#1 Contender for an AWS Championship
Champions Carnival Rumble

An elimination transpires when a competitor is sent over top rope and makes contact with the floor. The last remaining participant secures the position of the next contender for either the AWS UltraViolence Championship or the AWS Assault Championship.

↓ Only way to be part of the rumble is reply below. ↓

Good luck

"The Kaos Effect"

A Roleplay for the Champions Carnival Rumble

[Scene opens inside the Kaos Dojo – a private gym in Orlando, Florida.]

The gym isn’t the flashy, polished kind. No, this place is a battleground. The faint scent of sweat and leather lingers in the air, the walls adorned with posters of classic wrestling moments, including Kid Kaos' own legendary death-defying stunts. In the center of the ring stands Kid Kaos (KD Feigel)—the anarchic high-flyer, the man who defies gravity for fun, pacing like a caged animal.

On the apron sit Jonathan and Adam Kaos, the Kaos Twins—two mirror images of destruction, their arms folded as they listen intently. At ringside, their ever-calculating manager, Abbie Kaos, leans against the ropes, her clipboard in hand, adjusting her glasses as she studies notes.

The Champions Carnival Rumble. Fifty competitors. One winner. March 17th in Boston.

KD Feigel (Kid Kaos):

“Alright, listen up, ya little lunatics. This ain't just any ol' match. This is THE Champions Carnival Rumble. Fifty bodies in that ring, and only one of 'em gets to stand tall at the end. Now, I know what you're thinkin’—‘Kaos runs through our veins, we were born for this kinda fight.’ And you ain’t wrong. But this ain't about just surviving, this is about owning that damn ring. You hear me?”

Jonathan Kaos:

“Loud and clear, KD.” [Cracks his knuckles, a wicked grin forming.] “We cause Kaos everywhere we go. But fifty guys? That’s a lot of bodies to toss out.”

Adam Kaos:

“Yeah, but who cares? The more, the better. We thrive in chaos.” [Laughs, rolling his shoulders.] “Besides, with three of us in there, we’ve got better odds than most.”

Abbie Kaos:

“Exactly, and that’s what I wanted to discuss.” [She flips a page on her clipboard, her eyes sharp behind her glasses.] “Numbers don’t lie. Statistically speaking, a wrestler’s chances of winning a battle royal increase significantly when they have allies. But here’s the catch: only one of you can win. So the question is, how do we handle that when the time comes?”

Kid Kaos:

“Oh, we’ll get to that. But first, let’s talk about how we even get to that point. ‘Cause let’s be real—forty-seven other dudes are gonna be tryin’ to dump our asses over that top rope. We gotta work together until it’s just us.”

THE STRATEGY

Abbie Kaos:

“Exactly. So here’s the breakdown.” [Adjusts her glasses, tapping her clipboard.] “First off, spacing. You two—” [Points at Jonathan and Adam.] “—stick close. No separating unless it’s absolutely necessary. KD, you’re different. You move too fast, and you’re unpredictable. That works to your advantage, but it also makes you a target. So, we use that.”

Kid Kaos:

“Ahhh, you want me to be the bait?” [Smirks, tapping his chest.] “The ol’ ‘distract ‘em with my aerial insanity while the Twins clean house’ routine, huh?”

Abbie Kaos:

“Precisely.” [Smirks.] “No one expects a guy who spends more time in the air than on the ground to last in a Rumble. But that’s where you prove ‘em wrong. Dodge, weave, make ‘em waste their energy trying to get you. Meanwhile, the Twins play wrecking crew.”

Jonathan Kaos:

“So we’re the muscle, you’re the distraction. I like it.”

Adam Kaos:

“And when it comes down to just us?”

Kid Kaos:

“Then we fight. No holdin’ back. No bullsht. We settle it the way it should be—Kaos style.”

THE THREATS

Abbie Kaos:

“I like the confidence, but let’s not ignore the competition.” [Flips a page.] “We’ve got some serious threats in this thing. I’m talking former world champions, deathmatch psychos, powerhouse brawlers, and even a few sneaky little weasels who’ll stab you in the back the second they can.”

