[Scene opens with the bright pink-and-blue HCW Voltage graphic pulsing over roaring crowd noise. Fireworks blaze from the stage as the camera pans the packed arena. Signs wave, fans chant, and the Voltage theme fades down as the camera cuts to the announce desk.]
Sam Duffy:
Hello wrestling fans and welcome back to another installment of the HCW Wrestling Newsletter — this is HCW Voltage, and we are live with another stacked Saturday night right here on the Heritage Network. I’m Sam Duffy—
Rick Granger:
—and I’m Rick Granger, and before we dive into tonight’s action, we’d be remiss if we didn’t take a moment to acknowledge the loss of a true icon.
Sam Duffy:
Earlier this week, the wrestling world was rocked by the news that Hulk Hogan — the Immortal One — passed away at the age of 71. Whether you were cheering for him in red and yellow or booing him in black and white… Hulk Hogan defined generations.
Rick Granger:
He was charisma, larger-than-life, and an inspiration to millions. He taught us to train, say our prayers, and take our vitamins… and even now, I think the industry feels smaller without him in it.
Sam Duffy:
We send our heartfelt condolences to Hogan’s family, friends, and fans all around the world. Tonight, Voltage honors his legacy — and we know the spirit of competition lives on because of pioneers like him.
[The crowd begins chanting: "Thank you, Hogan! Thank you, Hogan!"]
Rick Granger (with a nod):
We hear ya.
Sam Duffy (composing himself):
And with that… we’ve got a wild show ahead. The NPCW’s own Tinsel Twins make their HCW debut. Jax Brenner is back in action tonight against Superstar Chic Monroe. The New Sicilians face the Dark Dominion. And in our main event — The Fangs of Despair defend their titles against Duke Knight and Biceps Bannerman!
Rick Granger:
But first, we kick things off with a Voltage debut that’s been glimmering in anticipation. Straight from the North Pole to Heritage Country — it’s time for the Tinsel Twins to show us what NPCW glitter grit looks like.
[Camera cuts to the ring where Tony Calibur stands ready with mic in hand, the crowd buzzing.]
Tony Calibur stood ready in the center of the ring as the arena lights dimmed, a sour reaction beginning to build from the crowd.
Tony Calibur:
“Ladies and gentlemen, your opening contest tonight is a tag team match scheduled for one fall… introducing first, at a combined weight of 283 pounds… Lavender Gooms and Leslie Grimes!”
The jeers rained down as Lavender and Leslie strutted out with smug swagger, decked out in shimmering black leather with matching sunglasses. Leslie chewed gum with condescending energy, while Lavender sneered at fans holding NPCW signs.
Sam Duffy:
“Well this crowd isn't exactly welcoming them with open arms…”
Rick Granger:
“They don’t have to be liked, Sam. They just have to be dangerous — and make no mistake, these two are certified voltage saboteurs.”
Inside the ring, Lavender and Leslie paced with growing agitation, watching the entrance ramp with contempt.
Tony Calibur:
“And their opponents… making their HCW debut, on loan from North Pole Championship Wrestling… at a combined weight of 240 pounds… please welcome the shining stars of the snowy circuit… Twinkle and Sparkle — THE TINSEL TWINS!”
Match #1: The Tinsel Twins vs Lavender Goomes and Leslie Grimes
Sparkle Twinkle
Silver glitter exploded across the stage as a shimmering spotlight followed the Twins onto the ramp. Twinkle blew a kiss to the crowd, while Sparkle pointed straight at Lavender with glitter-gloved fingers. Their gear was icy blue and white, shimmering like frosted glass under the lights.
Sam Duffy:
“Straight from the Arctic Apex to the Voltage Vortex — the Tinsel Twins have arrived!”
Rick Granger:
“Get your ornaments in order, Sam. These two didn’t come to hang decorations. They came to throw hands.”
Just as the Tinsel Twins reached the ringside apron, Lavender and Leslie pounced without hesitation — diving through the ropes and blindsiding the NPCW duo with vicious forearms and boots. Sparkle was thrown hard into the steel steps while Twinkle was whipped into the barricade, crashing with a thud.
Sam Duffy:
“Oh come on! Let them get in the ring first!”
Rick Granger:
“Veteran move by Gooms and Grimes — make ‘em sparkle after the match, not before.”
‘Honest’ Abe tried to separate the brawling teams and restore order. With some effort, he forced the heels to their corner and gave the Twins a moment to recover. Sparkle rolled in slowly, nodding to start the match, and the bell finally rang.
DING DING DING!
Sparkle, still reeling from the ambush, insisted on starting the match. Lavender didn’t waste a second, snapping her down with a hurricanrana and immediately tagging in Leslie Grimes.
Sam Duffy:
“That sneak attack gave them the upper hand, and Lavender’s already picking Sparkle apart!”
Rick Granger:
“That's the HCW welcome wagon right there — courtesy of Gooms and Grimes.”
Leslie barreled into Sparkle with a vicious running clothesline, knocking her flat. Sparkle tried to roll away, but Leslie dragged her back with a handful of hair. Sparkle finally struck back with a rolling neck snap, but as she sat up, Leslie countered with a crushing DDT, planting her hard.
Rick Granger:
"That neck’s taking a beating early — Leslie’s not just wrestling, she’s dissecting."
Leslie went for a pin, but Sparkle kicked out at two. Another tag brought Lavender back in, who hoisted Sparkle high into a press and slam, flexing with a sneer before slamming her down.
Sam Duffy:
“They are isolating Sparkle, cutting the ring in half — classic strategy.”
Sparkle kicked out again, barely, and then finally hit a sudden shining wizard out of nowhere that stunned Lavender long enough to reach her sister.
Twinkle came flying in like a sugar-frosted missile, diving forearm smashes knocking Lavender back. But the momentum shifted again as Lavender caught her in a double team — Leslie joined in, hitting a roll-up while Lavender landed a running leg drop across Twinkle’s spine.
Rick Granger:
“These double teams are ruthless. You’d think they’ve been tagging for decades.”
Sam Duffy:
“But here comes Twinkle — she just exploded out with a flying dropkick that wiped both of them out!”
