps slowly, pleased with how the numbers have swung back in The Empire’s favor.
Valkyrie, still dazed, is helped from the ring by officials, her head bowed but her jaw clenched, as Marie and Emily look on, realizing just how steep the climb has become.
Valkyrie is halfway up the ramp with the help of officials when the camera swings back to The Empire’s corner. Amy Harrison is practically beaming, one hand on the Women’s Championship slung over her shoulder, the other clapping slowly in mock applause.
Amy Harrison: "Two-on-three now, girls! How’s that feel?"
She leans over the ropes, pointing at Marie and Emily.
Amy Harrison: "First Lady! Junkyard Bitch! You still think this is your division?"
John Phillips: "Amy Harrison loves this. With Valkyrie Knox gone, it’s down to just Marie Van Claudio and Emily Hightower for Team MVC."
Mark Bravo: "One’s held together by experience, the other by athletic tape and attitude."
In the opposite corner, Marie drops from the apron to the floor for a moment, slapping the barricade to fire herself up. Emily leans against the post, stretching her back with a grimace, trying to loosen the knots. Marie looks up at her partner.
Marie Van Claudio: "We’re not done."
Emily nods, jaw tight.
Emily Hightower: "Then get in there and prove it."
Marie slides back under the bottom rope, pulling herself up with a deep breath as Rosa Delgado, now fully recovered, steps out of The Empire’s corner, rolling her shoulders and adjusting her wrist tape.
Referee: "Rosa and Marie are legal. Let’s go!"
They circle, the crowd buzzing. Rosa’s expression is calm, almost respectful—not of Marie’s legacy, but of the danger of underestimating her. Marie, neck and shoulder still aching from Dahlia’s assault and Sandy’s clothesline, keeps her stance low and tight.
They move in for a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Rosa immediately shifts to a side headlock, grinding down, trying to control Marie’s posture. Marie swings a forearm into Rosa’s ribs, once, twice, and then shoves her off into the ropes.
Rosa rebounds—Marie drops flat. Rosa runs over. On the second rebound, Marie pops up and catches her with a crisp arm drag, sending Rosa sliding across the mat.
John Phillips: "Classic Marie, using leverage and timing to neutralize the power game."
Rosa rolls through and pops up to one knee. Marie meets her with a low dropkick to the left arm, knocking her back down. Rosa clutches the arm, grimacing as Marie grabs it and twists into a quick standing arm wringer, torquing the joint.
Rosa drops to a knee to relieve the pressure, then rolls forward, flipping to her feet and reversing the hold into an arm wringer of her own. She yanks Marie down to one knee and drives a knee into Marie’s shoulder for good measure.
Mark Bravo: "Rosa’s not just a brawler, she’s a technician. You tug on her rope, she’s tugging right back."
Marie grits her teeth, rolls through the pressure, and kips to her feet, reversing again and snapping Rosa over with a quick, tight snapmare that plants her in a seated position. Marie hits the ropes and comes back with a low-running dropkick between the shoulder blades, jolting Rosa forward.
Rosa sprawls, but quickly scrambles to a knee. Marie grabs her, looking for a German suplex—Rosa fires a sharp back elbow into Marie’s jaw to break the grip, then spins and nails a stiff spinning backfist that rocks Marie, sending her stumbling toward the ropes.
John Phillips: "That spinning backfist caught Marie flush!"
Marie hangs onto the top rope to stay upright. Rosa charges with a corner-style shotgun dropkick, but Marie drops at the last second and pulls the top rope down—Rosa goes tumbling over the top and crashes to the apron before rolling awkwardly back into the ring under the bottom strand.
The crowd pops as both women take a moment to recover—the veteran instincts of Marie buying her just enough breathing room.
Mark Bravo: "Marie Van Claudio didn’t survive this long in the business by eating every shot head-on. Ring awareness saves her there."
Rosa uses the ropes to stand, shaking out her leg and arm. Marie closes the gap and snaps off a hard slap to the face, echoing through the arena. Rosa’s head whips to the side, eyes narrowing as she turns back.
Marie follows with a second slap, then hits a quick spinning heel kick to the midsection that doubles Rosa over. She grabs Rosa’s head and drills her with a snap DDT, planting her center-ring.
Marie rolls Rosa over and hooks the leg.
ONE!
TWO—
Rosa kicks out, powering a shoulder up. Marie doesn’t argue, already dragging Rosa toward her corner by the arm.