Jonathan Kaos:

“Names.”

Abbie Kaos:

“Alright. First, the big one—Damien Kostich. Former two-time world champion elsewhere. over seven feet, built like a tank. If we don’t team up to get him out early, he’ll be a nightmare in the final stretch.”

Adam Kaos:

“Easy. We chop the tree down. Hit him low, wear him out.”

Abbie Kaos:

“Then there’s Eric Herrera—lucha legend. Fast as hell, just like KD, but sneakier. He’ll be looking to use momentum to his advantage. Watch for him.”

Kid Kaos:

“Pfft, I invented flipping off things recklessly. He can try, but he won’t out-air me.”

Abbie Kaos:

“And then there’s the wildcard—Mike Dimter. No alliances, no morals. He’ll throw his own mother out if it means he wins.”

Jonathan Kaos:

“So he dies first.” [Grins darkly.]

Kid Kaos:

“See, that’s the spirit! Ain’t nobody gonna stop Kaos when we’re in sync.”

THE ENDGAME

Abbie Kaos:

“Alright, so let’s say we get past all these obstacles. Let’s say it’s just the three of you in the final three. What happens then?”

Kid Kaos:

“Then we do what we do best.” [Cracks his neck, grinning.] “We let Kaos decide.”

Jonathan Kaos:

“No holding back?”

Kid Kaos:

“Nope. No alliances. No brotherhood. Just pure, unfiltered Kaos.”

Adam Kaos:

“Now that… that sounds fun.”

Abbie Kaos:

“As long as you three understand that, I have no problem with it.” [Adjusts her glasses.] “But no matter what, one of us is walking out of Boston with that victory. That’s the mission.”

Kid Kaos:

“Damn right. March 17th, we turn that Rumble into a Kaos playground. And when the dust settles, one of us—one of us—is gonna be standing tall. The world better be ready.”

FADE TO BLACK.

The Sphinx Is Ready

The Silent Tempest Is Ready

Representing UNC Charlotte!

[The lights in the IWE arena dim as the sound of smooth jazz mixed with a bass-heavy hip-hop beat fills the air. The tron lights up with a montage of high-stakes poker games, luxury cars, and city lights. Then, in bold gold letters, the words appear:]

THE SYNDICATE

[Stepping onto the stage in immaculate designer suits are three of the most dangerous and stylish individuals in professional wrestling today—"The Diamond Don" Donavan Di Niro, "The Iron Rose" Kat Genovesi, and "Big Money" Adrian Cole. Leading the way, dressed in a sharp pinstripe suit with a golden pocket square, is their enigmatic and silver-tongued manager—"Mr. Providence" Victor Gotti. With a smirk that oozes confidence and danger, Gotti adjusts his cufflinks before raising a microphone to his lips.]

MR. PROVIDENCE (VICTOR GOTTI)

"Ladies and gentlemen… no, no, no… peasants and pretenders, allow me to introduce you to the future rulers of this industry. The trio standing before you ain’t just wrestlers—they’re a power shift. They’re a hostile takeover. They’re the Syndicate. And they ain’t here to play fair—they’re here to win.

Now, I know what all the so-called ‘stars’ in the back are thinkin’—‘Oh no, not another group talkin’ a big game.’ But lemme tell you somethin’—the difference between us and everybody else is that when we say we’re gonna run this place, we ain’t just talkin’— we’re investing. And trust me, this investment? It’s a guaranteed return.

At the IWE Champions Carnival Rumble Match, twenty-nine other poor, unfortunate souls are steppin’ into a war they already lost. You think you got a chance against "The Diamond Don" Donavan Di Niro—a man who treats every match like a high-stakes poker game, calculating, cold, and cashing out with the W? Or maybe you think you can stand toe-to-toe with "Big Money" Adrian Cole, a man who breaks backs and cashes checks with the same brutal efficiency? Oh, and let’s not forget the ace up our sleeve—"The Iron Rose" Kat Genovesi—as beautiful as she is deadly, and she ain't afraid to stomp out anyone dumb enough to stand in her way.