The Tinsel Twins regrouped with a synchronized bulldog headlock from Twinkle and spin kick from Sparkle, finally putting Lavender down. But Lavender countered the next exchange with an electric chair drop, showing no signs of letting the match slip away.
Twinkle weathered more offense, enduring the Lavender Lock, before Sparkle made the save with a sharp inverted DDT. The Twins turned up the pace — flying body splash, hair mares, and even a schoolgirl roll-up in the flurry.
Sam Duffy:
“They’re throwing the whole holiday catalog at her now!”
Rick Granger:
“And Lavender’s still standing — I don’t know what’s scarier: her strength or her stamina.”
Tag after tag, near-fall after near-fall — the crowd was white-hot. In the final minutes, Twinkle hit a breathtaking surfboard submission on Leslie, nearly snapping her in half, but Leslie wouldn’t quit. Sparkle followed with a sidewalk slam, Twinkle tagged back in with a schoolgirl roll-up, and the fans were counting along…
But Leslie kicked out. Again.
Leslie fired back with a Russian leg sweep, then a second one with help from Lavender. Sparkle answered with a diving forearm, keeping the balance razor-thin. Back-and-forth they went — Leslie nailed a hurricanrana, Sparkle answered with a sunset flip, Twinkle hit a hair mare — and still no winner.
Finally, Leslie dropped Sparkle with another thunderous DDT and dove into a cover.
1… 2… KICKOUT! She yanked Sparkle up and hit another hurricanrana, then hooked the legs one more time.
1… 2… NO!
Sam Duffy:
“She kicked out again! My voice is cracking and I don’t even care!”
Rick Granger:
“This is insanity. Neither team’s backing down. They want the spotlight and they’re burning the house down to earn it!”
DING DING DING!
The bell rang sharply — time limit draw.
Tony Calibur:
“Ladies and gentlemen… the time limit has expired. This match is a draw!”
The crowd gave a standing ovation as both teams slowly stood, breathing heavily. The Tinsel Twins stared across the ring at Lavender and Leslie, and the glare was returned with venom. No handshakes. No respect. Just tension.
Sam Duffy:
“That was a war. A glitter-drenched, nail-splitting, brawl — and we’re no closer to finding out who the better team is.”
Rick Granger:
“All I know is, if they meet again… bring popcorn and body bags.”
[Cut to commercial — Voltage continues after the break.]
[Cut back from commercial to the buzzing arena. The lights dim slightly as a slow spotlight bathes the stage in gold and purple. “Superstar Standard” by Mock Velvet hits the speakers, dripping with arrogant swagger. The fans instantly drown the music in boos.]
Tony Calibur:
“The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first… from Malibu, California… weighing in at 222 pounds… he is the star you can’t cancel — the man who always trends — Superstar Chic Monroe!”
Sam Duffy:
“Here comes a man who never met a camera he didn’t love… and a mirror he didn’t kiss.”
Rick Granger:
“I’ll give him this — Chic Monroe has talent. He just prefers to use it sparingly… like a TikTok post he thinks is too good for the algorithm.”
Monroe struts down the ramp in a pink velvet jacket, blowing kisses to the fans while sneering at their reactions. He steps onto the apron, makes a dramatic turn with his arms outstretched, and mouths “You’re welcome” before stepping through the ropes.
[The lights suddenly cut — and the first few notes of “Blood Trail” by The Hollow Pines echo through the arena. A spotlight shines on the stage as Jax Brenner steps through the curtain, broad-shouldered and serious, with Molly Mason at his side.]
Tony Calibur:
“And his opponent… accompanied by Molly Mason… from Fairbanks, Alaska… weighing in at 264 pounds… The Alaskan Wildman — Jax Brenner!”
Sam Duffy:
“Jax Brenner. All business. And tonight, maybe a little more burdened than usual.”
Rick Granger:
“He’s been carrying more than just the fight lately, Sam. Something’s been gnawing at him… and Molly looks concerned.”
Jax marches to the ring with intensity, his jaw clenched, eyes never leaving Monroe. Molly follows closely, her expression guarded — less the usual cheerleader, more the watchful protector. Jax climbs the steps and enters the ring without fanfare.
Monroe lounges in the corner, smirking, mouthing “Bigfoot’s mad again” toward the hard camera. Jax doesn’t respond. His focus is absolute.
Sam Duffy:
“You can feel it. There’s a storm under that fur-lined shell… and Monroe might be first in the path.”
Rick Granger:
“Be careful what you provoke, Superstar.”
[‘Honest’ Abe checks both competitors. Monroe winks at the referee. Jax doesn't move. The bell rings.]
DING DING DING!
Match #2: Jax Brenner w/Molly Mason vs Superstar Chic Monroe
The bell sounded and the match opened with surprising pace as both men clashed in the center. Jax powered through Monroe with a devastating Pickaxe clothesline that nearly ended it immediately, but Monroe spun out with a giant swing to stay alive.
Sam Duffy:
“Jax came out like a frozen freight train! And Monroe just tried to whip him into a snowstorm!”
Rick Granger:
“Yeah, but you’ve got to give the devil his due — Chic’s finding a way to hang around.”
The next exchange saw Jax ground Monroe with a thunderous bodyslam, but the self-proclaimed Superstar fired back with a sharp Swiss uppercut. He kept hammering them in with precision, staggering the Alaskan Wildman into the ropes. When Jax tried to lock in the Sasquatch Squeeze, Monroe slipped out and caught him flush with a bicycle kick.
Sam Duffy:
“Monroe’s offense is crisp — I hate his attitude, but the guy’s technical.”
Rick Granger:
“That’s why he frustrates people, Sam. He could be great… but he’s too busy posing.”
Jax shook off the hit and returned fire with another bone-rattling Pickaxe, dropping Monroe flat. A pin followed — two-count! Then another Pickaxe… and another! Monroe kicked out each time, but his body was showing signs of collapse.
Sam Duffy:
“That’s the third Pickaxe in six minutes. Jax is wearing him down like a glacier splitting rock.”