John Phillips: "Marie’s not trying to win it all in one move—she’s trying to manage this, to survive and keep Rosa on the wrong side of town."
Marie stands Rosa up and whips her toward the MVC corner. Rosa hits chest-first, stumbling backward. Marie charges in and crushes her with a corner clothesline, pinning her against the buckles for a heartbeat before backing away.
Emily Hightower slaps the turnbuckle pad, tag hand stretched out, eyes blazing despite the pain.
Emily Hightower: "Right here! C’mon, Marie!"
Marie grabs Rosa by the wrist, gives her a sharp forearm to the jaw for good measure, then drags her a step closer to the corner.
Marie Van Claudio: "You want in? Come get her."
She stretches back, and Emily reaches over the top rope. Their hands slap together.
Referee: "Tag!"
The crowd comes alive again as Emily ducks through the ropes, one hand still briefly pressed against her lower back before she straightens up, eyes locked on Rosa.
John Phillips: "And here comes Emily Hightower once more. Her back’s a wreck, but she wants Rosa Delgado in the worst way."
Marie releases Rosa and steps out to the apron, one hand still resting on the top rope, every line in her face saying she’s not done helping Emily fight—but for now, it’s the Junkyard Bitch and the Steel Magnolia, squared up again under the Survivor lights.
Emily steps through the ropes, eyes narrowed, hand briefly braced on her lower back before she shakes it out and stalks toward Rosa. Rosa straightens, still rattled from Marie’s assault, but she squares up all the same.
John Phillips: "Rosa Delgado and Emily Hightower have been beating the tar out of each other all night and we’re about to get another chapter."
They meet center-ring. Rosa tries to go low, reaching for Emily’s arm to start dissecting a limb again—but Emily slaps her hands away and fires a stiff forearm into Rosa’s jaw. Rosa answers with a sharp elbow to the ribs. Emily grits through it and blasts her with another forearm, then another, backing Rosa toward the ropes on pure stubbornness.
Mark Bravo: "That’s the junkyard in her. You hit Emily Hightower once, she’s already winding up the receipt."
Rosa cuts the exchange off with a well-placed knee to Emily’s gut and whips her hard into the ropes. Emily rebounds—Rosa swings for a rolling elbow—
—Emily ducks under and hits the far ropes again, coming back with a sudden running sling-like lariat that takes Rosa down hard.
Rosa pops up on instinct. Emily hits a second running shot, this time a leaping clothesline that flips Rosa onto her back. The crowd surges behind Emily as she roars, adrenaline drowning out the pain in her spine.
Crowd: "EM-I-LY! EM-I-LY!"
Rosa staggers to her feet again, shaking out the cobwebs. Emily rushes in, grabs her wrist, and yanks her into a short-arm Gale Force Knee, smashing Rosa’s face with a brutal rising strike. Rosa sways, knees buckling.
John Phillips: "That Gale Force Knee turned Rosa’s lights way down!"
Emily doesn’t stop. She grabs Rosa by the head and darts to the corner, springing up onto the middle rope with a burst of agility that makes the crowd gasp given the beating her back has taken. She launches backward with a twisting body press, crushing Rosa under a modified Crash Landing-style splash.
Both hit hard. Emily rolls off, clutching at her lower back, teeth gritted in agony.
Mark Bravo: "Every time she goes aerial it’s a coin flip between ‘highlight reel’ and ‘chiropractor’s nightmare.’"
Rosa rolls to her side, dazed, trying to push up. Emily drags herself upright using the ropes, then stalks back in, grabbing Rosa’s arm and yanking her into position.
She muscles Rosa up, using every ounce of strength left, and drills her with a sudden Burn Out—a tornado double arm DDT that spikes Rosa straight on the crown of her head.
John Phillips: "BURN OUT! Emily hit it flush!"
Rosa crumples, body slack. Emily, breathing like a bellows, rolls her over and hooks the leg deep, draping her own battered body over Rosa’s.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING.
Ring Announcer: "Rosa Delgado has been eliminated!"
The crowd explodes as Emily rolls off, lying on her back for a moment, one arm thrown over her face. On the apron, Marie leans in, pounding the top rope in approval, yelling down at her partner.
Marie Van Claudio: "That’s it, Emily! That’s it!"
John Phillips: "Listen to this place! Emily Hightower just pinned Rosa Delgado dead in the center of the ring and we are back to even—two on two!"
