An All Star Main Event kicks off a new era for Tuesday Night Assault!

2x Maximum Promos, 2k Word Limit

One single moment. Just one. One variable amongst a hundred others. Except this one very specific variable had no interest in playing by the rules of engagement. Orphius frowned momentarily. He had known ‘The Sphinx’ was not to be trusted. The facts bore out that The Sphinx was in flux, evolving, shedding his mortal drives.

That hadnt been clearer than the moment The Sphinx won the champions carnival. There was a certain elegance, a certain charm to seeing The Sphinx win. The kind of charm one might see when a storm decides its own course. In the back of his mind Orphius knew now The Sphinx had a choice to make. Assault title or Ultraviolence title.

A choice that may very well decide the fate of their partnership, such as it is. 

Orphius narrowed his eyes, shaking his head, dislodging that thought for the moment. He could not allow his mind to be swayed by a choice as yet unmade. That would be foolish. And Orphius was not foolish, such things were beneath him. 

The winds whispered of a new era, a start of something bran new. Not a clean slate, or a end to the madness. Rather this was a new path. A path that Orphius himself would chart by his own hand. 

And yet this path was not he was to start to travel alone. He had been placed into a match with a tag team partner. Another tag partner, this one a one off deal. This was becoming something of a pattern. 

Orphius cleared his throat, a deep rumbling sound, the sound indicative of his annoyance, of his disdain for the very concept of tag teams.
“Leon Roberts. Management has chosen to team us up. I don’t know if this is AWS’s version of a joke. If management is booking me in tag matches simply because they wish to send a message. Maybe they are. Maybe they are just that petty.”

Orphius paused, his eyes narrowing a flash of sarcasm appearing in their depths.

One breath. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Inhale and exhale, routine and sensible. Orphius was always in control, body, mind, soul. He could not afford a lack of control.

“Petty. Petty. But no matter, this is still a match. Is still warfare. The field is set. Mason Hurst and Xavier Croft. The men of center of attention. Mason I’ve fought before. My mind versus his brutality. His sheer physical presence. Xavier is the wildcard, the unknown of my opponents. A variable I cannot claim to know, not yet.”

Orphius let the names settle into his mind like stones in deep water. Hurst. Croft. Known and unknown. Strength and unpredictability. They were not equals, not to him, but he would not underestimate them—he would catalogue, dissect, and adapt. That was the way of things. That was his way.

The shadows clung to the edges of the locker room like old regrets. Cold, sharp light from overhead cast stark edges across his face as he adjusted the heavy black cloak draped across one shoulder. Regal. Severe. A warlord without a crown, yet entirely aware he had no need of one. The authority bled off of him in waves—coiled, reserved, but unmistakable.

He looked at the camera now—not with the flash of charisma, not with the overblown bravado of lesser men. No. His gaze was level. Clinical. A monarch without a throne, but with the bearing of one carved into his bones.

“Mason Hurst is a man who believes his strength is truth. That violence gives him purpose. That brutality is a kind of honesty. But what Hurst does not understand,” he paused, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly, “is that truth, without purpose, is nothing but a hammer in the hands of a child.”

He shifted, the slow deliberate motion of a man used to being watched, measured, and weighed.

“I’ve seen you fight, Mason. You wear your scars like scripture. As if they make you holy. But they are just reminders that you’ve bled before—and that you’ll bleed again. You think force is destiny. That’s a common delusion. But I don’t believe in destiny. I believe in control. And control... is what I wield.”

A pause. Then the tone shifted, subtle but unmistakable.

“Xavier Croft.”

The name hung in the air, unfinished, untested.

“You, I don’t know. And that is both advantage and curse. Mystery is useful—for a time. But every variable can be understood. You will reveal yourself, Croft. One way or another. Under the lights. Under pressure. Under pain. And when you do... I will be waiting.”