Somehow, Monroe pulled it together and surprised Jax with a go-behind slam, then spiked him with a powerbomb from the top rope, earning a near fall that made Molly’s heart skip on the outside.
Jax kicked out, barely, but Monroe didn’t let up. He dropped him with a cradle facebuster, hooked the leg — and still only got two.
Rick Granger:
“You want to talk about determination? That’s not just muscle keeping Jax in this, that’s guilt. That’s pressure. That’s pain.”
Sam Duffy:
“Whatever’s going on inside him, it’s keeping him vertical.”
Monroe smirked as he backed into the corner, blew a mocking kiss toward Molly, and shouted across the ring:
“COME ON, BIGFOOT! SHOW ME SOMETHIN’!”
That was a mistake.
Jax’s eyes locked onto him with something primal. With a growl more beast than man, he surged forward and leveled Monroe with the Bigfoot Bomb — a spinning uranage that shook the mat.
Sam Duffy:
“He just flattened him! That wasn’t a move — that was a seismic event!”
Monroe’s dazed body barely stirred when Jax dragged him back up, snarled through gritted teeth, and crushed him with a final, unforgiving Pickaxe.
Rick Granger:
“Done. Toast. Stick a fork in ‘em — Monroe just got mauled.”
‘Honest’ Abe slid into position.
1… 2… 3!
Tony Calibur:
“Here is your winner… The Alaskan Wildman… JAX BRENNER!”
[The bell rang, but Jax didn’t celebrate. He rose slowly, his breathing heavy, eyes distant. Molly entered the ring, clearly relieved — but concerned. As Monroe lay motionless, barely twitching, Jax turned to her.]
Jax Brenner (quietly):
“I need to talk to you. Now.”
Molly blinked, stunned. But she nodded and followed him out of the ring without another word. Jax didn’t even look at the crowd. The wildman walked up the ramp like a man headed into a storm.
Sam Duffy:
“There’s something going on behind those eyes, Rick. Something heavy.”
Rick Granger:
“And I don’t think it’s just about winning matches anymore.”
[Back in the ring, referees helped revive Monroe, who stirred only slightly, his head rolling as the crowd jeered. He was still trying to figure out what hit him.]
[Scene opens backstage in a dim corridor, lit by flickering red overhead lights. A cold air seems to emanate from the shadows as the camera centers on Candace Hart, standing with microphone in hand. Behind her, like wolves surrounding prey, stand Count Vlad, Beastfang, and Terror Fang (Wilber) — the air thick with tension.]
Candace Hart:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m joined at this time by Count Vlad and the Dark Dominion’s Beastfang and Terror Fang — who face the New Sicilians later tonight in what promises to be a volatile tag team showdown. Count Vlad—”
Count Vlad (smiling, cutting her off):
“Ahh, Miss Hart. The light behind the curtain. Like a candle in the crypt.”
[Candace stiffens slightly, then lifts the mic toward him.]
Count Vlad:
“Tonight, the Sicilians — how do they say it? ‘Come heavy or not at all.’ Yes? How dramatic. How quaint. But unfortunately, for them… they come to war with two monsters who do not fear bullets, bats, or bloodlines.”
Beastfang (growling low):
“Bones will crack... and the names on the tombstones will read ‘Albano.’”
Count Vlad (nods slowly):
“Very poetic, my Beast. You see, tonight is not just about hurting them… though we will. It is about humbling them. These New Sicilians think they represent legacy… but legacy means nothing when fed to the wolves.”
[Terror Fang slowly steps forward, tilting his head like a curious predator.]
Terror Fang (whispering, then building):
“They came in suits. They came with smiles. They came with bloodlines and pride and pasta-stained promises. But they ain't ready for us. 'Cause when you walk into the Dominion's hunting grounds, you don’t walk out with an offer… you walk out in an urn.”
[He starts pacing slowly.]
Terror Fang:
“They like to talk tough. They throw words like ‘family’ around. Well let me ask you somethin’... where was the family when the fangs sunk in? Where was the big rescue? Where was—”
“And where was Bubba Jaxie?”
[Vlad chuckles at the question, Terror Fang's eyes light up in sinister joy.]
Terror Fang:
“Yeah… where was he? Not in our path. Not beside you. Not behind you. Maybe he’s finally figured out that when the lights go out, the Dominion eats what’s left.”
Count Vlad (calmly, venomously):
“Tell your Don, your uncle, your cousins, your consigliere — we are not negotiating. There will be no title shots, no turf claims, no vendettas… only ashes. That is what the New Sicilians are walking into.”
[He straightens his cuffs, then grins with eyes cold as ice.]
Count Vlad:
“Enjoy the match, Miss Hart. I’m certain your viewers will… as always.”
[Beastfang growls, Terror Fang chuckles to himself like he just heard the punchline to a dark joke, and Count Vlad leads them off into the shadows.]
Candace Hart (quietly, to herself):
“…That’s never not chilling.”
[Segment ends.]
[Back inside the arena, the lights shift to a pulsing yellow-and-purple strobe as jagged guitar riffs pierce the air. The crowd reacts with a mix of anticipation and unease as Owen Zestwell steps onto the stage, hoodie up, head low.]
Tony Calibur:
“The following contest is scheduled for one fall… and the winner will become the number one contender for the HCW Hardcore Championship! Introducing first… from Denton, Texas… weighing in at 216 pounds… Owen Zestwell!”
Sam Duffy:
“This is a man who’s had war waged within his own family, and he’s brought that fire into the ring every week since.”
Rick Granger:
“Yeah, well that fire’s about to meet turbulence, because his opponent tonight doesn’t know the meaning of ‘grounded.’”
[As Owen stalks to the ring, eyes locked forward, the lights fade briefly—then explode in a flash of teal and silver as upbeat synths blast from the speakers. A massive pop erupts from the crowd as Noah “High Flyer” Murphy bounds onto the ramp, arms outstretched like wings.]
Tony Calibur:
“And his opponent… from Kansas City, Missouri… weighing in at 194 pounds… Noah ‘High Flyer’ Murphy!”