Mark Bravo: "Team MVC is down to Marie Van Claudio and a very banged-up Junkyard Bitch… and on the other side you’ve got Hardcore Sandy and Amy Harrison—who, for the record, has not taken a single bump in this match yet."
Rosa rolls under the bottom rope with help from officials, clutching her neck and jaw, the disappointment plain on her face. On The Empire’s apron, Hardcore Sandy stares daggers at the ring, while Amy Harrison steps back down to the floor, adjusting the Women’s Championship on her shoulder with a smug little smile.
John Phillips: "The Women’s Champion is still pristine, still untouched, still letting everyone else do the dirty work while she holds all the power."
In the ring, Emily pulls herself to her feet with the ropes, back screaming, but she manages a pained grin as she locks eyes with Amy across the way. Marie slaps the turnbuckle pad, the two survivors of Team MVC shoulder to shoulder now as the war narrows to four women, one inevitable collision, and a championship future hanging in the balance.
Emily clings to the ropes, chest heaving, back visibly seizing between breaths. Across the ring, Hardcore Sandy stands on the apron, one hand wrapped around the tag rope, the other resting on the top strand. She glances over her shoulder at Amy Harrison.
Amy’s standing on the floor again, Women’s Championship perched on her shoulder like a crown, a satisfied little smirk on her lips.
Hardcore Sandy: "You gonna get in here or what?"
Amy blinks once, slowly, like she can’t believe the question. She tilts her head, eyes narrowing, then points at the ring with a sharp jab of her finger.
Amy Harrison: "You’re bigger. You’re meaner. You go finish it."
Sandy’s jaw clenches. She doesn’t move.
Hardcore Sandy: "I’ve been doin’ your dirty work all night."
Amy leans closer to the apron, her voice cutting like a knife.
Amy Harrison: "And you’ll keep doing it until I tell you otherwise. Get. In. The. Ring."
The crowd boos, sensing the tension. Sandy stares at Amy for a long heartbeat, that big frame coiled tight. Finally, she huffs through her nose, like a bull deciding which wall to run through, and slaps Rosa’s abandoned tag rope as if it were Amy’s face instead.
She steps through the ropes.
John Phillips: "Hardcore Sandy clearly doesn’t like being spoken to like that, but Amy Harrison’s calling the shots tonight."
Mark Bravo: "You can feel it brewing, John. One of these nights Sandy’s gonna remember she doesn’t take orders well. But for now? Emily Hightower’s got a whole different problem in front of her."
Emily pushes off the ropes, squaring herself as best she can. Sandy lumbers toward her, eyes hard, no wasted motion. They meet center-ring.
Emily fires first—a right hand, then a left, then another, peppering Sandy’s jaw and chest. The shots rock Sandy, but not nearly enough. She shoves Emily back with a single palm to the face, sending her sprawling to one knee.
Emily grits her teeth, gets up, and charges again, throwing a flurry of body shots into Sandy’s ribs. Sandy absorbs them, then clubs Emily across the back with a forearm that sends a shockwave straight through her injured spine.
John Phillips: "That shot went right through the bad spot—Emily’s back just folded!"
Emily collapses to all fours, jaw clenched in pain. Sandy grabs a handful of hair, yanks her up, and hurls her chest-first into the corner. Emily hits hard and stumbles back out—right into Sandy’s waiting arms.
Sandy wraps her up and sends her flying with a huge belly-to-belly suplex, tossing Emily across the ring like she weighs nothing.
Mark Bravo: "That’s not just a suplex, that’s ‘see your chiropractor in six to eight weeks’!"
Emily writhes, hand glued to her lower back. Sandy sits up, eyes flicking briefly to Amy on the floor. Amy lifts a hand in a lazy “wrap it up” gesture.
Sandy gets to her feet, stalks Emily, and stomps straight down between her shoulder blades, flattening her back to the mat. The crowd winces as Emily cries out.
John Phillips: "Hardcore Sandy is just mauling Emily Hightower right now."
Sandy drags Emily up by the gear and shoves her into The Empire’s corner. Amy casually steps back out of reach, making sure there’s no chance of Emily tagging her by mistake. Sandy drives a massive shoulder into Emily’s midsection—once, twice, three times—each impact reverberating through the ring.
Emily slumps in the corner, gasping, arms draped over the ropes. Sandy takes a few steps back, then charges in with a running boot to the jaw that snaps Emily’s head back over the turnbuckle.