So, let me make this really simple for all you dreamers in the back—this match? It ain't a rumble. It's a robbery. And The Syndicate? We're walking away with the bag.”

[Gotti hands the mic over to Donavan Di Niro, who adjusts the gold cufflinks on his suit, a slow, amused smirk on his face as he steps forward.]

"THE DIAMOND DON" DONAVAN DI NIRO

"You know, Gotti… I look at this roster, and I see a lot of guys playin’ checkers while we’re out here playin’ chess. Me? I got ice in my veins. I read my opponents like a bad poker hand and fold ‘em just as fast. And this Sunday, when the dust settles, the chips are gonna fall right where they always do—in my pocket."

[Next, "Big Money" Adrian Cole, the powerhouse of the group, steps forward, cracking his knuckles with a slow, sinister grin.]

"BIG MONEY" ADRIAN COLE

"They’re callin’ it a rumble, huh? Nah. I call it a financial restructuring. And trust me—when you step into that ring with me, you're gonna find out really quick—either you roll with us, or you get rolled over."

[Finally, "The Iron Rose" Kat Genovesi takes the mic, flipping her hair back before shooting a sharp glare at the camera.]

"THE IRON ROSE" KAT GENOVESI

"All these little Cinderella stories about who’s ‘gonna shock the world’? Cute. But fairytales ain’t real, sweetheart. What’s real is power. What’s real is control. And what’s real is The Syndicate owning this place. So go ahead, play your little games—but when it’s all said and done, there’ll be only one story left to tell—ours."

[Gotti steps back in, laughing to himself before straightening his tie.]

MR. PROVIDENCE (VICTOR GOTTI)

"Champions Carnival? Pfft. Please. It’s just step one. When The Syndicate wins this thing—and we will—it’s a straight shot to championship gold. And when that gold is around our waists? That’s when the real fun begins. So get used to it, IWE… ’cause this ain't hit-and-run.

This is a hostile. Freakin’. Takeover."

[With that, The Syndicate smirks at the camera before turning and making their way up the ramp, the crowd booing loudly—but deep down, they know that every word they just heard? Might just be the truth.]

[Scene: A dimly lit backstage area of the IWE Arena. The air is thick with tension, the sound of a distant crowd roaring as the night’s show rages on. A large shadow looms over the camera as "The Executioner" Damien Kostich stands, his 7-foot-6 frame nearly scraping the ceiling. Next to him, pacing with his signature vile smirk, is his manager, Maxx Vile, dressed in a gaudy suit with a sickly green tie.]

MAXX VILE:

“Heh… You hear that, Damien? You hear ‘em out there? They’re all talking about it. The Champions Carnival Rumble Match. 30 men, one winner. And every single one of those chumps back there? They all got the same idea in their tiny little heads—they wanna be the guy who takes down The Executioner. They wanna be the one who does the impossible… the one who somehow throws a 7-foot-6, 500-pound MONSTER over the top rope!”

[Maxx snickers, shaking his head, then slaps Damien’s massive arm as if hyping him up.]

MAXX VILE:

“But here’s the thing… that ain't happening. These punks? They got no clue what they're stepping into. One by one, they’ll rush at you, thinking if they all gang up, they can do the unthinkable. But what happens when YOU grab ‘em by the throat, huh? What happens when YOU start tossing bodies like sacks of meat?! BOOM—over the top rope! BOOM—another one gone! Just like that!”

[Damien Kostich remains silent, towering over Maxx, his cold, lifeless stare locked on the camera. His breathing is slow and methodical, like a beast waiting for the hunt.]

MAXX VILE:

"Damien, you ain't just the biggest threat in this match… you're the inevitable. The walking execution order for EVERYBODY who steps foot in that ring. And yeah, they're gonna come at you. They're gonna throw everything they got, all to make a name for themselves. But what happens when you don't fall? What happens when The Executioner stands tall, unmovable, unstoppable?"