Sam Duffy:
“Noah Murphy has the heart of a lion, the speed of a jet, and a head full of dreams. He’s been chasing gold for months — and tonight, he’s one win away.”
Rick Granger:
“Only problem is, there’s no runway in the Hardcore Division — it’s barbed wire and broken bones. Let’s see if he’s ready to take off… or crash land.”
[Noah hits the ring, saluting the fans with a quick point to the sky before locking eyes with Owen. The two don’t say a word — just a slow, tense nod of mutual respect as ‘Honest’ Abe calls them to the center.]
DING DING DING!
Match #3: Noah Murphy vs Owen Zestwell for the #1 contender to the Hardcore title
From the opening bell, both men came out swinging with speed and purpose. Owen caught Noah with a crisp Orange Juicer, only for Murphy to respond instantly with a leaping enzuigiri that rattled Zestwell’s skull.
Sam Duffy:
“These two know what’s at stake — the Hardcore title, a guaranteed shot at one of the most dangerous wrestlers in HCW. No time for warmups.”
Rick Granger:
“Yeah, and you can already see Noah trying to knock Owen’s fillings into the fourth row.”
Owen slowed the pace momentarily with a Slow Motion Kick, but Noah fired back with a sudden powerbomb that slammed the Orange Fury hard onto the canvas. Another exchange followed: calf kick from Murphy, headlock from Zestwell, but Murphy reversed and nailed another calf kick to the sternum.
Momentum began to shift toward the High Flyer, who mixed strikes and holds like a seasoned veteran, chaining offense with a beautiful cradle facebuster and German suplex combination.
Rick Granger:
“Noah’s using his speed like a scalpel. Every movement calculated — every strike lands like a receipt.”
Sam Duffy:
“But Owen Zestwell’s been through straps, scars, and Zestwells — and he’s still breathing. That says something.”
Owen dug deep and countered with a Jersey Driver, planting Noah into the mat. He covered — two count! A second Orange Juicer had the crowd on their feet, but Noah kept kicking out, refusing to stay down.
As Noah tried to regain his footing with a back suplex, Owen saw an opening. He heaved Murphy to the outside with a throw out of the ring, sending him crashing into the barricade.
Sam Duffy:
“Uh-oh… the referee’s counting!”
Noah stirred… crawled to the apron… but the count was already at seven… then eight… then—
9… 10!
Tony Calibur:
“Here is your winner, by count-out… and the new number one contender for the HCW Hardcore Championship… Owen ‘Orange Fury’ Zestwell!”
Rick Granger:
“That wasn’t the prettiest finish, but it’s official — Owen just punched his ticket to Hell.”
Sam Duffy:
“You know what comes next… and I think we’re about to find out.”
[The lights abruptly dim. A blood-red spotlight hits the ramp as haunting choral music rises beneath the hum of static. From the curtain steps the HCW Hardcore Champion — Hell’s Fang… The Morningstar — robed in black and crimson, face half-covered by his fanglike death mask.]
Rick Granger:
“Uh oh. Uh oh. Incoming madness.”
The Morningstar marched to the ring, eyes locked on Owen, who braced for a fight. He didn’t have to wait long. The Hardcore Champion slid under the ropes and blindsided Zestwell with a headbutt to the temple, followed by a swift knee to the ribs. The crowd erupted in boos.
Sam Duffy:
“This isn’t a warning — this is a message!”
The Morningstar grabbed Owen by the face, forcing him to look directly into the hollow of his mask.
Morningstar (growling):
“You want pain, Zestwell? You want my blood?
Then yours… will FLOW FIRST.”
He dropped Owen with a spinning shining wizard, then rolled out of the ring, clutching the Hardcore title to his chest like a sacred relic. The message was clear.
Rick Granger:
“I’ve seen deathmatch legends shake when the Morningstar comes calling… and Owen just earned himself a front row seat to a horror film.”
Sam Duffy:
“And I think he’s the one getting dismembered.”
[Cut to commercial as Owen recovers slowly, staring up the ramp where the Morningstar stands motionless, waiting.]
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[Back in the arena, the lights flare pink and silver as bass-heavy pop-punk music rips through the speakers. The crowd boos immediately as the brash and bitter Missy Chick struts out from the back, gum snapping between her teeth and arrogance dripping from her every step.]
Tony Calibur:
“The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first… from Jersey City, New Jersey… Missy Chick!”
Sam Duffy:
“Here comes Missy Chick — no-nonsense, short-tempered, and always out to ruin someone else’s good time.”
Rick Granger:
“Or as she calls it, ‘setting the record straight.’ Say what you want about her attitude, she’s got enough bite to crack concrete.”
[Missy slides under the ropes, jawing with fans at ringside and pointing to herself with a smug grin. She backs into the corner, yelling at ‘Honest’ Abe to hurry up with the check.]
[Suddenly, the arena lights flicker and fade to deep violet as eerie, whimsical music swells — a haunting melody laced with childlike chimes and sinister undertones. Fog seeps onto the stage, and through it steps Grizelda — the Witch of Sweets — wearing her sugar-dusted bonnet, tattered shawl, and a wicked smile. Behind her, emerging like a shadow in human form, is Count Vlad.]
Tony Calibur:
“And her opponent… representing the Witches Coven… accompanied to the ring by Count Vlad… Grizelda!”
Sam Duffy:
“There she is — the sugar-coated nightmare from the gingerbread crypt herself.”
Rick Granger:
“I still don’t know if she’s gonna cast a spell, bake a child, or rip Missy Chick in half with a candy cane spike. And now Vlad’s out here too? Great…”
[Grizelda walks slowly toward the ring, staring at Missy with wide, unblinking eyes. In her hand is a basket filled with lollipops wrapped in spider silk. Count Vlad follows close behind, stopping at ringside and nodding toward the commentary table.]
Count Vlad (calmly):
“If you don’t mind, gentlemen… I believe this one warrants a close inspection.”
Sam Duffy:
“Of course, Count Vlad joining us here at commentary—please, make yourself comfortable.”
Rick Granger (under his breath):
“Yeah, just don’t bite us.”