Mark Bravo: "I think Emily just saw tomorrow and yesterday at the same time."
Emily collapses to a seated position. Sandy grabs her by the ankle and drags her away from the ropes, planting a boot on her ribs and grinding down, all her weight pressing into the already-battered torso.
The referee dives in.
Referee: "Get off the ribs, Sandy! One! Two! Three! Four!"
Sandy steps off at four, throwing her hands up, then drops a quick elbow across Emily’s chest for good measure.
Marie reaches as far as she can from the MVC corner, arm stretched over the top rope.
Marie Van Claudio: "Emily! Tag me!"
Emily rolls to her stomach, reaching blindly, but she’s still in the middle of the ring. Sandy walks her down, grabs her by the ankle, and drags her back, then drops a knee into the small of her back, bowing her spine in an ugly arch.
John Phillips: "Sandy’s not just trying to beat Emily, she’s trying to break her."
Sandy hauls Emily up again, pushing her into the ropes and whipping her across. Emily rebounds—Sandy swings for a clothesline. Emily ducks under on pure instinct, hits the far ropes, and comes back with a desperate flying forearm that staggers Sandy but doesn’t drop her.
The crowd pops anyway, sensing the tiny shift.
Sandy growls and swings a wild haymaker. Emily ducks again, this time landing a quick kick to the knee that drops Sandy down to one leg. Emily hits the ropes one more time, gritting her teeth against the pain, and charges in—only to be snatched out of the air and slammed down with a monstrous spinebuster.
Mark Bravo: "And that’s what happens when you play chicken with a dump truck."
Emily bounces and lies sprawled, eyes glassy, back screaming. Sandy covers, pressing a forearm across her face.
ONE!
TWO—
Emily jerks a shoulder up, barely, the crowd roaring at the last-second escape.
John Phillips: "Emily Hightower refuses to stay down!"
Sandy sits back on her knees, staring down at Emily with a mix of frustration and respect she’ll never admit out loud. She glances to the floor again. Amy just twirls a finger: ‘Finish it.’
Sandy grabs Emily by the hair and hauls her up one more time, shoving her into the corner—the wrong one. Marie’s corner.
In her zeal to punish, Sandy doesn’t clock the geography quickly enough.
Mark Bravo: "Uh oh… wrong neighborhood."
Sandy rears back for another massive forearm, but Emily, on fumes, ducks low and throws herself sideways, diving with everything she has.
Her hand slaps Marie’s.
Referee: "Tag!"
The place erupts as Marie Van Claudio explodes through the ropes.
John Phillips: "She got her! Emily Hightower somehow made the tag, and here comes the First Lady again!"
Sandy turns just in time to eat a stiff right hand from Marie, and the momentum of this war tilts once more as fresh fury meets old brutality dead center of the ring.
Marie explodes through the ropes and meets Hardcore Sandy dead-center with a flurry of strikes. Right hand, left hand, a backhand slap that rings out, then a sharp kick to the thigh that actually rocks the big woman.
John Phillips: "Marie Van Claudio coming in hot on Hardcore Sandy!"
Marie follows with a spinning heel kick that tags Sandy behind the ear, staggering her back a step. The crowd surges as Marie hits the ropes and rebounds, leaping with a flying clothesline that bounces off Sandy’s chest but doesn’t quite take her down.
Mark Bravo: "She moved the mountain, but it’s still on its feet!"
Undeterred, Marie pops up and sprints to the corner, springboarding off the middle rope into a flying crossbody that crashes full-on into Sandy’s upper body. This time Sandy stumbles, dropping to one knee as Marie rains down short punches to the forehead.
Sandy shoves her off with both hands, sending Marie rolling, but Marie is already back up, feeding off the noise. She grabs Sandy’s wrist and snaps her into a short-arm clothesline that finally flattens the veteran.
John Phillips: "Marie Van Claudio just put Hardcore Sandy on her back!"
The arena pops. On the floor, Amy’s smile dips into a frown for the first time, arms tightening around the Women’s Championship.
Marie, breathing hard, grabs Sandy by the hair and yanks her upright, trying to press the advantage. She hooks for a snap DDT—
—but Sandy suddenly surges straight up, powering Marie off her feet and driving her backward into the corner. Marie’s spine collides with the buckles with a sick thud, the air whooshing out of her lungs.
Mark Bravo: "And just like that, the pendulum swings back the other way."