[Finally, Damien steps forward, his deep, guttural voice cutting through the tension like a blade.]

DAMIEN KOSTICH:

"They try to throw me out… they fail. They try to break me… they fail. And when I get my hands around their throats… they do not leave that ring the same."

[Damien slowly clenches his massive fist, the knuckles cracking like thunder.]

DAMIEN KOSTICH:

"I am the shadow over this Carnival. The last thing they will see before they hit the floor. They can try. They can fight. But in the end… I execute them all."

[Maxx grins wickedly, rubbing his hands together as he steps back in front of Damien.]

MAXX VILE:

"THAT'S RIGHT! One by one, they're all gonna FALL! And when that bell rings, when that last body crashes to the floor, there's only gonna be ONE man left standing… THE EXECUTIONER, DAMIEN KOSTICH!"

[Damien lets out a slow exhale, his eyes dark and unyielding. The scene fades as Maxx continues to laugh, the ominous shadow of the Executioner looming over the screen.]

Scene: A dimly lit lounge, the air thick with cigar smoke. The Syndicate—five of the most dangerous figures in the business—are gathered around a polished oak table, drinks in hand, eyes gleaming with ruthless ambition. The Champions Carnival Rumble is on the horizon, and the message is clear: domination. The camera pans in as Donavan Di Niro leans forward, adjusting the diamond-studded ring on his finger before speaking.

"The Diamond Don" Donavan Di Niro:

"Business, gentlemen… and lady… is about to boom." He smirks, swirling his whiskey before taking a slow sip. "The Champions Carnival Rumble? That’s not a match—it’s a goddamn takeover. And The Syndicate? We don’t ask. We don’t wait. We take. That ring’s gonna be our playground, and every poor bastard who steps in our way? They’re gettin’ tossed like yesterday’s trash."

"The Iron Rose" Kat Genovesi:

"And if they don’t go willingly? We’ll break ‘em till they do." Kat smirks, cracking her knuckles, her eyes flashing with the kind of cold confidence that makes men second-guess their choices. "The thing about a rumble is, most people come in hoping for a miracle. They pray they get lucky, they dream about standing tall at the end. Us? We don’t need luck. We make our own fate. By any means necessary."

"The Sicilian Shooter" Giancarlo Mazzanti:

"By any means necessary," Giancarlo echoes, lighting a cigar with the calm, lethal aura of a man who’s already planned the downfall of every single opponent in the match. "They call me the Sicilian Shooter for a reason—I don’t miss. Every elbow, every knee, every throw over that top rope? Precision. When The Syndicate’s in that ring, we ain’t just eliminating people… we’re sending a message. And that message is simple: you don’t belong in our world."

"Il Lupo Cremisi" Giovanni Sabbatini:

"Hah! They’re dead men walking and don’t even know it," Giovanni snarls, leaning back with a wolfish grin. "You ever watch a pack of wolves go huntin’? They don’t rush in like idiots. Nah. They stalk. They wait. Then, when the moment’s right… they strike. That’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna tear through ‘em one by one, and when the dust settles? Ain’t gonna be nobody left but us."

"Big Money" Adrian Cole:

"That’s the thing," Adrian Cole chimes in, adjusting the cuffs on his tailored suit. "This ain’t just about winning. This is about power. This is about money. And everybody knows, in this business, money talks… and The Syndicate? We got more of it than anybody else. So when that final bell rings, when the last fool gets thrown over that top rope, you best believe the ones standin’ tall will be the ones who own this industry. The Syndicate always gets what it’s owed. And at Champions Carnival? We collect."

The five of them clink glasses, a unified front of ruthless ambition and undeniable dominance. The camera fades to black as their laughter echoes—cold, confident, and knowing. Because the Syndicate doesn’t make empty promises. They make guarantees.

The Syndicate. The Champions Carnival. Inevitable.

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