[Grizelda slinks into the ring and places her candy basket neatly in the corner. Her eyes never leave Missy. She licks her lips — slowly. Meanwhile, Vlad dons a headset with a polite smile and folded hands, settling in beside Sam and Rick.]
Sam Duffy:
“This just got even more unsettling.”
Rick Granger:
“Do we get danger pay for this? I feel like we should.”
[‘Honest’ Abe calls for the bell as both competitors circle each other warily, the smell of sugar and sulfur thick in the air.]
DING DING DING!
Match #4: Grizelda of the Witches Coven w/Count Vlad vs Missy Chick.
The bell rang and the two competitors collided in a clash of personalities — Missy Chick, scrappy and loud, versus Grizelda, eerie and unpredictable. Grizelda’s first move wasn’t even her own — Count Vlad, seated at commentary, leaned into his mic with a whisper:
Count Vlad:
“Perhaps… a little focus for our foe.”
Missy staggered mid-step, clutching her temples as Vlad’s signature Evil Eye fell upon her. The distraction allowed Grizelda to lash forward with a wild rake across the back and a twisted hair pull snap mare series, throwing Missy off balance.
Sam Duffy:
“That wasn’t even magic — that was psychological warfare with a smile.”
Rick Granger:
“Can we have security put garlic on the desk next time Vlad comes out here?”
To her credit, Missy answered back with raw aggression — countering Grizelda’s theatrics with a running clothesline, a crisp Japanese armdrag, and locking in a deep scissored armbar that had the crowd gasping.
Sam Duffy:
“Say what you want about Missy Chick, but she’s taking this witch’s head clean off.”
Rick Granger:
“And still chewing gum while she does it!”
Grizelda hissed and escaped, only to walk straight into a guillotine choke that nearly ended things — but Vlad remained seated, hands folded, eyes twinkling.
The tide turned again when Grizelda cracked Missy across the chest with a stiff kick, then followed up with more punishing snap mares and open palm strikes. The two traded offense in a dizzying spiral of momentum. Missy nailed a Missy Plex, but couldn't hold the bridge. She went for the exploder suplex moments later and connected — but it wasn’t enough.
Then came Vlad’s second subtle strike — a quick distraction from ringside during a crucial hold. He didn’t move from his seat, merely nodded toward Missy, who turned her head for just a moment — and that was enough.
Rick Granger:
“Every time she loses focus, Vlad's got a leash around her ankle.”
Sam Duffy:
“And Grizelda’s yanking it like it’s a holiday candy cane.”
Grizelda surged with a small package that nearly won the match, and when that failed, Vlad stood silently… then slowly raised a finger toward the ring.
Count Vlad:
“Finish her… now.”
Missy tried one last rally with a diving elbow, but Grizelda cut her off with a final, sickening kick to the chest that sent Missy flipping onto her back.
1… 2… 3!
Tony Calibur:
“Here is your winner… Grizelda!”
Grizelda cackled, leaning into her basket of sweets in the corner, unwrapping a sticky black lollipop and licking it with twisted glee as if it were a victory trophy. Count Vlad removed his headset and stood silently beside her as she exited the ring.
Sam Duffy:
“You know, she didn’t need a broomstick — just a cold command from the man beside her.”
Rick Granger:
“Grizelda wins. The Coven’s representative gains ground. And I think Missy just got hexed out of a win.”
[Grizelda and Vlad disappear into the curtain, her lullaby-like theme echoing behind them as Missy kicks the bottom rope in frustration. Voltage rolls on.]
[Airing on the Omegatron.]
Backstage, GM Max McGillicutty announces that the triple threat match for the World Title is confirmed. The fans in the audience pop at this. Max holds up a finger. “You think a match of the caliber will be given to you for free? You are sadly mistaken. You want to see the three top superstars duke it out for the World Championship? Buy the PPV; buy tickets to the event. No one gets anything for free.” Max smiles as the fans boo him. He doesn’t care.
[Backstage with Jax Brenner and Molly Mason]:
We cut to Jax and Molly sitting in a quiet, dimly lit corner of the building. Jax is appears shaken to his core... Molly is doing her best to console him. Pleading with him to talk to her but he has been silent... Finally, he breaks down and says this.
"Molly, I appreciate all that you have done for me... You have no idea how much you have helped me since we met that day in the hospital. I absolutely would have been lost without your caring... You have been my guiding light back to my humanity I think it's time to tell you the whole truth of what happened that fateful night.
I lost my whole family that night and it was my fault... As you well know, I have a burning rage inside me. I always have... It's infected me into the very pits of my soul. I do my best to keep it in check but when I am cornered, desperate and alone, it calls to me ... It's like a primal force takes hold and envelopes me.
That night during the assault of the Sasquatch, I thought all was lost but then the Wild inside me called and I answered... I lost all control and blacked out... When I came back to my senses, the alpha male Sasquatch was dead at my feet and the others had fled. Maybe I could have saved my family if I had kept my senses but I was completely blood-lusted. I couldn't control myself! The beast inside me was unleashed and it saved me that night but it cost me everything that I cared about. I will never forgive myself for that.”
Molly consoles Jax as tears stream down his face as we cut away...
[The arena lights darken slightly as the familiar opening tones of “Omertà’s Lament” by The Honor Code rumble over the sound system. A chorus of jeers fills the air as smoke pours from the ramp. Out step the New Sicilians — Dirty Dick Albano leading the charge with Vicious Vinnie flanking him, both in matching pinstripe vests, scowls on their faces. Behind them, ever-calculated, walks Pierre Boulay, adjusting his cuffs.]
Tony Calibur:
“The following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first… accompanied by Pierre Boulay… at a combined weight of 476 pounds… Dirty Dick and Vicious Vinnie — the New Sicilians!”
[As they saunter toward the ring, Dick sneers at a fan holding a “Dark Dominion Owns You” sign and steps toward the barricade.]
Dirty Dick Albano (pointing):
“You ever draw another sign with my name on it, I’ll break that crayon in your mouth.”
Rick Granger:
“Well! That’s one way to win hearts and minds.”
Sam Duffy:
“The Sicilians aren’t here for popularity contests — they’re here to make statements… with fists and vendettas.”