Sandy unloads with heavy shoulder thrusts to Marie’s midsection—one, two, three, four—each shot forcing a grunt from the First Lady. The referee orders her out of the corner; Sandy backs off, only to charge back in with a brutal running forearm that whiplashes Marie’s head against the pad.
Marie slumps in the corner, hanging on by the ropes. Sandy grabs her by the wrist and whips her as hard as she can to the opposite buckles. Marie hits, staggers forward on jelly legs—
—and Sandy scoops her up like she weighs nothing, spinning out to center-ring before planting her with a massive powerslam.
John Phillips: "Good Lord! Hardcore Sandy just about drove Marie Van Claudio through the ring!"
Marie bounces and lies flat, eyes glassy, arms spread. The crowd groans, a deflated sound that says they felt that one in their own backs.
Sandy drops to her knees beside her, one hand pressing down on Marie’s chest, the other reaching to hook a leg—
Amy Harrison: "NO!"
The shout cuts through the noise. Sandy freezes, mid-motion, head snapping toward the floor.
Amy is right there at ringside, both hands on the apron, eyes blazing—not with concern, but with offended ego.
Amy Harrison: "Don’t you dare pin her."
The crowd rains down boos as Sandy slowly straightens up from the near-cover, chest heaving, annoyance flaring behind her eyes.
John Phillips: "Sandy had Marie dead to rights and Amy Harrison just stopped her own partner from making the cover!"
Mark Bravo: "Of course she did. There’s only one thing Amy Harrison wants more than a win… and that’s the credit for it."
Amy taps the side of her head and then points emphatically at the turnbuckle.
Amy Harrison: "Tag me. I end Marie Van Claudio."
Sandy stares down at Marie—completely laid out—then back at Amy. The muscles in her jaw twitch. The fans chant a scattered "LET HER PIN!" out of sheer spite for the champ.
Sandy mutters something under her breath—too low for the cameras to pick up—then grabs Marie by the wrist and roughly drags her a few feet closer to The Empire’s corner instead of covering.
She rises, takes one heavy step toward the ropes, eyes never leaving Amy’s for a long, tense second…
…and then slaps Amy’s outstretched hand.
Referee: "Tag!"
The boos swell as Amy slips through the ropes with a satisfied little smirk, Hardcore Sandy stepping back to the apron, arms folded, expression somewhere between fury and resignation as the Women’s Champion moves in on the woman she once called friend.
Tag made.
Amy Harrison steps through the ropes, Women’s Championship glinting on her shoulder as she slips it off and hands it to the timekeeper without taking her eyes off the woman lying flat on the canvas.
Hardcore Sandy doesn’t leave the ring. She stays rooted in place a few feet away, chest heaving, watching.
John Phillips: "Amy Harrison is finally legal in this match… but why is Sandy still in there?"
Mark Bravo: "Because she knows what that slam just did to Marie. She knows this is academic."
Amy saunters over to Marie Van Claudio’s motionless body, plants one boot arrogantly on her shoulder, then changes her mind and drops down into a proper cover, pressing both hands to Marie’s chest like she’s pinning a trophy to the mat.
For a split second, Sandy just stares down at the scene. Then, without a word, she takes one slow step back, arms at her sides, making no move to interfere.
The referee hesitates, confused by Sandy’s presence, but she steps back as well and drops to count.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING.
Ring Announcer: "Marie Van Claudio has been eliminated!"
The arena erupts—not in cheers, not in simple boos, but in a stunned, tangled roar. The First Lady of UTA, pinned clean in the middle of the ring by the woman who stabbed her in the back.
John Phillips: "Amy Harrison just pinned Marie Van Claudio… and Hardcore Sandy stood there and watched it happen."
Mark Bravo: "You can feel an entire decade of history groan at once."
Amy pops up to her feet, yanking her arm away from the referee’s grasp so she can raise it herself. She throws her head back, soaking in the chaos and fury from the crowd, mouthing, "I told you," at the hard cam.
On the MVC side, Emily Hightower has already slid into the ring, dropping to her knees beside Marie. She gently rolls Marie onto her side, one hand on her shoulder, the other on her head.
Up close, we see it—the sheer disappointment etched across Marie’s face. Not just at losing, but at who did it, and how.
John Phillips: "Look at Marie Van Claudio… that’s not just pain, that’s heartbreak."
The referee urges Marie toward the ropes; Emily helps her under the bottom strand. Marie drops to the floor, sagging back against the barricade, head in her hands for a moment as the fans closest to her reach out, calling her name.