His jaw flexed. Not clenched, never clenched. Clenching was the language of anger. Orphius did not get angry. He restructured the battlefield until it resembled his will.

“Leon Roberts.”

Now his gaze flicked—slightly upward, slightly inward. The name was both an obligation and a weapon. He would not pretend they were friends. He would not perform some awkward pantomime of camaraderie. But he would acknowledge the blade he’d been given.

“I don’t need you to be my friend. I don’t need you to understand me. All I need from you is clarity. I need you to know who I am. What I am. That I do not fall, I do not yield, and I do not suffer fools.”

He leaned forward, the shadows deepening across his features.

“If you can fight beside me, then do it. If you cannot, then stay out of my way. This war does not wait for uncertainty.”

His voice dropped now, just a half-step lower, as if he were revealing something meant for the world beneath the world.

“I have seen alliances built on blood. On fear. On need. I have seen kingdoms rise from nothing but ash and ambition. And I have torn them down with the same hands I now extend in battle.”

There was an intensity in him now, but it was not loud. It was not reckless. It was precise. Surgical. The kind of intensity that rewrote outcomes.

“This match is not about proving myself. That’s what lesser men do—run laps in the arena of validation. I do not run. I do not seek approval. This match is about forward motion. It is about cutting through the noise. About putting Mason Hurst and Xavier Croft down so decisively they remember the weight of it long after the lights fade.”

A beat. A breath.

“And when they do remember, let them remember this: That Orphius Marius does not wrestle. He conquers.”

He stood now, fully, deliberately. The way a man stands when he’s finished wasting time.

The cloak snapped as he turned, a sharp twist of movement that felt like punctuation. Final. Certain.

But as he reached the edge of the frame, he stopped.

Just for a moment.

He didn’t turn back, but his voice came again, quieter. Measured.

“And the Sphinx…”

The words were softer now, but colder somehow.

“Choose well, old friend. Your path forks here. One leads to glory beside me. The other...”

A pause.

“...leads through me.”

And with that, Orphius Marius left the frame, and left only the echo of what he might yet become.

Not a villain. Not a hero.

A storm.

Choosing its own course.

The scene changes.

No locker room. No harsh fluorescent lights. Just the deep, cold stillness of water.

The camera lingers beneath the surface—dark teal and black, the ocean's breath holding steady. Somewhere far beneath the waves, in a place no surface-dweller could find without sacrifice, Orphius Marius stood barefoot on black stone. Columns of coral-encrusted ruin surrounded him like the remains of a forgotten throne room.

He reached down into the pool before him, running fingers through its impossibly still surface. The water did not ripple.

His voice came again, low and resonant, as if carried by tides.

“The Ocean remembers.”

He spoke not as a man, but as a legacy incarnate.

“It remembers what the surface world forgets: that power does not shout—it waits. That storms do not beg for permission—they consume. And that kings… true kings… need not sit on thrones to rule.”

He raised his head now, eyes sharp and endless.

“The Sphinx... You evolve, yes. You adapt. But so does the ocean.”

A pause. The water trembled faintly at the mention.

“It gives rise to gods... and it drowns them all the same.”

He turned, walking slowly across the broken remnants of ancient tile, each footfall echoing with ancestral weight. A spectral shimmer of bioluminescence trailed in his wake.

“So choose, old friend. Rise with the tide—or be lost beneath it. I offer no forgiveness. Only depth.”

A single beat.

Then, softly—final, and absolute:

“And even you cannot hold your breath forever.”

Orphius stepped out of frame, vanishing into the dark, leaving only the endless silence of the deep.

The scene started in the Centre Of Attention clubhouse but there was something…different about it. It was a subtle change but a change all the same. No it wasn't new furniture in the clubhouse or new posters and accessories on the wall. There was something new in the group's title case. Another championship, MASON HURST’S CHAMPIONSHIP. That's right, this will be Mason's first big match since becoming AWS Next-LVL champion! And while it was a huge moment of his wrestling career his title wasn’t on the line on AWS Assault. Instead he was teaming up with his comrade, his friend, his Centre Of Attention teammates Xander Croft in tag team action! The guys were back In business!