[They enter the ring slowly, pacing like caged animals. Pierre directs traffic from the apron, never taking his eyes off the entrance stage.]
[Suddenly, a cold wind seems to wash through the arena as the lights plunge into shadows. A crimson spotlight hits the stage. The haunting tones of “Howls of Dominion” by Cradle of Oath slither through the air. Out steps Beastfang, snarling behind his iron muzzle, arms twitching with rage. Behind him comes Terror Fang — aka Wilber Townsend — face painted like a tribal demon, crawling halfway down the ramp before rising.]
Sam Duffy:
“Oh no. Oh no. They sent these two?”
Rick Granger:
“Beastfang and Wilber. That’s like unleashing a bear and a banshee at the same time.”
[And behind them… emerges Count Vlad, dressed in a blood-red suit jacket with black serpent embroidery. He walks slowly, controlling the chaos before him like a composer leading his orchestra of violence.]
Tony Calibur:
“And their opponents… accompanied by Count Vlad… at a combined weight of 493 pounds… Beastfang and Terror Fang — The Dark Dominion!”
[The crowd roars, not out of love, but out of awe. The Dominion owns the ring before they even reach it. Beastfang climbs onto the apron with a feral snarl. Wilber slides under the bottom rope like a predator entering a nest. Vlad watches from the floor, clasping his hands behind his back like a man with no fear — only plans.]
Rick Granger:
“There is no tag team in the world that feels more like a horror film than these two. And the New Sicilians might’ve just walked into the third act.”
Sam Duffy:
“But don’t forget — the Sicilians fight dirty. And they’ve got something the Dominion hates: pride they didn’t give them.”
[‘Honest’ Abe lays out the rules, but no one’s listening. The two sides are locked in a stare that could ignite a war. The bell is only a formality now.]
Before the bell even rang, Rick Granger laid it out plainly:
Rick Granger:
“If the New Sicilians win this match, they don’t just get bragging rights — they get a World Tag Team Title shot. That’s the kind of score Pierre Boulay has been itching to cash in on.”
Sam Duffy:
“But to get that win, they’ll have to go through two of Vlad’s unleashed monsters. I wouldn’t bet against the fangs — not without garlic and backup.”
DING DING DING!
Match #5: Beastfang & Wilber w/ Vlad vs the New Sicilians w/Pierre
VS
Beastfang and Dirty Dick started things off, and it was chaos from the start. Count Vlad, seated calmly at ringside, gave a casual hand motion — and a moment later, Dirty Dick dropped to one knee, distracted by Vlad’s piercing Transylvania Spike glare. Beastfang charged in, but Dick baited him right into a knee drop to the throat, then tagged out to Vinnie as Beastfang wisely tagged in Wilber.
Wilber came in hot, but the New Sicilians double-teamed him immediately. Eye rakes, hair pulling, cheap shots — everything you’d expect from a couple of old-school goons dressed like they ran off a Scorsese set. Wilber fought back with a flurry of forearms and a sharp short-arm clothesline, but the Sicilians swarmed again.
Sam Duffy:
“There’s no finesse here. It’s straight-up mugging.”
Rick Granger:
“Dirty Dick and Vicious Vinnie didn’t come to wrestle. They came to win. And they don’t care who they bleed to do it.”
Vinnie pulled out a foreign object — something metal and nasty — and cracked Beastfang in the ribs. A quick cover only got two. Beastfang, snarling and clutching his side, powered back with a deadlift German suplex, but Vinnie rammed him into the turnbuckles repeatedly, smothering him in the corner.
Count Vlad remained seated, steepling his fingers at commentary.
Count Vlad:
“Sometimes… even monsters must taste steel before they evolve.”
The pace hit a violent fever pitch. Wilber crushed Vinnie with a Go to Sleep, followed by a ram into the ring post that sent Vinnie collapsing like a felled tree. Wilber went for the pin, but Vinnie kicked out. The two brawled, trading hammering shots until Vinnie again used the foreign object behind Abe’s back for another near fall.
The match boiled into all-out war. The New Sicilians executed a nasty double team sequence: rising knee strike, hair pull, and a smash into the buckle. Wilber still wouldn’t stay down.
Sam Duffy:
“I swear, Wilber bleeds barbed wire.”
Then came the turn.
Wilber made the tag to Beastfang, who surged back into the match like a snarling freight train. He hit the ropes — but Dirty Dick caught him with a gouge to the eyes, sending the beast stumbling into the ropes.
But it didn’t stop there.
Rick Granger:
“Hey! Hey!! Look at Dick’s boot! He’s got Beastfang hooked on the second rope!”
Dick yanked Beastfang down by the mask, draped him over the middle rope, and used the full five-count to choke him viciously across the steel cable. He hoisted Beastfang to the top turnbuckle hitting a HUGE Superplex from the top turnbuckle. Then, grabbing Beastfang by the tights, he rolled him up into a small package, feet clearly planted on the ropes, hands full of tights as Abe, oblivious, dropped to the mat to make the count.
1… 2… 3!!!
Tony Calibur:
“Here are your winners… The New Sicilians!”
Sam Duffy:
“No way! That wasn’t just a steal — that was a mob job!”
Rick Granger:
“Pierre Boulay just bought his boys a ticket to a title match — paid in deception and rope leverage!”
[Pierre was elated on the outside, shouting and pointing to the camera: “WORLD TITLE SHOT, BABY! IT’S COMING!” Meanwhile, Dirty Dick rolled out of the ring, laughing and flashing a mocking wink toward Count Vlad.]
[Vlad didn’t flinch. He simply stood up… adjusted his cufflinks… and once joined by Beastfang and Terror Fang, walked calmly to the back, the storm brewing behind his eyes.]
Sam Duffy:
“I don’t think Count Vlad finds this outcome amusing…”
Rick Granger:
“Oh no. But he remembers. And the Sicilians better keep that head on a swivel… or they’ll find out what happens when monsters hunt with intent.”
The Morton Report
Special Guest: Grizelda of the Witches Coven
[Scene cuts backstage to the signature set of The Morton Report. The familiar desk sits before a modest projection screen, with the always-poised Larry Morton seated stage left in his gray checkered blazer and steel-rimmed glasses. Papers in hand, he looks directly into the camera.]