Back in the ring, Amy turns away from the scene entirely, already over it. She jabs a finger toward the apron.
Amy Harrison: "Get back on the apron, Sandy! I’ll tag you when I’m ready!"
Sandy doesn’t move.
Amy’s eyes narrow.
Amy Harrison: "Did you not hear me? Get. Back. On. The. Apron."
Still nothing. Sandy stands in the middle of the ring, breathing slow, eyes locked on Amy with a look that’s getting darker by the second.
Mark Bravo: "Uh… this might be where the transmission falls out of The Empire’s bus."
Amy stomps forward and gets right in Sandy’s face, jabbing a finger into her chest.
Amy Harrison: "I said get out of my ring and back on that apron, now. I’m the champion, I give the orders!"
Each word is punctuated by another poke to Sandy’s chest. The crowd oohs, sensing a line being crossed.
While Amy is screeching up at Sandy, behind her Emily Hightower slowly rises from where she’d been kneeling, having watched Marie roll to the floor. Her face is thunder—rage, exhaustion, disbelief all rolled into one.
Hardcore Sandy’s gaze flicks over Amy’s shoulder. She doesn’t say a word. She simply raises one massive hand and points past the champion.
John Phillips: "What’s Sandy pointing at—"
Amy scoffs.
Amy Harrison: "Don’t point at me, you big—"
She turns.
And walks face-first into a huge right hand from Emily Hightower.
Crowd: "YEAHHHH!"
Amy’s head snaps sideways and she stumbles back, almost tripping over her own feet. She spins in a half-circle from the impact, disoriented—and spins right into Hardcore Sandy’s waiting hand clamped firmly around her throat.
Mark Bravo: "Ohhhhh, no way—"
Sandy’s face is stone. No smile. No quip. Just a decision made.
With one fluid motion, she hoists Amy high into the air by the throat, the Women’s Champion’s boots kicking uselessly above the mat for a split second before Sandy DRIVES her down with a monstrous chokeslam.
John Phillips: "CHOKESLAM! HARDCORE SANDY JUST CHOKESLAMMED AMY HARRISON!"
Amy bounces and lies sprawled, arms splayed, eyes wide and unfocused. The arena detonates, a wall of shock and catharsis.
Emily staggers back a step, eyes wide, hand halfway to her mouth. She looks from Amy’s wrecked body to Sandy, genuinely stunned.
Mark Bravo: "Emily Hightower can’t believe it! These people can’t believe it! I don’t even think Sandy can believe she finally did that!"
Camera cuts to ringside: Marie Van Claudio, still seated against the barricade, staring into the ring with a hollow, disbelieving look. Whatever she expected tonight, this wasn’t it.
In the ring, Sandy looks down at Amy for a beat longer, then turns and walks toward the ropes without a word.
She steps over the top rope, drops heavily to the floor, and immediately finds herself staring at Marie.
They lock eyes. No words. Just years of history, respect, betrayal, and something like vindication crashing together in one silent, heated exchange.
John Phillips: "Whatever that look means between Hardcore Sandy and Marie Van Claudio… it’s not simple."
Sandy finally breaks the stare, turns away, and starts up the ramp. No pose. No explanation. Just leaving the champion she once backed flat on her back in the ring.
Inside, Amy Harrison lies motionless. Emily Hightower stands over her now, chest heaving, still trying to process what just happened, the referee hovering nearby, desperate to restore some semblance of order.
Mark Bravo: "And just like that, the Empire has crumbled—for tonight, anyway. Amy Harrison is all alone with Emily Hightower and a whole lot of consequences."
Amy Harrison rolls onto her side with a groan, hand instinctively going to her back and then to her throat. She blinks hard, trying to clear the fog, having no idea what just happened or why the world is sideways.
John Phillips: "Amy Harrison has no clue what truck just hit her… but its license plate absolutely said ‘Hardcore Sandy.’"
Slowly, shakily, Amy pushes herself to hands and knees. She coughs, hair hanging in her face as she crawls toward the ropes, trying to drag herself up one rung at a time.
Emily Hightower stands a few steps behind her, chest heaving, eyes locked on the champion like a predator watching wounded prey. The crowd starts to rise, sensing it.
Crowd: "EM-I-LY! EM-I-LY!"
Amy finally reaches a vertical base, her back to Emily, one hand clutching the top rope, the other pressed to her throat. She turns in a wobble—
—and Emily seizes her wrist, yanking her fully around.