While Mason had been more active on TV lately than the hulking Mason, that didn't mean that he had been resting on his ass. He was still training as hard as ever, watching match film, and of course doing promotional work since he was still C4 Division champion. All while still finding ways to bond with his Centre Of Attention teammates Mason Hurst, Desiree Forte and Olympia Waybright. Needless to say the Englishman stayed busy but he was always ready for a good match. Besides his eagerness to fight was a core tenet of the COA. Stay ready to wrestle so you don't have to get ready to wrestle. Which was essential considering who their AWS Assault opponents were. Leon Roberts and Orphius Marius.

Orphius was one of the very few wrestlers who was a true pain in the asses of the Centre Of Attention. He had a winning record over the group in most matchups. Making Orphius one of the select few people in all of the Asylum Wrestling Society to have figured out the multinational stable. And Leon Roberts was in a similar case to go with it all. He seemed to be the COA killer with how many times he’d gotten wins over the team in direct competition and it aggravated the hell out of all four members of the squad. So there was no self-assured belief that Xander and Mason had victory in the bag this time around and this match was a foregone conclusion. They were treating this battle with the utmost seriousness even if this wasn’t a title match. It was the main event after all. Everyone was expected to put on a damn good show. It’s just that the Centre Of Attention had their minds on winning. Which took us to today as Xander and Mason stood on the left and right sides of their title cabinet, looking at the camera. With a lot on their minds. But as a unique sight, Mason had a little smile on his face as he spoke first for a change while pointing at his Next-LVL title.

Mason Hurst: Attention everyone. Do you see that AWS Next-LVL title right there? I’m a champion now and it’s about bloody time! I worked my ass off, poured my heart out, and stepped the hell up to rise up, and win my very first championship here in the Asylum Wrestling Society! And just as importantly bring gold to the Centre Of Attention. Because I’m not just putting bodies on the mat for me anymore and kicking ass for my own glory. I’m doing it for a greater good. Something that’s bigger than just me. For my team, my family and damn does it feel good to earn gold with that too. On top of that this match at Assault ain’t just about me either. I get to fight alongside my best mate Xander Croft against those (BEEP) Leon Roberts and Orphius Marius… You two think you have us pegged dontcha? There’s no pair of lunatics in this damn asylum that has managed to get wins over us more than you two. Like you all have the big formula for victory over the Centre Of Attention! But that was before I had the swagger of a champion running through my soul! And too right this is a tag team match, non-title, my title isn’t on the line and neither is Xander’s but nobody in this group believes in holding (BEEP) back. We go hard or we don’t go at all bruv! ESPECIALLY in the main event and the Centre Of Attention will win at our main event match at Assault and finally put your asses down on the damn mat!

This all drew an amused grin and sincere clap from Xander Croft on camera.

Xander Croft: Well that was enlightening. You won your first title recently and you’re talking like I do! Proud of yourself, your work, our team. Not that I blame you, we are the most dominant stable in the entire Asylum Wrestling Society. No team in this business can touch us and tag teams have their share of issues against us…but I don’t know what black magic Orphius and Leon use when they face us to beat us but it ends at Assault. We are dominant, gifted, champions and we are out to prove how dominant we are in that main event match at Assault. Leon, Orphius, Your arrogance will be your downfall. We know you don’t think highly of us and enjoy knowing that time and time again despite the wins this team has you have humbled us in the ring before. But times are changing. Mason has elevated his game to perfectly compliment mine! As men of gold. CHAMPIONS! We are on the same wavelength of power and we are now perfectly capable of stretching and slamming your bodies in front of the world to see in Rota us finally get the victory we so richly deserve! So attention blokes. You don’t have what it takes in your muscles, heart, and bollocks to beat us now but please try. It’ll make our win even more fun.

