Lone Star Outlaws © vs. The War Gods

AWS Ward Tag Team Championships

Tag Team Match

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3x Maximum Promos, 2500 Word Limit

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[Scene Opens – A remote, smoke-filled battlefield. Thunder cracks. The sky is painted red with the glow of flame and fury. War drums beat like heartbeats made of iron. A granite war altar stands tall amidst shattered helmets, broken swords, and cracked championship belts.]

[Standing before it are the WAR GODS — ARES and ODIN. Towering, monstrous, scarred and snorting like bulls before the charge. Between them stands their high priestess of pain, the unhinged commander of chaos herself — VALHALLA VARGAS, clad in black leather and war paint, twirling a Norse battle standard in her hand.]

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Valhalla Vargas:
“Jay and Lance Williams. The Lone. Star. Outlaws.”
(She snorts with laughter, then slams the end of the battle standard into the ground.)
“You think because you’ve got some grit, a couple of cowboy hats, and a pretty nickname that you’re ready for war? Baby, the War Gods don’t care where you’re from — Texas, Tanzania, Tacoma, or Turkey. You could be riding in on stallions with stars on your boots and barbecue sauce in your veins, and it still wouldn’t save you!”

[Ares roars as he grabs a telephone pole-sized tree trunk lying nearby — and snaps it over his knee like a twig. Odin, not to be outdone, hoists a wrecked pickup truck (decorated with faux “Williams Ranch” signage) overhead and tosses it off-camera with a thunderous crash.]

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Odin (snarling):
“Do you know what we see when we look at the Lone Star Outlaws? We see meat. Bones to grind. Sinew to stretch. Blood to spill on the altar of conquest.”

Ares (deep, guttural growl):
“You ride under one flag. We ride for destruction. We are not from any land. We are not men of country. We are the eternal march of war — and your bodies are next beneath our boots.”

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Valhalla Vargas (cackling):
“My gods! My titans! My savage sons of slaughter! You can say it’s not personal. And you’re damn right — it’s not. This is nothing but the next glorious chapter in a saga of domination! You two could be the toughest in Amarillo or the strongest in San Antonio — hell, you could’ve lassoed thunder itself — and still…” (leans forward with a smile that would melt steel) “...you’re getting dismembered.”

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[Cut to slow-motion – Odin slamming a giant war hammer into the ground, causing it to split and crack like a battlefield quake. Ares throws a full steel keg into the air and then spears it mid-flight with a javelin. Sparks explode.]

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Odin:
“We are WAR GODS. And you? You’re just men. Men with bones that break. Flesh that tears. And spirits that will shatter beneath Ragnarok.”

Ares (snarling like a beast):
“Claim what territory you like. Wear whatever flag you want. None of it matters when your face is driven into the dirt and your arms are twisted the wrong way ‘round.”

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Valhalla Vargas (screaming to the heavens):
“This isn’t about disrespect. This is about conquest! You see, the War Gods — they don’t hate you, Lone Star Outlaws. They just don’t care. About your past. About your name. About your roots. If you stand in their way, they will plant you like crops for next season’s blood harvest!”

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[Camera zooms in tight on Ares and Odin — breathing like bulls, eyes burning with unholy fire.]

Ares:
“You ride out to the ring.”

Odin:
“We ride into battle.”

Valhalla Vargas (with a snarl and a devilish grin):
“WAR. IS. HERE.”

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[Fade to black as the war drums crescendo. The last image is the War Gods’ insignia carved into smoldering stone, dripping with blood.]

[END.]

We are the innovators of War

[Scene opens in a storm-drenched battlefield at dusk. Thunder rumbles in the distance. The camera pans over shattered shields, broken swords, and splintered helmets strewn across a desolate warzone. In the center of it all—standing tall, bloodied but unbowed—are The War Gods. Ares paces behind a blazing bonfire. Odin sits sharpening a battle axe, his eyes burning with a quiet fury. Valhalla Vargas, clad in a tattered fur cloak, steps into frame with a smirk as the fire flickers in her reflection.]

VALHALLA VARGAS:
“War Dogs… is it? Cute. Loyal. Obedient. Disciplined. But make no mistake—dogs still bark at the feet of gods. You speak of scars, of struggle, of the things you've endured… But boys, that’s just called Tuesday for the War Gods.”

[Ares steps forward, his massive frame cutting a silhouette against the firelight. He raises his arms, proudly displaying the ECWF Tag Team titles draped over each shoulder.]

ARES:
“Jay. Lance. You say you've been used? Manipulated? Betrayed? Then you should understand exactly who we are. We weren’t forged in politics, or locker room handshakes. We were forged in blood, and broken bones. In matches that ended careers, in wars that outlived their purpose. We are the storm that ends empires. And if you think your little sob story and slideshow will earn mercy—you are sorely mistaken.”

[Odin stands, tossing the axe into a wooden post with a THWACK. He cracks his neck and glares into the camera, eyes wild with battlelust.]

ODIN:
“You say you were trained under war… but we were born in it. You carry the past like a burden. We carry it like a weapon. Every betrayal, every funeral, every ‘boss’ who didn’t make it—we buried them and kept marching. Because the path to glory isn’t about survival. It’s about domination.”

[Valhalla steps forward again, adjusting the fur on her shoulders as she laughs lowly.]

VALHALLA VARGAS:
“You’re proud of what you’ve become. We’re proud of what we’ve conquered. You’re still trying to prove you belong. But we’ve already carved our names into the bones of this industry.”

[The camera cuts to rapid flashes of Ares and Odin flattening teams in ECWF and AWS—powerbombs through tables, tandem spears, brutal suplex combos. Then back to present.]

ARES:
“You want to talk about legacy? About rising from the ashes of broken teams? Good for you. Here’s the truth—your story ends with us. You call yourselves War Dogs? We chain dogs like you. We break their spirits. And when the final bell tolls, and you're lying in that ring gasping for breath… you'll look up at us—holding our belts, standing tall—and you'll realize...”

ODIN (growling):
“You never stood a chance.”

[The three step in unison, towering over the camera now.]

VALHALLA VARGAS (coldly):
“May your handlers mourn you. Because we won’t.”

[Odin yanks the axe from the post. Ares slams both titles together. Valhalla lets out a chilling war cry.]

IN UNISON:
“WE ARE THE WAR GODS. AND THIS IS YOUR FINAL BATTLE.”

[Fade to black with the sound of thunder cracking across the sky.]

The Line Starts Here!