Larry Morton:
“Good evening, wrestling fans. Larry Morton here. My guest tonight isn’t your average rising star — she’s a conjuration of menace wrapped in sugar and soot. But before we welcome her to The Morton Report, I’d like to present a video that aired last week on NPCW’s Polar Power, where it all began.”
[The screen fades to black… then flickers with a purplish hue as the NPCW video begins.]
[PRE-RECORDED FOOTAGE – NPCW Polar Power, 7/19]
Wicked Witch (voice echoing through the mist):
“Grizelda... come forward.”
[From a shadowed archway within the Coven’s lair, Grizelda emerges, steam rising from her fingers, eyes glowing with anticipation.]
Wicked Witch:
“The time has come for you to journey beyond these cursed halls. Head south... far south. Seek out a master of manipulation — a maestro of malevolence. Learn from him. Drink deep from the well of his darkness.”
[Grizelda’s grin widens like a child promised candy and chaos.]
Wicked Witch:
“Grow stronger. Meaner. Hungrier. Return to us reborn in shadow... and take your rightful place at our side. All glory...”
All Witches (chanting, voices layered):
“To the Coven.”
[Grizelda raises her hands high, and in a sudden burst of purple smoke and a shriek of ravens, she vanishes.]
[The camera lingers on the Wicked Witch, Willow, and Morrigan as they cackle in sinister delight.]
[Back to HCW — The Morton Report set. The video ends. The lights dim slightly.]
Larry Morton:
“And tonight, she stands before us — no longer just the Witch of Sweets… but a dark emissary of purpose. Please welcome from the Witches Coven… Grizelda.”
[The camera pans as Grizelda enters the set slowly, wearing a tattered black cloak over her usual candy-laced attire. Her fingers twitch as if still simmering with hexes. She doesn't sit — she stands behind the chair, eyes locked on Larry.]
Larry Morton (measured):
“Grizelda, thank you for joining me. You've made quite an impression in HCW already. But let’s begin where your journey south began. That… moment. That calling.”
Grizelda (grinning):
“I heard her voice in my sleep… and awoke to the scent of ash and opportunity. The Coven sent me with a purpose, Larry… not to play games… but to infect this world with our will.”
Larry Morton:
“You were sent to learn from Count Vlad — a man some call the Master Manipulator. What have you taken from your time under his shadow?”
Grizelda (smirking, licking her teeth):
“Vlad showed me how to turn cruelty into currency. How to smile while you’re bleeding someone dry. How to hide the fang inside the fudge.”
Larry Morton:
“So… your goal here? Is it conquest? Corruption? Conversion?”
Grizelda (tilting her head, voice lilting):
“I want to bake something special, Larry. A kingdom... made of broken dreams and bitter sugar. Missy Chick was just the first batch. There will be others. I’m collecting… ingredients.”
[She takes a lollipop from her apron and crushes it between her fingers.]
Grizelda:
“One by one. Snap… crackle… curse.”
Larry Morton (visibly uneasy, but composed):
“Well… fans, whether you believe in witches or not, you will believe in what Grizelda has done inside that ring. She’s already made HCW take notice. And if this alliance between Count Vlad and the Witches Coven continues…”
Grizelda (softly, interrupting):
“Oh… it’s already begun. You just haven’t tasted the spell yet.”
[She cackles softly — not wild and unhinged like before, but with a calm, eerie control. Then she turns and glides out of frame as the camera lingers on Larry, who exhales slowly and clears his throat.]
Larry Morton:
“We’ll be right back.”
[Fade to black.]
[The lights pulse gold and red as a military-style horn riff blares through the arena. The crowd comes alive with cheers as the powerhouse duo of Duke Knight and Biceps Bannerman emerge from the tunnel — Bannerman flexing to the crowd while Duke nods with stoic intensity.]
Tony Calibur:
“The following contest is your main event of the evening and is for the HCW Heritage Tag Team Championship! Introducing first, the challengers… at a combined weight of 509 pounds… Duke Knight and Biceps Bannerman!”
Sam Duffy:
“Two of the strongest men in HCW, and tonight they’ve got one shot to rip the Heritage gold away from the fanged freaks of the Dominion.”
Rick Granger:
“You’ve got heart, muscle, and honor walking to the ring — but is that enough when your opponents are carved from something... inhuman?”
[Bannerman slaps hands with fans, but Duke stays focused, eyes glued to the ramp. They hit the ring together and stand shoulder to shoulder, ready for war.]
[The arena suddenly plunges into shadow. Blood-red lights circle the stage. Then the guttural chant of “Venom Psalm” by Coven Cradle floods the sound system. The curtain parts to reveal Dr. Red Fang and Nightfang, arms outstretched like crucified silhouettes in a funeral blaze. Behind them, arms folded, cape trailing, emerges Count Vlad.]
Tony Calibur:
“And their opponents… accompanied by Count Vlad… at a combined weight of 475 pounds… they are the reigning and defending HCW Heritage Tag Team Champions… Dr. Red Fang and Nightfang — The Fangs of Despair!”
Sam Duffy:
“They’ve turned back every challenge thrown at them since winning those belts… and they’ve done it with surgical precision and pure malice.”
Rick Granger:
“And don’t forget, Count Vlad’s not just out here for ambiance — if the situation calls for it, he’ll pull every string in the theater.”
[Red Fang slinks down the ramp in his signature medical overcoat, mask gleaming beneath the lights. Nightfang moves beside him, silent and brooding, one fang gleaming between curled lips. Vlad walks behind them like a puppetmaster with living weapons.]
[As they enter the ring, Red Fang removes his gloves and tosses them aside like surgical waste. Nightfang perches in the corner like a predator on a ledge. Vlad paces outside the ropes, his eyes scanning Bannerman and Duke like a surgeon choosing an incision point.]
Rick Granger (under his breath):
“May whatever honor Duke and Bannerman carry in their hearts… survive what’s about to be done to them.”