Mason Hurst: See you at Rota. Because you long since had our attention.

END SCENE

Orphius Marius listened with a slow, calculating intensity as the Centre Of Attention delivered their challenge. Mason Hurst’s fire, Xander Croft’s swagger — they were the embodiment of youthful confidence, the kind that often overlooked the weight beneath the surface. And that was their first mistake.

When it was his turn to respond, Orphius’s voice was low and steady, like the deep current beneath a turbulent sea:

"Mason. Xander.. Title gleaming in your hands, and words sharp as daggers thrown in the heat of promise. You speak of swagger and elevation, of power perfectly matched. But power is not always what it seems at the surface."

Orphius’s eyes narrowed, the faint glow in them flickering like a storm just beyond the horizon.

"You claim to have learned from your past losses against Leon and me. Yet you forget this: I am not merely a man who wrestles. I am a tempest born of depths you cannot fathom. The ocean does not heed the arrogance of the shore. It waits... patiently, inexorably."

He took a slow step forward, as if pressing down on the unseen currents that carried him.

"This match is not about proving dominance, nor about medals or glory. It is about survival in a place where the tides shift without warning, where the silent depths swallow the loudest roars. You seek to 'put our asses down'? Know this — it is the sea that decides who sinks and who swims. And I am no surface dweller who drowns in shallow waters."

A shadow of a smirk brushed his lips.

"So bring your gold, bring your bravado. The Silent Tempest does not bow to titles or chants. I fight not for a team, or for fleeting glory — but because the abyss demands it. At Assault, you will learn that true power lies not in what you hold... but in what you cannot see coming."

Orphius’s gaze turned steely, like the ocean’s edge under a moonless night.

"And Mason — remember this. The tide is patient. But when it rises, it does not ask permission. It consumes everything in its path. I am that tide."

He stepped back then, his presence calm but undeniably ominous, leaving the challenge hanging like a storm about to break.

Orphius Marius regarded Mason and Xander with an unblinking gaze, the deep calm before the storm writ plain in his posture. When he spoke, his voice was low but carried the weight of ancient currents, an undeniable force beneath measured words.

"You speak of elevation, of champions, of perfect synchronicity. Like children counting waves on the shore, believing they know the sea. But the ocean does not grant victory for swagger or titles. It demands respect — or it will break you, bone by bone, beneath relentless pressure no man can withstand."

He stepped forward, the room seeming to grow colder, as if a shadow had lengthened and darkened the space between them.

"You think you stand on solid ground. But in my world, beneath the surface, there is no solid ground — only endless depths, crushing and infinite. Your muscles and hearts may be strong, but you have never felt what it is to be crushed by a world that does not care if you live or die."

Orphius’s eyes flickered like moonlight on black waves, his voice now a quiet storm of warning and inevitability.

"I do not merely fight. I am the storm you fail to see—the silent tempest lurking beyond your sight, the cold that seeps through your skin and chills your soul. When we collide at Assault, you will drown not just in sweat and pain, but in the very abyss itself."

His gaze hardened, voice dropping to a whisper that felt like a tide pulling them under.

"Remember this: the ocean does not forgive arrogance. It does not hesitate or falter. And when it rises, it consumes all — leaving nothing but silence in its wake."

A long pause, heavy as the deep sea.

"Remember this day, Mason, Xander — for the ocean never forgets. And neither do I."

Orphius’s voice dropped even further, the power in it shifting from mythic storm to icy, clinical precision.

"Wrestling is not poetry. It’s not some grand spectacle for your ego or your cheers. It’s survival. It’s war waged in a cage where every move, every breath, every second can be the difference between triumph and oblivion."

He stepped closer, his presence both commanding and unnerving.

"I do not dance. I do not perform. I calculate. I conserve. I strike when the moment is exact and devastating. Like a riptide pulling a careless swimmer beneath the waves — quiet, invisible, unstoppable."