John Phillips: "Uh oh—"
Before Amy can even register who’s grabbed her, Emily steps in and drills her with a savage bull hammer elbow right to the jaw—
John Phillips: "ODE TO MY FATHER!"
Amy’s body goes limp mid-spin, dropping like a marionette with its strings cut. She collapses flat on her back, arms spread, eyes staring at the lights.
Emily doesn’t waste a millisecond. She drops to her knees, sprawls across Amy’s chest, and hooks the far leg tight, stacking the champion up for the pin.
Referee: "ONE! TWO! THREE!"
DING DING DING.
Ring Announcer: "Here is your winner… and earning a UTA Women’s Championship match at Black Horizon… EMILY… HEIGHTOWER!"
The arena erupts, a thunderous wave of noise crashing over the ring as Emily rolls onto her back, one arm thrown over her face in total disbelief, the other still clutching her own ribs and back.
John Phillips: "She did it! Emily Hightower just pinned the Women’s Champion and punched her ticket to Black Horizon!"
Mark Bravo: "The Junkyard Bitch is going hunting for gold in Philly, and she just cashed in the hardest-earned win of her career to get there!"
On the floor, Marie Van Claudio stumbles along the barricade, hand sliding over the padding as she hauls herself toward the ring. Every step is slow, but she doesn’t stop. She reaches the apron, takes a breath, and rolls under the bottom rope.
Inside, Emily pushes to her knees, eyes still wide, chest heaving. The referee moves to raise her hand, but Emily half-pulls away, almost overwhelmed.
Marie uses the ropes to pull herself upright. She stands there for a moment, one hand to her head, eyes on Emily.
You can see it—right there on her face. The weight of expectation. The quiet ache. She thought she’d be the one with her hand raised. The one heading to Black Horizon. The First Lady with one last run.
John Phillips: "Look at Marie. For everything she’s done, for everything she means to this division… she wanted that spot. You can see it written all over her."
Emily turns, noticing Marie standing in the corner. For a long second they just stare at one another: veteran and rising contender, past and present colliding.
Emily’s expression shifts—guarded at first, then softening into something like respect. She straightens as much as her back will allow.
Marie nods.
It’s a small motion, but it lands like a bell ringing through the arena.
Mark Bravo: "That’s it. That’s the torch, right there."
Marie steps forward, closing the distance, and gently takes Emily’s wrist. The crowd swells in anticipation as she turns to face the hard camera… and lifts Emily’s hand high into the air.
The building explodes.
John Phillips: "Marie Van Claudio just raised the hand of the woman who took the title shot she wanted! That is respect. That is what this division was built on."
Outside, Amy Harrison has rolled under the bottom rope, crumpled on the floor. An official hands her the UTA Women’s Championship. She snatches it to her chest like a lifeline, clutching it close as she stares up at the ring, eyes wide with dawning horror.
In the ring stand Marie Van Claudio and Emily Hightower, hand in hand, one era acknowledging another, while Amy hugs the belt tighter like it might vanish if she lets go.
Mark Bravo: "That right there is Amy Harrison’s worst nightmare: the woman who built this division and the woman who wants to run it next, standing tall together, while she’s stuck on the outside looking in."
Emily steps to the ropes, pointing down at Amy and then to the Black Horizon logo on the hard-cam side of the arena.
Emily Hightower: "Philly. Me and you."
Amy shakes her head on the floor, clutching the title even tighter, backing away slowly as if distance could somehow change the stipulations she just lost control over.
John Phillips: "At Black Horizon, Amy Harrison has to defend the UTA Women’s Championship against Emily Hightower, and you can see it on her face—she did not plan for this ending tonight."
The camera cuts briefly back up the ramp, where Hardcore Sandy stands halfway up, arms at her sides, watching the scene play out with a hard, unreadable expression. She doesn’t look back at Amy. Not once.
Mark Bravo: "If Amy’s looking for backup at Black Horizon, she might wanna start a whole new group. Because if there’s one thing we can say for sure? Hardcore Sandy is done with The Empire."
Back in the ring, Marie releases Emily’s wrist but stays by her side, one hand still resting on her shoulder as the referee raises Emily’s arm high one more time. The crowd roars, the Survivor graphic flashes, and the image of Emily Hightower standing tall with Marie’s respect and Amy’s fear anchors itself in the road to Black Horizon.