Sam Duffy:
“The titles are on the line… and Voltage ends with war.”
[‘Honest’ Abe raises the Heritage Tag Titles in the center of the ring as both teams move to their corners. The crowd is buzzing. The atmosphere is thick. The bell is about to ring.]
DING DING DING!
Match #6: The Main Event: The Fangs of Despair w/Count Vlad vs Duke Knight & Biceps Bannerman for the Heritage Tag Team Championship.
Just before the match is set to begin, "Prime Directive" by Executive Order hits the speakers. The crowd groans as Max McGillicutty struts out in his executive blazer, microphone already in hand.
Max McGillicutty (smirking):
“Whoa, whoa, whoa—before we kick this little tag match off, let’s make it a little more interesting, shall we? See, I’ve had enough of watching good talent—Dominion-level talent—get slowed down by the rules. So I’m officially upgrading this match… to NO DISQUALIFICATIONS!”
Rick Granger (groaning):
“Oh come on, are you kidding me?”
Sam Duffy:
“He just handed Count Vlad the ultimate advantage!”
Max (continuing):
“Let’s see how well the little gym rats deal with the real predators now. Gentlemen… ring the bell.”
[He nods at Count Vlad before heading to commentary to sit in for a few minutes, smug and satisfied as chaos unfolds in the ring.]
Duke Knight opened with a lightning-fast dropkick on Nightfang, flooring the champion. He quickly tagged in Biceps Bannerman, but Red Fang was also brought in and landed a vicious Vampire Lunge, sinking his forearm into Bannerman’s throat. The Fangs rotated tags with eerie precision, using Spider Web Leglocks and quick strikes, but Bannerman’s sheer power broke through, crushing both fanged champions with a full nelson slam in the early going.
Sam Duffy:
“Bannerman’s strength is unreal — he’s manhandling the champions!”
Rick Granger:
“Yeah, but the Fangs aren’t human. That power only goes so far when you’re dealing with creatures that don’t breathe the same air as we do.”
The momentum swung back and forth, with Red Fang hitting a reverse suplex, Nightfang spinning Bannerman with a skull crusher, and Count Vlad providing subtle distractions whenever the referee’s attention drifted.
The match grew more violent as the minutes passed — steel chairs slid under the ropes, Bannerman slammed Red Fang with a spinebuster onto the mat, and Duke Knight nailed a slingshot suplex that brought the crowd to its feet. Near fall after near fall kept both teams alive.
Rick Granger:
“This has gone from a wrestling match to a survival test.”
Sam Duffy:
“And I don’t think anyone’s going to leave here with all their bones intact.”
With the match breaking down, all four men brawled in the ring. Duke Knight and Bannerman appeared to have the champions cornered when The Rich Athlete’s music hit. The crowd erupted in boos as the arrogant tycoon strutted to ringside, smirking in his designer robe.
Sam Duffy:
“What is he doing here?! He’s not supposed to be involved in this!”
Before anyone could react, Rich Athlete yanked Bannerman off the apron, smashing his face into the steel post. Then, with Bannerman staggered, Rich whipped him shoulder-first into the post again, leaving him writhing on the floor.
Rick Granger:
“That’s not an accident — Rich Athlete just took out Bannerman!”
Inside the ring, Duke Knight fought valiantly against Nightfang and Red Fang, but the numbers game was too much. Nightfang delivered a devastating Skull Crusher, hooking Duke’s leg as Red Fang blocked any interference.
1… 2… 3!
Tony Calibur:
“Here are your winners… and STILL HCW Heritage Tag Team Champions… The Fangs of Despair!”
The Fangs of Despair weren’t finished. As soon as the bell rang, they descended on Duke Knight with stomps and savage elbows. Bannerman tried to return, but Rich Athlete shoved him back into the barricade.
Sam Duffy:
“This is a mugging — someone needs to stop this!”
Suddenly, the arena exploded as the Samoan Bloodline’s music hit. Out stormed Samoan Stomper Raku and Tumu “The Island Beast” Vaega, their presence sending the Dominion into a brief retreat.
Raku (shouting into the camera):
“Why don’t you fangs pick on someone your own size!”
Tumu Vaega (grabbing a mic):
“PPV. Reign of Champions. You bring your fangs… we bring the Bloodline.”
Rick Granger:
“Challenge laid out — and look at Vlad’s face. He doesn’t look amused.”
[Vlad smirked coldly, gave a slow clap, and whispered something to Red Fang and Nightfang. Without saying a word, the Dominion trio backed away up the ramp, leaving the Samoan Bloodline standing tall in the ring.]
Sam Duffy:
“The Fangs of Despair aren’t answering now, but something tells me this war is only getting started.”
[The camera lingered on Raku and Tumu glaring at the Dominion as Voltage went off the air.]
Sam Duffy (voice rising with excitement):
“Ladies and gentlemen, if that doesn’t tell you where we’re heading, I don’t know what will! The Samoan Bloodline just put the Heritage Tag Team Champions on notice — and you can feel it in the air: something big is coming!”
Rick Granger:
“You said it, partner. The Dark Dominion may hold almost all of the gold now, but if the Bloodline gets their shot at Reign of Champions... we could see the balance of power finally start to shift.”
[Tumu steps down and slaps hands with fans at ringside. Raku tosses his elbow pad into the crowd, drawing cheers. Both men pose side by side in the center of the ring, nodding toward the hard cam.]
Sam Duffy:
“We are officially on the road to Reign of Champions — August 30th, and every step we take gets darker, deeper, and more dangerous. The question is: who’s going to make it through the storm?”
Rick Granger:
“We’ve got championship matches heating up… grudges boiling over… and now the Samoan Bloodline have joined the fight to bring down the Dominion! If you’re not watching Voltage right now, you’re missing the revolution!”
Sam Duffy:
“That’s all the time we’ve got tonight — but stay tuned, because this war is just getting started. For Rick Granger, I’m Sam Duffy… we’ll see you next time right here on HCW Voltage!”
[The final shot: Tumu lifts Raku’s arm high while fireworks burst along the rampway behind them — a rare moment of hope in a war-torn battlefield. Fade to black.]