His gaze bore into Mason and Xander, measuring them like prey in the shallows.

"You can shout your slogans, brandish your titles, and throw your punches with all the fury in your souls. But in that ring, none of it matters if you lose your head. If you lose your control. Because power without precision is wasted effort — and wasted effort gets you broken."

Orphius’s hands clenched briefly, the muscles beneath his skin tense as the weight of his words settled.

"The ocean does not reward the loudest roar. It rewards the patient predator. The one who waits, watches, and then strikes with cold inevitability. When Assault comes, I will be that predator. And I will not relent."

He exhaled slowly, voice softening but no less chilling.

"So come ready to fight, Centre Of Attention. Bring your best. But know this—your bravado means nothing when faced with the depths of silence before the storm, and the cold touch of inevitability after."

Orphius Marius stepped from the shadows into the glaring noon sun of Rota’s military base. The stark lines of concrete and steel stood in contrast to the endless ocean that stretched beyond the horizon, a reminder of where his true strength was born. The salt air bit at his skin, but he welcomed it — a familiar sting, a tether to the depths he commanded.

Every step he took echoed with purpose, measured and unhurried, like the tide’s relentless advance. Around him, soldiers and staff paused briefly, sensing the presence of something far older, far colder than the mere man who walked among them. Not just a wrestler, but a force shaped by oceans and storms, a living tempest restrained only by his own iron will.

Orphius’s gaze drifted to the distant waves, and for a moment, the calm beneath the surface cracked, revealing the raw power waiting to be unleashed. He closed his eyes briefly, drawing strength from that deep, dark world — a realm where survival demanded sacrifice and cunning above all else.

Then, opening his eyes, he allowed a faint, grim smile to touch his lips.

"This place, this moment," he thought, "is but the shore before the storm. And The Sphinx… he would do well to remember the sea never forgets the debts owed to it."

With that final thought, Orphius turned toward the base’s heart — the arena, the battleground. The silent tempest was ready to awaken.

Orphius watched the soldiers move with practiced precision—rows of bodies like clockwork gears, each man and woman a small cog in the vast machine of the military. Their discipline was admirable, unquestionable. Yet beneath their uniformity, he saw a fragility. Flesh and bone bound by duty and fear. They moved as one, but lacked the ocean’s depth—its cold, unyielding patience.

So many lives built on surface strength, he thought, trained to respond, to obey, to fight. But no one here understands the silence beneath the waves—the waiting, the inevitability.

Their chatter and boots echoed, sharp and deliberate, but Orphius’s mind drifted beneath the surface, to the deep currents where true power lurked unseen. They were guardians of the land, unaware that the ocean bore witness to threats far older, far darker than their drills could prepare them for.

They are soldiers of order, he mused, but the sea answers only to those who can embrace chaos and control it in the same breath. Their valor is commendable, but insufficient.

His eyes lingered on the crisp lines of their uniforms, the medals pinned like trophies of fleeting battles. To them, the war was always external—an enemy to defeat, a mission to accomplish. But to him, war was a tide—an endless, shifting force that tested every part of one’s being.

They stand here, confident in their numbers and strategies. Yet I know what lies beneath—the silent tempest waiting to break free.

Orphius’s jaw tightened. The soldiers might guard this base with steel and discipline, but when the storm comes, it would not be their training that saved them. It would be the cold, relentless nature of the depths. And he was its harbinger.

The scene opens up in the office of the Black List Mafia, inside the Pleasure Dome in Las Vegas Nevada. Wisps of smoke is seen coming from behind the chair located at the head of the table, as it's back was facing the camera. The chair turns around, revealing the AWS Intercontinental Champion, the Devil's Titan Leon Roberts. He has his championship belt currently slung over her shoulder.

Leon: Ladies and gentlemen, and sinners alike. Raise the motherfucken horns, as The AWS Intercontinental Champion is here and ready to rock, fuck, and kill! That being said, it's time to kick a new brand into high gear, starting on the 27^th of May.

Now before anyone says anything about where my partners are...We're very busy. Tonight we're hosting Black Stone Cherry on the main stage on the Pleasure Dome. It's gonna be fun, and plenty of bodies around. So yes, That's what they're working on. As for me, well I might as well get this show truly rolling, starting with an epic main event that will see me rock and victimize a couple of unfortunate 'champions', who are about to forfeit their souls. Of course, it's a wise idea to pay attention to what I'm about to immediately say regardless.

Leon slides the belt off his shoulder. He gathered it, and took a quick look at it, before setting it on the table, sitting up and facing the camera

Leon: When the devil makes a promise, he keeps it on his end. That is the plain and simple truth that all have to accept. This is what everyone on Tuesday Night Assault will know. And the first promise I made for myself when I was drafted, to Tuesday night Assault, that I would be holding gold. By the first true episode Of course the Champions Carnival is where I fulfilled my promise. The last Ward, I helped introduce the crew that truly runs this place, across all brands. The Black List Mafia.

Immediately my brother, the Silver Baron became the new AWS TV champion, and the ever sexy, ever dangerous 'Queen Paine' Carlotta Paine, claimed the AWS Goddess championship. You can't fucken tell me that any other group has had such immediate success. Oh but don't worry, we're not peaking. We're keeping this going as long as we please.

Leon got up and stretched for a second. He began to pace around a bit, still smoking his cigarette.

Leon: Now of course, you truly can't have the debut episode of Assault without your top champions. That happens to involve me, the Devil's Titan. Considering I am the undisputed first holder of this fine championship, It goes to show you what value I truly bring around here. So with that, There is what is called an all star tag team match as our main event, where Mason Hurst and Xander Croft will team up to take on the AWS Assault champion...a simpleton of a false god...Orphius Marius. He teams up with the Don of the Black List Mafia, the one and only AWS Intercontinental Champion...The Devil's Titan, Leon Roberts!

I got some things I admit I want to say about my tag team partner. It's no secret that he's gotten a couple victories over me, and that doesn't exactly work for me. But, I will save my disdain about that pile of crap for later. Right now, I might as well take a look at who I'm facing.

Leon took a long drag of his cigarette, before he began to chuckle. He had pure confidence in his side taking the victory, as he already has dealt with Xander and Mason before.

Leon: As we know, I've had dealings with the Centre Of Attention before. The only attention they received when they had to deal with me, was medical attention, for that thrashing that I inflicted on them, alongside with Derek Wellings. What makes anyone believe the outcome will be any fucken different? Spoiler alert, it's not.

Let's see why. First off, we have the big man, the Dominator Mason Hurst. A bit of a big dude I'll admit. Of course, when lined up to me, he looks like he's the one being dominated. All things considered, namely the fact that in our past fights, you don't have any victories over me. Yes, that includes the fact that others have been involved in the multiple team matches. But either way, didn't matter no matter the situation. The Titan dominated the Dominator, that's the plain and simple fact.

Leon took one last drag of his cigarette, before he tapped the ashes into a nearby ashtray. Leon then sat back down at the head of the table.

Leon: Don't expect it to change. Because from where I stand Mason, you're still in the exact same place I left you. Yeah your wounds healed, but you didn't benefit from the devil's mercy. You haven't used the opportunity of life, to seize what you want. That clearly shows to everyone is your true character. You rely to much on intimidation dude. So much so that when somebody who's more intimidating rolls up, you lose what little bit of shit aura you might have. You haven't been able to make me believe otherwise, and that's even...no.....ESPECIALLY, with you becoming a champion.

Don't get me wrong, you're not totally without merit. Anyone else, fine. Your size works to your advantage. Hell I'll reluctantly give you a half sliver of respect for managing to become the Next-LVL Champion. But even with that, the end result will be the same. Because all I am saying, is that you size and meager accomplishments...It means nothing against the Devil's Titan. But there is still potential Mason. I sense that blood lust. You need direction. I can give you that direction. I can give you that success. If you keep with your current friends in the Centre of Attention, you'll only find yourself failing miserably in the end. Of that, I can and will guarantee. Especially after you find yourself taking a Chaos Crash.

Leon once again smirked. Even though the camera wasn't recording right up against his eyes, it was easy to tell that there was a very distinct sadistic look to them.

Leon: Now as for Xander Croft, the C4 Division champion...Well somehow, there is somebody in this pathetic group that's managed to maintain success over a period of time. You've had that title since September, and are likely the longest reigning holder of that belt. Of course there is a bit of a caveat to that. See, the reasons you've been champion as long as you have been, starts with that by you holding that title, it means it's absolutely fucken worthless. Which directly leads into the other reason. I didn't want the C4 Division championship because it brings no value to me. If anything, that belt needs me far more that this title does.

Leon points to the Intercontinental championship that is on display on the table.

Leon: But I have no plans to get the C4 Division title. Maybe I might get a new recruit in, and have that person take that title away from you.

You call yourself the Tormentor. The only thing you torment, is everyone's ear drums when you open your mouth. Yet I have to also wonder what the fuck you have that you got a couple of two cent sluts with you, both in the ring and in bed. Well clearly, you can afford them. I know that neither of your chicks have any association with Vega and I. We got standards for our business. At least that part.

For what I alone will do to you, there's no telling just how depraved I will be when I ragodll your ass until your limbs fall off.

Leon began to chuckle for a moment. His imagination for what he can and will do to his opponents is clearly vast, and he clearly doesn't care who knows it either

Leon: Xander Croft. You can't hide behind Mason from neither me nor Orphius. Running will especially do you no good. You're going to be in the ring who will judge your fate, and of course, Orphius Marius. It will not take much effort to break you into many different pieces, and leave you all over the ring. Of course, it's nothing personal, it's just simple business. Which is especially telling of how little you actually mean in the bit picture Xander.

There's a reason why this match was dubbed all star main event, and it's not because of you. Mason Hurst hasn't proven much to argue that notion either. No. It's all me and Orphius Marius.

Leon looked directly at the camera. Whatever playful side to his sadism was evidently drained away now, replaced by pure malice. He even tisked, reluctantly showing a bit of respect.

Leon: Yes, I'll admit that he's somewhat worthy of standing along with me in this main event. As somebody who has technical victories over me, I am forced to acknowledge that. That factor alone Orphius, is the sole reason you are an X factor in this match. Well, maybe perhaps the choice you make will be that X factor.

What does that mean for you? Well from one chaotic divine being to a far lesser one, it means I want you to listen the fuck up. You and I have one thing in common. We don't like to lose. We have to show who's actually running Assault. Well as everyone will eventually find out, it is the Black List Mafia. Point is, even I must acknowledge you have your part to play on the brand. But it's a part you won't be playing for very long.

Leon stretched his neck out a bit, and side to side. The cracking sounds her audible to pick up. Leon would also follow that with cracking both sets of knuckles.

Leon: I would love, nothing more...than to rip your eyes out, skull fuck you directly into your eye lids, then skin you alive Orphius, before finishing you off by mounting you on your toy trident! You and Nygma both. For I will not allow such losses that were incurred before to remain unpunished. However, for the simple sake of victory and business, I will not give in to that rage, at least during the match. No. Focusing on the victory is all we should care about Orphius. So therefore Orphius....champ...I will not target you. But of course, you so much as look at me wrong, then it's game over, and the Black List Mafia will put you on Executioner's row, before you find yourself near the Titanic at the bottom of the North Atlantic.

However, that can be avoided Orphius. I'm willing to go a step beyond, and not cause you any sort of harm, unless you strike me or my crew first in any way of course. When you consider the fact that I would love to see you bleed out at my feet, you know something's got to give. That, plus well, me being me...There's something you will have to do for me. What it is, well it's the Assault Championship. If you want to leave on your two feet on Tuesday, you'll grant me that, and at the very given moment when I decide to take it. But if you decide that such a deal is beneath you, well it's as I said Orphius. You won't be walking out on your own two feet. Only in this case, it will be permanent.

Simply put Orphius, I'm making you an offer that you can't refuse. Choice is yours Orphius. Take my deal, and risk losing title. Reject my deal, and your fate will be exactly what I just said it would be. You will find yourself in an unmarked grave!

Leon began to laugh. The tone of his laughter was laced with malice and sadism. Suddenly, the sound of knocking and giggling can be heard from off camera. Leon smirked, recognizing some of them. He got up, and walked over to the closed door. He opened it up, to be greeted with the sight of Monica and Carlotta. They with very close with each other, as Leon welcomed them in.

Monica: Is this a bad time hun?

Leon: Not really. Just was finishing up ripping up the rest of the Assault Main Event.

Carlotta: The one where you and Orphius are taking on Centre of Attention?

Leon: Hell yeah.

Carlotta: Heh. Shit I got some stuff I need to say about those dolts.

Leon: By all means then. Come right in. Afterall, we're gonna rule this place afterall.

Monica: Yup. By the way, I just need you to look over some brands of champagne and other drinks. Vega is still busy with the band downstairs.

Carlotta: OOOOH I'm so excited. I'm ready to rock with Black Stone Cherry. Hell I'm ready to rock them.

All three chuckled at Carlotta's remark.

Monica: Yeah. Oh and Carlotta...Don't thing I didn't I see you getting a bit close with Lacey though.

Leon raised an eyebrow at what Monica said.

Carlotta: What of it? Bit jealous?

Monica: Hell no baby! I'm just glad to see you two are getting along.

Carlotta: Of course. Can't have any issues in this crew.

Leon nods in approval as he sits back down, satisfied with the fact that Carlotta is getting along with Leon's little sister/Silver Baron's wife. Monica stands behind him, hands on his chest. Carlotta Paine looks at the camera, and smirks. She bends over, holding her balance against the redwood table.

Carlotta: Xander and Mason...If you two twits remotely think that you can stand up to Orphius and the devil currently checking out my ass.

Leon: It's a sweet ass.

Monica: Indeed it is. quite a couple good handfuls to.

Carlotta smirked at the compliments, as she got a bit more comfortable.

Carlotta: Well the only thing I can say then, is you boys are smoking the wrong stuff. You see, in case you guys forgotten, the Devil's Titan Mafia born and raised! You twits will be "sleeping " with the fishes.

Monica: Including the master pimp Silver Baron, we are the Black List Mafia, bitches. We never miss our targets. Of course, one of them includes the truly delusional son of a bitch who's sharing one side of the ring with my husband. Orphius will soon be sent to hell, whenever we feel like it.

Carlotta: Tuesday Night Assault...Black List Mafia is all about sex and pure out violence. We go in for the absolute kills and maybe steal your sluts away from you. Though on second thought, we don't know what type of horrible diseases the skanks you two twits somehow managed to land have.

Black List Mafia is on the rise rise the success that we established day one ain't going away. We're the real motherfucken Centre of Attention now. Now do us a favor you two twits. Simply fade away for your own safety! That is unless you want to find you blood and guts all over the gates to hell in the Mojave Desert!

Carlotta Paine let's out a wicked smile. Her own craving for violence is seen on her face, as Leon claps his hands in approval.

Leon: Well said. Thanks for enforcing all I've said. Now AWS. The Black List Mafia is is taking over. The days where anyone can succeed are over. It's time to embrace lust and get real violent. Otherwise, you'll just be another body we send to hell. That especially includes you Orphius, if you reject my deal in any sort of way. As for the rest of my sinners, I'll see you Tuesday!